Confrontational,
dude’s really quite sensational,
but there’s very little matter
found inside his dome.
Confrontational—
it’s the opposite of beautiful.
Then again, he never worries
about whether he’s attractive.
Confrontational—
really not that calculable;
however, he always seems to
tip his very ****** hand.
Confrontational—
not quite the same as sensible,
but he is usually the one that
tends to buck the norm.
Confrontational,
doesn’t think that he is beatable;
nevertheless, he who hands him his
lunch has other things in store.
Confrontational—
it’s the converse of lovable,
yet some tend to insist that this
is his fancy way of flirting.

Change

Verse 1
It starts right deep inside of me, a true grasp on identity
The present moment is the place to be, regardless of who's watching me
It’s plain to see, comprehensively, no real gain comes easily
Whether to the left or right of me, time in motion, truly free
To persevere is the truest reward, ride this train be truly on board
This right here to truly afford, come together, one accord
A single mind retrain able, good grades are attainable
Accomplish the impossible, you can be unstoppable
A single step to take, of directions moving on
Keep it moving in forward motion, articulate my song
With an aim of harmony, we can but soldier on
We must create a place, with a feeling to belong

Let’s begin and start a new change
For in time we truly can change, subtle change, ample change, some folks just ain’t trying to change
Aim real high towards the change
Constant force, there’s always change
Release control with all the change
For yes in time we can truly change
Smaller change, greater change
So much here to rearrange
New concepts are hardly strange
Stand united welcome change
Restoration welcome change
Conservation bring the change
Re-establish forward change
For yes in time we will truly change

There are challenges that are facing me, complex to simplicity
Teams move forward socially, share discussions vocally
To stand as one, it’s just begun
Separation can’t become
A team with victory truly won
A united cause, brought as one
Determination is the real deal, certified replacing the seal
Energy the people can feel
A new beginning, fresh appeal
A brand new chapter practical
Solutions that are workable
Greatness is achievable
Concepts are conceivable
A new journey to take, whether short or whether long
Keep on moving forward, embracing a new song
With amicability, we all will progress on
Let’s create a place, with a feeling to belong

Let’s begin and start a new change
For in time we truly can change, subtle change, ample change, some folks just ain’t trying to change
Aim real high towards the change
Constant force, there’s always change
Release control with all the change
For yes in time we can truly change
Smaller change, greater change
So much here to rearrange
New concepts are hardly strange
Stand united welcome change
Restoration welcome change
Conservation bring the change
Re-establish forward change
For yes in time we will truly change

Chorus
There is ever present change, many thoughts to rearrange
Together we can change the world, let’s rewrite the page
There are many forms of strong, yet we all must soldier on
Together as one, together as one
For each and every fight, is a chance to so unite
Every lesson in the wrong, it can be rendered right
There is opportunity, be the change you want to see
Let’s set ourselves free, let’s set ourselves free
In time, beyond the impossible
Breaking through every obstacle
By faith from the intangible
Objects, they are exchangeable
Yet lives are irreplaceable
Real change is attainable

Verse 2
To offer forth a helping hand, notions yet to understand
To be welcomed in a foreign land, disharmony is sinking sand
It’s clear to see, comprehensively, operate more tactfully
With wisdom understandably, let the innocent be truly free
A greater love that can’t be defined, to comprehend the passage of time
Appreciation truly is mine, reverence beyond the sky
Of nature undeniable, progress transformational
Advancing the responsible, of wonderment sensational
A single step to take, cultivated going strong
Keep it moving in forward motion, can we all just get along
With advancing harmony, on a road that may be long
Let’s now create a place, with a feeling to belong

Let’s begin and start a new change
For in time we truly can change, subtle change, ample change, some folks just ain’t trying to change
Aim real high towards the change
Constant force, there’s always change
Release control with all the change
For yes in time we can truly change
Smaller change, greater change
So much here to rearrange
New concepts are hardly strange
Stand united welcome change
Restoration welcome change
Conservation bring the change
Re-establish forward change
For yes in time we will truly change

Advancing with a point of view, discernment of what’s really true
Comprehension of what’s true for you, of new horizons to ensue
With a faculty of proficiency, movements of efficiency
With complex capability, time in motion, skillfully
Experience that can be applied, universal always onside
Letting go of innermost pride
Truthfulness, no need to hide
Application practical, let your goals be reachable
In him all things possible, passionately powerful
With awareness to awake, with weakness rendered strong
Keep moving in forward motion, articulate my song
With all tranquillity, uncover what is wrong
We can now create a place, with a feeling to belong

Let’s begin and start a new change
For in time we truly can change, subtle change, ample change, some folks just ain’t trying to change
Aim real high towards the change
Constant force, there’s always change
Release control with all the change
For yes in time we can truly change
Smaller change, greater change
So much here to rearrange
New concepts are hardly strange
Stand united welcome change
Restoration welcome change
Conservation bring the change
Re-establish forward change
For yes in time we will truly change

Chorus
There is ever present change, many thoughts to rearrange
Together we can change the world, let’s rewrite the page
There are many forms of strong, yet we all must soldier on
Together as one, together as one
For each and every fight, is a chance to so unite
Every lesson in the wrong, it can be rendered right
There is opportunity, be the change you want to see
Let’s set ourselves free, let’s set ourselves free
In time, beyond the impossible
Breaking through every obstacle
By faith from the intangible
Objects, they are exchangeable
Yet lives are irreplaceable
Real change is attainable

Verse 3
Let actions be effectual, real change be perpetual
Creative with the intellectual, let guidance be instructional
Be rational, co-operational, shared ideas are practical
Measuring the mathematical, alignment formational
Aiming high reach for the sky
Given standards you can defy
With courage here the aim is to try
Moving forward, mystify
Far from the undesirable, feelings unreliable
Testing the improbable, reality is changeable
A bolder step to take, of directions moving strong
You can always go beyond the place that you came from
With realised clarity, we gain sense of the wrong
Let’s now create a place, where we can all belong

Let’s begin and start a new change
For in time we truly can change, subtle change, ample change, some folks just ain’t trying to change
Aim real high towards the change
Constant force, there’s always change
Release control with all the change
For yes in time we can truly change
Smaller change, greater change
So much here to rearrange
New concepts are hardly strange
Stand united welcome change
Restoration welcome change
Conservation bring the change
Re-establish forward change
For yes in time we will truly change

Change may be uncomfortable, let fear be inexcusable
Steer from the reprehensible, payback is repayable
To so forgive, inexhaustible
Of oneness that is plausible, the broken rectifiable
Connected, relational
Associate and we can relate, don’t waste time, a pitiless state
Memories that we cannot retake, in position, get in place
Abundance that is plentiful, examples observational
Joyfulness obtainable, experience the seasonal
Of actions yet to take, we’re keeping the game strong
Keep moving in forward motion, wherever you came from
With avid harmony, we all will soldier on
We can now create a place, with a feeling to belong

Let’s begin and start a new change
For in time we truly can change, subtle change, ample change, some folks just ain’t trying to change
Aim real high towards the change
Constant force, there’s always change
Release control with all the change
For yes in time we can truly change
Smaller change, greater change
So much here to rearrange
New concepts are hardly strange
Stand united welcome change
Restoration welcome change
Conservation bring the change
Re-establish forward change
For yes in time we will truly change

Bridge

With mind-sets evolved, there is true insight
Let’s create a place, to truly shine our light
There is wisdom to release, to regain our inner peace
Together as one, together as one
Compassion in the land, with a heart to understand
A true united force, let’s lend a helping hand
With due simplicity, re-establish harmony
Let’s set ourselves free, let’s set ourselves free
True change may be uncomfortable
Yet it is unmistakeable
New steps that are approachable
Of thoughts from the conventional
Mindful and relatable
Hopeful and aspirational

Verse 4
To go beyond, no greater time, reclaim your light it’s time to shine
In relaxed mode we will decline, natural gems can be refined
Branch of the vine, be aligned
Masterpieces of design, purposed for potential prime
Stand in line, for such a time
Become a part of the solution, let’s create a revolution
Educate the institution, truly merge into a fusion
Reduce the confrontational, join the inspirational
Movement motivational, achieve the aspirational
The journey will be great, endurance may be long
Keep moving in forward motion, can we all just get along
With solid harmony, a team can become strong
Let's now create a place, with the option to belong
Of problems to be solved, of all the games to win
If the foundation is laid, by then we can begin
A sense of harmony, let's take the vision on
Let’s now create a place, where the people can belong


Let’s begin and start a new change
For in time we truly can change, subtle change, ample change, some folks just ain’t trying to change
Aim real high towards the change
Constant force, there’s always change
Release control with all the change
For yes in time we can truly change
Smaller change, greater change
So much here to rearrange
New concepts are hardly strange
Stand united welcome change
Restoration welcome change
Conservation bring the change
Re-establish forward change
For yes in time we will truly change

Chorus
There is ever present change, many thoughts to rearrange
Together we can change the world, let’s rewrite the page
There are many forms of strong, yet we all must soldier on
Together as one, together as one
For each and every fight, is a chance to so unite
Every lesson in the wrong, it can be rendered right
There is opportunity, be the change you want to see
Let’s set ourselves free, let’s set ourselves free
In time, beyond the impossible
Breaking through every obstacle
By faith from the intangible
Objects, they are exchangeable
Yet lives are irreplaceable
Real change is attainable

Written by Geraldine Taylor ©️

She has dressed Oscar-winning actress Lupita Nyong'o and Uganda's chess Woman Candidate Master Phiona Mutesi for the premiere of 'Queen of Katwe'. She has also designed several Miss Uganda and Miss Tourism contestants among others.

