Salty rancher spackle is to Earthy diva smackers as Swinging hotel number is to?
Rippling cling bread is to Three lizard chariots as Indigo lime tangent is to?
Nighttime reunion planet is to Nettle lane scuffle as Soaking spider *** is to?
Fancy trance logs are to Sticky fudge lather as Vivacious gator college is to?
Cheerful blossom face is to Secret tractor rocket as Canned gremlin emblems are to?
Jealous pitchfork generals are to Heartbreaking patchwork veranda as Folding robot noise is to?
Pretty rhino rash is to Lost locket vengeance as Back pocket weather is to?
Frosted candy sidewalk is to Sneaky kook code as Shiny waffle smoke is to?
Sapphire cloud romance is to Magnetic comet lava as Blue triangle envy is to?
Vanishing honey melody is to Thermal elf pajamas as Whistling iceboat shampoo is to?
Peach mint politics is to Frozen doll pennies as Rusty anchor catapult is to?
Swollen pony fever Throbbing sword kazoo as Silent turbine science is to?
Obese germ thunder is to Stacked lemon towers as Corrupt moon jockey is to?
Demented insect whistle is to Glass trophy cleanup as Purple geode bubble is to?
Nighttime razor slime is to Lacquered dragon maps as Tint paper mittens are to?
**** camel drops are to Velvet ****** shoes as Slippery red muffins are to?
Flying hot drool is to Pale chocolate telescope as Tin trumpet ballet is to?
Expensive puppy speed is to Flowered duck mirror as Cosmic needle factory is to?
Fractured laser doodles are to Cracked butter gravel as Rubber holster straps are to?
Majestic panther fortress is to Jeweled cork target as Iron swan taxi is to?
Poisonous pepper bouillon is to ****** goat soap as Chrome feather pirates are to?
Digital gorilla scriptures are to Timid hunter stench as Frozen domino video is to?
Eccentric troll opera is to Transparent wax village as Spoiled coral agony is to?
Bizarre green metal is to Pillow eating hamster as Leather cavern ***** are to?
Eternal hurricane evidence is to Powdered rainbow perfume as Smoking yellow prune is to?
Liquid wish cleanser is to Exploding meadow ladders as Brittle rose hammer is to?
Caged foam filter is to Cherry balloon string as Ivory cactus spider is to?
Carbon puppet watch is to Sad kings compass as Elastic lace whiskers are to?
Nitrogen trolley dust is to Lazy elephant toffee as Orange toad choir is to?
Dark pole zodiac is to Blue finger blanket as Illegal bug nozzle is to?
Stinky towel cookies are to White jade caskets as Sticky snail tea is to?
Converting stellated caramels is to Mythic aerosol socks as Rubber raspberry jokes are to?
Flying clock carousel is to Whisky nut worms as Plastic fish platforms are to?
Queasy Vaseline queens are to Moody pigeon pills as Aqua mice fur is to?
Spotted bowl shadow is to Idiotic radiance lotion as Bungalow toad hearse is to?
Gushing chimney fungus is to Funky lamb acrobat as Utopian **** sprinkler is to?
Twinkling bungalow tablet is to Botanical duck rope as Bug hat ram is to?
Broken clock fossil is to Black ginger confetti as Parisian cobra meatloaf is to?
Silly Xerox ribbon is to Obedient raccoon carny as Traditional cat linguini is to?
Last astral advisor is to Elastic badger riddles as Broken circle rifles are to?
Bagged squire channel is to Temporary mosaic cake as Ancient bacon thread is to?
Wireless math army is to Moronic neon money as Pearl razor radar is to?
Rubber buzzard blizzard is to Troubled bubble wizard as Crushed hash ******* is to?
Purple birdy cure is to Tangled frost blossoms as Silken bridal saddle is to?
Unisex owl accordion is to Sugar bottomed boat as Optical nougat treasure is to?
Flavored saline rain is to Black arrow clan as Transistorized clam guitar is to?
Sharpened twig scar is to Mutant beet sonar as Baked troll mask is to?
Boxed noodle secrets are to Traditional guru buttons as Glossy marshmallow strategy is to?
Vibrating melted jelly is to Silver furniture dream as Spewing collated seats is to?
Burnt mountain pickles are to Baby preacher shoes as Sympathetic pilot pain is to?
Narrow portal treaty is to Monkey warehouse vacancy as Painted tornado trap is to?
Porch penny sulfur is to Glowing pony fat as Patched mattress bait is to?
Frigid waitress fallacy is to Graphic shrimp salute as Misted sneezing window is to?
Moist apple moss is to Daddy’s zoom seed as Downtown Pope cart is to?
Tired felon trickle is to Holographic squirrel candle as Wild ray hay is to?
Deadly zero chalk is to Folding wilderness chart as Curved ******* vacuum is to?
Hollow porcelain pellets are to Strawberry rain stencils as Microwave taxi nomads are to?
Wasted machete balcony is to Crumpled creature confessions as Fridge fuzzed fruit is to?
Sloppy demon damage is to Squeaky puppet chuckle as Mental arcade combat is to?
Monster trout stories are to Lewd pirate cocktail as Locked mammal grommet is to?
Rotting rope network is to Tragic toy goat as Cotton submarine shoes are to?
Complex pepper dance is to ****** cloud cushion as Marching taxi holiday is to?
Mental petal collectors are to Spooned barn putty as Dork factory fiction is to?
Hot spotted tops are to Timed stepping pests as Yogurt notching tartar is to?
Crazy dog comics are to Ambitious cartoon sphinx as Pavlov’s zinc ballet is to?
Soiled spinster wedding is to Padded razor wound as Floating fish map is to?
Slippery leopard pants are to Perfumed nut button as Dart wizard party is to?
Needy alien elephants are to Barking garden gnats as Quasar focused paper is to?
Slanted heart **** is to Bronzed cliff sandals are to Cunning jockey jokes are to?
***** thumbprint massage is to Holistic princess memory as Sliding dental sword is to?
Drifting wood whistle is to Fluorescent carpet powder as Foam dragon whistle is to?
Chopped web shadow is to Immortal vermin soup as Collapsing porch conspiracy is to?
Stolen thunder chant is to Haunted comet heart as Swollen throat portrait is to?
Fragrant frost parfait is to Grumpy caveman *** as Random stingray solo is to?
Squeaky polar turbine is to Silent lava fever as Oversized lunar fulcrum is to?
Synthetic dew droppers are to Pocket poster paste as Hypnotic screen dog is to?
Symbolic whirlpool nausea is to Dreaming tree phantom as Log badge bracket is to?
Camp hippo map is to Horseradish seizure insurance as Distant insect mirror is to?
German lady sherbet is to Stuntman laundry wax as Hungry butterfly ghost is to?
Fly smudged foil is to Amped maze coil as Shifting optic terror is to?
Automatic sheep floss is to Panoramic tanker anchor as Throbbing bone pillow is to?
Mutant clown village is to Nightmare translation treasure as Spotted spectral chakra is to?
Blind roach tweat is to Hermit worm tiara as Divine logo ritual is to?
Glueless gun stamp is to Malicious spam pump as Floral toffee pods are to?
Dudgeon mist removal is to Menacing bolt smacker as Boating duke shadow is to?
Costly metal plungers are to Creaky buzzing gushers as Glowing star cushions are to?
Raked barge sludge is to Crusted cream glitter as Zircon gutter babble is to?
Fake gold scholar is to Amish ******* mogul as Faithful ***** choir is to?
Sacred limo prayers are to Fried mice café as Splintered ****** thimble is to?
Dealing rabbit decals is to Pelican bongo festival as Patched equator rot is to?
Freedom gourd gasoline is to Cobblers studying acorns as Desecrated dice crater is to?
Tattered tapestry rod is to Busted particle scanner as Bogus piffle catalogue is to?
Trifle truffle raffle is to Last lamb laminate as Segmented cake goggles are to?
Domestic tackle tactic is to Ticking tic talk as Cordial corps coordinates is to?
Tucked duck caftan is to Sunken ramp ruckus as Wretched ranch rhetoric is to?
Clearly incomprehensible directions are to Useful archaic nonsense as Antiquated skeletal outline is to?
Bewildered beasts feasting are to Lazy busybodies resting as Vaccinating brave volunteers are to?
Lucky wagon dragons are to Famous gargoyle gargle as Formal postman funding is to?
Furrowed shroud chowder is to Borrowed tartan pajamas as Martini mixed algebra is to?
Cowgirl balloon helium is to Chewy glucose habitat as Stationary monument movement is to?
Diamond powered powder is to Diagonal diameter diagram as Purposely condensed expansion is to?
Organic iodine capsule is to Gleaming beach probe as Dominant dome static is to?
Shaving wrinkled targets is to Petting sensible monsters as Selling invisible whiskey is to?
Frozen piano architecture is to Note dotted clouds as Screaming Korean worms are to?
Sonic plant website is to Telepathic climbing clam as Bored protein exercise is to?
Gourmet mollusk cone is to Numb poodle caravan as Asian raven radar is to?

