The world is in a dead awkward silence
everyone looked at the aggressive brutality and cruel violence
They wondered to themselves how did they get here
without even realising there were people pulling their strings like a masquerade puppeteer

Can you imagine a world without anything but just broken gravel?
Living in fear of just catching nothing but just the common cold rattle
Growing up to learn the destroyed world and be nothing but just to grow old..
Change the time of you which you live in now
technology just complicates our lives and our true knowledge

Before everything just becomes nothing but bitterness and displease
will it then maybe shock you? And come ten times worst as respiratory disease

Don’t think I’m trying to make or break you spirit
Just giving you a thought from my soul, if you would only hear it,
I can’t fully express (or repress) exactly what it is I think
So I babble incoherently and leave my decision on the brink.
I can’t decide if I should drop my pride and let the words flow
But a fear far worse rises of sad surprises and having to let you go,
So I stand back though I feel you close and I try to leave you be
But I know I can’t conceal or forget the words you’ve said to me.
So let me know (or find a way to show) exactly what I should do
But know as soon as I leave I find myself lost without you,
If you could just see a glimpse or peek for just a second of my mind
And what’s inside then you would know all thoughts for you are kind.
Only protecting (but not correcting) when I think I should step in
Because I’ve been in the same place and I’ve felt that hurt, my friend,
And I don’t want anyone to feel a pain so real, especially not you
Ignoring potential ulterior motives you know every word I say is true.
I swear without err that I couldn’t miss you more when you’re not here
But I’m fighting back fears when you’re holding me near whispering secrets in my ear,
And I’ve told you truly you hold more beauty that all of the stars in the night
Though you show it, I guess you don’t know it, or this knowledge you seem to fight.
(Who could forget her covered in glitter with sweet revenge in her eyes?)
But you’ve got this kid confused and blurry no matter how hard I try
To figure you out, your words still seem like an undecipherable code
That I try to map out and reconstruct in an abstract uneven ode.
I’m not playing, only saying that whether my words seep through or not
That you need not fear, because I’ll be here, my promise I haven’t forgot,
And when it ends, as it inevitably will, and you feel nothing but hurt and pain
I’ll soften my tone, and tell you you’re never alone, and you’re safe in my arms again.

A lifetime of waiting in wonder if you were really true
A trillion seconds of wishing my worries I could subdue,
Countless nights spent praying that you would become real to me
But a moment in your arms and worries are but a distant memory.

I have spent the greater portion of my life searching for a person that has certain distinguishable qualities. I have often been told that my standards were unreachable. I have spent years defining unconditional love, the difference between love and infatuation, and in general what love is. I was not until I met you that I was able to distinguish one emotion from another figure out what I had been missing all along. Since I met you I now know that love is:

When their heartbeat reverberates inside your very soul. When you find the answers to all of the questions of the world inside their eyes. When the only desire that you have is to fulfill all of their desires. When your body trembles at its inability to contain all of the emotions that are trying to burst forth from within you. When their voice sounds sweeter than any angelic melody could ever desire to. When you are dreaming of them and upon waking you try as hard as you can to get back to sleep because you cannot wait until you actually get to see them again. When they are the first thing that you think of in the morning and the last thing that you think about before going to sleep. When you try so hard to conceal how you are lost in bliss when you see them smile. When every touch and caress makes your heart race faster than you thought possible. When you wish you could lose yourself for an eternity in every kiss. When every day spent with them passes by in a moment and you find yourself wishing you were with them again. When your biggest fear is waking up and not finding them next to you. When your greatest desire is to hold them close. When all of the great problems of the world become minor details. When you search constantly for a stronger word because you know that love could not possibly encompass everything that you feel. When you know in your heart that you could drown in a single tear that they cried. When you would give up everything else just to hear them say "I love you" and know that they meant it. When you know that there is no one else in the world more beautiful than the person you hold dear. When you cannot help but smile when you think back on the memories you have made.  When you plan out every moment of that special day just so it will be as memorable as possible to them. When the only reason that you have left to fear death is that you would be without them. When you know that to hurt them would be the greatest crime that you could ever commit. When you realize that these words do not do justice to the meaning behind them.

Yet…even though those words cannot fully express how I truly feel…I still use them for lack of a way to show you to a further extent.

I love you. I love your kisses. Your smile. When you tell me that all that matters is us. That the rest of the world could fall apart and as long as we have each other that we'll be fine. That little thing you do when you think no one is looking. The way you lay there and stare at me for hours on end. Not needing to say anything. The way you smile because you know that it makes me happy, even if you don't want to. The way you call me just to see what I’m up to...even if you already know. The way you act surprised even if I’ve ******* up and you already know what's going to happen. The way that you look so innocent when you lay there sleeping. The way you laugh at me when I’m acting ******* just so I won't feel bad. That look you give me. The way that we argue about who loves who more. The stupid things we do when we're bored. The way that you make me feel complete. The way you hold me so tightly. The way you make me feel like I’m the one protecting you instead of the other way around. How it seems like I’m not alone when you're here. How you pour out your soul because you know I won't ever use any of it against you. The love you give, the hope you continue, the happiness you sustain.

A thousand thoughts of you are but a sand in time
but those thoughts of you are always in my mind,
Swirling slowly, completely through, even to my soul
and these fragments of thoughts of you are what makes me whole.
I piece them all together as hard as it may be
so I can remember every moment since you said yes to me,
And as I get lost in these memories deep in my heart’s core
I think in bliss of how in time there will be so many more.
I piece my life together like a puzzle full of truth
but the puzzle now can make no sense without the thought of you,
The only time I’m more confused is when I’m lost within your eyes
Because I’m lost within the one that I love to be beside.
I have eternal comfort when I’m holding you tight
But even that eternity must end when I let you go at night,
And even though I leave alone, I leave with a smile
Because I know before I see you again, it will only be a while.
The happiness you’ve brought to me this poem cannot explain
Because even now I can’t tell you how much I’ve gained,
Ever since that night when you said that you’d be mine
So I just wanted to let you know that I have the best valentine.

puzzles are easily put together, codes are easily deciphered, riddles are easily solved, questions are easily answered. the things created by the mind of man can be easily solved by the mind of man. it is only the questions that words cannot be found for that cannot be answered.