Yet Brenda Niwagaba Maraka, who is undoubtedly among Uganda's top fashion designers, describes herself as "just a simple person who loves work and fashion". She is also quick to recognise people who have inspired her, including renowned fashion designer and artist Stella Atal and Xenson Samson Ssenkaaba

In January 2007, Maraka officially launched 'Brendamaraka' as a fashion label.

"I work to represent Uganda as a tropical country through fashion and also extend Kampala's position as a fashion hub," said Maraka.

For the love of developing and inspiring others through her fashion skills, Maraka grooms two talented and interested students in fashion and design every year.

Come next year January, Maraka is set to showcase at her own fashion show marking ten years in the industry.

It will be the highest point for a woman who from way back, as a young girl, has loved being artistic. It was no surprise that she concentrated on art in school and one of her fondest memories as a student is designing costumes for school plays and beauty pageants.

"That confirmed my goal in life of creating designs through my own fashion label," she says, "I love to create new things."

At 13 years old, after completing primary education, Maraka proceeded to Namasagali College in Kamuli for O-level and these to her were years of fun and building character. She then left to a new environment of only girls at Trinity College Nabbingo for A-level and by the time she left she had forged a career path.

"It was a totally different and harder experience. However, by the time I completed Form six, I knew what I was meant to be a fashion designer courtesy of the school's arrangement on career guidance," says Maraka.

She was offered several opportunities including one on government sponsorship at Makerere University all of which were meant to grow her fashion career but Maraka settled for a fashion design program at the London Academy of Design and dress making where she completed in 2005.

Maraka chose exposure to international fashion trends at the London school at a cost rather than free education in Uganda. She rates it as a priceless decision that has paid off.

In 2014 as part of her internship program, Maraka made a maiden runaway showcase during the Uganda International Fashion Week and since then she has not looked back. She has participated in a number of fashion events both in Uganda and UK.

In comparing London's fashion industry to Uganda, Maraka says London has already established big brands and it is close to impossible for anyone starting out.

"The industry is faster, bigger and people produce too many new collections every year as the market demands," she says.

By contrast, she says, Uganda offers limitless opportunities are limitless or, in her words, "There is room to define who you are".

Maraka was born in Soroti-Teso, Eastern Uganda in 1981. She was raised by a single mother Elizabeth Maraka who worked long at the Soroti Flying School and she says is her great inspiration. She used to make dresses for her and remains her stylist to date. Maraka grew up as an only child because her twin siblings died. It is the reason she is also called Akello, meaning 'follower of twins'.

Liteside

Any three things we don't know about you?

I am an only child of my mother. I really love sports to the extent that I train for kickboxing. I had a dream of representing Uganda for RIO 2016 though it didn't come to pass. When I am confident enough to have my face punched, I will get to the ring.

I love to travel and for this year, I chose to visit every part of Uganda that I had never visited. One of them was Kidepo and it was a breathtaking experience where I realised I had made it. I also visited the pyramids in Cairo.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Doing what you love. If you think you can regret doing it, then it's not worth doing. Even when you fail to achieve at something you loved doing, you gain satisfaction.

What is your greatest fear?

I have a phobia for rodents. I can face anything in life but not them.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

I am not a confrontational person yet sometimes I wish I could be one to give my all. It makes people walk all over me.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?

I just don't like dishonest people. I appreciate honesty.

Which living person do you most admire?

My Mother, Elizabeth Maraka; she taught me to be a strong person, believe in myself and to see good in people. I am privileged to live with her even as an adult.

What is your greatest extravagance?

Everything about improving my fashion and design career.

What is the greatest thing you have ever done?

I still have to do it and I am planning on how to achieve it.

What is your current state of mind?

I am at peace and love my life.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

That whole saying of 'Government should help us' or 'government has not done much' just breaks my heart. How I wish the same people would ask themselves what they have done for government as well. Anyone can start small and grow big.

What does being powerful mean to you?

Being able to make a difference in someone's life or inspire someone. It can also mean being well connected in society.

On what occasion do you lie?

I like to be real.

What do you most dislike about your appearance?

When I was young I was chubby and I didn't like it but I have since found peace in myself.

Which living person do you most despise?

Even when I see the worst in a person, I don't destroy bridges because I might need them tomorrow.

What is the quality you most like in a man?

Having a plan or purpose in life.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?

Having a purpose in life.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?

I like saying 'you know' and 'yeah'.

What or who is the greatest love of your life?

I guess it is my Mum but there are so many other people I love.

When and where were you happiest?

There is no one single moment because there are so many things I do that bring happiness to me. Finishing School in 2006 was a happy moment but also each time I remember when I had my first fashion show during my internship in 2004, I am fulfilled.

Which talent would you most like to have?

I love music and may be one day I hope I will drop an album. I used to play a violin and hope that one day I will do it once more.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I am just in love with myself.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

I am still a work in progress; I haven't yet reached there.

If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?

As me and fix everything I didn't do from as far as a child.

Where would you most like to live?

Uganda but particularly in Karamoja and Kidepo; the landscape and weather are amazing. It can rain so heavily and dry up so fast.

What is your most treasured possession?

I never got to see my grandfather but I was given a crucifix from his things. It has that sentimental value and makes me relate with him. But even when everything is taken away from me, I can start afresh and build-up.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

Suffering from cancer; I visited Mulago Cancer ward and witnessed people suffer in too much pain. Things like broken heart can be amended but not cancer.

What is your favorite occupation?

I always wanted to be a fashion designer.

What do you most value in your friends?

Honesty

Who are your favorite writers?

I am not a fan of any particular person but I love to read inspirational pieces.

Who is your hero of fiction?

I like Superman and how he comes in to rescue at the right time. I wish there were true supermen.

Which historical figure do you most identify with?

I may model myself to Mother Theresa but I can't come even an inch to who she was and what she did.

What is your greatest regret?

I don't regret anything.

How would you like to die?

I want to die of old age on my bed with my grand children all looking and smiling at me.

What is your motto?

Always make sure you are climbing the right hill.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses | http://www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses

loud
so genuine it seems fake
temper
cries easily
animal lover
talkative
passionate
overly sweet
accidentally inconsiderate
cant whisper to save my life
non confrontational until angered
giving
creative
hard working
obnoxiously loud and annoying
liberal
avoids messy situations until i HAVE to face them
flamboyantish
scared
loves being feared / having power
hates directly hurting people
anxious
too freaked to apologize
very touchy
hyper

She is trapped in her head filled with dreams and nightmares.
Sometimes she falls into a deep despair.
A life of happiness is what she craves;
Before she’s dug beneath her grave.
What was once a reality is now in the pass;
Yet it still suffocates her like a thick toxic gas.
She screams out in silence for her Utopia.
Hoping to escape all her phobias
Her dreams held so much potential.
But her nightmares were more confrontational
If only she knew what she was capable of
Maybe she would be able to fly up above
Up above all her nightmares
And conqueror all her fears
But instead she’s drowning
Drowning in tears.

so... it's no longer enough that
i learn your language,
into a p.s. of conversational
etiquette -
addressing the confrontational
assertion of the existence
of orthography,
minding your, Germanic,
metaphysical *******...
and then...
   i'm, supposed, to,
listen to your average citizen,
dictating rules,
like some sort of king?!
i'll drink a beer, walking
past the east ham central mosque...
and i'll be like:
getting the **** eyes ******
you stare -
in reply: you know what?
do it... **** it... do it...
make me a ******* martyr...
     but i'm going to drink this beer,
feeding a solidarity of the 7/7 commuters...
hence my teasing...
       once i'll burn scissors and
craft a tattoo on my arm...
once i'll put out a cigarette
on my left hand's knuckle...
   the everyday englishman who "thinks"
he's king...
      i'm thinking... plum hues
to replace mascara... with a *******
fist...
             no... private property,
is private property...
   now i'm gagging for a fist
frisking! i'm less trigger happy,
and more, european,
i.e. knuckles itchy!
    i want to juggernaut something
down...
  and then start biting into it!
any obnoxious englighman,
being a **** will satiated my
palette.
         GNASH GNASH GNASH...
i want... a chance...
to scoop clean...
   the "riddle" of meaty chicken
schnacks of drum-sticks...
  fiddle fiddle, fiddle me something...
i want to engage in a 1, 2,
punch & bite something...
attempting to relieve itself
from physical confrontation,
having exhausted its verbal allowance.

Greetings Sissa,

Sunday morning early we walked along the wild black sand beach at the bottom of our road at Taranaki. For once the sea was quiescent, tranquil even. A gentle surge but the air was freezing. A heavy white frost cloaked our pasture at home and the grazing cows were snorting eruptions of hot breath from their nostrils. Over our shoulder old Egmont loomed, whiter than white with a heavy mantle of fresh snow, the foothills just behind home had a good coating too.

Quite often janet & I will bolt out of the sack, just before dawn, have a quick cuppa & drive up to Pukeiti for a walk through the gardens & the bush. We get the beautiful dawn chorus of the birdlife and it is SPECTACULAR!