Hotrod
Verse I

Wrenches clanging, knuckles banging
A drop of blood the young man spilt
A new part here, and old part… there
A hotrod had been built!
A patchwork, mechanical, quilt

Feeling good.  Head under a raised hood, hands occupied, the job nearing completion.  Sometimes the good feelings would dissipate though, as quickly as they came, as he cursed himself for stripping a bolt, or cursed someone else for selling him the wrong part, or the engineer whose design goals obviously did not consider “remove and replace”.
He cursed the “gorilla” that never heard of a torque-wrench, the glowing particle of **** that popped on to the top of his head as he welded, the metal chip he flushed from his eye, and even himself for the burn he received by impatiently touching something too soon after grinding. 
 He, and his type, cursed a lot, but mostly to their selves as they battled-on with things oily, hot, bolted, welded, and rusty – in cramped spaces. One day it was choice words for an “easy-out” that broke off next to a broken drill bit that had broken off in a broken bolt, that was being drilled for an easy-out. 
  Despite the swearing, the good and special feelings would always return, generally of a magnitude that exceeded the physical pain and mental frustration of the day, by a large margin.  
Certifiably obsessive, the young man continued to toil dutifully, soulfully, occasionally gleefully, sometimes even expertly, in his most loved and familiar place, his sanctuary, laboratory… the family garage.

And tomorrow would be the day.
With hard learned, hard earned expertise and confidence - in this special small place, a supremely happy and excited young man commanded his creation to life.

Threw a toggle, pressed a switch
Woke up the neighbors with that *******

The heart of his machine was a stroked Chevy engine that everyone had just grown sick hearing about.  Even the local machine shop to which the boy nervously entrusted his most prized possession had had enough.  “Sir, I don’t want to seem disrespectful, but from what I’ve read in Hot Rod Magazine, you might be suggesting a clearance too tight for forged pistons…” then it would be something else the next day.  
One must always speak politely to the machinist, and even though he always had, the usual allotment of contradictions and arguments afforded to each customer had long run out – and although the shop owner took a special liking to the boy because, as he liked to say, “he reminds me of me”, well, that man was done too.  But in the end, the mill was dead-on.  Of course from the start, the shop knew it would be; that’s almost always the case; it’s how they stay in business - simply doing good work.  Bad shops fall out quickly, but this place had the look of times gone by.  Good times. 
 Old porcelain signs, here and there were to be found, all original to the shop and revered by the older workers in honored nostalgia.  The younger workers get it too; they can tell from the co-workers they respect and learn from, there is something special about this past.  One sign advertises Carter Carburetors and the artwork depicts “three deuces”, model 97’s, sitting proudly atop a flathead engine, all speeding along in a red, open roadster.  Its occupants, a blond haired boy with slight freckles (driver), and a brunette girl passenger, bright white blouse, full and buttoned low. They are in the wind-blown cool, their excited expressions proclaim… "we have escaped and are free!" (and all you need is a Carter, or three).  How uniquely American.

The seasoned old engine block the boy entrusted to the shop cost him $120-even from the boneyard.  Not a bad deal for a good high-nickel content block that had never had its first 0.030”overbore.  In the shop, it was cleaned, checked for cracks by "magnafluxing", measured and re-measured, inspected and re-inspected.  It was shaped and cut in a special way that would allow the stroker crankshaft, that was to be the special part of this build, to have all the clearance it would need.  The engine block was fitted with temporary stress plates that mimic the presence of cylinder heads,  then the cylinders were bored to “first oversize”,  providing fresh metal for new piston rings to work against.  New bearings were installed everywhere bearings are required.  Parts were smoothed here and there.  Some surfaces were roughened just so, to allow new parts to “work-into each other” when things are finally brought together.  All of this was done with a level of precision and attention far, far greater than the old “4- bolt” had ever received at the factory on its way to a life of labor in the ¾ ton work van from which it came, and for which it had served so dutifully.  They called this painstaking dedication to precision measurement and fit, to hitting all specifications on the mark, “blueprinting”, and it would continue throughout the entire build of this engine.  The boy remained worried, but the shop had done it a million times.

After machining, the block was filled with new and strong parts that cost the young man everything he had.   Parts selected with the greatest of effort, decision, and debate.   You can compromise on paint and live with some rust,  he would say, wait for good tires, but never scrimp on the engine.  Right on.  Someone taught the boy right, regardless of whether or not he fully understood the importance of the words he parroted.  His accurate proclamation  also provided ample excuse for the rough, unfinished, underfunded look of the rest of his machine.  But it was just a look, his car was, in fact, “right”.   And its power plant?  Well the machine shop had talked their customer into letting them do the final engine assembly - even cut their price to do it.  To make that go down easy, they asked to have two of their shop decals affixed to the rod on race-days.  The young man thought that was a fair deal, but the shop was really just looking out for the boy, with their herring of sorts.  
The mill in its final form was the proper balance of performance and durability; and with its camshaft so carefully selected, the engine's “personality” was perfectly matched to the work at hand.   It would produce adequate torque in the low RPM range to get whole rig moving quickly, yet deliver enough horsepower near and at red-line to pile on the MPH, fast.  No longer a polite-natured workhorse, this engine, this engine is impatient now.  High compression, a rapid, choppy idle - it seems to be biting at the bit to be released.  On command, it gulps its mixture and screams angrily, and often those standing around have a reflexive jump - the louder, the better - the more angry, the better.  If it hurts your ears, that’s a good feeling.  If its bark startles, that’s a good startle.  A cacophony?  No, the “music” of controlled explosions, capable of thrusting everything and everyone attached, forward, impolitely, on a rapid run to the freedom so well depicted in the ad.  