if a heart could cry out in an audible tone then i am afraid that i would go deaf from the constant murmur that would be produced from the depths of my chest. if love was an object i am afraid that i would tuck mine away forever so that such an irreplacable treasure would not become worn with time. if time could stop itself i am afraid where i would be found when it did so. if sleep could lash out and attack me for ignoring it for so long i am afraid that it would never cease its assault. if errors made were corporeal then i am afraid that i would lock them away forever in an inescapable prison to never be seen again. if my apologies grew limbs i am afraid they would die from exhaustion from constantly running from my heart to your ears. if my desire could be contained i am afraid no container would be found capable of storing such a great mass. if it was possible for me to find that which i seek i am afraid that it would dissolve and leave me without the one that none can replace. if i could tell you everything that i feel i am afraid that you would think me truly mad. if all my fears dissolved i am afraid that i would have nothing left to run from and would be found standing still. if i should be found standing still i am afraid that i would give all i have to give. and if i gave my all i am afraid that it would all be for nought and i would be found where i once was, without...

my father recently told me that i run from everything. i follow some "run and gun" pattern as he described it. he does not know how right he truly was. i could not explain it to him just as much as i cannot fully explain it to myself. but to put it simply...i fear. i fear love because i fear that it will always end as it has in the past. i fear confrontation because in the end someone always ends up hurt. i fear sleep because i cannot control the dreams that are created by my own mind. i fear hope because i am afraid that i will be disappointed. i fear my emotions because i am afraid that they will become greater than what i can control. i fear closeness because distance will inevitably set in. i fear looking into your eyes because you may see how i truly feel. that you may feel sympathy, that you may look down on me for admitting what is known to be true but never stated, that you will see how much you have helped me through what i could not do on my own, that you will see through my eyes and into my soul and be overwhelmed.

and though i fear many things, and though because i cannot often be found because i run from all those things which i do fear, there are some things that i have never feared and i doubt i ever shall. i have never feared your voice. i have never feared being with you. i have never feared losing what we have developed through the years. i have never feared that anything will ever come between us. i have never feared that the love i feel for you should ever subside. i have always given you my heart in whole because there is no fear that you will ever break it. and though i know that i have never nor will ever find a greater friend than you i do not fear that i should ever have to search for another. in a poem that i once wrote to you the words "all i have ever wanted, but more than i could ask for" still stand true. you mean the world to me. and if you were not here i have no idea where i would be right now. i just wanted to thank you for being there for me through everything that i've gone through. you have brought light to a once dim heart. you are the only proof that i need that there are those out there deserving all that i have.

these words mean nothing without the meaning behind them.

smile love, just smile. i will make you the happiest woman in the world. i will give you everything that you've ever wanted. i will make you forget the entities of sadness and regret. i will love you and you will love me, i'll make you lose yourself in the everlasting bliss, never leave you without a smile. i'll leave you wondering how you lived your life before now. he will fill your head with empty promises...

in time i have come to learn that love is a many faceted colossus. and depending on the angle of approach and point of view you can see many different things in it. that is why most people view love in different ways. it's not that their love is less true, it's just they have been one of the unfortunates that has been led to view love from the wrong perspective. finding love is easy if you approach it from one of the more easily accessible viewpoints. but if you work at it hard enough you can gain a vantage point that shows you the true beauty of love. the whole of this gargantuan emotional construct will be within your heart and mind. and once you have conquered the understanding of this which some might call an obstacle you can share what you have learned and teach those who were so unfortunate to not achieve what you have achieved. because although each facet complicates the next, and every love is different, is the goal not always the same? to extend your boundaries of happiness with another past what you could accomplish by yourself.

...and when you are left unhearted wondering why this love has collapsed upon itself. i will simply tell you that you saw love as a simple emotion when it was really a complicated goliath. and as you cannot build wonders out of empty boxes, you cannot build love with nothing but empty promises.

and there was a man. the frigid chill of winter blew behind him pushed him forward into the warm embrace that stood before him. and he knew that never again would he be able to turn around and face the cold void that he had left behind. he would never be able to follow the trail of frozen tears to find what he had once called his own on the other side of the blizzard. once he had found his way out of the storm he knew that he would never again have to feel such pain, such numbness. but the warm embrace that held him now made him forget all of those things. because that from which he came was so cold the warmness he now felt was euphoric. it lit a spark in his eye and caused him to glow. and of this fact alone he is forever grateful.

All i want is to be with you
but i don't know how to let you know,
if somehow you found out and knew
all my worries and fears would go.
If the wind would whisper in your ear
this secret that i'm forced to keep,
and all of it you could hear
so much pressure would be lifted off of me.
My unease to tell has filled me with disbelief
usually it is so easy for me to throw it all way,
but your friendship I do want to keep
and I can't find the way to tell you today.
I can't just let go like times before
there's something about you that makes me care,
I feel like this is something more
but with you this secret i can't share.
maybe i'm afraid you might shy away
or I'll just ***** everything up again,
but if i ever found out that you would stay
I'd break down and tell you right then.
All I want is to be with you
but I don't know how to let you know,
If somehow you found out and knew
new fears would come when the old ones go.

when you lay there staring up at me i realize
that i can almost see your soul through your eyes,
i can see all your desires that i'm trying to ignore
because i'm so afraid you'll say "don't hold me anymore".
the love i feel for you will surely outlast the world
but in this love there is no lust even as our bodies were curled,
i  just want to hold you and know that you are near
to move any further than this would again spark the fear.
my mind was running in circles as we laid there so long
so confused, so petrified, so afraid to do something wrong,
but even though these feelings were welling up inside of me
every time you smiled i felt nothing but relief.
knowing that you were there sheltered me from all that i hide
and hearing "i love you too" makes me forget what i've been denied,
makes me forget all but the wholeness that i feel when i'm with you
so whole because i know and feel that every word you say is true.
So here's to a friend that i know i never will forget
and not letting love and closeness turn into regret,
here's to the emotions for her that i can no longer store
she's everything i've ever wanted, but more than i could ask for.

Yesterday I knew the answers to all the problems on my mind
as you layed there trying to keep from falling asleep,
I found myself looking forward and not behind
and sharing these secrets i thought i would always keep.
But I must have stirred too much or breathed too hard
because your eyes slowly opened up again
and i knew the feelings i felt i no longer had to disregard
as you, as if lost in dream, looked into my eyes, my friend.
You sitting there so beautiful, a smile crossed your face
I knew there was no concealing the smile on my own
in this complete comfort that i know i can't replace
no mat

Girl. the word that separates
and complicates
making each of us, less equal
I’m a girl and rarely  
have I ever been treated fairly.
We are all human and should be treated as one.
So why am I not allowed to kick the ball and run?
Just like a white crayon you think I useless.
But you’re just really clueless, because I CAN.
yet at the same time I can’t,
since the men are on top you see
high above any other
don’t take it as a bother
being  below and under and where we will be.
Because I’m just a girl,I’m not treated fairly

The Overbolded Beauty © 2016

The light beyond the windowpane reads like the lines of a poem
And the headlights crash into streams on their way home
The lampshade brushes your arm and crushes you like a stone
You're still there but over here you're all alone

The streets are all black or maybe it's just the night
The day was long but now it's time to make it right
But when your memories are wrong and blurred out of sight,
Do you really have the strength to put up a fight?

