Indian pipes rise ghostly
from ancient compost
of needled tears shed
white bells corpse-silent
shunning Light’s vital touch
sleeping instead in symbiotic beds
of gracious hosts, who in turn
kiss the feet of living Giants
lushly burning gilded rays
to fuel their green economy

Diving into bath salts, raving flue that is as sicking as math, at least that is what I conclude from my findings presented to the court. Objection, objection, sir I don't see the connection, maybe your rhyme scheme needs perfection. Maybe it does, but ***** it, I'm blessed by God; baby please sit down and take a chill pill and just enjoy this buzz. Busting off, so back off, bout to prove my case like I’m Ace Attorney, oh and I know it’s off topic but if I lived in America, I would’ve voted for Bernie. What the **** am I on? Came to save the digital world you can call me a digimon, you bet I’m a champion! Serendipity dear deputy; I’ll be typically wittingly searching for some tranquility. What is the validity of this vicinity as I only accept notability and won’t let this become a liability!

Pathologically paraplegic hypochondriac with insomniac who be popping poems profusely perfect; while whimsically worm's try to be strategic, but sadly choke and lose it. Miles set apart; it certainly is not a strut in some park, but everyone has to start somewhere before they engrave their mark. Don't reside yourself to just being a silhouette, nor be one to toot your clarinet. Two sides to every person like Dr.Jekyll and Mr.Hyde; be careful to not let your pride turn into carbon monoxide. For pride will always lead to your downfall, so please take off your iron curtain and tear down your Berlin wall. Improvident incongruous incredulous confidence; underwhelming astonishment of such fundaments of these heinous and callous acts of deceitfulness. Trickery of thy decadence; why art though jittery when you are full of benevolence? So used to getting what you want I bet; well this situation can not be fixed by dough, so I see why you are in a cold sweat! Fake confidence won't help you here especially when one lies; you made a mistake and will face the consequences and I am not one quick to forgive no matter how much you apologize.  

Don’t have time to consider your sensibility, because my life is going a twitter with too much hyperactivity for me to deal with your stupidity. Befittingly that I’ll be building up the intensity, to infinity and beyond goes this creativity of this anomaly. Not going to prolong this phenomenon, I’ll be going off like a Molotov over this intercom, yeah you better not ever underestimate this underdog. Lackadaisical are these other rappers; they’re so replaceable and incapable to be educational. Incomprehensible is this loop of hip-hop now a days, why can’t we be inspirational or is it to late because we left morals and substance back in the olden days. Can’t afford to be anchored anymore, I’ve poured in too much time to be just be locked behind some door. I refuse to be ignored and be left ashore; I am not worried about going into the storm; because you are bound to come across some things that need some work like chores. Spinning the wheel, reminiscing of how it felt when I no longer concealed who I was and my self-image had been healed.

Used to be reclusive & convinced myself that I was a duffass, but now I’m exclusive to being a smart ***. This is the new era, this is a new fire; it’s time to spice things up so better pull out the sriracha. Leading the revolution like I’m Che Guevara, I’m light as feather whatever the endeavor even if my life story doesn’t end up as pristine as Cinderella’s. Why so infatuated by worldly wants? Why so decorated when you can't hide the fact that you're the same basic *** font? Trying be something else, striving to be someone else, wanting to be anything else. You are who you are, if you think it will make things better you cucu, because in my eyes you are really a star. You have to expand your interpretation and perspective of life, you have to demand without hesitation a piece of that collective pie; because I believe everyone should be equal in this life.

Calculated bullets that go straight through my cranium; manufactured outlets that show great things but have also turned us into brainless aliens. Complicated hookups that grow irritating and become as unstable as uranium; what was once sacred has become as spontaneous as going to a gymnasium. Confiscated trinkets cast away and leaves those affected very irritate; while also simultaneously making apathetic souls that have gone through the same thing be able to understand, help or relate. Cultivated rebellious culprits that don't take the memo of being cooperative, instead they choose to be provocative and opposite of the other conglomerates. I’m so fascinated by this fabricated segregated supposedly liberated and sophisticated community; where-as some so foolishly stupidly amusingly think that everyone has the same equal chance at opportunity. Moderated, regulated and orchestrated where some are situated; if you don’t think that it has something to do with be affiliated to a certain demographic then maybe you never got educated in the affairs of those discriminated. It’s a good thing then that class is in session; so viewer or listener  please use discretion when taking time to witness or hear my position. Deafening out all ill whims; wrestling with these unsettling menacing fears and guilt from all of my sins.

Yeah no need for hallucinogens, all I need is two hydrogens and one oxygen. Rocking in my moccasins; so you can bet I am not one to drop my promises. Native honour who is also a innovative scholar and who was created not to falter. I may not be good with numbers, but I'm good at making sure you never slumber on my words; because I work on them day and night in my 36 chambers. Beware the pretender, they are manufactured by the vendors to keep us from being together. Defend your heart; be wise who you befriend and who you pick for your counterpart. There will be hurt and affection can be perverted, so know your worth and never ever let yourself be distorted. It is not your fault, it is not my fault, so then who is at fault? Is it just life in general? Is it because of the being who lives eternal? Is it all of the above? I don't know, but we shouldn't judge and instead choose to accept and love!

Pardon me Martin, but if this class were a prison I’d be the warden. I make the rules here and I took the tools given to me to get me here. So listen, please listen to my lesson that I have to present to you as class is still in session. Loading yawl with ammunition to be able to transition to be able to complete your goals or missions. No I’m not tripping, I’m driven  by a higher force to break away the old ways of thinking such as division. This is not the prohibition anymore, so please open your minds and join me on this expedition. Going into the unknown, so here’s to hoping you get through this, as time goes on and be able to look back at it we may feel like this was no more than a tiny but important milestone.  Achieve, believe, conceive, receive, intrigue, and succeed because I think you are unique. You are the only you in the whole galaxy, don’t let agony turn into tragedy; ***** anxiety; yeah and never let your dreams just be some fantasy.

Outro: Sit down class ain't over yet, forfeit those frowns or fake faint or try to jet. Lastly remember what transpired today; don't go hastily and forget about it on December break okay? For though class may be over, more days or years to come until its finally over. Though education ends, one never stops learning even on vacations with family or friends.  I hope you can look back with fondness, I hope you can stay on track in the future if you truly take the time to just focus. Is there truly an end or is this just the beginning to a new bend.

Two fine films: The Lost City and Blood Diamond.
I joined Blood Diamond during a village massacre
and said to my wife A gun in every home.
Those devils would think twice
before razing the village and seizing the boys.

A well-regulated militia.
The local militia the most interesting moment
in a strong film with motive (economic, emotional), action (chases,
      fights) and a ****, sexless love story.
Use of violence by the local militia for a limited purpose: protect the
      community, the young
from the janjaweed. The crop from the ****.
Limited scope and defensive posture
but armed and coordinated, cooperative, the men (and the women)
      side by side.
Warriors at the gate, you will not run, you will not bargain.
Just violence = limited scope, defensive posture.

Great music. Cuba, Africa.
The Lost City, when the communists tell the club owner under threat
      of violence
No saxophones in the band. The saxophone!
Invented by a Belgian--Look what the Belgians are doing in the
      Congo!
When the state's violence is turned against the citizenry
for non-violent acts.