This is the addictive sound and feel that has appealed to a certain type of person since engines replaced horses, and why?  A surrogate voice for those who are otherwise quiet?  A visceral celebration of accomplishment?    Who cares.  Shift once, then again - speed quickly makes its appearance.  It appears as a loud, rushing wind and a visually striking, unnatural view of the surrounding scenery.  At some point, in the sane, it triggers a natural response - better slow down.    

He uncorked the headers, bought gasoline, dropped her in gear, tore off to the scene
Camaros and Mustangs, an old ‘55
Obediently lined-up, to get skinned alive!

Verse II (1st person)

I drove past the banner that said “Welcome race fans” took a new route, behind the grandstands
And through my chipped window, I thought I could see
Some of the racers were laughing at me

I guess rust and primer are not to their taste
But I put my bucks mister in the right place

I chugged/popped past cars that dealers had sold
Swung into a spot, next to something old

Emerging with interest from under his hood
My neighbor said two words, he said, “sounds good”

The Nova I parked next to was “classic rodding” in its outward appearance.  The much overused “primer paint job”.  The hood and front fenders a fiberglass clamshell, pinned affair.  Dice hanging from the mirror paid homage to days its driver never knew, but wished he had.  He removed them before he drove, always.

If you know how to peel the onion, secrets are revealed.  Wilwood brake calipers can be a dead giveaway. Someone needs serious stopping power - maybe.  Generally, owners who have sprung the bucks for this type gear let the calipers show off in bright red, to make a statement, and sometimes, these days, it’s just a fashion statement.  Expensive calipers, as eye candy, seem to be all the rage.  What is true, however, is very few guys spend big money on brakes only to render them inglorious and seemingly common with a shot of silver paint from a rattle can - and the owner of this half fiberglass racer that poses as a street car had done just that.  I'll glean two things from this observation. One, he needs those heavy brakes because he’s fast, and two, hiding them fits his style.  
Really, the message to be found in the silver paint, so cleverly applied to make your eyes simply slide across on their way to more interesting things, was “sleeper”.   And sleeper really means, he’s one of those guys with a score to settle - with everyone perhaps.   The list of “real parts” grew, if you knew where to look.  Looking was something I had unofficial permission to do since my rod was undergoing a similar scrutiny.  
“Stroked?”, I asked.  That’s something you can’t see from the outside. “ No”, my racer friend replied.  
“Hundred shot?”  (If engines have their language, so do the people who love them).   Despite the owner’s great efforts to conceal braided fuel and nitrous lines, electrical solenoids and switches, I spied his system.  The chunks of aluminum posing as ordinary spacers under his two Holly's were anything but.   “No”, was his one-word reply to my 100- shot question.  I tried again; “Your nitrous system is cleanly installed, how much are you spraying?”  “Two hundred fifty” in two stages, he said.  That’s more like it, I thought, and I then figured, he too had budgeted well for the machine shop – if not, he was gambling in a game that if lost, would soon fly parts in all directions.   Based on the overall neat work on display, I believed his build was up to the punishment planned. 
  I knew exactly what this tight-lipped guy was about, seeing someone very familiar in him as it were, and that made the “sounds good” complement I received upon my arrival all the more valuable.  I liked my neighbor.  And I liked the fact of our scratch-built rods having found each other - and I looked forward to us both dusting off the factory jobs.  It was going to be a good day.

The voice on the loudspeaker tells us we’re up.

Pre-staged, staged, then given the green
The line becomes blurred between man and machine

Bones become linkage
Muscle, spring
Fear, excitement

Time distorts ….
Color disappears …
Vision narrows…
Noise ---  becomes music
Speed, satisfaction

End

There was a child went forth everyday;
And the first object she look’d upon, that object she became;
And that object became part of her for the day, or a certain part of
The day, or for many stretching cycles of years.

The dew laden grass became part of this child
And the fresh daisies and lightly scented lilacs and
the song of the morning sparrow,
And the crisp air, the mud puddles and the tall, tall tress that rained water droplets, when the wind passed,
And the magic world within the reeds, waiting for a curious someone to discover all the twists and turns and available hiding spaces.
And the yellow skunk cabbage and weeping willows, with their gracious locks—all became part of her

The golden grassy haze became part of her,
And the anthills poking up from the red Earth,
And the shaded creek, loosely singing.
And the freshly picked strawberries, dirtying any white shirt.
And the content busker sharing his music and stuttering his words, in a most peculiar manner,
And the passing grandmother walking hand in hand with her granddaughter
And the Jamaican man kissing his pipe and the funny odor that followed
And the old Italians bantering about soccer outside small cafes and coffee shops, that dotted the street like lanterns on a string
And all the changes of city and country, wherever she went

Her own parents,
He that had father’d her, and she that had conceiv’d her in her womb, and birth’d her,
They gave this child more of themselves than that;
They gave her afterward every day—they became part of her.

Her mother’s care-free ringlets, falling past her breast, her open hands and thin arms hidden behind an over sized shirt, the strength in her voice,
And the youthful, naive nature woven into her giggles.
The father, klutzy and drunk, the sudden change from a hearty laugh to an unsettling yell, the large hands and the lost feeling that showed through the anger. The confusing elixir of love and hate.
The landing in the stairwell, the black dial phone, the old tarnished green oven, the stapled on carpet, the Rug rats pillow cases and the laughter so good it hurt.
Never ending love—the difference in words and the actual inner emotion felt--wondering if dreams are reality--and if perhaps the real world and all its conundrums is a carefully devised skit.  
Who decides a mirage is an illusion, is it the same inhabitants who crowd the streets?
Do the rushing people, passed from one generation to the next, think the same thoughts, do they laugh at themselves or the passed on jokes that follow their age group, and are the sparks of people just mirages themselves?
Men and women crowding fast in the streets—if they are not flashes and specks, what are they?
The bakery windows, row in row, the fake cake in the window, the names of the streets and the differing decals hanging from car's indoor mirrors.
People being within the cars zooming by on the highway, the jingle of the Popsicle truck and the sticky hands following. The feeling of trying to wipe away the stickiness on tall grass, walking across the peeling yellow paint of the highway divider, left to the side of some lonesome road---the wooden train set and the carefully maneuvered tracks,

the orange morning sun, the rising steam from plants and houses, the comforting sleepiness cast over the whole town, settling upon rooftops and curling into closed arms, The mid-day beaming street, seen from the city bus window,
The fresh ocean and the old ferry boat, the smell of oatmeal and scrambled eggs and over buttered white toast. The balance between the clouds and sky, sharing the space, the dry feeling gathering around the eyes, the white waves forming from the ferry boats side, the gentle rocking from side to side,
The cold feeling the window casts as the face, leaning against it, gently surrenders sleep to the lulling gesture—knowing the world is round by glimpsing upon the horizons edge, the thought of explorers who sailed the same sea only years and years ago.
The innocence beaming down from the heavens and leaving speckles of white on the ocean’s surface, the cluster of yellow beaked seagulls greeting the arriving boats, the distinct fragrance of the earth and sea joining together, the salty barnacles and shore mud, the leaning  grass with  crusty sand clinging to its base.
These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will go forth every day.