You light your cigarette and close one, ****** eye
"Don't bat a lash" says the woman who last made you cry
And she follows you down to the depths of your mind
She complicates your soul and then she just hurries by

Somewhere down the alley, towards the church bells of dawn
You hear a voice that slowly carries on
Like a lost whippoorwill still whispering its song
A feeling comes over you and you wonder why you waited so long

It's funny how love is so complicated
Only because of how simple it is

Love complicates our situations
But because of this love, you're delighted to change

Things are exciting again

I can't sleep at night
I'm not in love
I swear
It's just flirting right?

It's just mindless questions


And cute texts

...

And pictures of hearts

*****

Valentino has its red, Versace its Medusa logo, Chanel the tweed that lines dresses and jackets and handbags each season. In the fashion world, these nuances of texture and color, in conjunction with shape, are what help define a brand's identity, what ultimately makes them feel familiar to consumers; they are fashion's version of DNA. Designers carving out their place within the industry will often land on their own set of signatures that are built upon with each new collection—but Patric DiCaprio, the 26-year-old designer of Vaquera, isn't interested in "buy-ability" or recognizable traits. "We are obsessed with keeping people guessing" he says. "We want that to be our thing."

In the three seasons since launching the New York-based brand, DiCaprio has infused Fashion Week with the sort of Dionysian energy once felt at early John Galliano shows. For his Summer/Spring 2016 show, staged at the Church of the Ascension in Greenwich Village, models walked the aisle to the Smashing Pumpkins in baptismal baby-doll dresses and ruffled bloomers, with DiCaprio's boyfriend closing the show in a wedding gown. In February, with new partners David Moses and Bryn Taubensee on board, a debaucherous cast of models dressed in Victorian-meets-club looks danced, lifted their skirts and put their cigarettes out in audience member's drinks at the China Chalet venue in the Financial District.

"Vaquera is about constant reinvention," DiCaprio says of his no-guts-no-glory ethos. "It's about the future; the future of style and clothes, but not in the cliche of futuristic spandex and metallics."

Much like his collections, the designer's path in fashion has been far from linear. Born and raised in Alabama, DiCaprio attended a private Christian school before studying photography at a public university in the South. An internship with DIS Magazine offered him a crash course in art direction and styling, and the opportunity to draw creative fuel from New York—a city that has very much proven to be his creative elixir.

"I felt like I had been underwhelmed for my whole life," says DiCaprio, who moved to the city five years ago and taught himself to sew through YouTube tutorials. "When I first came to New York it felt like I had finally gotten my head above the water and had oxygen for the first time. This place was overwhelming in the best way." DiCaprio spoke with PAPER about his creative approach, his unconventional path to fashion and his idolization of David Bowie.

What sparked your interest in fashion?

I think it's always been about clothes for me. When I was in middle school and high school I was always in bands. I was obsessed with Screamo and David Bowie—the groups that had such strong visual aspects to their work. But I think part of me always felt like I was doing that so I could assume the look. Screamo bands would let me wear the size zero, ultra-stretch white jean. With David Bowie, I wanted to wear the gold eyeshadow; it was always about the look.

How did studying photography lead you to fashion design?

My school was very focused on the craft—the dark room and perfect exposure—but I think I was on the opposite end, I was interested in what was happening in the photo. I left college to do an internship with DIS Magazine and because they're involved in so many creative avenues like photography and styling and art and video, I was able to get a realistic vision of things. The experience [with DIS] made me realize I was less interested in photography and more interested in creating these characters.

When school ended, I moved to New York and and worked with DIS again and then with VFiles in [the archives department]. I'd go through old issues of ID and Paper and Dazed and it taught me a lot about fashion history. I had been removed from all of that when I was growing up, there was no Chanel store in Alabama, there was no Dazed And Confused at the Barnes and Noble in Alabama. Coming to New York I was able to get my hands on the clothes and study these old magazines.

How did you get that initial internship though?

I'm obsessed with Tumblr. I got on it more than eight years ago, and it was a huge part of helping me reach out to people. People that I'm still friends with now—Hari Nef and Juliana Huxtable—I met through Tumblr; they moved to New York before me and motivated me to do the same. So I emailed the team at DIS, and asked if I could show them my photography portfolio—which sounds so funny to say now—and they offered to show me the ropes. They hooked me up with Avena Gallagher, who is an inspiration and has taught me everything I know about styling.

About two years ago I started working for her and became obsessed with styling. I styled Charli XCX for a year—and it was exciting, definitely closer to what I wanted to do but it wasn't exactly it. I wanted to pull specific things—1980's Issey Miyake, but there was no way a no-name stylist like me would be able to get my hands on it. So I bought a sewing machine and started sewing the things I wanted for photo shoots. Vaquera started as an art project that wasn't about wearing the clothes or making something for Opening Ceremony—it was about making clothes that I could then shoot. The final product was the look book.

What made you decide on the name Vaquera?

A few different reasons. I was reading a book by Tom Robbins called Even Cowgirls Get The Blues and it was really informative for me at the time. I was also working in a kitchen as an expediter with a bunch of Mexican line cooks and they had a lot of pet names for me, like "el pato" which is gay slang for f—got, and "little baby doll." They knew I was from the South so they'd call me "La Vaquera" because that's Spanish for cowgirl—even though cowgirls aren't Alabama, it's more of a Texas thing. So I just called the project Vaquera. It seems so arbitrary now, I'm stuck with it for better or worse.

What's been one of the challenges of keeping things future-focused?

I've had criticism from people that it's such a bad business model to reinvent yourself each season, that no one's going to know what to expect from you. Buyers are going to be confused, you're never going to make any money. And I've just been like, "Well, I think we don't have any interest in that." We are obsessed with keeping people guessing—we want that to be our thing. I try my best to keep it a secret until the day of the show and then just let loose.

So we're going to assume you won't be giving any clues about next season's show.

Oh my god, i don't want to give it away! I think people want to see billowy-sleeves but that's out the door. We're doing something completely different. Romantic but a whole different definition of romance.

How has working with David and Bryne changed things for you and the brand?