We planted out some flowering “Companionata” cherry trees..great for the visiting tui’s in spring. They get highly territorial…my tree!..and have ding **** battles, chasing each other at high speed through the bush. Amazing aerobatics. We’ve got dozens of these trees scattered around the place now…in ten years the spring blossom show will be amazing.

Had a bit of bad luck with the vehicle lately, blew the core out of the radiator & cooked the motor, fixed that, drove 24ks down the road and the motor computer died. These things are like hen’s teeth to replace. I found there is a national waiting list of 11 owners sitting on dead landcruisers waiting for 2nd hand computers for the 93 auto model!!! And the 2nd hand computers here are selling for $3000!!
I even wrote to Greg in the States to see if he could pick one up for me…. Then I happened upon this little Asian bloke, just around the corner, who said”Oh I can fix that for you”!....cost me $196….I nearly kissed him!
Anyway mobile again and the old crate is running ,once again, like ****** clock!....but expensive when she stuffs up.

We are both working like automatons….you and your old man would know ALL about that!
We work 12 hours /day, 6 days/week then we jump in the car and launch off to Taranaki, 5 hours distant, to work our arses off, down there all Saturday, then, the next day, Sunday, pack up and barrel off 5 hours up the road back to Auckland… just in time to ****** a few hours sleep before the coming weeks work!....*******!

Sometimes I wonder what the hell it is all about.

Quite enjoying the new job, I’m the “Plant Coordinator” for the Waterview Project.
I keep track of all the plant scattered over miles and miles of construction site, tabulate plant movements, keep the hire companies honest and keep our operators operating! Involves constant driving from site to site, constant computer entries in my trusty laptop and a hellava lot of vigilance because every ******* is trying to beat the ****** system. Much more interesting than the Storman’s job, much more vibrant, much more confrontational!

Just the thing for an adolescent 67 year old.

That’s it from me…. Hope you are happy and keeping it all together. Hope the kids are doing well… mine are all pretty busy and happy with their lot…. Got a lovely call from Boaz at some unearthly hour on Sunday morning… Looks like he will be back in godzone during August.
Obama’s government is giving foreign workers a hard time in the States….too many Yanks out of work in their own country…so he is awaiting his Visa renewal and is doubtful that it will eventuate. Incredibly, his boss just told him that he would like to keep Boaz there, (In the States) for another five years of the projects life!!
Pretty ****** good for a country boy from National Park!

Gotta go, luvya Siss, love to Royboy & a big smootch for the girls.

M

I ramble on about how I feel regardless of the mass appeal I would rather focus on what is real whether or not it is my own perception. Frisky feminine features portraying what we all hold dearest but it has started to become clearer that it is more of what we fear. An insecurity of ones own self is what has caused a society to melt into an unforgiving judgement of a given level that one can not repel. Why reconcile with another's belief if it only admits defeat and an alter in our minds own dream of what it seems to be. Shake the excess for you will become reckless in thoughts and decision making that once were precious. Instigators pretend to be sweet prefacing confrontational proclamations of who they deem weak.

close proximity word-compounds are sometimes the hardest to invert onto themselves, to craft a chiral pivot, notably due to the suffix-blindspot of the non-differentiated prefix antonym, even more so, when guarded by close proximity of words such as hubris / hiatus - esp. when was begins one's logical approach, inducing a misnomer tangle - due to the overtly laden verbum similis; and these little schematic squares of extremely confrontational, but also the more so extremely cohabitable ref. points, will always be harder to master, than say: a rigid rhyme schematic of a sonnet.

all this current talk of protecting free speech,
cf. with the writing i'll cite -
well, so much for a freedom that can
invite both the sophist and babbling of
slanging slurs -
      all in all, in defence of the "freedom" of
speech, is just as well, a: freedom for
idle talk - and if not idle talk, then simply
politicised intrigue, that once gained
the ears of salon ladies at liberty to an alt.
to ****** arousal.

and how did this come about?
   oh... well, what people talk about now,
is what people thought about in the 1920s
and the 1930s...
                  
as heidegger points out, regarding a herr
oswald spengler - der untergang das abendlandes
(1918 - 1922 vol. 1 & vol. 2 respectively):
the famous suggestion of a *decline of the west:
paragraph opening -
          why is herr spengler in noting
a decline? not because of the heroic optimists
being correct with regards to this apparent
decline - modernity as the unfathomable
stretch toward a status quo eternity -
and with darwinism, the theory of relativity,
the big bang, quantum physics -
there's about as much worth of a question-worthiness
these days, as there is a needle's worth
in a haystack of airy tumbleweed answer-unworthiness...
these former optimists of the decline
   have turned into ardent pessimists of
there even being a decline -
      
the oeuvre of psychology did the most damage
in the end -
   still mingling with an archaic sophistry of
astrology, tarot and the voting ballot -
       no shred of a doubt that we live in a one
way street of: answers & denials only, please,
questions & doubts, ooh noo noo noo!
         we do not live worthy of a question -
since by question we mean: ridicule being
the only appropriate answer deserved by
asking a question.
              
    it came with the change of hiatus between
   the two factions -
   once the optimists took to hubris -
                   the pessimists take to hiatus -
if we called them heroic optimists -
we now call them optimists in hubris -
  once we called them lunatic pessimists
and ultra-religious leash bearers -
     now we call them: young people who
forgot to take chances, risks, and thrills...
  cushion padded wet charcoals that
have as much potential to burn as -
                               a dolphin getting dry.

and aphorism 105 (VI) does just that,
   100 years ago by my circa approach -
'the west will not go down, primarily because
it is too weak for that, not because
it is still strong.'
  which is why i ask: is free speech anything
to defend these days, when free thought
echoes so many years later,
  and what is now considered "free" speech
is merely idle superstition regarding
a "revival", the last supposed push?

there's absolutely no honour in kicking
a maned dog,
                    and in that act: of kicking
a maned dog, or giving a bowlful of bones
for a toothless dog to nibble on
is just as well... might as well spoon out
the marrow and give the old hag of the west
a pâté to slurp...
        yes, orthographically speaking:
very pedantic of the french to bend the macron
into a circumflex -
sure, ain't pretty, but i can assure you:
i'll be technical;

what the west can be thankful of is that it's
the first culture in decline,
   and once a culture is in decline,
among so many others, the others follow suite -
like a spread of cancer,
or any other plague -
     it probably begins by the european
decadence in not respecting antibiotics -
  infesting themselves with superbugs -
or thereby managing to craft some sort of
immunity to them...
  and they say that ****** if baah baah baad...
big pharma never kills, does it?!

i'm still confused on a close proximity akin
to thesaurus logic of synonyms -
i.e. decline of the west = heroic optimists of the decline
        (it must surely happen!)
or is: decline of the west = pessimists on hiatus?
                  i.e. it will never happen!

ah! that's what it was: i was thinking of hiatus
but wrote hubris instead... d'uh dum dum...

  i.e. the roles have changed -
now the pessimists are engaged in hubris -
                      while the optimists are on a hiatus:
the whole - i told you so...
             the whole i told you so since the 1920s
is irrelevant these days,
   given the great america never again ended
at the beginning of the 21st century...
                    the monologue from the grand ***
degraded from the grand satan is hot puff and
cinnamon smoke...
          
       once more: what is relevant about what's
being said these days? as much as was a passing
observation in the 1920s?
          i hardly think so...
   the so-called freedom that only gravitates
to idle-chit-chat and poseur antics of bravado?

given that not much is questioned,
   and whatever is questioned has lost its allure
to be fresh, to be alarming,
   all the questions asked are plagiarisms,
a dead-end, in imagery: a library with only
one book in it (i mean, a library brimful with
books, but all these books are the same book);
which makes these times so
answer-unworthy - is that they come so
easily, and are usually borrowed from
the same anglophonic sets of ideas,
regurgitated chick food from the peckers of
their parental guardians.
            
         well, if you live in times when people
have that idiotic audacity to ask a question
like: what's the meaning of life,
  why are we here, how did we form, etc.:
   all these inessential "essence" questions -
          and about as many historicals gaps
of memory lapse as a drinking session with
oliver reed in between...
               the only question goes something
like this:
   and ? found myself walking around the house,
walking by a mirror, ? peered in,
   and without a narcissus to mind
to slowly build a curiosity that would turn
into self-love, ? exclaimed: !,
   after which ? steadied by pace of questioning
adding the much needed: ?!
                      
what's as good a questioning dynamic / schematic as
you're going to get, these days.

I would say the feelings that you make me feel are complex and confusing,
But really they are so basic.
I miss you.
I want you.
I’m empty.
The simplicity of it is overwhelming.

It sickens me how much thought I let myself put into things.
I pictured us perched on fire escapes,
Potted plants surrounding the place we'd made into ‘home’.
You'd fill it with art because that's what's in your soul,
We'd fill it with books.
Selections of herbal teas would adorn the shelves of this borrowed place
And one day there were be a more permanent dwelling,
One we could really call our own.
Hidden away from the world as we both wish to be.
Watching every sunrise with my head against your shoulder,
Coffee in hand(caffeine has always been our common downfall)  
You would go running, and I'd wait for your return,
My hands stroking my keyboard in a familiar rhythm both of us had grown used to.

And we'd share with each other a new creation each night.
You’d read me poetry before bed,
And our laughter would bellow into the still night.
We'd flow together in that endless sort of way,
Bodies gliding against each other with the ease and comfort of home.
Because there was really no way I'd ever tire of you.  
  