This quiet neighborhood, July,
undergirded by violence, force. That's a given--
any farmer, custodian, EMT will tell you that.
Without just violence
Gandhi's scope, and King's, might be vanishingly limited,
negligible (but not non-existent)?
                                                  ­     Regarding King
the matter is simple -- he was non-violent but dependent upon
federal force to counter the South's violence.
No doubt without the larger force, the non-violent would be
      overwhelmed by southern violence.
Here, non-violence was a tactic, not an ethic.
Gandhi, however, had no violent partner to protect him from the
      British. Or did he?
1. There was the potential violence of the population, which Gandhi
    restrained but could release which the British feared, and
2. It was the restrained (limited scope) violence of the British that
    allowed Gandhi to exist rather than be extinguished--this restraint
    was a (British) cultural imperative (limited scope) as well as
    emanating from Britain's view of India as a protectorate and
    valued citizen of the United Kingdom (defensive posture).

What about violence or threat of violence to compel compliance with
      community
as in mortgage foreclosure, driving without license, drug possession.
Perhaps it is necessary violence to maintain orderly commerce, the
      common space, and preempt bad behaviors associated with
      otherwise neutral, private acts.
The defensive posture is the common good; the limited scope is
      forgoing deadly force.
But the citizen, too, must maintain a disciplined, armed non-violence,
in case the state (the janjaweed) engages in an unjust, autoimmune
      violence.
Hence, a gun in every home.

Elli had never thought that the walls were strange.  Really, she didn’t think of them as walls precisely; they simply marked where her world ended.  After all, they had always been there, looming grayishly about one hundred feet from her back door.  Occasionally, strange shapes would appear at the top of the wall, silhouetted by bright lights so that she could never say what they looked like.  The sky was a perfect circle of blue or gray, depending on the weather, and it hung rather flatly overhead.  Elli’s house had pristine white walls with a red tile roof, exactly like the other four houses in her little slice of existence.  There was one other child besides Elli, but he was a baby who barely spoke.  

Not that anyone else said much either.  The adults seemed happy enough she supposed and treated her with kindness, but they all looked at each other knowingly, with resignation.  

Elli couldn’t understand why that was so; they had everything they needed here: food, water, clothing, each other.  The weather was even cooperative for the most part, raining just often enough to keep the trees and flowers alive, and never getting cold enough to warrant anything heavier than a long-sleeved shirt.

She had to admit, though, it did get a little boring occasionally.  But, just as soon as she thought she would cry with boredom, a new toy would appear, or a new type of flower for her to discover.  When she asked her mother where these things came from, she would go tight-lipped, then relax, and say gently that they were gifts from Above.

What ‘Above’ was, precisely, no one could (or would) tell her.  So she made it up.
Elli thought that Above was quite mysterious, but it must be benevolent because it gave her so many gifts.  She would talk to Above sometimes, but it never answered; it only came with more presents when she had tired of the old.  Often, Above’s presents to Elli were in the form new discoveries, and very occasionally in the form of an actual toy.

One day, Above gave Elli a mysterious gift: a sketchbook and three pencils.  She was unsure what to do with them at first, but after some experimentation she discovered that one end of the pencil made a mark, and the other end could make the mark disappear.  That discovery alone delighted her, and for a while, she busied herself simply with the process of marking and erasing.

Next, Elli started to put the marks together in ways that pleased her, and eventually filled the entire sketchbook with abstract drawings.  She thought she would erase them all and start over the next day, but when she woke up that morning, another sketchbook and three new pencils were stacked on top of the old.  She squealed with glee.

Elli took the sketchbook out to her favorite tree that day, and as she sat in its shade, it occurred to her that she might be able to replicate what she saw around her on her paper.  
Elli began to draw.  

She explored everywhere for things to draw, and as she followed the curve of the concrete wall late that afternoon, she saw a strange object on the ground, half hidden by a large bush.

Bending down to take a closer look, she noticed that whatever the object was, it was flush with the ground and seemed to have space below it.  Elli thought that was odd; she had always assumed the ground was utterly solid, and to find that there was a seemingly endless hole underneath was disconcerting.  She set her sketchbook and pencils down and reached out for the object.

It was covered in a reddish dust that came off on her fingers.  She grabbed the grate and pulled a bit.  It rattled invitingly.  Acting on impulse, Elli grabbed the cover with both hands and heaved; it was heavy, but not unmanageable, and she soon had it off and found herself staring down a dark tube.  She knelt down, stuck her head in, and shouted.  The echo of her shout leapt away down the tunnel.

Elli backed away from the hole and sat down, contemplating her discovery.  One thing was certain: her little world was not as little as she had thought.

Eventually, Elli decided that the peculiar hole would have to wait.  She was getting hungry, and the thought of her mother’s cooking enticed her.  So, with some effort, Elli pulled the cover back over the hole and dusted her hands.  It would be waiting for her to explore tomorrow.

The next morning, Elli raced out to the hole and dragged the off the cover.  Again, she shouted and listened to the echo of her voice leave her behind.  

She wondered where the echo went.

Finally, curiosity got the better of her, and dragging her sketchbook and pencils with her, she lowered herself into the darkness.  

As her feet touched the bottom, she noticed that the hole had become tall enough for her to stand in.  Looking up, she realized that she would not be able to go back that way. She shook off that thought, and turned her face to the darkness.

The tunnel was damp, so Elli slid her sketchbook protectively under the front of her shirt.  The further she got from her entry point, the darker it became, until she could no longer see anything.  

For the first time in her life, Ellie knew fear.  

She thought of her friend, Above.

I don’t like this; I really don’t like this, Elli said to Above in the darkness.  Can you hear me, Above?  I’d like a gift to help me get out of here.  Please?

No answer came, but Elli knew that that was what would happen.  Above never spoke to her.  She felt wetness well up in her eyes, felt it trail down her face, and touched it with her fingertips.  Her fear abated a little as she stood in the darkness and nothing extraordinary happened.  Elli sniffed.

Picking up her courage, she continued forward in the darkness, feeling her way along the damp walls of the tunnel.  Suddenly, she heard a loud scraping noise overhead.  She jumped back, stumbled over her feet, and dropped her sketchbook in a puddle.  A sliver of light appeared in the ceiling, widening as the scraping noise continued.  Elli looked up, frozen, fear returning vengefully.  Light filled her section of tunnel.  She looked up, blinking at its brightness.  

A strangely elongated hand appeared, silhouetted against the light, reaching out for her.  Elli gasped.  It’s all right, the hand said, I will help you.  I am here to get you out of the tunnel.  Elli didn’t move.  Another strange hand appeared, and together, they reached for her, grasped her, and hauled her out of the darkness.  

Elli looked at the owner of the hands, into a face entirely unlike any she had seen before; the eyes were much too large, and the irises were an iridescent purple.  It didn’t have a nose, and its mouth was decidedly small.  It looked upon her with what she could only fathom was worry and concern.  There were others, standing, watching.

Who are you? Elli asked.
We are Above, it said.
And Elli knew nothing at all.

She was like the iron pyrite
The teacher asked them to examine, and describe;
Cold, dense and prickly,
Difficult to love.
Given the right light
And a gentle handling,
Oh, how she'd sparkle,
But in that place, expectations and sensory overload
rendered her lumpen, and resistant.
Removed from her books and her inner world - all she needed -
And placed in a maelstrom,
She was bewildered and forlorn.
Un-cooperative, they called her,
And the teachers loved the other gems instead,
Pretty little nuggets; Ruby, Jasper, Jade.