Like the Blue Frame, Lowe Guele's Astray Red Frame Kai boasts amazing articulation through the generous use of poly-caps. Once assembled, this MG will be able to stand in a variety of poses wielding its weapons. Its backpack can easily take on a several forms with some simple changes. As 'Tactical ArmsIIL' it can change between Flight Form, Delta Form, and V form. Its Sword Form changes to Work Form, whereas Arrow Form takes the shape of a giant bow. The Beam Torch can be held in the mech's hand or attached to the Arrow Form. The MG Astray also comes with its two signature katana; Gerbera Straight forged by Kiku Ichimonji and Tiger Pierce by Kotetsu. The two katana even feature signatures carved into the handles!! Two 1/100 scale figures of Lowe Guele, one sitting and one standing, are also included plus dry transfer decals and stickers for markings.
More in http://www.modelhigh.com

He gave me a ring
With its facets glazed and cracked
Insisting it was once his great-grandmother's
She who
In rot-edged vintage photos
Wore a mink stole and flapper beads.
_____________

She pulls at seams
Takes up and brings down hems,
The stole pushed to the back
Of a web festooned attic
In a steamer trunk slapped with decals:
Moscow
Austria
Monte Carlo
Rio de Janeiro.
On cold days she wears it again
Dancing to old melodies on rough boards
And when she hears the front door slam
It's made to disappear in haste,
Her engagement ring clacking
Against the trunks flip locks.
That night as she makes biscuits
For her breadwinner she sees
The crack, the chip
Through a glaze of milked flour.

I think he’s worried that if he gives me the keys I will walk into his heart and immediately start redecorating. He has things set up the way he likes and he doesn’t want his posters torn down for wall decals of birds and quotes about love. He knows (it’s happened before) that most people can’t help but want to change things. No matter how much they like the way it looks, they can’t help but get started thinking what if… They have their ideas about how it should look. They want to put in their night tables and their paper lanterns. They want to make your heart theirs.
And when they leave (which they inevitably do, we are all some sort of nomad) they take some parts and leave others and you are left with a half full, cluttered heart. You have to make the long and painful decisions about what belongs there; try to remember what was there before she came. You try to sift out which parts of you she built, and which parts are worth keeping.

What he doesn’t understand about me is that I am not in the habit of making homes. I don’t like too much to stay. A blanket, bed and books are all I need. So he can keep his posters, and hang whatever lights he wants. If I admire the décor its only because I can see the way it lights up his eyes.
So I keep knocking, I keep peeking in the windows. And he keeps stalling, putting things in their right place, worried that if he lets me in I’ll start knocking things down.  And I can’t claim to not be a master of messes. I can’t claim I wont throw my laundry on the floor, and forget to scrub the toilet, and get sugar in the crevices of all the kitchen appliances for some late night cupcakes.
But I am not the type to move furniture. And when I’m gone it will be all yours again, every quiet corner. Maybe just a fingerful of sugar lingering behind a clean coffee mug will remind you that I was ever there at all.

Like the car you dumped at the junk yard, you left me an empty shell of what I once was.

You grabbed your suitcase and emptied all of me into it as soon as you found a vessel more flashy to carry your soul.

My tires weren't brand new but my tread still hugged your road with great traction.

My speakers crackle with age but I still played your favorites at your request.

I have rust and some dents, but my glass was clear enough for you to see the path ahead.

I may idle rough, and my exhaust is loud when you test my pedals with force, but I could've gotten you where you wanted to go.

You partially lifted my decals, left the burnt-out air freshener dangling, dancing on the mirror, and the lighter you lost is still in my pocket.

But I have a full tank of gas and someone new's got the key.

this title has begrudgingly waited for some loving kindness, fulfillment-needy, since October of Two Thousand and Seventeen

which is not quite as long as the decades I have been waiting to
accumulate the words to provide us both, an inspired solution

my days are numbered
in decades, decals, varying lengths of hair,
belts with notches that ain’t reachable,
suits various, both too big and too small to fit,
the who who used to own them,
begrudgingly, writes this

city born and bred, with the pale skin needed to prove my urbanity, each day came unto me begrudgingly,
even, especially, the good ones

when I was ten and rode my bike from freedom to mystery,
and back again in a city that was ok, if you stayed out of its way
and knew the city’s vocabulary and its erogenous zones

when nothing come easy, when even the easy, when it comes, comes begrudgingly

when you think of love, and the next immediate thought is:
how great the cost - recalling too well,
the pain of childbirth and child rearing
and the staining, paining fluid is in perm-attendence,
that doesn’t ever fully departs and
is not never entirely stain-stick-removable,
and the children come ‘n go according to their schedule,
someone else’s vast eternal plan

life in the same apartment  
where my parents died,
listening to the stories of joined lives,
listen to the sisters telling them
over and over to a stream of visitors
earned from and of a 98 year life,
given up willing but, begrudgingly as well.

the story-telling skill because of them,
my mist-matched parents who did ok
and their very best,
gifted us hyperbole innate genetic
and all of us now registered
tall tale tellers;

some write for a living,
some live to write,
some write to make themselves clearer,
after honestly confronting their subway reflection  

words acquired bot ‘n sold,
they too are stains unerasable,
very always handy,
the one thing we shared, word skill,
was never at loss, words never held a grudge
no matter how long they waited to serve

this fact, begrudgingly confess;
all my-word skill was freely inherited...
and I hope it satisfied the title
and you, those that waited patiently but,
begrudgingly

Concise, smooth
... in the mind's motor
Change the gears
... in the mind's motor.
Smooth transition
Up & Down
Forward & Reverse
The clutch
is not the crutch
the crucifix logo
on the bonnet
covering the forehead.

Pain on the dashboard
Diviners, decals or designators
Inflictors, innovators or inflexions
Pain on the Dashboard
Ignition, perception, cognition
waits for the turn key
in the soft tissue starter motor.

Turning indicators
flicker flash
amber red
there is no green.
Headlamps a dull glow
in the white hot agony
of the parking lot.
Robyn Youl.