Last season it was like a whole new brand. We came together through Avena and it feels like we're progressing, which is exciting. I got sick of doing everything alone. For the Spring show I sewed everything, produced it myself, got the location, cast it myself.

And did you collapse after the show ended?

It was a serious problem, it became impossible. I realized I was either going to have to plateau so I could get my life together or I was going to have to find a way to expand the vision. I trust Bryne and David with my life and they understand my vision but have their own ideas. It was a necessary change.

So many designers have expressed concern about the relentless pace of the industry recently.

All these different seasons—pre-fall, couture, designers showing things that are going to be available for purchase the day after the show. That's so scary for people like us who are on our hands and knees in the living room cutting the clothes and can barely get them made in time for the show.

Do you want to stay independent? What are the benefits and detriments, in your opinion?

I think we want to stay independent. I want to make money but I don't want to feel pressure to do certain things. I'm already so sick of that show we just did—already on to the next one. It's like with Demna Gvasalia getting the Balenciaga job: I was so disappointed to see him doing the same thing he did at Vetements at Balenciaga, but then I realized, with all the money that's involved and when you're working with these huge offers, there's contracts. Money complicates things in a way that I think can hurt people's creativity. Maybe you'll make a lot of money for a few years, but you might forget how to make exciting things because you're stuck with the designs that worked well one time. I want to make money, but we want to find different ways of doing it.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-melbourne | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide

Past attraction that warrants smiles
What was it that showed we care
Still in contact with flirty eyes
Wishing for a day to remember
Distance complicates the desire meaning
But love usually finds a way to settle
Dreams we shared now living alone
The greatest love song never heard

Life is apparent
If you want it to be
Life is simple if you
Make it out to be
Life is easy if you
Allow it to be
You just have to
Live life a little
With a little more
Simplicity
Letting go of
Every thing that
Complicates life
Letting go of
Every thing that
Holds you down
And holds you
In place in the world
Letting go of ever thing
That doesn't make you
Happy or brings you joy
Letting go of every thing
That makes you feel
Like you are stuck in the
World or makes you feel
Like you can't do any better
Or complicates your life
Any more than it has to
Living more simply
Is very apparent
Its very easy once you
Know how to let go
Of every thing
That makes life
Complicated
To begin with.

She wanders by the twilit lake,
for thoughts of him kept her awake,
so now she feels her heart may break,
and walks on, cold and bitter.

He treated her with scant respect,
while his behaviour went unchecked
and after years of self-neglect
she doesn't know what hit her.

The whispered words behind the bend
allow her heart no chance to mend,
thus forcing her instead to tend
to purely stressful matters,

and all the while the breezes blow,
the things she didn't want to know
occur to her in steady flow
and leave her heart in tatters.

For what good comes neglecting chat
which lays her bare, or lies her flat,
if without help, her brain does that,
and worse, it complicates it?

But she never does speak thus,
it's to be felt, not to discuss,
and, wanting not to cause a fuss,
she never even states it.

I always enjoy flying high, but many things bring me back down, so I grow a beard
I am up to see another adventure that I indulge as I shave.

My heart beat drops, of memory of you, and what should have become, so I grow a beard
I converse with new souls that pick me up , shall i shave.

As all things, life complicates and freedom of thinking is defused, so I grow a beard
I overcome the difficulties and see new opportunity, only to shave.

Once again the thought of you, and stress lowers me to a place where I grow a beard.
I only shaved a little as I know what means to me.

She only cares for lilacs.
Her favorite color's black.
She lives within a snowglobe,
and never leaves her track.

She wears him like a necklace,
or keeps him in a box.
She's so afraid of losing him;
just love and forget-me-nots.

Polish her with madness,
and paint her insanity clean.
She's honestly not as crazy as,
they'll all like to make her seem.

She only sleeps on rainy days,
only because she's afraid.
He doesn't see the beauty,
and hates being awake at 3am.

The phone is always ringing,
like the clock upon the wall.
Indie music resonates,
echoing down the hall.

She hides away alone,
with a cigarette in her hand.
The ledge of the tub is occupied;
she sits, and waits, and time goes by.

Her life is just a puzzle,
but she doesn't have a clue.
She complicates the simple things,
and makes happiness run blue.

He doesn't mind her tendencies;
he knows she's a little strange.
She wears him like a medal,
like her little trophy man.
But he knows she needs him,
he's the only sane thing he has.

more often misunderstood than not
i dance in spectrums of gray
where right and wrong is blurred
and faded edges
complicates this maze

i get lost in my own mind
blissfully wandering off
fixating about trivial things
staring at the moon for hours
waiting for it to answer me

perhaps im too different
beautifully broken yet starry eyed
quiet demeanor with a chaotic mind
and you, unfortunately,
are too the same

oneday i will find the soul
that finds peace in all of me
and we will wonder
and wander
together

I know that they all like to say that nice guys finish last.
But this really is far from true.

Most nice guys really will end up finishing first.
It just may happen to them well after they want it to.

But it may be to your advantage, that way.
You’ll get to meet people at their best, some would say.

When you get to finish first, first, you will miss out on a lot.
The people whose prime is early in life are generally not the best.

I know that it is really hard to think that you’ll have to wait.
There is not a single person who enjoys waiting.

But it really is in your favor to wait for a little while.
You can meet yourself before meeting other people.

And you have to be crazy to think that there aren’t others who are lonely.
Sometimes the nice girls think they’re in last place, too.

Nice guys think that they have to change.
Nice guys, please do us all a favor, never change.

The world can use a lot of people like you.
We need some people we can be proud of.

See, you think you’re a problem because her parents would like you.
Give it a few years, and that will be what she wants.

I meet this nice guy once and really liked him.
But, as you’d like to guess, I didn’t date him.

I’m even certain that we were flirting for a little bit.
Yet, I did not wish to date him.

I suppose you can call me a hypocrite right now.
I would be lying if I said you’re completely wrong.

But never did I say that nice guys would always win.
All I recall saying is that they wouldn’t finish last.

Because, if I’m being frank here, they cannot be last.
Last is reserved for those whom you don’t desire in the slightest.

And I can attest to always wanting someone nice.
I can admit that I will always want someone who is kind.

And you’re wondering why I didn’t date what I wanted.
As luck would have it, I knew he was too good for me.

He may have actually gotten a different message on that.
I’d be fibbing if I said that I told him that.

He just thinks that I only want him as a friend.
He thinks that was all I ever thought of him as.

He is not entirely wrong, honestly, he’s not.
Dating friends is something that complicates things; so I won’t date them.

But he doesn’t know that I was willing to break that rule.
I would go against all I stand for, just for a nice guy.