Two years of discouragement and dislike
And even the tentative sparkles had darkened.
The other gems enjoyed each other
And moved away from her magnetic pull,
sensing difference.
No outright meanness, not yet,
But hints were brewing, whispers had started
And she wandered alone, in the playground,
Talking to the seagulls, and singing to herself.
The teachers only wanted conformity
And called her parents to voice concern
about her lack of friends.
Had they asked her, allowed her to have a say
She would have told them it didn't matter
But they were determined that it did, to them, if not to her,
And her parents were added to the burden of people
Worried and disappointed, watching.
She knew now, she was different, she had always known but never minded,
Now it was a problem. She didn't fit,
Like that scratchy purple uniform, around her chubby waist
Food didn't judge, dislike or condemn.

That life ended, and a new struggle, in a new school, began.
This was harder; the meanness was apparent now,
Difference wasn't tolerated
And someone wandering alone was a target.
She found a place to hide, behind a staircase, with a book,
But they found her, removed her and patrolled her only refuge
Forcing her to submit to the torture.
Every day was a war zone,
So she found another way, and embraced ill-health, stealthily
Spraying deodorant directly into her own face
induced asthma attacks; and not all those  ear infections were real,
She was an accomplished actress.

She got through it, millions do.
She found her own place, her own friends in her own time.
Among Onyx, Jet and Tigers Eye
Her darkness didn't mark her out as different,
And all that fake illness
Was great prep for theatre,
Where she was able to return to her inner world,
And no-one cared if you feigned madness
Or embraced the real thing.
Difference was celebrated,
The whispers now, were that she had a great stage presence,
And a talent to be nurtured,
Not a difference to be despised.

right now
sacrifice is fueling opportunity
an opportunity to breathe
with an uninterrupted purpose
the corruption of our native soul
stop nourishing it
by constructing whiteness
sacrificing ethnicity
for the temporal indulgence
adrenaline *****
torturing
intensity of dissociation
hallucinating whiteness
the worst drug ever manufactured
forced upon our children
intricate delicate
vulnerable violence
tripping
stumbling
dissociating from an eternity
of survival of the most cooperative
deterring
forgetting
intoxicating
for a moment
momentum of ******

Genderqueer contesting histories climate apocalypse social activist make a tax-deductible donation today starting at the advocate level inextricably to reexamine his legacy linked black gender-ambiguous social and political struggles behavioral economics Afro-futurist vision of decolonize this text white boy spear-heading queerphobic witch-hunt singular surrealities queer Shabbat dinners dialogue this trope diversity Rawlsian diagnosis basic earth cooperative existential Marxism for our times starting at the advocate level inextricably to reexamine his legacy linked black gender-ambiguous social and political struggles behavioral economics Afro-futurist vision of decolonize this text white boy spear-heading queerphobic witch-hunt singular surrealities queer Shabbat dinners dialogue this trope diversity

BAM! BOOM! THUD! SNAP! BURN! FACT! S.T.E.M.! CRUSH! SNORT! SCHOOLED! WHAM! OWNED! BOOM! THUD! SNAP! BURN! FACT! S.T.E.M.! CRUSH! SNORT! SCHOOLED! WHAM! OWNED! BAM!  THUD! SNAP! BURN! FACT! S.T.E.M.! CRUSH! SNORT! SCHOOLED! WHAM! OWNED! BOOM! THUD! SNAP! BURN! FACT! S.T.E.M.! CRUSH! SNORT! SCHOOLED! WHAM! OWNED! BAM! BOOM! THUD! SNAP! BURN! FACT! S.T.E.M.! CRUSH! SNORT! SCHOOLED! WHAM! OWNED! BOOM! THUD! SNAP! BURN! FACT! S.T.E.M.! CRUSH! SNORT! SCHOOLED! WHAM! OWNED! BAM!  THUD! SNAP! BURN! FACT! S.T.E.M.! CRUSH! SNORT! SCHOOLED! WHAM! OWNED! BOOM! THUD! SNAP! BURN! FACT! S.T.E.M.! CRUSH! SNORT! SCHOOLED! WHAM! OWNED! BAM! BOOM! THUD!

Ralph Lauren - Losing My Elastic

Dear Ralph,

A few years ago,
The alone years,
When street strangers I would street stop,
Hoping that ecstasy miracles you-know-what,
I walked endlessly, shopped but never bought,
Selling but never sold,

Standing in line at DD,
Wanting that person in front of me to order
Coffee and a heart, with extra me.

Found myself at 59th and Lex,
Famous department store basement,
Found a room where clothes where kissed away
Prices cheap, styles atrocious,
But I felt home there, understood the milieu.

There is where
You and I met, polo played.

Found a pair of shorts you must have lost,
Cause your name was on them in four places.

Really ugly, army green,
Consigned to be buried,
Or bundled off to Africa.

Assured you didn't want them back,
For five bucks me and you left together
From Emporium Bloomingdales.

We have been together for six years,
Give or take, plenty of giving, some taking,
Sleeping together, you shared some good
Poetry writing and love making.

Ralph! This soft shroud you made, I love it so,
Tumbleweed, tumble dried,
Is now losing its elasticity,
The Band**^^ has recorded its last song.

Taken my beloved to every surgeon,
Doctor, Master Tailor, Plastic Elastic
Specialist on Savile Row and Jermyn Street,
Park Avenue, been up and down,
All say that there is nothing to be done,
Grief counseling maybe,
Causing soon I am going to losing you,
Dead by loss of elasticity.

But here I lie, here I weep,
Thinking of the good years.
Stricken, this will likely be,
The last poem I write inside you,
Our last clinging, cooperative embrace.

Yes, Y'all, I found that special stranger eventually,
On line, not in line,
She liked my profile^ and took me home
For safekeeping.

She don't know about us,
But when she suggests its time for us to
Separate, cause every minute I gotta pull
You back up again and again,
I turn away lest she misunderstand the tears.

Ralph, you let me down,
Why can't you have designed my
Sleeping companion to last as long as
Forever, like in all the love songs?

My darling, soon you will disappear,
To I don't know where,
I'll come home, and tight silences will tell me everything
I don't want to know.

Safe journey my boon, my joy,
Until we meet, cross existences once more,
Gives me comfort some,
Knowing that on journey long to parts unknown,
This token, this little writ will be accompanying you!

Ralph - is there nothing to do?

Silence.

Lest you think this is utter nonsense,
Look closer at your screen, try harder, try again,
Don't you see that single tear in the
Lower corner of my life.

When my body loses its elastic,
Who will,
Will you,
Write me a poem to clutch?
In my casket, scatter the ashes, of my
Loving poetry, I want my life fantastic poetic
Memories next to me, even as we both become dust...


3:47AM
July 2nd, 2013

In the year 3131
They come to devour our suns
Terrible, godlike, interstellar giants
Inconceivable beyond all reason and science.

Humanity and all her colonies,
Divided amongst the galaxies,
Finally united once and for all
For our race dare not fall!

To eliminate the threat of annihilation
We constructed planet-sized stations
That house massive and powerful guns
To protect and defend our vulnerable suns.

As our fears vanished behind us
Those in control sought to rebind us
For systems of authority never change,
Not even with pervasive freedom in range.

With the powerful distracted by their lust,
For control over every speck of dust,
There emerged a demented cult
That believes our race is at fault,
And beings that come from above
Do so out of divine, parental love.

These naive and delusional zealots,
Inspired by avarice long embellished,
By a ruthless society lacking empathy,
Have developed an ever enduring apathy.

Seeking to destroy our only defenses,
They mount violent and ****** offensives,
Their rugged, disorderly fleets crucify
As humanity is unable to reunify.