Friction into reality; I should say into fiction into life.  Small beads form on the upper lip,  Shoes strings become untied, a bottle is cracked as the ship leaves it’s slip.  Fret and cascade escape a troubled brow.  A boat builder an architect leans smirks and shifts toward the end of the pier.  The wake presses a ripple across the bay’s cloudy shiloutte.  Mooring lines tighten righting an unballasted keel.  Its crew makes up chalks and moors with figure eights and half hitches.  Take up slack and pull with the boatswains command.
Captain, Executive officer, and first mate critique fit for crew and evolution.  

Pea coats smocked, boots weather sealed with wax, glove, slacks, hat, and pants.  Stores are stacked and awaiting brow and chain gang.  Rations and stores for 4 weeks.  The harbor’s main berthing finds vacancy at the vessels underway taking.  Bow to stern aspect three hundred feet washed and clean.  She has a 9 foot draft with another 22 feet to the first rail.  

The lines in the boat shore for a nimble light sailing ship.  A clipper maybe,  I’ll wait to report further direction possibly assuming more command.  A cigarette falls from my first *******.  A jostle to my left crafts seagulls posturing a stolen meal.  Sulfur stings my nostril igniting the first of two puffs.  The captian rolls his eyes my direction gives the once over finding his intrest in the rest of the evolution.

A few pier hands set eyes on the clipper, smoking.

Mice run along the wooden edge of the pier away from some of the salted pork and grain.  Two other mice lose courage at my sight line.  XO and first mate shift and turn retrieving my concern.  The brow is being landed at the stern of the ship.  

No decals and no name yet.  At some point Ill find or ask to be apart of the ships crew.  Deck hand, cook, messenger, helmsman, assistant to first mate all compatible with ability.  The first mate chuckles and mentions a figurative by stander knowing that an employment opportunity starts with a  conversation.  

Crew’s first leiutenant for the most part looks squared away and a bit untouchable, salty.  Pants tucked into calf high boots, a beard, pea coat and a lost stare.  Hesitating a bit he grins and settles back to appropriate conversation.

My bag and jacket drop accompany to the stores.  Maybe a slow patient walk aft, there has to be a name for her.  At the stern a marching movement to my right and I can follow the rear of the boat and in peripheral the command group.

The Lion’s Winter in large old English print below a iron clad window pane bounces with the tide to the left and right in a roll.  I can see the ship, now calming into a quiet slop off of the pier and its mooring lines. The rudder is a massive distorted key shaped piece of poplar with copper piano hinges all the way to the back of the keel.  A small blue crab lengthens a breast stroke across the top of the water.  

The three follow the appropriate custom before crossing the brow and the first louie barks a few times.  Two of the ship’s crew begin inventory on stores while a bit of nervousness creeps over the contents of my only possessions.  Wetting my lips I can taste the salt on my face.

One of the crew yells,
“Louie, move him off.  He stump’n around the grub.”
He barks again,
“Turn two.  Got more an him eny’d, a Rat!”

I took that as on opportunity to introduction.  Mr. Louie straightened pursed heels and drained thought from my façade.  His eyes narrowed, he felt the calm of my urgency.  He knew I needed, obliged then walked to conversation.  “Cryme's, you look’n for someone.”

“Humm, a shipmate.”
I could see the it was not the conversation he was expecting.  He leveled, “Pretty tight around here. What do you have in the bag?”

“Mostly books.”  

“You cant cross the atlantic reading books.”

Sharply understood in sponse to kurt, “Is that an opportunity or an intrest accompany to nothing.”

“You can naught cross the Atlantic.”


Tim says leave the world.  I laugh and he says no righting, laughter.

Yesterday tasted like teardrops
Each droplet the loneliest messenger
The saline was tougher than usual this time
It skipped my cheek bone
Lit up my taste buds like gunfire
And now my mouth is drowning in the vowels tomorrow has to offer

Yesterday felt like monster truck tire marks
On the junk car assembly line
Yesterday never felt this deadly before
Those weapons
The ones with dragons painted on the side
The big purple ones with names like Beast or Destroyer
With fire decals that looked fake enough to smile at
Were real enough to crush us
Crush yesterday
Crush everything we always wanted to be
And I've never been so ready for nothing to exist

Yesterday sounded like daffodils in December
The silence only former lovers know
Each petal looking for one last chance you know it doesn't deserve
Yesterday sounded like a good time to give up
To get the hell out of here
Yesterday makes a fool of the horizon
Pretending there is nothing worth searching for
Like there is nothing left at all

It’s morning
Today hits you in the forehead with a spitball
Grabs you out of bed
Points you to the windowsill
And smiles

You turn around
Bed just out of arm's reach
But today taps you on the shoulder
Leans in and whispers the good news mom used to leave you with at the bus stop
It blends in with the cool breeze for a moment
You go outside
Grab that jacket your grandmother bought you last Christmas
Zip it up right above your bellybutton
And remember the wind can give the best advice

Today brought you your favorite mixtape
The one you left in your high school locker
And today likes the stereo real loud
You cruise with the windows down all day
You drive west
Swear you can beat the sunset
You imagine you're driving a monster truck
And you destroy today
Take everything you ever wanted back
You see yesterday in the rear view mirror as you approach the beach

It's dusk

You smile

You jump right in the water and know there's no turning back

With every line written,
All I have given,
These rhymes nothing more,
Than self made prison,
Trying to avoid tunnel vision,
The pen that left crimson,
The petals of emotion,
The decals of wisdom,
Rip apart
Like faint heart,
This ain't art.
This dirt on my shoes,
Ain't wishing for me to loose,
Every step taken,
The pages left brazen,
True rhymes feel like a haven,
For the endangered species of the kingdom,
I ain't talking about reading between the lines,
I am talking about freedom.

VERNARTH
Monastic  Cell

Vernarth begins to describe:
"This magnificent monastic complex dominates the island, and the old settlement of Chorá, associated with it, is home to many religious and secular buildings, where the famous pressurization of the inspiring forces of the Beloved Disciple is present, in this place he will reside in the sacred year 95 AD. AD, with his Gospel and the Apocalypse. A monastery dedicated to the "beloved disciple" was founded there in 1088 by Hosios Christodoulos Latrinos and has been a place of Greek Orthodox pilgrimage and teaching ever since.