Sure, I would then somehow ruin things, but it would be nice while it lasted.
But I could never think of hurting someone so dearly, not when he gave his all.

Nice guys don’t finish last because no one wants them.
Nice guys finish last because everyone wants them.

Nice guys win in the end because others have gathered up their courage.
When we can be real with them, then they can win.

Nice guys finish later because we like them so much.
We are scared to hurt them and it causes us to hurt them more.

We can never win when it comes to people.
No matter what you do, someone will get hurt.

I've wondered for a long time about those people
Those whose sense of self, at least outwardly, seems strong
People whose garden develops its greens high around them
People with smoke drifting from their irises with certainty
They have such fire...

As so much time of mine has been wasted like a council house ****
A youth indulged on a see saw swinging between masochism and arrogant self indulgence
The years after bringing me back to the cell formations bestowed instead of those imagined
I find myself... learning to develop, running the marathon in last place
But..
It's not the place that bothers me

What bothers me is my love of the constructions..
Seeing so much through screens and day dreams
Seeing such possibility
What I wonder is that if any of it can be..
Built. Created.
Can I put myself headlong into book after book to develop the knowledge to write my own?
Can I persuade others to be confident in me when I find so little for myself?
Can I build a lifestyle that gives me pride and routine when it seems so difficult to envision?
Can I set myself so serenely and simply into a world which worries and complicates me?
Can I reach that high bar and pull hard enough to gain the empowerment I crave?
Can I say to that person... the person who may exist or may not, who could make me happier than any other person, when the moment comes, can I say what I really want them to hear?

I wonder, worry, forget and remember these things
But I plan on letting go of the nagging analysis of insecurity
To... have a go at the now, at the work and the life
And see what happens.

The willowy woman,
clad in a red, red sari,
that makes her look like
a challenge  so difficult to meet,
in an imagined island of her own,
enveloped by thick whiskey vapor,
sitting on a bar stool,  precariously
in an attention catching posture,
complicates the prospects
of my white night, getting dense,
as the moon beams start to peep down,

I intuitively sense
from my table afar.

I am inward  looking silence,
but why did her voiceless shouts of
frequent glances, come in search of  me,
as if i am wanted in her court, for some mysterious purpose.
Like a curious  fish,  that swim around pecking and tasting
something she has got interested, in her underwater world,
her eyes roam, so far to my lonely  corner, a sea **** filled depth.

This busy bar has an inner silence
i realize every time i enter  here,
i often get the feeling,
that Buddha sits somewhere and meditates
in disguise, i am all eyes,
let me surprise him
before he decides to tell this secret,
-i am almost sure
in my ear.

I expect this to happen,
for a while now,
this bar is esoteric, conceals many things
though darkness concentrates and celebrates
as often as it could,its motif is  gleaming white
-reminds me the  thousand petaled lotus
and it makes my consciousness tingle,
even in tumult, like two hands protecting
a flame against the wind's onslaught,
this bar preserves its silence.

Every time I get in, it embraces me
like i was a  long lost prodigal child.

Moonlit night brings  mystical moments,
the universe has so much to communicate,
the galaxies distant,  resonate with silent symphonies
eternity conducts only  for the ears that hear without  a sound,
the consciousness is all ears and listens like a child in its cradle,
straining its ears for mother's lullabies.
Enhanced by the bar's background music
i was getting  immersed in a conversation with the moon,
rising above the sea of  undulating coconut palms.

She sat alone shouting orders,
an unknown landscape,
an island melting in to sea,
none could reach without,
a boat that could cross rapids,

She sat with an imaginary baton,
imagining she conducts with perfection,

Fighting rough waters
seemed nothing new to her,
' haven't i weathered many
cyclones, day and night?'
she wordlessly proclaimed.
Four gentle men on bar stools near her
busy finding their own wonderlands,
though fascinated,
with their combined  body language indicated,
'she doesn't belong'

Forced to break my cocoon,
i hear,
          -you drinker of distilled silence,
          -lover of primrose moon
my white night
was taken over,
by this dark cloud
that wanders many skies,
'lend me your time
and those patient ears' she whispers
'if you don't know my mother'

No mother should become a shackle to her daughter,
fathers should be the key syllables* to liberate children seeking their own distant  sun

Here she goes-
taking me along to the road of her past,
dodging shadows of
a mother, wayward.

-men are cowards they never accompany me all the way-
i hear she secretly wail; who cares about self inflicted pain?

the hood of darkness
stood behind her
framing her face and mind.
i let her walk, run and feel free like a peacock
that badly wanted to see a dark cloud to feel  the mood to dance
a wild dance it was, untill
I said,
'do you see the army of ants, that are behind,
feeding on the dead,
that want to hunt you down?'

She didn't seem to hear
or anywhere near the mood
not to dance.
                                                          ­                                         UOIOIOIOU

I remember when the days felt golden because I, felt emotion. Hotter than lava burning brighter than gold I was alive. I remember days twisted into nights well the days feel more like the nights now my daze complicates my thoughts. My thoughts complicate my emotions I feel like when I go on that viking dragon pirate ship ride you know the one. The one that flies high, makes your stomach twist into knots makes you want to throw up. Pure ecstasy when you fall down I am falling down. Down deeper than I ever meant to go sometimes I feel like I need to go need to find where I started and climb back up.

   I remember when you looked at me and it looked like maybe I was able to save you. Now I need to be saved and I feel like I’m being left alone, to my demons they don’t take a day off. Thoughts don’t take a day off. Memories, like itching in my brain they don’t take a day off. Itching in my brain it’s like my own cruel version of PTSD, made up by scars on my mind I swear baby I’ll get better I just need to take some time. It feels like I’m gambling and trust me I’m not a gambling man I don’t know the difference between black jack and poker so imagine my cards on the table I’m being forced a hand I don’t want. I never asked for any of this I never meant to be the cause of your sadness I just wanted what was best for you.

   I know it’s not the logical solution, so imagine this: It’s like my brain is attacking itself, it’s the big bang imploding, exploding I am a supernova. A nuclear reactor going in the red zone, a plate of eggs being cooked on the pan. Suicide never seemed like such a good choice but you know that’s where mental illness comes to play, where my demons aren’t demons I know they aren’t it feels like it though so where do I go from here? Where do I go on this stepping stone path? I want to get better for you I don’t want you to leave or be burdened by my pain I am stuck, I am scared. I need to know things will be okay that maybe you still want to fight for us but I can’t trust the doctors, I can’t trust the mental ward. It’s in my veins this mistrust maybe a therapist would work and I’m two sided on the pills.