However, there is another cooperative effort,
A last stand, self-organized endeavor,
This vigilante group battles cultist detestables
They call themselves The Solar Sentinels.

Bound by a principled, passionate collaboration,
The Solar Sentinels defend all people and nations,
Engineers and military minds come together
To ensure our survival and prosper, whatsoever.

Now, one existential question remains:
Will humanity break free of its chains,
Awaken, realize that we are all one,
Disregard old orders and save our suns?

(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 18, 2015)

Rhyming statements are perceived as more truthful. A famous example being used in the O.J. Simpson trial with the defense’s use of the phrase, “If the gloves don’t fit, then you must acquit.”

The carriage of craft glitters in meaning
provide there’s a meter we can sing to the ceiling.

When cooperative verses are ******* and buckled
our sense, intelligence will never be cuckold.

Music mechanics bestow faith in the word
whenever rotten fish cannot smell the ****.

Bipartisanship, whatever

the key nowadays is

cooperative collaboration

I sell the rail

You buy the rail

Let’s call the whole thing off

Centre left centre right

sent her round the bend

Get with the program

Facebook Face Time whatever

I walk alone contemplating the scenery of an abandoned castle
Beside the Forest of Whispers an amazing view am baffled
I contemplate the thought if I should walk inside or not
All the sudden I hear a voice in my head inviting me to come in
I gather all my courage and enter the castle
I stop briefly to look at the entrance of the castle itself
It has Two Giant Stone Cyclops statutes and a huge metal door
The scenery is captivating yet am a bit nervous to press on
I look everywhere but there is no one there and I get closer to the entrance...

Without warning I see the huge metal doors begin to slowly open
Lots of dust and smoke emanate from the ground as they slowly sway open
I think to myself (What's going on this is just weird) I hear the voice again...
"Come inside adventurer I have something for you" I carefully step inside the Abandoned Castle
Inside the Majestic Palace it's beautiful...I carefully examine everything insight
A Old Painting with a Young Man dressed in an 1800's Draco Tunic (Black & Red Colors)
A Gorgeous Staircase that looks like it has been recently cleaned and polished
Many pieces of Marble Art all over the Main Hall Room -The part of the Castle am in- and many doors up the staircase and where I recently occupy
I ask the voice "Who are you?" and it replies (The voice itself sounds a little rusty and hoarse a bit old in fact) "I am Aziel Count Of the Darkness the 3rd Prince of the Night, I have lived here in my Castle for 750 years" As I survey the Main Hall Room in the middle of the room above the stairs that lead to the second part of the Castle itself there hangs the painting I briefly looked at. It's a huge painting a beautiful masterpiece carefully detailed and crafted with a young man dressed in a handsome Draco Tunic. His long dark hair deep black eyes and the black and red garments his wearing truly make him stand out and make him look like a Count of the Night...I think to myself (Could this be him...Aziel?) and just as soon as that thought came to mind I heard the voice again..."Yes that is me Adventurer the one portrayed in that painting is me, now tell me may I have the pleasure of knowing your name?" then I swiftly reply "My name is Frank Deltoro" As I get closer to the painting ...
All at once five scarecrows come out of no where ...from various parts of the Castle I assume and they all get together and commence to form a shape...about 10 ft from me.

Then I realize the form it's human and there I stand in awe it's an Old brittle man shirtless with silver eyes his skin pale as chalk and his pants wore out and thorn down. I get closer and closer to him then am about 3 ft from him and he says "Stop right there...I want to request something from you my mortal friend." Then he proceeds to speak again "Hello Frank my name is Aziel Governale. I am one of the 3 princes of the Night. My 2 brothers Vladimir my Elder Brother and Uriel my younger in fact the youngest sibling of us 3 reside in different abandoned sites long forgotten by mankind. It's 1933 in England in the remote sites of the burned down village of Qwutzentok. It was 13 years ago that the Order Of the Silver Knights burned down the village due to their iniquity and blasphemy against the one true God Almighty. The village conducted dark rituals to try to revive the Lord of the Night my Father...Dracula, but their attempts where in vain and futile. I still command to some extent the power of the night but my powers have been weakened by the Order of the Silver Knights and their Holy Crusade to conquer and extinguish the Night forever. I have hid here for 700 years after a Silver Knight known as Joshua Villamont defeated me and I was cast into hell periodically until I was revived with a blood ritual from a woman known as Elizabetha a young mortal woman who had fell in love with me when I was a mortal man. (He pauses for a second) (I analyze him head to toe as he speaks but I am in bewilderment and tremendous fear.) -He begins to speak again-

"I want to extract revenge on the Order regain all my power and might as one of the princes of the Night and revive my dear Elizabetha. She was killed by a Silver Knight back in the year 1225. I had just become a Prince of the Night and shortly after the Order raided our family and killed me or so they thought in the process...my Father had about 12 years of being dead and my 2 other brothers where no where to be found. We had all been scattered by the Order. I had been a Vampire only for about 3 years and then I was defeated by the Order and cast into hell and she rescued me and saved me. We stayed together for a while but I was too weak to make her a vampire and then the Order raided me once more and killed her. Now I want her back and I want revenge...you understand?"

Deltoro: "Yes I understand. But why should I help you?"
Aziel: "Due to the fact you have some distrust and hatred in your heart towards the Order. You was denied to become one of them due to your visual impairment in your left eye you can only see blurs and part of your right hand it's movement is restricted due to your born defect you can't move 2 fingers from your right hand. To be exact those fingers are your index and your pinky finger."
Deltoro: -Stands there in complete awe and shock- "How how...ummm...how did you...know?"
Aziel: "Am a Count of Darkness I can read man's hearts. I control to some extent telepathy. I can read 97.5% of individuals. It's a perk you get for being a Count."
Deltoro: "Fine...you have swayed me I will help you. But wait why can't your brothers help you if you can telepathically talk to them both?"
Aziel: "Oh mere human. Vladimir is dead...he was extinguished by the Order. Uriel I do not know his whereabouts I know he isn't in England. Therefore am here alone practically...it just I finally got an opportunity to extract revenge so that's it's exactly what I plan to do."
Deltoro: "OK so what must I do?"
Aziel: -Thinks to himself for a minute- "Have you heard of the so called Goddess Of The Forest?"
Deltoro: "Oh yes I heard that myth before Nabyah The Goddess Of the Forest Of Whispers."
Aziel: "It's not a fairy tale you know she exists and she is in the heart of the forest itself. All you must do is convince her to give you some of her blood willingly and if she isn't cooperative you must take the blood from her anyway and bring it to me."
Deltoro: "But she must be a powerful deity am sure she is going to fight back if I try to do such a thing."
Aziel: "Well ...those are the risks you must take in order for me to grant you my reward."
Deltoro: "Very well challenge accepted. I'll depart now."

(And so Frank Deltoro departs swiftly towards the Forest)

KEY

Draco Tunic= A Robe worn by Counts back in the 1800's. It displays Dragon scales in them. Only the true Counts of the Night had real Dragon scales placed on them however.

The Order Of the Silver Knights= Founded in 1000 the first millennium by King Nathan Bulderaux III. It fights the powers of Darkness ever since it's formation. It became famous after defeating the High Lord Dracula King of Darkness and vanishing his soul into hell.



                                                                                                      ->TO BE CONTINUED...

I . Taytu Betul as a leader

Ethiopia is famed for being
A peaceful,hospitable
And warrior nation
How come  then it failed
To come to your attention,
As bees whose hive is threatened,
Citizens are ever alert to
To foil provoked aggression!