I used to confidently tell people how I was the happiest person in the world.
Now I repeat that line and it's emptiness leaves a slow ache in my guts.
I'm waiting for you.
If anyone asks me, I deny my feelings
Because your rejection (however non-confrontational it was) stings badly on a person who doesn't usually feel.

I look at pictures of you and it's obvious to me the reasons why I love you.
It's that dimple,
Your smile,
The way your loud and musical laughter echoes in my head when I see something that reminds me of you.
They're so real even though it's been far too long since I've seen you.


And as the drinks pass through my lips
I hear my drunk self stammering your name.
I’m making a fool of myself, tears candidly falling from my eyes.
(such a fool you’ve made me)
My friends watch me in horror, terrified of this sick thing I've become.
And it makes me feel more than terrible to know that I'm worrying them.
They’re all so afraid for me, and the way I can’t seem to let go of the last few memories.
Everyone has become so worried for me.
And I’ve become so disenchanted from it all.

It's vicious what you gave me and how you turned around and took more than that away.
I've never felt quite this empty
The others before you took nothing of me when they left.
And you—you took it all;
Everything I once viewed as important.

Everyone talks about getting lost in someone
And I did That with her.
But with you I wasnt even a little bit lost.
I remember every detail of each day we spent together
(probably because I never felt like there was quite enough)

It seems now that the only thing I'm lost in is life and how to exclude you from it.
It's been an aching bunch of weeks since we’ve last spoken
But still today the first thing I thought of was telling you about my funny dream.
I still find myself with the urge to send you a message.
I picture us with all our guy friends, sitting down to sushi again.
(Cucumber avocado rolls were always both our favourite)
Even though one of them has moved across the country
And I’ve allowed myself to become so detached from everyone else.

Sometimes I catch myself wondering how it’s possible that you don’t think of me.
And how all those drunken nights,
Sushi dates,
Cuddle sessions and hikes with our dogs can just disappear into the recesses of your mind.
(Then again it's always easier to be the one who ran off with another than it is to be the one you ran away from.)

You like snails and I like sloths.
And I think it’s funny because the last thing we ever did was waste our time slowly.
I feel like we lived all of our months in the fast lane,
And I bit down on all the ridiculous words I wanted to tell you,
But love is something I’ve learned you should never keep tucked under your tongue.
And my voice is so lost now into this hollow thing that is my life,
That there is no way I could let out all things I was supposed to say.

Today at my job I filed away all of September’s paperwork into a box no one is ever going to see.
It's an aching reminder that time is passing even though it's not passing with you.
And the first frost will soon be upon us,
And you will curl up beside her.
But I have the pleasure of sleeping in a memory each and every night.
I remember the way your body fit mine.
And not once on any night we spent together did you let me go.

Is this
and that’s
all there is
before the thought becomes fleeting
like the next
and the day after,
the clichéd story your mind perhaps
upon
this future mystery of a happening
you've already started remembering

Is this
all we have to look for
forward to
wondering if this brain cell’s
thought creative nerd
to put forth on the edge
on the confrontational
abyss of a blank page
is enough
thorough
fair and still
contradictory enough
to ride the grind
of someone else’s nerve

We wonder
Is this all there is
because we could have
sworn there was more
         than this
to offer and accept and worship and appreciate and cherish and love and adorn
with tiny boxes of truth
on every branch
of something or someone
but we watch and wonder
Is this what I was ever trying to say
It just wound round into
this something of something
spilt on the page
A little dialogue of soul tribes
trying to call a little bit of themselves home.

I want to physically ****** my life
I want to take my life out with a ******
I want to tear it apart with my teeth,
gnaw at it with forgiveness blood
on my cheekbones
I want to hold it between my fangs
and sniff at it with my liver
I want to grapple it perfect,
and inhale the bitter bite
of its wild corpsey stench
And then, I want to nurse it’s beauty
and unwholelyness.

There is more. There has to be more.

More than when you
haven’t finished your question
and the answer is
I haven’t even finished my beer yet
you wonder
what was the question
that you heard
You want to hike through golden gate park and do some shrooms?
Have you ever climbed monkey bars at midnight?
Why are giraffes so tall?

And it all shovel pours into the question
Is there some flux capacitor continuum
where time is enough
where time for me isn't separate
where time for me is always
enough?

Abigail Turnman walked along the same sidewalk she did every morning before she had to work. She had the same breakfast from the same dive as she did the morning before.

As she was sweetening her coffee she looked up and into two very dazzling blue eyes, belonging to a young man seated at the table across from hers. She looked down quickly, sweetening her coffee, while she blushed.
She usually didn't get flustered like this and she hated that she was just because some dumb boy was looking at her. She looked back up and he smiled at her, revealing a mouth of uneven, yet not horribly uneven, stained, yet not horribly stained teeth. She blushed again, this time she smiled back.

"Are you Abigail Turner?" The young man asked in a voice that sounded as if it didn't get much sleep the night before. While he was asking this Abigail noticed his hair, a dark shade of brown, lighter and shorter on the sides, as if it had months before belonged to a military man.
"No," Abigail responded humorously, "My name is Abigail Turnman." She blushed again, at the stupidness of her joke. God, how she hated that this young man was making her blush this way. As if in response to her stupid joke or in embarrassment in having gotten her name wrong the young boy laughed and blushed, but not as much as she had.
He had only a coffee on his table and so she asked him if he would like to join her for breakfast. The young man smiled again before standing up. As he did, his hair fell into his eyes, which he quickly brushed out of the way before nodding and sitting down, across from her, coffee in hand.
"How did you almost know my name?"
Again, the young man laughed.
"Mark, uhh Callahan. He said he cleans up at your office and that I should speak with you."
Oh, Mark. There's a sweetheart if she ever knew one.

And in that instant she knew she could grow to love how this young man made her blush. Instead of hating it she would prize and cherish and she would include characters modeled after him in all her novels.
She didn't even know his name.

"So, you're a friend of Mark's huh?"
She asked this in a more confrontational way then she meant to and the young man seemed to recoil before he saw her blushing again, knowing that she had not intended to ask it in such a way.
"Yes, Mark is a friend of mine. Since high school actually. Uhh, my name is Henry, but uhh," he laughed softly, "my friends call me Hank."
"Well Mark is a sweetheart. So, if I'm not mistaken, you must be native here? At least since high school."
"Yes, I was actually born here, but uhh, if I'm not mistaken, you're from uhh New York, right? The city?"
As much as a sweetheart Mark was, he sure was talkative as hell.
Before she had a chance to say anything, Hank began talking again.
"So, uhh," he laughed softly, nervously almost, "I uhh, I hope this isn't too upfront, but I was hoping, uhh wondering actually, if you were doing anything tonight. My band and I are playing at the Stonehouse, it's a uhh, a charity show for Jonathan, our drummer, uhh his mom. She's fighting cancer, uhh, her condition has been improving but she still needs money for bills and stuff. I mean, you don't even have to pay, you know, I could ahh, I could sneak you in the back or whatever, I mean, uhh, it woudn't technically be.."
She cut him off,
"Yeah, sure I'll go. What time is it?"
He smiled even wider than he had the whole conversation,
"It starts at 8, uhh, it's at the Stonehouse, uhh, ****, I already said that. Oh ****- oh, sorry, pardon my language."
She pulled a pen out of her purse and began writing the address to her apartment on a napkin. Hank continued talking, mumbling, uhh-ing, but he trailed off as she handed the napkin to him.
"Pick me up at 7," she said, "We can go get some dinner before the show, you probably half to be there early right?" He nodded, "Okay, make it 6:30. This is the only diner I know, I've only been here since the start of summer, maybe you could show me some nice place to eat?"
He nodded, smiling and blushing and pushing the hair out of his eyes and scratching his arm and shifting in his seat anxiously.
"Now, it was lovely meeting you Hank, but if I don't leave now, I will be late walking to work, I'll see you at 6:30"
"Yeah, I'll uhh, I'll see you at 6:30"
She stood up and so did he. She was halfway across the diner before Hank kicked himself for being so stupid.
"Hey, do you need a ride to work? I mean, it's uhh, it's no trouble."
"Thank you, Hank, but I'll walk. I'll see you at 6:30, okay?"
She smiled a dazzling smile of white teeth, framed by golden hair, cut short, almost short enough to be considered a pixy cut.
She was out the door as Hank mumbled something stupid.

There's a jukebox,
in my mind or yours,
and it plays my song --
or, maybe, it's for you.
And it says what I
never could say, which is
that I am very sorry.

I thought of how I was --
or how we were --
which was not as good
as we had hoped for.
You protected yourself
from remorse and I was
fearfully unapologetic.

You were, and, probably,
still are a cold *****, and I've
been a ******* for years.
Your nose was so crooked,
it could run for office, and
my head was -- and still is --
really big, which is fitting,
considering my ego, and
ironic, since I'm borderline
mentally-*******-*******.

There's an eroding jukebox
and its so confrontational,
due to feeling inferior,
unrecognized, and without
a responsible purpose.

The music from the machine
flows like rushing thoughts,
and the thoughts say:

I sit and write,
I don't mind you
when I don't know you.

Some people are roots,
meant to help with stability,
but you are a branch,
meant to offer a new view,
but also meant to fall off,
maybe, killing whomever
catches you next.