Spilaion Apokalypseos (Cave of the Apocalypse) Many architectural changes have undergone over 900 years, adapting to changing political and economic circumstances. It has the outward appearance of a polygonal castle with battlements flanked by towers. It also houses a remarkable collection of manuscripts, icons, and liturgical objects and works. The primitive elements, which date back to the 11th century, are the catholicon (main church) of the monastery, the chapel of Panagia and the refectory. The north and west sides of the inner courtyard are surrounded by the white walls of the cells, and on the south side stands the Tzafara, a two-tier arcade in dressed stone, built in 1698. The outer narthex of the catholicon forms the east side. . Halfway up the steep path from Skalá to Chorá is the Cave of the Apocalypse (Spilaion Apokalypseos), where, according to tradition, Saint John dictated the Book of Revelations and his gospel to his disciple Prochoros. This sacred place attracted several small churches, chapels and monastic cells, thus creating an interesting architectural ensemble. ”
They continue in this set of phenomena towards the definitive mediation of the cavern by means of the inspirational illumination of the conduit of the ****** of the hundred doors or church of the hundred doors, declaiming the Panagia with the hermit and his disciple Prochoros, with remarkable whispers of the Blue Cormorant that he brought from La garriga; from a nearby ecoregion with plant formations emerging in the biomes of the Mediterranean forests, to incense all the white walls of the cells where the hermit led them walking together with two monumental candle torches. From here this cormorant will transport all the bioclimatic zones of the ecosystem, to constrain the Tytillinus embryo to be swallowed by it, predominantly to forget about its concept of egg as an oviparous generation of temptation and to be anchored to the plant site as an original species. . This blue cormorant is a superlative factor in the context of changing the cephalization of this demon-monster in the collective consciousness of the grotto and its shed.

They transpose the Tzafara, where the cormorant perches lavishly moving its head like a spasm in its neck to the northern north, illuminating its crimson green eyes. Destining his penances for the narthex as an open portico until the exonarthex, here the multiplied figure of Tytillinus would increase, appearing to be dominant before them, but all remained cohesive and closely united in paleo Christian rosaries, to re-infuse the forces of fear transferred to this invader.

Thus being able to reach the hemisphere of the mound that comes from Skalá, in front of them the Spilaion Apokalypseos grotto in Katapausis. You could see how the crystals of unhappiness turned into high-grade psalms of translucent stained-glass crystals of extremely shameful colors. Vernarth carried in his hand a Sheesham box with purisms and essences of the temple earth that he was building, he carried his magnificent thoughts inside the catholicon tied in his arms of the quarterdeck, where the raw solvents of the past wars as Military Commander oozed.
In front of the cave they all perch. Vernarth will inaugurate the Quadrivium whose four paths; They would group disciplines related to mathematics, geometry, astronomy and music as a study curriculum for the uprising of species and their preservation for centuries and centuries. Linked to the tracks or roads; grouping grammar eloquence and helping to speak, with dialectics to help search for the truth, and rhetoric coloring the words. Thus they understood the grammar, dialectic, rhetoric and its elementary figures and the three Trivium routes attached as a whole on this pilgrimage as they were already in front of the hermitage of the Saint. Raeder, Petrobus and Eurydice move their anxious feet with a few bars of Laziko, thus throwing from the ground with their feet the particles of thousands of years inseminated by the adjacent atmosphere towards the theological philosophical goal of the spirits satisfied to join them in the masses in proportion to the weight of their mobile talents, applying makeup like millennia to each other ..., parading before them.

Orpheons of the lowlands of Patmos were felt entering through the holes of the roof of the cavern, in communion to join them in the compas of this beautiful melody that diverged from all the original immaculate accents of the gifts along with the original of the Holy disciple. The petrified lotophagous mushrooms walked swiftly along the walls through the deviant Trojan ships, towards where the Trinidadian music descended from the roof, bruising the oversized apricots of the candlesticks, dazzling the other walls full of figurative tapestries of conceptual and iconographic images. Vernarth sang the Almara, an insistent retrograde song that invoked the entire community of Skalá and surroundings to join them through the arena sliding down the face-to-face gorge of the Katapausis, imbued in the mega center of the redoubled canticos of their own gorges, cloning the flat voices of the unknown mezzo vocal origin. Saint John only Vernarth allows him to enter his monastic cell, the others remain in the anteroom, pouring holy water and touching the hyper-curled walls of Chytridiomycota mushrooms that became voluminous in the immortal reflections of the vivid glow, to gather them to follow his insistent pastoral voice to a meadow of prominent demarcation step with its dynamic Laziko. Vernarth places in his hands a thick and heavy sacred medal, which will allow him to cease his lamentations and processes of Excessive occultism, before the heavy solitude procreated on his new face in rictus of joy and smiles in rounds of healing, beyond all predictions of his avatars and proselytes.


Vernarth goes on to describe:
A large amount of stress accumulated due to damage to the mitochondria that respond to the DNA that preserved the genetic material niche itself in a different way from that of the nucleus in the cavern, managing to dissipate after auscultating with the Quadrivium, detecting that a large part of the volumes manuscripts and iconographies were reactivated to other books as guests, to make them a living portrait for the tissue of the organism that parasitically inhabited the cavern walls. Inquiring an organized mitoconuclear communication. If they fail to resolve the mitochonuclear mtDNA breaks, before the radiosities of the celestial diaphragm, a dysfunction will be triggered that will affect the cells and tissues of the host, on all manuscripts and iconographies. These mitochondrial genomes will examine their function in the area of organic cellular spatiality, therefore the ideas obtained of incompatibility will remove all the saprophytic material from the rough trails of the demon granule Tytillinus, to exile it to the confines of its eco-region, where it lives unnaturally abandoned.

An evanescent canonical source alluding to this stay in Patmos will reveal to them through the roofs of all the houses of Skalá, mentioning through the mouth of the Eremita: “I, John, your brother and partner in the tribulation, in the kingdom and in the patience of Jesus I was on the island called Patmos because of the word of God and the testimony of Jesus. I was in spirit on Sunday when I heard behind me a great voice like a trumpet saying: '' Write what you see in a book and send it to the seven churches (Rev 1: 9-11). Moist winds licked all the roofs changing the nuances and morning faces, proclaiming the new secular kingdom. ” The most detailed source, continues to deny his parchment although already in late popular event, on his stay in Patmos are the apocryphal Acts of John, attributed to his disciple Prochorus. In them it is told how Juan and his disciple looked for a quiet place with a cave where they spent ten days of fasting. Subsequently, John sent Procorus to buy papyri and ink, and for two days dictated to his disciple the text of the revelation. Later the saint would entrust his disciple with a noble copy on parchment. The Golden Legend makes practically no reference to these moments, except for a mention that "he was entrusted with having confidentially known some arcane and profound things, such as the divinity of Jesus Christ and the end of the world".