The 1889 treacherous
Wuchale treaty
I will tear apart
A messenger,with a tail
Between your legs,
Before you depart.
The Italian version
That tries to put Ethiopia,
A sovereign state, a pawn
Under Italy's protectorate
Is completely opposed to
What Ethiopia's
Versions indicate.

Till we meet
Your colonizing troops
At a showdown,
As a punitive measure to
A cheater or a clown
I will be tempted to smack
Your face
To ram home,valorous,
For fear we have no place.

II  Taytu Betul a strategist

To deny the invading
Italian troops, advancing
from Eriteria,
Advantages of logistic
We could do
The following trick
Indeed, we could shift
The battlefield
From Adigrat to Adwa
Also we could cut them
From a key water point
Till for truce they plead.
To this end,
A battalion
I will personally lead.
What is more,
I will inspire
Women,combatants,too
To fire!
Parallel to that
Our injured soldiers
To nurse back
Wounded in the attack
Also dry foods
To prepare and pack.

III Taytu Betul  as a wife

Though independent,
With lots of love to
Emperor Menelik II,
My king and beloved husband
I will lend a cooperative hand.

IV. A beacon of independence & standard bearer

True to my name  Taytu
— A sunshine—
I will flicker
A ray of light
The oppressed for
Freedom to fight!

Women
For a military prowess,
Leadership and intelligence
Have acumen! ////

I'm back in the psyche ward again.
It's my home away from home,
next to jail and the emergency room.
I sat under the bridge the other night.
It was January, and extremely cold.
I was jonesing for a drink—I knew what I had to do.
I had only been out of jail for a
couple of days for another public intox.
I narrowly avoided going back to the can today.
My nut-job girlfriend said,
"Why don't you get us some wine? " "Sure, " I said.
Shaking and sick, I walked a mile to
my favorite store that I steal ***** from.
I arrived, and had a bad feeling, but I
don't pay much attention to feelings anymore.
In and out is always the plan.
A bottle of chardonnay down the front
of the pants, and one in the coat.
I thought I had it. I was wrong.
A customer saw me and snitched me off.
I went with the manager to his office.
A cop showed up shortly afterwards.
I engaged the store-guy with talk of literature.
It turned out he was an
English major.
I wrote down the title of my book,
and slipped it to him. He put the paper
in his wallet. He told the cop that I was very cooperative.
Instead of taking me to jail,
the cop gave me a citation with a
court date on it, and let me go.
Sometimes, providence smiles on me.
On my way back to the apartment,
I was already planning the next store to hit,
I needed a drink.
The cop, from the store, pulled up along side of me,
and said,
"Your girlfriend called, she said she didn't
want you at her place anymore.
All your stuff is in front of her door."
I felt like I'd been run over by a rhino.
The cop said,
"I'll give you a lift, jump in."
When I arrived, there were two loosely
packed bags of clothes weighing around 100 pounds.
There was no way in hell that I could
have carried all that crap eight miles to Iowa City.
I grabbed a back pack, and stuffed it with a pair
of jeans, two shirts, my writing, and a copy of Don Quixote.
I went outside and waved to the cop, then headed towards town.
I finally made it back to the bridge.
I waited to get the nerve to make
my next move—steal wine.
I did it, and with no cork *****,
I opened it with a broken ink pen.
I'm not complaining, it was the needed elixir
and it went down like nectar of the gods.
I drank it quick, it was three degrees out.
Life had to change.
This was getting real old.

And then they can't write anymore. They turn their faces dangling  hthreads. They are no fight and no three musketeer. There is no buddy system when you're playing for one, and your keyboard is pocked with burn marks from writing and falling asleep and writing and falling asleep; Apple and H have been missing and the Space Bar, V, and B are on their way out. The positives have become absolutelies. The women abandoned the children and their children, and dinosaurs have eaten the rest. Rest with the wicked and the wind and the women you black-tip reef shark of **** and dross and wickedness(x2), you scratch 'n' sniff barracuda for poor kitchen sink, outhouse, washer/dryer, and wet bar maintenance for a low-cost of ninety-nine dollars and nine cents; the joke is better when the numbers are written out in ink. It **** across teenagers better- that is what I mean. Nineteen year olds specifically, passion possessed, beautiful creators of 2008 and 2009. I should be about  ready to shuffle my feet, curl up my gray socks, and shepherd a Wheaties Box, donning a frog costume, with a homemade iron-on Jesus patch. It was in a box with some pogs and Michael Jordan Valentine's Day cards that I wrote to everyone that fit the profile for my Mother, at least until I turned nineteen. The magical age where even the catholic girls have found out that they're already going to hell-

-

I relive the natures of so many marauders from unclassifiable ***** that I can still taste in my mouth. Sometimes it's a fever other times it's my initials scribbled along the walls. Inquire and we'll dine, lie supine, intertwine; you can teach me about cooperative.

While you were once the queen in the body's sore sorts and blisters from insatiable bear. I'm ready to **** a lion. I'm attracted to your spine and the positions that we've lied in. The pleasure is square it's the shapes in between, non-existantly spinning me into despair. We have seen over one hundred thousand movies, we've had *** in a jacuzzi. You were the fabulous muse so bemuse me again, it's enough of shaving one leg to feel closer to you. There are a million effing elements that won' t seem to align. I'm sick and you're outstanding. We're supposed to be- I can't shut my eyes without seeing you smile, the shape of your mouth and the color of your hair.

I'm twisted up. My elbows shun me and I collapse even when I try to gather myself for walking. It's been years since I've heard
you talking. There must be a scientific law, just a clause that affirms I wasn't supposed to have purposely been given this, "*******."

My chits expired and I'm well over on my phone plan. You're the one that got me addicted to cologne, am I going extinct because I can't seem to hold anything down? The therapy hasn't worked, your therapist is a schmoozer, he's on a tract of trying to use her. Corroborating these lines of language that's died, it's so slow he sees someone himself.

Recently I learned a cure using cigarettes, Led Zeppelin, and liquid morphine, it rearranges my endorphins. I've tried very hard to support it, I've even been a good sport when I realize it's still ******* silent and you haven't called or wrote, or sent or shown me anything. Your poison is heavy. Isn't it time for me to **** the lion and go back home. When you go I'll go, when the shapes of our shadows and the dusts of our ghosts decide to go. When your face is placed on my nape and the house lights low, and I can breathe, and know that my world's other half brings all time to a slow crawl. There is some magic that can keep abright a dying star.

Some introductory food for thought...

"Manufacturing and commercial monopolies owe their origin not to a tendency imminent in a capitalist economy but to governmental interventionist policy directed against free trade and laissez faire."
  - Ludwig Von Mises

"Bureaucracies are inherently antidemocratic. Bureaucrats derive their power from their position in the structure, not from their relations with the people they are supposed to serve. The people are not masters of the bureaucracy, but its clients."
  - Alan Keyes


The European Union as the New Eastern Bloc?
The Eastern Trading Bloc of the Soviet system had it's origins in the tail end of the Second World war, where, through the suppression of the whereabouts of Kremlin manipulation, had purported itself as democratic agreement, initially giving itself the appearance of a 'bourgeois democracy' as the Soviets called it. Though, inherently was, and clearly became an imperial establishment of control from the Soviet Bureaucracy. Likewise, the European Union, when originally advertised to the nations of Europe was propped up in a similarly unassuming manner, despite having been previously discussed and having the concepts of such a union already organised further back into 1948 at the Hague Conference. The parallels of such such unions (Eastern/Euro) are that they garnered the consent of the public through their foundation being merely upon an economic transnational policy, and not a political one, and therefor their basic parallels are that of deceit.