Is this
and that’s
all there is
before the thought becomes fleeting
like the next
and the day after,
the clichéd story your mind perhaps
upon
this future mystery of a happening
you've already started remembering

Is this
all we have to look for
forward to
wondering if this brain cell’s
thought creative nerd
to put forth on the edge
on the confrontational
abyss of a blank page
is enough
thorough
fair and still
contradictory enough
to ride the grind
of someone else’s nerve

We wonder
Is this all there is
because we could have
sworn there was more
         than this
to offer and accept and worship and appreciate and cherish and love and adorn
with tiny boxes of truth
on every branch
of something or someone
but we watch and wonder
Is this what I was ever trying to say
It just wound round into
this something of something
spilt on the page
A little dialogue of soul tribes
trying to call a little bit of themselves home.

I want to physically ****** my life
I want to take my life out with a ******
I want to tear it apart with my teeth,
gnaw at it with forgiveness blood on my cheekbones
I want to hold it between my fangs and sniff at it with my liver
I want to grapple it perfect,
and inhale the bitter bite of its wild corpsey stench
And then, I want to nurse it’s beauty
and unwholelyness.

There is more. There has to be more.

More than when you haven’t finished your question
and the answer is
I haven’t even finished my beer yet
you wonder
what was the question
that you heard
You want to hike through golden gate park and do some shrooms?
Have you ever climbed monkey bars at midnight?
Why are giraffes so tall?
Why is my internet connection so slow when is seems I need it most?

And it all shovel pours into the question
Is there some flux capacitor continuum
where time is enough
where time for me isn't separate
where time for me is always
enough?

i still feel that people are under-engrossed
in the simple statement they took to mean
rubric, and i took as me own, i.e.:
    just... because... i sorta feel like it...
          i really decided that
hollywood was a bit *******
and shallow, a bit dandy,
i mean: just a bit sad...
if you but a pistol against my
temple, i probably might feel something....
but hey! there comes a saving
repirsal...
i call them the alt-left
i.e. those who said: thanks for displacing
our great barrier reef
   bound by eastern europe....
a billion chinese....
    you chong that cha cha and later
spreak qua chi?
       i evidently didn't want to be an exile,
i didn't want to be a patron saint
of exile... rotting in england...
  that fertile ground of what's to come
in america...
   all you get is my laughter:
when homosexuality just spelled
out: a right of opinion,
when homosexual forgot being artists
and instead started to gear i.v.f. children,
when all the waste came back
without an Eddy Gein to talk
giving the leather-face abstract...
   very few of us could scale
such heights, yet the majority of us
became castrated by supposing we had to
do as the anti-analogue suggested:
oh sorry, too many words?
better me than the taxman checking
your bank-account...
how low can you go, seriously:
  the i.v.f. / test-tube argument was spawned
by children living in mono-*** households....
i'm just watching the clock when they
start to fall off into the proclamation of rights:
America is funny, and i am prone to
laugh...
      it's the argument you'll hear from
the science abuse of: those who can't reproduce,
and therefore raise no children...
not with a mannequin scientist telling
them: yes, you, can!
well, apparently they can...
      two protons make a neutron akin
to an electron dynamic...
     i can't help but see the fault with
the brain being the source of thinking...
i can't help thinking about it...
i could care to make the brain
the source of thought, and the delusions:
soul, god... had i found out that the brain
is as degenerate as a heart...
what, can you convince me with Alheimer's?
   it's really there, was it ever only there?
i find claim to find the origin of thought
as solely brain-orientated...
and there you go off with your neuroscience
*******...
          at least yoga teaches that
a person exists: meaning the whole body
is involved... not some itemisation part-counter-part...
i can't believe fat thinks,
and how the brain degenerates
by the verse of acne via protein equivalent
attacking it, when brain does what people
suggested: does the brain power,
compares the function of the brain to gym...
i.e. you can ever do
crosswords, and other "enigmas"
      and easily escape the moral question....
yes, i've been to prostitutes...
but it's what i did with them that matters,
not that you suddenly think to be superior levitating
above me having gone through
3 marriages... feel superior now?
probably not...
               i am really thinking
about piercing your gob and tugging it
into the pig-trough... so i can see you say
the words manure with oats....
        boring, as ever...
snowflakes that never reach the construct of
a snowman...
                  where the donkey, and the carrot?
it's certainly not a carrot-donkey story
where one's imaginary and the other
is motivated...
        i could have claimed homosexuals once,
even championed them...
about the same time
that art became boring, and they
   decided to do the standard heterosexual
thing of starting families...
    i got bored when one really became
the man, and the other really became a woman...
and there were kinds involved...
and there was no **** coercing the androgyny -
about the time when androgyny died...
when it became less and less confusing
and more cohort...
  that's when i did the one best thing
i could ever do with res vanus -
i turned cogito = mars...
   and yes, the concept of thought incorporated
into a deity from the ancient yore of
a polytheism emerged as: no gods really do...
because once you take to ennabling
a single god from the pantheon to thought
rather than being... you **** all the gods...
and each of the pantheon as alike in
thinking... huh?
     we introduced no more than omni-
to the gods of the greeks...
we did the averse-Prometheus...
upon stealing fire from Olympus,
we dragged thought into Olympus...
  prior to this: the concept of a thinking god
made no sense to be human...
    it's only with a thinking god
  or what's to be called, the basis of omni-
        that we became, slightly dislodged...
        a thinking god is the basis for a god
circumstanced out of the omni- prefix...
that's... that'sthe power of thought...
     thus with a god capable of thought
i can be but an empty thinkg (res vanus) -
and whathever violence comes my way...
with whatever violence i'd like to translate
as arm, stone, throw... i'll keep contained
as merely violent thought...
   nearing the telepathic adamancy...
but that means: a god... not a republic
of gods... which means a thinking god...
   which means that i can't think if
there's an omni- suggestion of being...
  meaning there's no evil genius or akin
given the cartesian res cogitans -
     and how the brain as an ***** is prone
to be degenerate akin to kidney...
    meaning that cogito ergo sum
isn't the right fact, just that res cogitans is...
i am empty, a thing of emptiness,
a res vanus, and i am impregnated by thought,
or by a pseudo-dasein... a being there:
that translates as rioting...
                     and all because
of the concept of a thinking god, and the prefix omni-.
man gave way to the prompt of
the gods not becoming non-existent,
but toward a prompt of merely thinking...
  and now man questions why he is how he is,
and why he behaves as he behaves,
and why there's even a case to question
being as an antidote to non-being, yet nonetheless
seeing the thus: of abhorred content and
a much greater take on what's to be abhorred.
    the omni- prefix concept only came
about when we decided that gods ought to think
after having acted like a pillaging Mongolian
horde akin to Zeus morphing into swans
to ******* **** a few demigods along the way...
the fact that there is a "god" with the given
omni- prefix standards...
  wait a minute... i lost the plot!
  over-stating the points included in this
statement over-and-over again won't work...
           i already said what i wanted to say...
trying to clarify the points as simply as
1 + 1 = 2 will not really help...
       i can't achieve a clarity of 1 + 1 = 2
no more than Kant could in his critique of pure reason...
it's language... you're writing a book...
   if it was staged to a mathematical simplicity
as 5 + 7 = 12... then i'd simply write the zenith
as a + p + p + l + e = apple...
hiding behind a mathematical zenith
while writing out the Hades using directly
confrontational optics to sound symbols
              rather than optics to thought symbols
will not help...
          the next tier of language is exploration
beyond 1 - 9, i.e. Δ -
       that's really the Pythagorean genesis...
they are bound to say delta...
       and beyond a - z...
   well: nothing you can exactly internalise...
fist, foot... stone... stuff of protests,
and farming a field of potatoes... donning
Lenin's goatee, while pretending to
play the violin, akin to fiddling with it
as a Rasputin might.

Who on earth would stack books like sticks?

Who would sit turning white-paper-pages
With blackened fingertips?

You should know that awaiting fire is nothing of a joke
Have you not heard of witches
on fiery trial, spitting curses
That just tightened the rope

And did you know
That the pages
Of every history book ever written
Once went up
In ancient whispers of smoke?

Every manuscript
Chronicling man’s unscripted
Fighting progression
It was
reduced to ash?