   And so I think how to get out of the hole I’ve dug and dug but no answers were ever found. I feel misplaced or misused or overused or something I Can’t. Quite. Grasp.

   I think of the days that were golden. When you looked at me with such happiness and it’s still there but it’s my own fault if that disappears. It’s always going to be my fault. So please, don’t be surprised when one day I am gone. If that day ever comes at least understand I went down fighting. My thoughts in the form of some devilish creature, I grasped it’s neck and it grasped mine. But it’s grip was tighter. At least know that I love you.

Lost in the single thing that complicates more than I could know.
Confused as the silent zephyr blows my emotions to and fro,
but my steady gaze cannot be averted even by the beauty of the skies
because I've found something more beautiful in the depths of your eyes.
This hoping, longing, burning for something more than the mundane
has now been quenched to the point that I can't find reason to complain,
and the smiles that were once so hollow are now filled with bliss.
Never could I ever wish for something more than this peacefulness that persists.
With only a glance and a smile you have driven all the doubt from my brain,
and if I could forget everything else, then only this moment would remain.
Even though I can't vocally explain how I feel inside without it coming through
I know that it doesn't bother me when I"m standing here with you.
You've caused me to feel some things that I've been fighting for so long
and no matter how hard I fight them it seems that the feelings are just as strong.
So as I give in and fall collapsed at the mercy of the world and its harms,
I relax when I realize I'm being held up by the support of your arms.
As the dark night continues I find this simple notion to be true,
That as much as you are holding me up, you're relying on me too.
The idea that seems so simple stands like stone in the blowing wind
and that thought lingers on my mind until time forces the embrace to end.
So as I drift into the darkness of midnight's fast enveloping shroud
I know that to feel all of these feelings is more than should be allowed,
but the single greatest battle that I doubt I shall ever win
is to leave this place without wishing that I were in your arms again.

when a pronoun retracts
and becomes compounded
e.g.: itself, himself...
it complicates matters
with a dually functioning vigor
of content expression:
which extends thanks to the
surgical assertion that the
definite aritlce (scalpel)
and indefinite article (forceps)
proceed to govern
a. retractive pronoun usage
    within compounding
    is reflexive (reflex bias)
and
b. pronouns given unto punctuation
     markings are reflective,
     the notorious "i" of
     sartre's usage;
     in the poor sense of the word
     when expressed as mirror-image,
     since sarte's linear dittoing
     markings possess a narcissistic chiral
     exclusion of an active ownership of will
     that's simply a misuse of
     denotative marking -
     it would simply imply an orwellian
     conception of double-think, of
                         "
     what's
          "
                  actually defined via
                                                "
       thinking about it when orientated by gemini
       (i.e. the ditto markings
         imply a repeat,
         or simply - as above / follow suite.)

love bites,
love hurts,
love fools,
love deceives..

love *****,
love disappoints,
love betrays,
love complicates..

love breaks,
love ignores,
love kills,
**love destroys..

My best friend has grown up on me
She's a mom and a beautiful person outside and inside
I remember we dated kissed it could've been much more
We have so much love and respect got one another a relationship just complicates things
She attracted to me when I'm seeing someone
I'm noble to her if the girl don't get along with her the girl has got to go
I remember one night we hung together and my ex was there ******* us together ruining the night
These two could not get along even if I wasn't in the picture.
So to make my ex leave or **** her off my friend plants a juicy kiss on my mouth a mild make out session.
Next moment we notice the ex is gone
We have had many good times together
We don't live close but do keep in contact with one another
Much love and respect for one another
I'm a couple if years older but age doesn't matter

I was asked what the rain meant to me
I wasn’t sure quite how to answer
The rain means everything to me
The storm itself is a personification of life
It has a melody, a harmony, a bass line
It holds onto memories of the past
The sheet of water covering the earth
Has a second job of hiding the truth
While, despite this, everything is utterly clear
It allows us to indulge in our minds
The storm itself lets us lose control
Of our minds and instructs us to alter,
And see through another pair of eyes
In this moment, what can we fear?
In this moment, what can we know?
Fear of the unknown, fear of disaster
Fear of finding ourselves
This complicates things, makes us go mad
And so our frustration comes into play
We obsess and analyze every step
Until finally we succumb to anger
Everything stops us from going further
Our own minds have forced our control
But somehow, we take comfort in this
And as the storm calms
And as the clouds fade
Things seem to make sense
Once again, things were how they were
Where the sun continues to shine
And the moon appears in the night
Where life is so much easier
Than during that awful storm

White clouds simplify existence
Overviewing people from those clouds complicates it.
Living life well is hard to do
When you don't know what it can mean to do it.
Counting stars splinter in the sky,
Confirming that the universe will never vanish

The nurses run a palindrome,
Encased in my own phrase unknown,
Prefixed albeit in the womb,
Transfixed from crucifix to tomb,
Bruising ears with wounding tongue,
Rousing tears with printed plunge,
Into maddening discourse of course,
Twisting turns to twisted source,
Watery words erode the mind,
Spilling from recesses long mine,
Explosions of thoughts buried in bone,
Devotion to that and to that alone,
Things thought so simple and done so nearly,
What seems so clear is not so, clearly,
Here and yet not here at all,
Miracle of the medicinal lyrical,
Vestige a silhouette of sense,
Simplicity complicated dense,
Lost in a forgotten forest of complicates,
****** in delusional dictation so delicate,
Created a copy Cheshire Cat all the while,
Led into Wonderland mile by smile,
Confuse and felicitate all my many meanings,
Intrude and confiscate that being,
Into cognitive conjunction uncoordinated sink,
For you to finally think to think

The one who complicates.
The one who hangs you out to dry.
Guard yourself.
Look away.
Abuse something or someone.

Seizures from normalcy,
Nervous skin picking,
Makes one wonder
if you'd stay for anybody.

Makes one wonder if you too drown,
Or wake up late night,
Cold from sweat,
Hot from the soul,
Hoping to be found.
Victims only think of themselves.

White light in a dark tunnel
He looks away
Under the guise
that its someone else's fault
that he can't see it.