The Eastern Bloc formed what was essentially a symbiosis of the state and the economy, something that naturally would be inherent under a Communist regime. However, the European Union, too, follows a similar reciprocal foundation, for it binds the state and economy, removing the separation of powers by Capitalistic enterprise, and instead, Centralises governance in a more oligarchical, corporate and bureaucratic apparatus. Operating through a complex arrangement of multitudinous committees and boards, whose members form a body of non-elected representatives. Essentially the European Union, on the guise of an economic market, has formed a centralised, quasi-private parliament akin to the Soviet style hegemony of the Eastern Bloc, and through soft-intimidation and misinformation, keeps it's members bonded. Lest it be forgotten that the Union is allegedly one of 'free trade', yet, when discourse begins to brew of leaving, as it did in Britain, why are we met with threats of economic disability and ostracization? That shows more the signs of a protection racket; of bureaucratic gangsterism, than it does of a voluntary cooperation of national markets.


The unification of Germany and the amalgamation of the European continent?
In a more predictive sense, the European Union shares similarities in it's unifying policies, as it it does to the unification of the German states circa 1871. Spearheaded during the Bismarckian era of the late nineteenth century, Germany, well within a period of two decades transformed from a collection of trading states, to a fully amalgamated nation under Prussian dominated rule, but by what means did this occur, and in what ways does the unification of Germany share similarities to modern Europe?

Of course, the chief processes of German unification lied in the economy, the political structure and culture, the political structure I have already covered. The establishment of a newly amalgamated economy among the German States was created through the breaking down of trade barriers between the previously independent states, one of which ways in doing so was the introduction of the single German currency (the Mark) along with a centralised banking system that allowed for both monetary control by the state and the removal of currency exchange between regions. Likewise the European Union brought with it the introduction of a common European currency (the Euro) and too, a European Central Bank. The new Germany also extended its unification to the creation of a common German culture that evoked a sense of nationalism, for instance, the establishment of a new national anthem and German military, to be paraded with pride. Too, the standardisation of the school system to create a state of coherent socialisation among the German generations. What we see with the European Union is also the creation of a common European national anthem and a cooperative European military (though a centralised European military is still developing) and through policies such as the Bolonga Process, the education system of Europe as a whole has been standardised to the specific image of the European Union, even a single European emergency number (112) is under proposition.

It is said that history repeats itself, and perhaps what we are living through today is the amalgamation of the European states as transpired nearly 150 years ago within central Europe. And that the non-representative, self appointing parliament of the European Union, resembles almost a kind of bureaucratic Kaiserreich; a kind of Prussian hegemony of the modern day.


- a short essay by JDH

What is it that I'm "in my head"?
The shape of my brain and skull act as a maze through which frequencies are played by the thought constructs which I employ.
It is like every attribute has a string or key which can be played, and every time it is played, it conjures all the processes which that key has encountered before.
Eyes half closed places me in my head, and body sometimes too.
Looking up is paying homage to the sky.
The ability to walk on two legs places humans between earth and heaven, two limbs can reach up, and two limbs touch bottom.
I have no visible tail, only a remnant of one, which makes my movement dependent on just these four limbs.
The head and spine being shared by all vertebrates, means that its sign is more diverse in nature.
Humans have the largest brains compared to the rest of the body.
However, an extra-terrestrial skeleton proved to have a brain/skull even larger than humans.

Consciousness is held much like using all the controls while driving a car: the eyes adjust, pressure in the skull and body is adjusted with muscles, the position of the body, neck, and head is adjusted.
Sounds are drown out or given attention.
The body can be divorced from emotion, virtue, and the universe.
The Self can be divorced from virtue, organization, emotion, and the universe.
Everything in such a state is local.
When things are local, I can only observe the scattering amplitudes.
If the scattering is very low, then the gross or macro-level world is all I see.
But what is different from a chair or sofa and a star or moon?
Both are made from the same universe.
The difference is that one was formed by humans, the other a part of nature.
What makes nature a better object of focus than man-made objects?
The man-made object tends to already have a use while the natural are base elements.
They signify the lowest grade of complexity.
Thus, my body is the lowest grade, the simplest, structure in the local home.
Being simple, it is like a canvas that can be painted, or a quarry from which a rock can be sculpted.

Now I switch to morning mode, which is about waking up and making progress.
But meditation is just as hard waking up as it is staying up sometimes.
I must once again ask the same questions in a new day.
What is consciousness?
Can it really be defined as a particular mechanism?
Wouldn't DNA be the best candidate, and it is made of compounds, which are found with the elements.
Yes, it seems science must switch from a "finding a particle" mode to a global life-form mode.
One which knows that life is a web of different things without any one of which the whole planet would fail.
"Finding a particle" mode has proven to be at the end of its run for finding them, as to find a graviton would prove impossible due to the amount of energy needed that would then create a minature black hole.
It seems like I'm a couch scientist, or a science critic not contributing to the picture.
The "finding a particle" mode is so hard to give up because it has been a part of science for over 100 years, which has shaped what a scientist does, how one thinks too.
However, the "web of life" mode gives a harder picture to deal with: one of thinking about social relationships between and within species and kingdoms.
It means that insight will no longer come from a "gold rush" type mentality of a find, but rather insight gleaned from a cooperative consultative stream of thought.
It takes the center away from the individual and places it on the community and the biosphere.
The biosphere or world civilization perspective takes away a lot of physics needed and instead offers a simpler picture, far simpler.
Now, I ask: how can social groups become more enlightened?
How will personal growth, science, the humanities, and social justice play a role?
How will spirituality, which so often is "other worldly" actually weaken this social structure if it is not focused on the simple practical matters in the "web of life" outlook?
I now see that asking "what is consciousness?", if asked too much, will prove to individualize and hamper people's worldview by placing its concern on minutia.
This "find a particle" view could even be seen as an illness which keeps people from having a more social outlook.
It means giving up the personal glory of the scientist, for the practical glory of the community, of the whole.
Instead, what will cause love to grow and hatred to end?
What will make conversations and interactions become more mature?

Now I turn to the element of virtues, which can be divorced from the human body if its goals are not aligned with them.
Addressing trama and how to cope, or simply depression and anxiety too.
The goal of course being a utopia where all can flourish physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.
We must come to some shared understanding of how society best operates, or else we will keep contending with each other for a millennia.
I feel these shifts occur form injustice and the rally for justice in its wake.
It really comes down to the people in power making decisions today.
To how we treat those who share different beliefs, and how we distinguish from mere differences of opinion from a difference between knowledge and ignorance.
I can see both sides of abortion having good points.
I can see good all the way from a flat tax (like religion) to very high taxes on the wealthy.
I can see the difference from helping poeple survive to helping them thrive and knowing the good sides of both issues.
Moreover, I can see why too much nationalism and too much globalism could both be unjust due to the particular opinions of a mother nation, and the need for global unity.
I can see why adherence to one religion will only work if it is based on love and freedom, for love without freedom is not unconditional.
Meanwhile freedom without love leads to destruction.
However, erasing safety and protection from love and freedom would also lead to disaster.