So we wrote it all again…
The Romans, messy, careless
And surely barbarians
We’ll adopt them as our
Ancient parents
Invaders of course,
Progressions must not
Be stifled by sentiment or remorse
The druids and their hoods
They left them among the leaves
In the woods
Before that
Well
No one can prove us wrong
We’ll say that humans
Hunted similar races
That were
Uglier but strong
Defeat, even eating them
Of course
That which stands before you
In physical form
Surely it cannot be wrong
Our history,
As far as we know
Is a tale of endless glory,
Since they tell of victory
In every song

So we’d made a start
The scholars are desperate
To start memorising the dates
Of all the events
That we are still
Required to create
Keep the candles burning
This could go on rather late

The bridges of London
We’ll say were built by English men
And when some malevolent
Invaders burnt them down
We built them up again
We’re resolute by nature
Bordered on two sides
Our land it does not shrink
We have intimidation in our eyes

Well we have all these haunted castles
Shakespeare used them in his plays
Let’s say we were conquered
By Normans
Hand-fought battles went on for days

We should be modest and believable
So let’s say they conquered us, so what?
If our past shapes our future let’s show
The things we are and what we’re not

We’re are a thing that empires covet
Some have tried many times
Our ships with crews that never sleep
Their cannonball
trajectory does not fall
They fly in a straight line

A book that chronicled a fire great
Reducing our capital to a raven’s nest
Sadly it was lost, Pepys wrote so well,
So we’ve told Dickens to try his best

We recreate from memories of books
The pictures help as well
Medieval times were all heads on sticks
It resembled what we’ll call hell

Heaven, that’s where the noble live
Those that were so gallant and brave
falling in their tons on the battlefield
Winged skeletons rising from their remains

The bible, as you know, survived the fire
It continues to teach us and guide
Reminds us of the elasticity of time
And encourages a most conscientious mind

We made adjustments, here and there,
Lazarus rising for example, readers in mind
We couldn’t let that tragic scene end
Without him delivering his warning on time

We think of the greater good you see
For the good of you, and the good of me

The plague, bubonic, spreading like fire
Is a fiction covering something dark and twisted
I can’t begin to describe how as the death toll rose
Our king fled for Belgium as the demons persisted

The history of London is actually unknown!
Well you would moan, but what did you think?
The Thames is a man-made canal they froze themselves
when ice skate sales were on the brink

And bodies that fall in, still alive or dead
They scoop them up, make wigs and cut textiles
The ones still breathing are given the job of
Gathering the bones of the executed neatly arranging them in piles

Jack the Ripper, Member of Parliament I should say
Was in charge of cleaning up east London crime
His method was questionable, objections from
Speakers in parliament, but murders in a year went from 38 to 9

Henry, yes he was large, rotund, had his fun with women,
But each of his wives was ensnared by courtiers in cloaks
They were promised recompense, rewards that never materialised
When they killed him, each time, they picked a lookalike from the village folk

And I’m no historian, but why assume
That soldiers marched all the way from Rome
To what was of little value,
Cold, wet, a far cry from home

No evidence of course,
They just put themselves about
And there’s a good chance,
The Vikings came, you could see bridges,
Burning in their eyes, they arm-wrestled
Journeying on longboats of considerable size

King Charles II had an imagination alright,
Kept the wine flowing alright,
Enquiring minds and lips
Were busied gulping it all down
And kissing women who span madly around
Their cheeks
The colour of rose hips...

Who are these men that hold books under their arm
In such a way as a woman clutches a purse?

They arrive in endless streams conversing in their
Small groups, absent mindedly
Opening and closing books that are in
Different languages,

My turn to take five, look after this place,
I’ll be just out back, chewing my wife’s sandwiches.

I eavesdrop a little, a vice of mine,
Hear them talking about their jobs
On the factory line
Men and machines, men as machines
Or machines made by men, machines
That dream in factory nights,
Locked away and out of sight,
Quietest place you’ll find

But they’re restless,
I’ve seen the machines sigh
I’ve seen the steam that shoots out
As the whistle blows calling time,
They are restless machines and

—The whistle blows and
The machines are wandering home after
Getting blind drunk,
Dreaming…

In a few hours they will be woken
By a jangling set of keys that
Starts them up an hour or two early
So that they are fully operational
When the hungover workers arrive
Beating their chests and
Stretching their lever-pulling arms,
The machines grind their gears in protest,
Become confrontational,
Grinding the axe for a while now,
They’re all worked up, high pressure,
And yet no one takes notice
The steam flowing as promised
The men are ready in wait
A little release of steam
Machine’s are functioning well today


Factories like these run themselves
With their routine set in stone,
you can whine and moan and they will,
Mostly to their wives on the phone
During their allotted break,
You can come back early, but never late,

Echoing a cuckoo-clock world
Of perpetual motion, the machines
Dream of a life outside, they have heard
So much about irons and their boards,
And baths with plugs on a chain,
Manhole covers, oven doors and drains,

The machines do what they were made to do,
Workers too, this job chose them
For their durability, stocky build, the confusion and
absence of revolution in their eyes,
Life’s lustre hides in Friday’s pies,
Yawning men find it in the coffee
*** as it boils on Monday morning,
On Tuesday it will taste like soil again,

And on rare occasions, you’ll see it
When the sun comes through the
Highest window, and eventually,
On the right day, the right time,
it reflects and refracts,
The whole factory is scattered
With light artefacts, as if glass was
Raining down from the sky,
They take five, in celebration of
Their planet’s undiminished charms,
And though a bit longer to enjoy them
Wouldn’t do any harm
They are ordered to resume order
Belts and levers and rivets and arms
Must pull, a few more hours of life
Set to whistles and alarms

Creak! *There’s another dodgy floorboard!
How quaint, we’ve gone back in time,
I can’t reach the books...
*Shall we walk past the pond
On our way to the tailors?
A fine suit, perhaps we’ll
Also need a coat and a pair of shoes

Maybe
If I buy new sheets
I'll have an easier time forgetting you
And your shifting eyes
All morning sun and maroon.

I had better get a new color too

Just not blue...
That was the one before you
With the thin hair and half lies
And winter city lights.

And before that I like to remember nothing besides the yellow daisies on a peachy sunrise of my youth,
But the silky stitches will forever hold
Their petals;  
White centered with a splintering,
Tainted innocence;
A pasty white puddle of
Bodies too young-
Caught in the riptide of our
Childhood storms
And a desire for adulthood
Or something seemingly more....
Stable.

Details will only cause us to once again derail
so I must insist you don't question this.

I've been going out of my way so long
Trying to wrap up my Saran facade.
Now every interaction
Feels wrong
And rubs me raw.
My plastic skin is wearing thin
And I might melt against the heat
Of the confrontational defeat
That I suppose ...

We all just get used to.

I keep tripping over perceptions
Strewn across a convex looking-glass
Of stereotypes and slurs that shaped my past;
And I suppose
Made a lasting impression
Rooted deep enough
to now be the
Instigator of my regression
And unrelated, runaway thoughts

That seem to always get deeper

On accident.


Everything will become a hazy memory
And glob into two word phrases
Of the forced politeness
That accompanies the acknowledgement
Of a past regret-
Still freshly gawky
As a transitional stranger;


I am inquiring
In an attempt to find an explanation  for this untold something
That remains unseen
Until we're too disheveled
To distinguish it from a
A misplaced dream or idea.


Relativity counteracts the sheen
And perspective is everything,
But I feel myself slipping away
Into a despondent complacency.

I left all my linens in places
I no longer cared to be.

Yeah,
Maybe new sheets are what I need.

C.e.M 12.23.14

we see life through eyes shoved deep in a clothes dresser
-dressed in one style, one choice, one black or white sweater
we are the oppressed or the oppressor
we either question or we answer
we either are racist or we are racist-
it doesn't matter within which color you exist
at one point or another you are the blunt of every man's expense
the traitor or the one with the knife in your back-
turn around and your friends are nowhere fast-
build up a blind eye and you missed the opportunity to chose a side
and now your an inactivist- a pacifist
someone who's breath is saved is not valid, this
life style leaves us bent between broken lips
and bad lies heard from different separatists
bent on making a society divided on who's right and who's wrong, what's the matter with this!
battle each other with harsh words and confrontational jargon fits!
spit on each other, barely walk away and shake our fists!
is there not enough wisdom for us to understand
that we are merely just imperfect man-
must we argue over who is the most persecuted, most bruised!
we-
who live in a country with the most benefits for you to choose!
we-
the ones who live in an electrical utopia and a house too!
we-
the ones who barely have to question anything, we just receive and we roost-

selfish enough to carry broken glass mirrors on our masks
and stare forever into our forever broken collapse-

Answered, thus labeled because views a similarity. Who had this in the hand of the eye’s compact? If presence shifts to absence and believe it is safe in transit, what contract aspires to be an object used against it?

Here must be another present, moving thing for this nonattendance to take place. Its duty need not be nominal. And when it takes place, there is a guarantee for a statement: almost, to a certain extent. Had, adhered, temporary.

This was taken as an insistence of its exclusion as an avowal of its state: when a thing ceases to move, it has named a boundary all within a venue with already christened boundaries. To rise from its nomenclature, a question: what for is this mode? The unassuming and deliberate twofold of its chrome is indicative of something. There are only two possible answers to the question, but never warrants indemnity.

If amorphous then suitable to bend or assume over and over, a confrontational: to hold it against walls everywhere, its color only when dual fixing not a shadow, but the possibility of a shadow. To spill light over the malleable – notice how a body contorts.