The dreams I have tonight are going to haunt me for the rest of my life
Staying awake is only postponing the inevitable 
I quest for heaven if only for the piece of mind
But it's much too hard to find
And praying is eating up my pride

Living, eating up my time
Dying isn't what I got in mind
But the night draws ever closer
As I'm drawing darkness in my mind

Imaging the pain is far worse or so they say
Living either way is having it no other way
Before the daylight breaks
I'll be a different thing

Self made imagery complicates things
But stains brought on by fear
Morality and what it brings

Resignation known as giving up
But you don't see the end
Trading in the destination
For a life that's on the mend
As you rend your resignation
And resign to a fate
Behold your ******* nightmares come

How clumsy of me;
to sit straight up with attentive ears
The vulnerably of giving what's missed
Mistaken as misplaced.
I liked this clumsy side of me
Lopsided stumbles, a bit more reckless
This constant fumble
Definitely generous; mistaking kindness as guilt
A sense of being misplaced
How clumsy of you to drop something so precious
When all along did you ever want it
That sudden pain that wraps around your chest; manic
A sudden throb that complicates the slightest of gesture
How clumsy of me to misplace everything where I thought I would find it
Again hoping sufficient in empathy
How clumsy of me

Rendered helpless
Searching for sincere apology
When in reality it was me

 

with unsteady tender

anyone who has been in this position
will tell you:
              when you start reading philosophy
books, well...
   there's not much a psychologist
or a psychiatrist can really help you with...
after all: psychology is pop philosophy,
it's an off-shoot of philosophy,
       and that's not some pompous
affirmation of the subject matter,
            it just is, what it is,
                 blatantly it's rather problematic,
if the h'american education system
introduces philosophy in high school...
you should really discover philosophy
aged 21, at least 21...
        hell, alcohol and *** can come before,
as they naturally will...
but i have a sharp aversion with regards
to teaching teenagers any philosophy...
again: what an over-used term:
   "philosophy" - esp. in the climate
of self-help gurus...
                  philosophy is not a subject
that fixes ****... it complicates life...
   and when life is already complicated:
the only aid is to at least
fortify your mind...
                     rarely a life uncomplicated
with an uncomplicated mind...
but such life exists...
  nonetheless...
                  these days philosophy lies
in the shallow grave of psychology...
                 psychology just seems to be
a pursuit, a cascade of schematism,
    oh yes... schematism...
           schematism is the new scholasticism,
on note, that medieval system becomes
more and more appealing...
   without jumping to any conclusions...
hard to pick up random facts,
unshakeable facts for a befitting narrative...
i mean, the usual suspects are there:
the big bang, darwinism, world war II...
but there is no "real" narrative
      for so many of us...
                        unless from mouth to mouth...
but from a mouth you've never heard
speak?
          a distant voice that has no power
to resonate?
                 in my hands i hold two books...
history of germany 1918 - 2000...
           modern history is so dry...
                      people in this book are so
unimportant upon a retrospective reading,
even ****** is akin to a dwarf...
    since the "concern" is germany...
             history books, a great genre,
when dealing with individuals,
    esp. medieval individuals...
       for what is history?
                         an incremental seduction
by minor events toward a memorable
crux, a single: outstanding culmination
zenith / sigma...
                           the summa summarum
of here and now.
   will it be considered "****" to have
a fetish for the german tongue,
after all, west saxon, english,
   is the offspring of altmanndeutsche
(would i have a fetish for russian?
   i don't think so, i'm too entwined in english)
alles in allem auf hier und jetzt...
    again: heidegger's dasein seems to be
forward looking: rather than inward looking...

so, in my other hand?
     jim bradbury's biography of...
    philip augustus: king of france 1180 - 1223...
a mighty book... but more a mighty person
invoked...

what is to justify man's desire for happiness,
for the content life?
                        the more i ever felt the relief
of a contentment with life:
         the more it passed me by,
                     i was more or less asleep than
awake.

         eh! the current canvas of history via
the mainstream application bores me,
jumping between the two genesēs of
the big bang (yeah, in a vacuum, good luck
playing a violin up there,
with someone reciprocrating what
eventually looks like a mime) and darwinism...
it's congesting: custard for a brain -
      vanillesoße zum ein(e) gehirn -
out of the blue, a question -
    is it the same in german as in english,
regarding the indefinite article?
        i.e. a tree
                        an amber stone
         ein gehrin
                 or eine gehrin,
         the grapheme question...
  are two vowels allowed to mingle again?
   i.e.               æmblem
                       well... doesn't that become
a directive? an indirect article composed
of itself and a noun becomes definitive,
a definite article? as far as i'm aware...
there are no consonant graphemes...
sure... you can have SZ (SH) reduced to
a caron S (hiding the Z like a hebrew
might hide a vowel) i.e. Š...
                                       just a thought...

funny that... after my first psychotic
trip (mild drug, marijuana, so hardly
a point breaker) - i once studied chemistry,
i was semi-good at mathematics...
but then... my language skills / interests
exploded...
                     it became and has remained
a fixation...

  mind you, if you're still in high school
and are taking up majors,
and are thinking about furthering your
language skills?
               flat chance of you achieving
your satisfaction taking pure english lessons...
i took history...
     and history? well, you're still taking
an english major, but a major in a science,
at least all the history books have
a gratifying narrative...
              but in terms of history per se?
etymology...
                 how words arrived,
and how words morphed...
         guilty! i like to confine myself
to the sort of history i find to be bound
to a comprehesive retreat...
           big **** darwinism and all its
regressive ontological tactic of explanation
is one thing, the big bang is another thing
also...
               but at least i can return
to the history span that begins,
   and ends... with phonetic encoding...
the birth of thought,
when you could begin to shut up
without an empty bath's worth of the head,
but all the plastic ducks and foam
in your head, and itchy finger tips...
greedy buggers who could only be
satisfied with an alphabet,
and puzzles of words, and later sentences...

just give me a bottle of whiskey,
a decent album (akin to wooden shjips V)
and i'll sing like the kind of sparrow
you only hear at night...

and all this current ******* of "m'ah opinion",
my opinion this, my opinion that,
that "grand" constructions,
             surely it would be easier for
the phallus to find a ******
     than a tongue to find the dialectical
insertion point of the whole "my" opinion...
well, not really, every time i think of the act,
i always found the insert point
to be below my original intent,
what with women having
   to seemingly parallel coccyx bones
either side of their pelvis...
            the frontal deceptive coccyx
bone just above the v'ah-g-g...
            eh... amateur... even with prostitutes...
but this whole: it's my opinion!
it's my opinion! well, you'd be hopeful
to entertain a dialectic also,
apparently that's not the case:
give, "my" opinion insinuates:
     it cannot be debated, it cannot be changed,
no other person can entertain it,
what a primitive defence mechanism...
even poisonous frogs have
a better defence mechanism...
            again: i don't really own anything
in this world,
   i'm only guarding it, but i don't own it:
the everyday story of every single
antique...