Where is the balance?
That is what the "web of life" mode needs to deliberate.
This is a slow process.
The willingness of one can only affect others through wisdom not fanaticism in any degree.
What is consciousness?
The highest consciousness is deciding public affairs and interacting with others about public affairs.
Therefore, read, write, interact, and work.
Then reflect again and see how far we have come.

by: William A. Marshall


I stepped off the world
today,
off the broken streets
that winter has damaged
and municipal assessments
off the political gluttons
and performative marks
off the know-it-alls
and wild dogs roving around
with their ****
noses in the air
it’s not pretty
they cover what they don’t know
so that they look good
I head back down the dark hallway
to get a more primitive angle
off of privileged confidence
they are vulnerable
basic caretakers pursuing opulent corsages
to free them from their anxious quotas
and ******* rules
telling me how to wipe my ***
and how to use baby wipes
jointly acting like they run things
from their phony utilitarian bus stop
and cutting-edge applications
their personal band plays a cheerful tune
in the background
as they search for a bigger
advantage and more likes
even though we all share the same horror
youth is about mistakes
and making money
and choices with one eye here and now
the other eye on prevalent professions
students and maintenance men
bureaucratic puppets and academics
farmers and auditors
sales greasers and coaches
writers and board members
somewhere they end up there
carrying a liability
and it creates a vibration in my foxhole
but right in here baby
deep down within me
inside my tomb
I transfer to a silent
place away from
rambling rotting fungus
I step off of it
not always methodically
and then back into faults
and louse packs
I can only assume my rock
that sits in my hole immobile
next to the ****** candy wipes
unless I push it up ontic peaks
nonbeing begins to doubt me
and grips part of you so don’t
think that it doesn’t
I cut it with my knife
obliquely
finding unfortunate contagions
and courage down in the vault of silence
it is there or it isn’t
it is what keeps my will interested
far from the ones moving rashly
without it you would leap from bridges
through minefields I remember
a certain detachment
an uneven and sick progression
paperwork and a number with
a D affixed to its file
the ceiling became the nightly norm
this plastic vacuum-packed
wedding gown made of white silk
made weird noises
in the back of my closet
like it was weeping
the kind of dress
only worn once
it smelled like her that closet
retelling me each time
I opened the private door
making fake crinkling sounds
an icon of pure young tenderness
love expense and faith
eventually cooked and burned  
but it is too early
those individuals that gloat in pictures
and dream about their prince
they are busy playing with
their hair and organic shoulder bags
driving around in furnished cars
the uncorrupted ones
constant courses to come and
subsequent interviews
nailed skintight dresses
soon to be colored sweet red
with danger competing
well you had better feel lucky
because when you plunge into
future swamplands
incompetence and repayment
of what to do with it
and how then to
fill up your cup
without spilling it
all over your soul
don’t tell me how
to live my **** life
now is your time
to reason and shake imperfection
interruptions
over and over
those that listen to your intrusiveness
false performances in chic coffee shops
it is not sustainable there
but you play the part to maintain
your chair in the cooperative
you will miss it
neglecting real evil
because you were talking too much
maintaining your image
Bradbury whispers
from the counter,
“You can't make people listen
they have to come round in
their own time wondering
what happened and why
the world blew up around them
it can't last.”
and numbness above nightly cocktails
distracted dub tracks
ultimately attending
hectic personnel meetings
in drenched swamps
spinning with heartless ***** jobs
unconcerned about safe comforts
two things balance them out
people and things
all part of it out there in the world
and they approach like a train
suffering shocks
unemotional images in chambers
some actually never return
from the beatings
but this isn’t the end
this is a commencement
for me
the forecast is water-resistant
they hurry snatching their
body spray and shower gel
on mirrored reflections
that scowl back at them
all alone there
in their glass steeple
family photos
thinking they have nurtured something
more than endless gossip
and ****** strains
much more important now
bent into independence
pausing with the approaching sunrise
as it splashes powerfully
inside their speculations
pride doesn’t care
if you think you are not puffed-up
at all you are
who in the hell are you kidding?
nothing to cling to
essential oilskins and manuscripts
credit problems
and autobiographical *** packed expressions
corner office windows
and diplomas
behind high-back chairs
trying to copy Sunday magazine’s
hottest statement
to fill up their life
a reminder just who the comics are
but it does not register
until that day
when it becomes intolerably vile
beneath wreckage
and burnt ruins
they find his
caring donation
clinched in the saviors grasp
jutting through burning garrisons
there is no truth more senior
than this truth here and now
but they can’t all be imparted
in this culturally planned folklore
I see them
when I am walking away
from the insulated bubble
down the street
like recruits in boot camp
and zealously rich parents
who send their youngsters
with luggage and loans
nearby like idols
salesman explaining things
as they nod like they are approving something
perhaps autonomy
from fathers and mothers
who stand with them astutely contemplating
the whole arrangement
they stare at the marble floor
I observe the run-through
the glittery entertainment
and documented departments
for happy pilgrims
who are insulated
for now

Five times a day upon his coloured mat
he bends himself. The nurses come and go,
spectres in a slow procession that’s
caught in a loop, where only
the names change (ours too are abandoned for
the new ones we receive upon on arrival:
‘faking it’ or ‘non-cooperative’ or ‘terminal’ or
‘crash survival’).
It’s not their fault they eye him curiously.
They know he’s just a Turk. They’re different. He
gives not a sod
but prostrate on the disinfected floor
he offers, counting beads to keep the score,
his soul to God.

I will bring the nails if you bring the hammer. I know someone else who has some wood. I will bring a frying pan if you bring some flower, I know another who has some plates and spoons. Lets pull our resources and work for the common good. Lets give our neighbor a helping hand. Lets reach out to another and together we will take a stand. Despite our differences, we can find common ground. We can offer others hope, when we gather together. We can build bridges and feed many needs. If we decide to be cooperative, we can solve many problems. Let's work together to make our world a better place.

The colors of late September
talking and falling again
announcing each other like
gulls for bread
remind me that I've listened

yet every day is black and black
the mask's unsettling sweat builds and
underneaths a frowning girl
settling into it

yes darling, I see the blue
I see the coins stored under my lips
haven't paid off and
you've painted nothing to hide the holes
i'd ask for your hand in this and squint
but you, you must not have heard it

and here i've been
as cooperative as ants /
as sad as fate
with hands as red as the ibis
falling tired and certainly
tired of falling

I just needed someone to talk to
A shoulder to cry on
An open ear to hear my worries or
Just talk about life in general.

Surrounded by family, friends, social media
You would think that would be easy to find.
I guess it was - I found you
(or you found me, when I was searching).

I said the right thing at the right time;
or it meant something important to you;
or you said the right thing
about what it meant to me -
whatever the case may be -
We met.  We talked.  We opened our deepest archives.
I told you things I never revealed to anyone.
I guess I felt my secrets were safe with you;
I guess I trusted you.

You seemed to understand me.
You treasured the new perspectives I shared with you.
You wanted what I could give you -
that you never had before.
You needed something to hold onto:
Hope; security; belonging.

I had nothing to hide from you,
I just wanted to talk.
You were a blank canvas that I could paint all of my life's experiences on.
A fresh paint - The pictures were clearer to you.
You were amazed, astounded by my originality, genuineness.
You said you could fall in love with me.
I told you not to - we couldn't help it though.

You loved me selfishly - you needed me almost every minute of every day.
You asked things of me that others had asked for & been denied.
But for some reason, I wanted to give those things to you.
Where once I disguised my heart, or kept it tightly locked up & hidden,
You made me strip off every layer that hid it,
I stripped my heart "Naked" for you - unprotected, vulnerable, defenseless.