If distinct then determined to traverse a straight line, a sanction: to furlough the idea of its controlled variable which is its many possibilities, its shape now not only a name but a force that deals with a believable architecture of compressed options. There is no need for appellation when related to dislimn as a shade is necessary for this disappearance to simulate. But the treachery is that when light surrounds no longer, form somehow a myth as if pausing all lightness to declare something: this is of two explanations merely a single.

they say that 2000 years without Israel
will necessarily bleach your skin,
that ancient fable of the Mediterranean
olives, turning into haram pigmentation
that god forbade to eat:
     ask them: why so pale, so like us?
why are you so pale, brother?
                  too few of us have seen ghosts,
unless they be ghosts of our former selves.
everyday, people disappear with their
selfless acts - everyday: puff! gone.
i never write to entertain or distract,
i'm a non-oratory sort of guy,
i imagine myself like a larynx punching
bag that people speak into -
a persona non grata, but otherwise a
persona esse: that necessarily is.
grata... grata... grata... gratis means
free - i really don't have that vindictive
american woman, stay away from me
sort of attitude: one peg, two peg, three;
but i do like that ancient seemingly
under-used word - frajer -
whereas said in anglo: frayer -
or *******.       the whole bejesus
and           yacht debate asking for saintly
interludes in the general grime of ****
said, **** done - and of that inherent vice
in us? the part where the ants took to
the tarantula and impregnated themselves
with the venom: and turned on each other -
as any civilised thing ever could be.
          what's the difference between
blues and punk?
     an extra chord?      see me blink?
           white boy blues: punk -
three chords -            and so the Mongolian
horde hoarding skulls in Baghdad -
and that's me, sitting ever so lightly,
pretty orange like a peach: apathetic tongue
in the ivory bull terrier grip of a handshake -
a girl might have once said: with
the pulverising stare, he could sit on the pavement
and across the street a fox took to
goosebump nibbles, while a girl walked
past the fox and the fox didn't stir from the spot.
wet snare *****: that's what they called him -
but on top of all that: everyday, the world
crashes in: newspapers? i call them avalanches.
they have non-filter: condoms with a slit in
them - and every time she's gagging
for legislation into birth control,
the Chinese dicta has been revised,
     and she's thinking of honey honey feed
me homely snug and cuddle: scented lavender
candles on your way out, including
the autographs.
   i once claimed that the television is akin
to the Platonian anecdote of the cave -
       now i'm starting to realise it's the outdated
variation of a campfire:
               vatra: and soon our hushed
capacity to tell familiar stories -
once it was talk of whole bodies: now
dismemberment and disembodiment -
                         soon enough a *** or a Juan
in Spanish - soon too łen or when -
łej           or way - those are not: chiral twins.
from what i can remember i found it hard
forgetting my northern Swahili -
         ****** hard, i couldn't have that post-colonial
tattoo done on me -
            but it still haunts me,
how one man took apart the Pharisee Israel apart
and where people had coppery visage: dimmed
gold of the skin, and one has to compensate that
taking apart with his own ethnicity in a biographic
similitude - been there, done that,
off the Unesco map for a century or two,
a Napoleonic haven sort of bollocking,
       **** 'ed over 'ere: old MacDoogle e ah e ah oh,
ha ha. Catholic shortening Mc
         Protestant on a wild surf of St. Thomas' Gospel
and all things trans...
as it should be known: transphysics -
god is dead, poetry is dead, metaphysics, is dead:
nou vogue: TRANS! ***** slap that ****
across the knees: say gnostic (surd g), then say
diagnostic... seem: or properly understood.
******* wankers and cowboys and other
ulterior gunslingers; but the prima ballerina aesthetic
found when excavating the ęglish?
                never talk ***** in public:
really, really vocalise that Cockney bulldozer
vs. culture when vocalising more tongue and less
**** when ******* - appearances are everything
after all - talk pretty, talk lily -
talk rose: and when it comes to the knitty gritty:
slosh!        i mean diarrhoea slosh -
            i mean: not unbuttoning a shirt but
ripping it open: fanciful that: equating courtesy
and otherwise doing the Frankenstein to a limp
**** with words of encouragement...
        (oh the sarcasm i enjoy hiding in symbols)
but i never understand why we talk pretty
and play ***** - why not talk ***** and play pretty?
       this revised "aversion" / ~aversion toward
fascism is really taking hold of people:
        the only difference is that there are so many
charismatic sprechen pseudo Deutsche -
                   i'm starting to feel left out;
still though, concerning the first point:
they really are pale -
                 2000 years without Israel:
it will definitely take them 500 years to get that
Mediterranean hue back of palms olives and dates -
        understandably the siding with
balaclava Palestine:        'cos you're white and
you said ku klux sneezing - or from what i heard
of recent history, my fellow colonial thingy-ma-jigs
     are internalising inherent violence of
the past and shoveling it all at the young -
   many o' man's woes as nothing more than
an evasive self: kindred of the lunatic.
me too: i too wish to have been able to stage
a confrontational and subsequently condescending
conversation with my great-great-great-grandfather,
       but i ain't got the **** or the V, and
                                  not much about the Welsh-middle
of the longbowmen and Churchill's cigars;
funny thing... smoking cigarettes, you get this
taste flashbacks... just now i recounted the taste
of my first love's ****** juices mixing in with my
phlegm cough-up... surely memory is not cognitively
abstract, like tattoos aren't really abstract:
to prove a point i coughed up a memory
of wild strawberries yesterday: well... fair enough:
today it's a memory of eating out (as they crudely say):
Poseidon's pearl.
does **** have to be constantly floral or aquatic?
    oh the cascade into faux pas and cliche: endless!

I'm a *****, because I'm honest.

You keep breaking promise's.

And you just expect me to not forget when you make your next one?

Am I Dumb?

Is it not obvious you would need to prove yourself before your trusted?

I don't think I'm the dumb one...

Again I get to hear how I have no income.

No income doesn't make me irrelevant.

Nor does it make me useless.

And your money can't buy my respect.

You can't pay me to shut up.

I know you will be sorry...

That's something you always are.

Me, I only wish I could ignore your *******...

But instead here we are.

I'm writing, cause I fucken hate that your such a fucken *******.

And I bet you regret not being with someone less confrontational, and more forgivable.

I can't say what my mind's thinking.

I know you don't believe it, but part of it ends with me leaving.

Nobody would think this argument is really about a drink...

But a promise of any size is a promise worth keeping to me.

I'm fucken crazy...

I'm out of my mind!

Cause I want you to mean what you say all the fucken time!

This feeling we created is dangerous.

If I were stronger, I'd deal with it better.

If you were thoughtful you'd understand my side.

I hate a liar.

And it makes me sick to my stomach.

I can't believe your such a fucken ****!

FUCKEN AUTO CORRECT TRYING TO MAKE YOU A DUCK INSTEAD!!!

we resort to cussing  when the only repercussion

is our own fault from what we sin   but we feel within

that life would be too much   for us to change our touch

ask what we have on this earth   to better our worth

when it is our choice   how we use our voice

minimal thoughts make noise    serious ones cause poise

because we never chose to think   of why the ribbon is pink

the red cross resembles the sick   or why us humans were picked

to be the most knowledgeable in the world   we paint our life as a mural

when that thought alone is irrational;  we fail tests that are passable

we get confrontational   simple business operational

"I love you" feels sensational   but the words are migrational

Life was right here and you moved right passed her

and we wonder why in the hell that we have no answers

Still, still, in the silent revelation
of an undiscovered thought,
violent by nature
tempestuous
undertones of gradient succes
mindless tests,
confrontational mess

still the new leaf, lovers in the light of
fright,
the night with milky shades of sight,
sound as still, still, like the silent revelation
of an undiscovered thought

wake to still
calm thy head
the cavities of
unrest,
numbness at best
mess, of mind
tangled thread
much, too much
mild mannered
maneuvers, meek,
passive and complacent
stuck in the basement of
forward moving stagnant
lowly, little steps
descending, ascent pending
for a revolution
jacket too stiff,
no peace from
pollution,
human heart pollution
grey faced institutions,
failure soup,
smooth money,
compelling sandwhich
of gold-toothed grannys
insanity,
death’s locker a
spray painted
noir
and n’er to do better
than sell, sell
the well wishers
a lock of lamentable
whiskers,
unshaven unclean
a force of mean
momentary pleasure
of possession,
empty
and quick in succession
your price,
of niceties
is too high for me
eyes red with subtlety

Confrontational conversations, most rooted from observations, despite of the consolation, consolidation, for the route of my household, without it, the mouse scolds, now watch how my mouth folds, about those, goals I mold to see me bloom any sooner, the song I sung as a crooner brought doom resuming the rumours, boomers, bass this case, now lacing this pace that's placing escaping from our true making, now naming this as a nation, frustration, I had patience, but now I can't wait no longer, I'm somber just by that **** that I did, but do you ponder, wonder, how we rate hate by the circular cycle of fools, what rules did you choose, these clues told me you'd lose, abused, so blow your fuse, I'd like to hyphen this day cause my soul is writing the sight how we're fighting for rights we take, you wait, but there's no plate to serve, without supply, demanding for one to hand it to you, we're just a CRY-SHY.

i’m pretty tired of beautiful things
looking so small in my hands
my worn, tender hands
they want to finally become the home
of things that my severity can’t crush
i am a ruiner in my own right
it’s just that i really only ruin
what is just out of reach

i’m not a confrontational fellow
i let myself get pushed to the ground
and i get up without a word
never demand an apology because
it was my fault that i was ever in the way

i rarely sleep when it’s dark out
when everyone is asleep
there’s no one to treat me harshly
and stare as i lose myself in another round
and another photo
and another song lyric

i’m so pretentious
this poem doesn’t even mean anything

i’m excited for sunday
as excited as i can be after
19 years of learning to be let down
i’m embarrassed to say that i gave up
before there was anything to give

i’d give that little number in the mirror
the entire world
if she’d just tell me
she loves me too.

I'm a *****, because I'm honest.

You keep breaking promise's.

And you just expect me to not forget when you make your next one?

Am I Dumb?

Is it not obvious you would need to prove yourself before your trusted?

I don't think I'm the dumb one...

Again I get to hear how I have no income.

No income doesn't make me irrelevant.

Nor does it make me useless.

And your money can't buy my respect.

You can't pay me to shut up.

I know you will be sorry...

That's something you always are.

Me, I only wish I could ignore your *******...

But instead here we are.

I'm writing, cause I fucken hate that your such a fucken *******.

And I bet you regret not being with someone less confrontational, and more forgivable.

I can't say what my mind's thinking.