  again, back into a "critique" of history
as a literary genre,
               i own a few first editions,
     the biography of philip augustus is one
of them: 1998 edition, first,
which is beside the point...
            i'm sure that life in medieval europe
was harsh...
but at least you had peacock characters,
rather than this, moden, bland c.c.t.v.
reality t.v. personalities...
              oh of course modern life
has all the perks... standing in line...
               but there's no way of replacing
an adventurous ambition with
complacency and comfort...
plus, they had such great names!
        peaches geldof (rest in peace)...
peaches?!
               compared to bertran de bron?
joscius?           conrad of montferrat?
  saladin & the ayyubid empire?
       hell, the smaller the tribe,
  the better the name...
             the angevins, the capetians,
the merovingians!
         now?        eh: zee fwench.
boo'ring...
   even a bull wouldn't charge at
the colour red even if you wanted him
to.

again: these days you can rely on
people who know the facts...
   and factoid checking is all we ever do
these days, being always "right"...
facts overshadow the story we're about
to tell...
            a bull charges at head:
because he / it sees a honing pointer
of: there's something "missing"...
              daltonism "vs." protanopia...
i once had a high school fwend who
laughed... at this catholic high school...
purple blazers were yellow to him...
who needs l.s.d. then?

       once again... a medieval history book?
as a genre?
                so many stories...
but there is no a priori factual check
impetus...
     the facts are a posteriori...
  what is a priori? the story...
                          and why wouldn't
philip augustus be overlooked?
given the fwench rhe-vou-lú-çion?!
****! T gone missing! T gone missing!
the H is a surd, but it shoved itself
past the cue, elbows high!      
          
  the battle of bouvines (bou-veens,
or: bou-v'ah)
                     depends...
                how selective we "must" become
to make choices from such
an impossible spectrum of events...
after all... muslims readily cite and remember
the crusades, even to this day...
hush hush the sacking of baghdad by
the mongol horde...
for the library was burned and
the skulls were stacked!
hush hush about the first defeat
of the mongols by the mamluk slaves
in egypt... who weren't mohammedians
to an extent of being slaves...

you almost stand there,
bewildered... what about the jihad
into mongolia...
well at least go and help your brothers
out in Xinjiang and Henan!
why isn't the botherhood attempting
to jidad their way:
jihad with the chinese communist party?

hush hush... let's adore the palm trees
lining avenue des Champs-Élysées...
let's sit back... procreate for a while...
eat the good food...
let's sit back and procreate...
the 2010s was a good year for fear and
tarantulla bite-numbing escapades...
let's just sit and procreate...
let's become lazy... chant with the Tehran
zindiqs ****'ites! deaf to h'america
and we've conquered London and...
just sit back... because... we've earned it...
we have satisfied ourselves with
the blood of the ***** (kuffar)...
allah the almighty will bless us in
our respite concerning those Persian
zindiqs! the people of the desert with but
one book have conquered!

true indeed: where a jihad would be
even deemed "justifiable"...
in cha-cha-china... where muslims are
being persecuted... London! London!
we need more in London...
well this whole: muslim brotherhood
and the whole muhammad ali thing...
malcolm x... only worked...
but this is the chinese doing it to their own...
no need to intervene and bring
the good people back into the ummah...
    
  hush hush, hush hush, hush hush...
cherry picking history, are we?
    well...            let's cherry pick together!
look at this garden of time:
plenty of picks, plenty of beginnings!
at this point: a certain amount of history
can become fiction,
and not in a bad way...
it can become the basis for "studying"
archetypes...
             funny how time treats those
who experience it...
    it mutates them...
                   and to no purpose
of appealing to the general public,
  so much can and has happened in my life:
and yet...
         nothing is worth the curator's knowledge
of commentary,
  the status of laureate:
   i'd sooner be found, bound to the pleasure
of shooting dead ducks floating in
the water with a slig-shot...
       than, whatever, the aspiration for
the post, deserves;
  g.c.s.e. allowed poetics can deal with that...

again:
   why is poetry so overtly scrutinißed?
no one makes so many notes regarding prose...
but then poetry is being analyßed?
out come the scalpels, the weights,
the whole forensic scrutiny!
        10 words are expanded into
a 10,000 word essay...
      gay science my ***...
                   it's the most over-scrutinißed
form of language,
no wonder people are intimidated
by it... who would want to write in a medium
that has so much scrutiny hovering
above it: and no, it's not a ******* halo
or a laurel wreath!

           there's only so much meaning
that can be derived from a sentence,
before the pun, dries out,
  before the metaphor, dries out,
before all these bogus over-stressed
ars poetica identifiers via "technique" become
exhausted, and what you're left with,
is the ancient art of narrative...
  
  yeah, sure sure, i too wish my narrative
"skills" were better...
             i'm streuengehirn...
              if i really wanted to write
a ******* mathematical rubric of:
1 x 1 = 1
1 x 2 = 2
1 x 3 = 3...            i'd be currently writing
a YA vampire romance trilogy...
do i look like someone who's going to write
a YA vampire romance trilogy?!

           eh... back when you could respect
a homosexual akin to william burroughs...
back to a tomorrow's worth of respecting
a homosexual akin to douglas murray...
   or that gay sitcom starring
           ian mckellen & derek jacobi...

                       two old **** talking:
        eloquence and ettiquete...
                     now, that was fun...
i too wish some perv shoved his ****
through my ***, picked up my hands...
and transformed by idle tongue
to present a, stage performance worthy
of an encore...
                             alas...
   given the current climate...
          i'm stuck with the sort of gays
the old gays would probably be ashamed of...
so much for the adventure and
          the... courage... of feeding a pleasure
of "something" going in, rather than coming out...

irritable bowel syndrome from time to time,
i honestly enjoy taking a **** too much,
so much so that i find the male
****** to be overrated.

post- scriptum musing:

favourite past-time?
catching a mosquito by the *****
while wearing boxing gloves.  
  
don't know how drunk doesn't
translate into shy...
or how the former translates
into an antidote for the latter
(&
   also
     bound to italics) somehow...

a fool's idle wondering
equating itself with
all the world
   and the men invested in it:
ambitions, adventures,

            so... who's going to follow
suite in gratifying this "grand"
errand?
             surrounded by unshakeable
cliffs of "knowledge" of facts...
what story is to be told,
without a fear of plagiarißm?
since there is a fear:
it implies... the story is not worth
passing on,
not unless the newly-born arrive
and are born from a foreign
body, not alligned
   to the organic allignement
of continuity...
  pass what may pass...
               once again: arriving
at the jargon babylon deposit of
the fuel for a will to live,
                             as shared universally.