The apostle appears on the spot presenting Vernarth with writing as a sacred office, also to commission future parchments for his future prophecies, and ink on a scroll or codex resting on his knees or on a desk. He also boasts showing him the writing tools (calamus, inkwell, rasorius, cornua) that are usually also reflected in considerable detail in the decals of his fingered golden fingers, accompanying the eagle, symbolically within the set of the tetramorphs of the old testament. Here Vernarth takes his face in compassion when he learns that his hermit master acquired the appearance of an octogenarian appearing accompanied by his disciple Prochorus, showing him the streaks, singing to them with the ninety years since he was exiled. It is a subject of late consolidation, very frequent in the late medieval manuscripts that contain this book or fragments of it, especially the books of hours where the image of the saint abounds on the island accompanied by the eagle, allusion to the apocalyptic living, and with much Frequently, of an imp that throws the inkpot or hides the calamus and that many authors have identified with Titivillus, a medieval demon who was credited with spelling errors in books and mistakes in prayers in order to win souls for Lucifer. The first reference that is had of this terrible demon is in the Tractatus of Penitentia of John of Wales, which dates from the year 1285, which will be evidenced in the framework of this stratagem entrenched in Vernarth's career as a Macedonian warrior, and that he would bring with this odeón the detuned song that would rule those who cultivate the art of sound near luminous beings prone to lose faith, as well as those who represent here as Tytillinus, vast evil oppressor of those who look at sacred scriptures affecting their eyes, as a sign of peeling of degraded human eye skin.
The others appearing were outside in a shed, all very close to each other, just waiting for the order to leave. Suddenly they see a brilliant blue waving light, which was coming down on them, it was an eagle coming towards them as a signal to tell them that Vernarth was coming back, to go to go with them to their rooms and continue with their daily tasks.

Under edit / continue

The rumors are true,
Nighttime crowds, hand stuffed hoodies.
Blah blah blah. Yada yada yada.
V neck t-shirts with decals printed on the back of them.
Sweatshirts. Loose cargo shorts.
The holiday of photo galleries captured between blinking eyes.
Tickets sold half priced.
Too bad movies aren't the way they used to be.
A stigma that everything around changes.
A few empty seats, one empty stall in the men's bathroom.
A exclusively graphic depiction of unzipped blouses, unbuttoned  pants.
Toilet tissue stuck to the bottom of worn shoes.
Suddenly there's a tote for whatever bag that needed to be held.
But then again we're just chatting, aren't we. Two souls with nothing to do but vandalize each other's mind.
Blah blah blah. Yada yada yada.

On my seventeenth birthday

I left talcum footprints

On the stairs

As my feet padded around

the house.

-

I woke up late to no buzzing phone

And a birthday cake

hidden under

the bathroom sink

-

I spent the day weightless

but as evening came

my body turned to

heavy lead

-

I was poison

amongst the lively

asian men

and women

that planted food

on my table

that I made toxic

-

I knew now

that my fate was sealed

in the gold wall decals,

the birds that never sang

Wake up, I'm still breathing
Deep breath, Sun still shines
Scattered thoughts, Need to focus
Determination, Now's the time
Moments pass, Familiar faces
Small towns, I've seen these names.
Past employment?
Residential greetings?
Does it really matter? Seasons change.
One step forward, Never backward.
Head held high, There is no shame.
The ones we've lost Will not be forgotten
They are gone But not in vain.
Open minded, Training neurons
Information sticks like glue
Coherent words, expressed, Well spoken
Living
Learning
Right on que.
Kitchen decals, Pen to paper,
Carbon copies, Bruised Left thigh
Inspiration
Beat
ing
Bleed
ing
What's the Question?
Am I me??
Or I know I??
I Am a Nurse
And Fearless fighter
I'm a mother and a Friend
Unfinished Masterpiece in progress
With no Beginning, without End
I am Perfect Imperfections.
A constant journey to improve.
I am Light containing Darkness
I'm sometimes wrong, but who are you??!
I Am Flesh and Bone Created by Unmoved mover of all that IS.
I am student, sometimes teacher
I'm not labelled by past ****!
I'm Slightly damaged, Never broken
Bruises fade, These Bones do mend
I'm organizing matter..
Reestablish
Reinvent
Ing
Reunite
Ing
Inner Freedom
To try and Place my Faces to the Place to Face your Name-

L. DeCypher

The Mashiach opened the Shamaim from the conception of the position of the Himation as an investiture of the Greek-Hebrew World that subsisted at the expense of the Tragigonia or Generation of the hyper-stellarization of the Himation particles. He did not stay alone wandering in the city of Kosmous, he would continue to fervently contribute to his Heroic Death that was already imminent. He structured his hereditary Submitology as galactic chaff; similar to the chaff of the Olympus Marble. Vernarth, before being invested, transfused as an exasperated Substance that teleported him to Olympo with his destitute feet but crammed with the chaff of the Kosmous where Orpheus and Dionysus received him, one with the chaff of tinsel and the other with the chaff of Eleusis, conforming to the metempsychosis where centuries became rectilinear of the immaterial conglomerate of both, but if in the liqua aura it would gradually refine from Britannia, which could be replaced by the patronage of hyperboreal islands, moving to the Dodecanese, perhaps instituted by the Romanesque Voice of the same Empire but with the dazzling Hellenic or Helleniká root in the Last attempt to approach the insular inheritance of other reverse islands called “Pretanniká Nesiá”, right there on top of Olympo. Suddenly by factions of immortality, they made tragedy and lethality, which implied parking for thousands of millennia trying to decipher the true identity of the ahistorical mythological beings, who now survive together with Vernarth in the ethons or screens that would reflect the composition of a living being. that instantly dies for its exuberance of life.

Vernarth, would go with his noctilucent Himation to the Krystallina monopathia or the Paths of Crystallization that made up the Olympo like a pantheon that was assimilated with rancid and weightless fungiform fluff, all this wild persuasion carried him on his decals by the crystal silica of the Olympo. The Himation was made of shoes and thrones that were not clearly related to the Olympic heights, and of not fearing with more heights that would exceed the interstices of the exaltation of everything that existed in front of its doubt that was clarified with the presence of the Souls of Trouvere. Everything seemed easy to explain in the hands of the circumlocution that Orpheus and Dionysus would make him in the luminosity of the Olympo, which is Ohr transliterated from the Olympus as the prominence that will be torn from the unstitched Himation, beating him with exulcers in the altitude of the Balkans. , and adhering to the tripartite relationship of the elevations with Delphi and Patmos. The quantum of time condensed the atmospheric hailstorm that had been decaying from Aurion, thus creating the orographic leveling of these converging quantum elevations as a flood subject to the Makryrema river, and as tributaries that will be activated with Delphi; specifically with the Kassotides and the Profitis Ilias in the concomitance of the Fifth Chalice of the prophet Elias who would come to challenge the glories, to mend the foothills that united them in this Monopathy or Pilgrimage of effort with essentials of superiority, which could be linked to the Agia Triada. Vernarth walked in complete solitude through the southwestern subterranean and bizarre mounds, figuring he did not feel that way at all since he did not measure more than a hundred meters in radius where Orpheus and Dionysus followed him, snooping in his Monopathia that would make him unreceptive before the advent of his A body destined to the method of objectively glimpsing knowledge that was extremely neophyte to its bustle, it was only motivated by praiseworthy essences that emanated from the Agia Triada string, which supported them with its beautiful channel by dressing what became lavish when walking and dressing naked, and also what made him ragged as he squandered his creed kits with dogmas that were instigated in his unleashed tragedy. His Purgation was an onslaught of his somatization that was renewed from his epidermis and that was totally transgressed by the Himation filigree that was unstitched in Golden fleeces, in the presence of some heroics who fought in the fallen fratricide of Olympo. Everything accused a brotherhood of Lineage that superimposed investiture or secular genes, over the science of accounting for their monopathies made by more than one parapsychological and Submitological regression. Undoubtedly, the factotum of the preludes of his Parapsychological end would be present before him, of what would **** from the ******* of the Renaissance after being subjugated by the Roman Empire as its decline, protocolized by the authorship of the scribbled hussar, trying to be the moderator with new castes that would reign in the surrounding Romania and Hungary for an extraditable rebirth in 1436, becoming resurgent reformed antiquity. From this perspective, the cursory Uttukus in the umpteenth parapsychology would appear in this trace together with Vlad Strigoi and Wonthelimar, who for so much quantum and excessive composure would let them know of a Reborn in the Olympo of the Olympos by knowing how to conceive that their heroes would have the life of its own and independent of universal mythology unified to the world, which in these elevations had great consonance with those of the Kantillana of Sudpichi, Kingdom of Chile and its Transverse Valleys / Regency of Horcondising with this rhetoric that would be strengthened in the placement of its Vampiromagia Automata Iconoclastic. All this heritage would lead to pastiness in all the corny monarchies that were intermingling with the eastern empires ..., specifically Hellenic and its perceptible quantum isomers, which were thrown from the veins with magnanimous elephantiasis masses that were falling from submithology Aurion.