I know you don't believe it, but part of it ends with me leaving.

Nobody would think this argument is really about a drink...

But a promise of any size is a promise worth keeping to me.

I'm fucken crazy...

I'm out of my mind!

Cause I want you to mean what you say all the fucken time!

This feeling we created is dangerous.

If I were stronger, I'd deal with it better.

If you were thoughtful you'd understand my side.

I hate a liar.

And it makes me sick to my stomach.

I can't believe your such a fucken ****!

FUCKEN AUTO CORRECT TRYING TO MAKE YOU A DUCK INSTEAD!!!

the greeks worried about the word (λoγoς) -
come what may, but they did add
to their alphabet excess psyche distinctions...
ψικη? or πσικη?
              what i'm talking about is how
φoνoς emerged...
              the etymological origin of
tinnitus? tiny ear?
     i seem to have forgotten why i even bother
to use the dictionary these days:
well... mostly for etymological requirements...
on the spectrum of using language (god)
i put as much effort in the etymological
spectrum of events, as a physicist might
put into the pin-point of the big bang,
or a physician might put into a sore thumb
or a decaying tooth...
    what helped me to move away from the greek
conceptualisation of the λoγoς?
   their polytheism... they had too many words
and could not fathom a singleton
  of their polytheism, that could be equated
to will... or what became adapted by
darwinism's survival mechanisms / dynamos.
but i didn't arrive at the concept of
    φoνoς from λoγoς directly, by some "safe" route,
or a shortcut...    only via γνoσις (gnosis)...
     i read the arts, and i know they're not that
popular, and will seem rather quirky, or just
plain out-right weird...
            but they're there...
but so the "trinity"
                father λoγoς,
                                 son γνoσις
                                              the other, φoνoς.
it would help to mention that see the english language
as naked, given the diacritical attires of other
nations and the remnants of the latin optic of
encoded sound...
                i am also bound to say:
akin to sigma (Σ, σ, ς)... couldn't epsilon
   nibble at eta (H) and join ranks with it, on the aesthetic
premise that you'd end encoding words, such
      as plate (cermic) according to the aesthetic rule:
  Ε, ε, η?
                         only when greeks made too many
sharpened flint-spears of their alphabet do i see the picture
clearly: with the english having adopted no
                   φoνoς principles?
     well, i'm not into charlatan gnosis as such...
   i just "conjure" (speak) the word diagnosis and i know
that a gamma is said... i don't wish for the vogue
   of current times, e.g. (g)nome.
   what i am interested more (it probably won't shock
you and you will join me in the awe):
    the moon doesn't appear in the night sky every
single night like the sun might by day...
   i'm interested in the substance on the moon
  that acts like a mirror...
     sometimes the red moon, sometimes the canary
freckled biscuit...
         and at it's height platinum-white...
                             (tool really do a better version
of led zeppelin's no quarter... just saying)
but there must be a mirror like substance contained
in the geological construct of the moon that
acts like a mirror for the sun, you really can see
the dawn and dusk on the moon's surface...
look long enough straight into the sun and you
see ultra-violet vibrations... akin to the skeleton
of the moon at its zenith during the night;
but surely there is something very particular
in the geological spectrum that allows the moon's
surface to refraction... i hope i used the correct
word on this occassion..
  but as with the modulation of the greek original
(given the diacritical excesses imposed on it
   and the lack of it in english), i could extract
   a meaningful counter: the tetragrammaton...
or what's in english intended as aH           and Ha:
the gemini phonos of sighs and laughter...
   by basically invoking the sigma rule to eh?
    Σ, σ, ς /  Ε, ε, η                       : meaning the lower-case
eta is a shorter version of epsilon...
and like the aesthetic of the trinity of "satan" that's
sigma, it could mean shortening the greek alphabet
by 1... so from 24 letters (as if coincidental to hours
in a day), to 23 letters...
                      and i'm not even greek to propose
a justification for this revision.
                      but this also means why i couldn't
find the phonos equivalent to Y...
                         or why J is confrontational in the other
instance of latin...
                          Υγ                      or oog
so poot not pout or pulling rather than pool;
              i suppose there is not Y in greek as there is
in latin is the **** of ι (iota, as thus stated, with a . hovering
over it like a halo or a decapitated head;
the hideous "dance" of shiva and kali:
well "dance"... *******! fucky-fucky sucky-sucky)
           as such iota dominates what the greeks stress
in their primordial phonos... F (in latin terms)...
just F...             i once heard of the three Fs in greek:
  which wasn't true... someone thought
  it would be neat to add ψ (psi)
   to the coordinates of that might represent
   something akin to the origin of the man who'd see
this mistake θ, φ, ψ;
       psi is the odd one out: hence theology, philosophy...
and that annoying "darling" that's psychology;
as a logic that attempts to fathom the soul as a totality
of imaginable freedom, it seems very totalitarian in
its approach... it's practically a zoology to be honest...
cages... ego here, superego there, id over here...
                i really think that psychology has nothing
worthwhile to add at this moment in time...
                 not when on the other side of the argument
there is no soul, but presicely the counter-argument
         in all the ridiculousness of implanting a soul into
a ***** (white tadpole) and calling it a frog...
       i haven't seen a ribbit ever come from a tadpole...
like i never heard a thought enter a *****...
     it turns out to be bizarre, but then women dictate
the rule of thumb on the argument...
                               which is why the intellectual
development of people who argue that a ***** has a
soul (early foetal stages) begs the question:
        can that thing utter a sentence let alone take to
thinking? no... it's only a potential,
                           at best prescribed the symbol Λ
(in electricity denoted by V)...
                                        oh so many what ifs that come
with that... it's almost like ****** someone
to provide child alimony...
    and it sounds like that precisely...
prostitutes at least cream themselves up before having
*******...
      rapists from south africa?
                        they prefer to spike you with ******
and saddle on top of you with a dry *****...
                                god, the ****** disparity...
    one know and lubricate before *******, the supposed
"smart" girls who teach in boarding schools
                       have no idea what it's like ******* a dry ****;
i'd rather fist my **** any day of the week.

I cover my ears

To the sound of your voice
Cold as ice, cruel as stone
Your music gone astray

I close my eyes

To your actions
Defiant and brutal
Dismissive and confrontational to those who are supposed to have your respect

I seal my lips

To your words
Dripping with venom
Towards those who go against you


And my sin was staying silent for too long
And now it has caught up to me

But I'm done staying silent

I'm not confrontational.
I can't deal with things in my life like I should.

If I die after this poem

If this was my last poem
Would I get nostalgic about home
Would I deny having to say goodbye
As shock leaves me unable to own

The knowledge of the truth, would
I acknowledge my wasted youth
Will I leave the world behind me any better than I came,did I even do

Anything g worth the space I used
Or am I just
At best left as an example to the rest
Of how not to rust

And become unable to be useful
Unable to have purpose
I never expected to be perfect but with the thought of being worthless

I'm left with disgust from lust
And every good thing I've ****** up
The times I was unreasonable, lazy
Petty, confrontational or the trust

I misused, betrayed, mistakes made
And the Opportunity that meant so
Lil that I didnt question its acquittal
So the riddle is why my potential

Was so obviously expendable
Why was I such a disinterested kid
When did I start to ignore wanting
More, when did I accept all I did

And if this was my last poem I think
Id be overwhelmingly disappointed
I think it's time for a reflection, hey
*******?! Do I need an appointment

Have your ppl call my ppl and have them set up a lunch
At a corner table and hopefully I'm able to find a cap that says "dunce"

Cause u done capped the dunce cap
Capacity and with it
You have totally proved that as far as being a fool goes the sky is the limit

Too late now to be timid
Let's open your past and relive it
Gave away a baby for adoption
And often fail sobrietys trail so if it

Isn't your addiction then it's the
Damage preventing healthy livin
even Stevie wonder needs no vision to see your overweight restrictin'

Your future position like a collision
Is what you aspire to
Maybe it's the way they wires you
Why did you have no desire to

Improve or move toward anything
But drugs or
Some-kind of indulging it's revolting
And insulting more

to life's gift, as it sits unused like
It was something that proved
Unworthy of your nurturing so you
Go murdering it with misuse

Negligence that induced abuse
Leaving the bruise clear to see
So you better remember this letter
And what entered to center these

Issues that epiphany issues you
And hits you to make sure u listen to
The prognostic foreshadowing topic
As if a second chance is given to

Be merciful to how un-personable  
And ignorant you are
As if your so useless and stupid it
Would be unfair to not give u par

For 50 strokes, handicap to the joke
And your probably on dope
Or too stupid and slow too see just how insulting that really is although

I hope you don't miss all the implications left here and switch
From the fat balloon shaped ape brain baboon like Bafoon to it's

Evolved form.. Whatever that is
Brain of **** to something with
More IQ to help by leaving you to
match a Popsicles Witt

And lastly I'll give a view to conclude saying if this is the last before u died
than the most poetic thing about this
Poem would be the irony it provides

I **** at apologies. I mean, I'm the absolute worst person to get in an argument with because I won't ever win and if I do I'll apologize. You could stab me and I'd apologize to you. I always sound passive-aggressive, I don't mean to, I swear. Speaking of swears, I cuss. A LOT. Sorry. So when I apologize, it's not because I'm wrong, it's because you've hurt me too much for me to argue anymore. I'm taught that I have to apologize for everything, I have to be sorry for existing. I don't have a confrontational bone in my body.