You were badly wounded & beaten
by so many who "hated" you from your past.
I wanted to heal your wounds.
I am a caretaker,
A nurturer, a healer.
You trusted me.
Gradually, the pain of your past lessened:
The joy of your possible future = the salve.

As I, you needed a shoulder - I gave you both.
I carried you - you became heavy.
As long as I had the strength or the means or the will
You were happy, content, cooperative.

Really what did I ask of you? Just one simple request.
You could not agree.
I don't fault you for that -
We all have free will.
But I LITERALLY gave you EVERYTHING!!!
Interest-free...

Music? Should I be inspired
By what moves someone else's heart?
I don't know them,
I thought I knew you.
I was wrong.

I said it wouldn't happen,
I wouldn't let it happen;
I warned you that it could:
But I resented that you expected what I gave you!
Only after I told you that I had to draw the line
Did you say you should never have asked.
But you did? You never refused.
I always said yes...

...Until today.
Our last goodbye.
The pain faded fast,
Quickly followed by the realization
That you used me!!
You got All you needed from me.

And you may think I received nothing from you,
But you gave me lots:
Another wound to heal,
Another lesson learned,
Another failed attempt to save someone who is already dead.
Another mistake,
Another story to tell,
Another poem to write,
Another mystery for me to unravel -
about why I always let this happen to me,
why I always give so much to get so little.
What does it really do for me?

I LOVED THE IDEA OF BEING YOUR "EVERYTHING" - I LOVED THAT YOU NEEDED ME - I LOVED THAT YOU WANTED & DESIRED ME - I LOVED THAT I WAS THE ONLY GOOD THING IN YOUR LIFE - I LOVED BEING ABLE TO SHARE MY KNOWLEDGE WITH YOU - I LOVED HOW MUCH YOU ENVIED ME - I LOVED CRYING WHEN YOU HURT ME (BECAUSE I THOUGHT THAT IT MEANT MY LOVE WAS REAL) .......

*I loved being strong enough to walk away for the last time........

Unless it's
A cooperative
Someone's working
Too hard
Big boss
Is stressed
Is it stress
That makes you an
Exec?
Or lack of brains
Like a puppet set

Family always said I was exceptionally well behaved.
Teachers always said I was cooperative and quiet.

They never knew I was peaking on the fear of being the slightest bit noticed by my peers
They never knew I wanted nothing to do with participation or aknowledgement
They never knew I was a soul-less being, just to observe the others around me
They never knew I was worthless, undeserving, unmotivated
They never knew I caged myself inside like a hibernating bear to avoid social crowds

I never knew I didn't have to live this way.
Until now

Sky: a repository of adjectives
―land's fast mirror
―stripped of uniform
―thought to body.

Greece: a repository of alternatives
―Civilisation’s fast mirror
―never fully constituted
―thought to Europe’s body.

And all this water between us
―greasing the dialogue
―speeding up the dissolution
―co-operating.

Isn’t it always cooperative?
After all, the trickster
is nothing without prey;
the entrepreneur nothing
without an audience.

Everyone is against lying
     but they whisper faded fibs to
          everyone they know, about
          everyone they know, and
          everyone they they used to know, and
          everyone they wish they didn't know
which is why lying is a cooperative act

I'm a liar,
but you should believe me when I promise
that I still won't tell the secrets that you told me in the dark
when you flaunted your character
You were stunning when
you licked my envelope lips and sealed them tight
     but I'll still chatter with my fingertips.
          (You know their babble better than anyone else)
And although you fastened my voice behind the doorway of my mouth
I still lie with my face
     because a smile is in the eyes
and you're lying when you look at my stagnant eyes
     and pepper your story with details
It makes me sick when I look at your words and see
     the duping delight of a monster that kidnapped my razzledazzle dreams
And with the growl of a monster
     you nod your head up and down while
     you repeat the word "no" with an O of the same mouth
          that with the curl and pull of an Elvis lip
               and the scrunch of a nose in disgust
turns your kindling anger to contempt as you go around flailing deception

This puts me in an uncomfortable mode
     of knowing that I was so full of hope that I threw it all up
          onto the trembling ground beneath my feet
Motion sickness brings me to my knees
     and unsettles the emotion sickness inside of me

***** LIES

And I watch these nauseating emotions in the puddle at my feet.

Truth be told,
I lied to you all along

Truth be told,
I'm crossing my fingers behind my back

there were dandelions on the grass
dear girl, the smell of an Alcatraz flower is fresh on my linen
but sometimes I look back
and wonder if this city wears a too thick a coat
while it struts pantless over the sidewalks of
Macarther Park

there is liturgy mumbled, a woman waving her hands in the air–
Sunday school prayers being learned in Spanish
tri-folded pamphlets on the floor
and gum over the pavement blackened by the cooperative march
of immigrant workers speaking in all tongues and carrying
on their backs, the tower of babel while halted at a red light

heavy cargo trucks speeding down Alameda Street
wearing down the road and the patience of drivers
tents multiplied, and R.V's lining the streets  
the old buildings being torn down and neighboring apartments  getting face-lifts  
"beautification"
costs
more than headshots–
more than a rhinoplasty–
more than the real estate of DTLA–
when you see two kids come out of a tent with their school backpacks on
–you begin to grasp the price

Is this what Keats meant: "A thing of beauty is a joy forever "
even while destitute
the neon pink on their bags seemed like another gift of spring
and their perseverance the paragon of  a psalm of life

To some the idea of wading into the water to catch a smelly fish is not alluring at all. What you fail to realize is that there are many lessons that you can learn from the endeavor. At first I learned to be silent, when my grand dad showed me how not to scare the fish. Then I learned patients as my dad taught me how to wait for the fish to come to you. Then I learned to appreciate find details, when I learned to make my own fly bait. From there I learned determination, because there are some fish that just do not want to be caught. Then I came to understand struggle, because the act of fishing is a struggle between the fisherman and his quarry. Finally, I learned wisdom, because you must adapt to the environment as nature is not always cooperative when want to catch a fish.

Do you like this painting by Friedrich?
YES or NO,
A binary one or zero answer please,
true or false.

I like recognized neural solutions
posed to logistically regressed ideas.

Do you like the color
BLUE or YELLOW?

YES, I did like GREEN,
so slender and bright
faced in her youth.

We were adolescents with too many connections
And maybe not enough pruning.
Or maybe we were just mixed and mash-up,
media saturated?

What do you think?
Did you lust for GREEN too?
YES or NO, true or false.

And now, are we adults or autistic kids?

We withdraw, refuse to recognize faces,
limit human touch because it's all
too overwhelming-- reduced to visual cats,
difficult to herd by old Hands
and cooperative Rules.

We wanderer above the Cloud
seeing answers from a Fog of Random data.
Old world romantics, Greenhorns
in the brave new world of hard logic
and emotional detachment.

If we randomly assign
BLUE = false, YELLOW = true, and GREEN = lust;
logic tells us false AND true must equal false.

A novel recognition that sometimes when
BLUE mixes with YELLOW, we are again BLUE!

By sheer force of color faith
and romantic human sensibility,
we mix falsehood with truth
to arrive at what we desire.

In our blue hearts, and yellow skin
we still green after romance.

regardless of whether is was me or not
it is inevitable
that a mixed race male
would be considered “passing”
and accumulate all the weapons
and silent confidence
of privileged society
trained with the most valuable
intellectual materials
he would expose the disparity
and its shame
in its naked entirety
like I
everyday
exist in its entirety
thoroughly through
the most cooperative
conceivable act
of eternal mixture