Vernarth continues the intrusive internment of the suffocating aid of the Olympo, and of the profuse victimization that he believed to delight those who had only saved them from the axiomatic spark of beatitude and his predestination, which was only sponsored by Orpheus and Dionysus who were distant from him. , to see what would happen with his enchanted Himation, in the face of any setback that reinvented himself par excellence of the Vespers of his Triumph in the face of Death, everything has happened after that in some Brueghelian folios. This would testify that his leap towards the Renaissance was peremptory “And why not say it of the Kafersuseh of Ein Karem, that from where the stereotypes of a Mashiach would be based that would be reborn as many times as possible of the chained isomer of its quantum in Vernarthian parapsychology, being able to and to be warned from a virtual halter, to hold the infractions that consanguineously raged between life and death, and between the transgression demanded by the origin of error and naivety. Vernarth continues to transfer areas of the Olympo from which nothing could be ascertained if any shallow abstraction of its undeniable orographic height, perhaps a demiurge would make it, secreting par excellence the greatest mesocratic powers and the most abandoned demiurges in all their glories, lacking everything that makes his complete foolishness, and radicalized alterity due to the savage dominations of poorly contained wealth; That is to say, giving off the stunned Vine from where the monarchs would serve their henbane in vessels of the same servants, and their same harvests, and of their same vines that par excellence constitute the negligence of a right of territorial change with the basality of an inborn right that emanates from the vertical culture of the end of the Middle Ages, which is served in the same chalices that are the Kli or containment vessels for the eternalization of the Merciful Light or Ohr Hassadim. Behold, the Brughelian Death becomes Vernarthian in the unhappy planes of being born or reborn that is intricate from its Alpha and Medieval chaos ..., where nothing and nobody will be able to restrict the unbegotten Vine goblets to serve them in the original Servus Gleba vessels or Servants of Gleba, inborn with the Hoplites of Vernarth, who with large detachments kept vigil for him from a meager spiel from the Ohr ..., cheering their Lord on the Olympo directed to the tripartite, and towards the Delphic and Patmian.

Give to me specialized, cowardly retreat treatment while I'm navigating the subtle history of what my elevated toilet seat meant in the throes of bowel movements that require knees with feet bent, housed like ***** hoes with raw beef refrigerated in a meat tent on polymorphed mammaries subjected to inflated **** rent. Chicken's tasty from Shake 'n Bake, better than creepy Cake-My-Snake. Elvis mashed American bananas into fresh peanut butter while his mammy fried plantains for a twinned-dead brother. [Mexican inter-course is what Mexicans do to each other to make Mexico bigger.] Share in my stupefying hugeness! Get what's due to you! I'm all woman! I weigh 350 pounds after strenuous dieting that doesn't work! Let's chat. My body's dazzlingly groovy like a ***** who acts in a G-rated movie. ~ Of all the girly crones, Shirley Jones speaking on curly phones in surly tones, cussed out more burly clones with pearly cones. You're up Europe to throw up & up chuck while the sunny sun's up. [I'm looking for someone who enjoys the bankruptcy experience. Have you not wondered what it would be like to give your money to me? Things, material possessions, OWN you. It's a trap-shoot I tells you!] ~ I'm sweating like Jackie Gleason over a bowl of chili. If I smoked I would smoke cigarettes with a mild menthol flavor. If I had a best friend I would take her to Wales after Scotland and spend my inheritance on the Isle of Man. If I had a car I would have flame decals on the hood so people would yell: "Hey *******! Your car's on fire!" Why they'd call me "*******" I don't know. One'd think they'd show respect for a man who's got flames shootin' out his hood. Geez! Could I *** a sample o' your blood? You look anemical. Make it a small sample, enough to smear across a slide, because, the job of making new dogs, with dog fluid, is the job of dogs.

With the start of NFL football yesterday, I must salute those brave and patriotic players and teams who take a stand against police brutality of black people. I must share this poem and video that my Miami Dolphins shared.  I stand in complete solidarity with the Dolphins on this issue.  

https://twitter.com/i/status/1304186433054420992

It is authentic? That’s the mystery.

Or is it just another symbolic victory?

Now there’s two anthems. Do we kneel do we stand.

If we could just right our wrongs we wouldn’t need two songs.

We don’t need another publicity parade.

So we’ll just stay inside until it’s time to play the game.

Whatever happened to the funds that were promised. All of a sudden we got a collapsed pocket?

The bottom line should not be the net profit. You can’t open your heart when it’s controlled by your wallet.

Decals and patches. Fireworks and trumpets. We’re not puppets. Don’t publicize false budgets.

Ask the pundits and we shouldn’t have a say. If you speak up for change, then I’ll shut up and play.

If we remain silent, that would just be selfish. Since they don’t have a voice, we’re speaking up for the helpless.

It’s not enough to act like you care for the troops. Millions for pregame patriotism. You get paid to salute.

Lift every voice and sing? It’s just a way to save face. Lose the mask and stop hiding the real game face.

So if my dad was a soldier, but the cops killed my brother, do I stand for one anthem, and then kneel for the other?

This attempt to unify only creates more divide. So we’ll skip the song and dance. And as a team we’ll stay inside.

We need changed hearts. Not just a response to pressure. Enough. No more fluff and empty gestures.

We need owners with influence and pockets bigger than ours. To call up officials and flex political power.

When education is not determined by where we reside. And we have the means to purchase what the doctor prescribed.

And you fight for prison reform and innocent lives.

And you repair the communities that were tossed to the side.

And you admit you gain from it, and swallow your pride. And when greed is not the compass, but love is the guide.

And when the courts don’t punish skin color, but punish the crime.

Until then, we’ll just skip the long production and stay inside.

For centuries, we’ve been trying to make you aware.

Either you’re in denial, or just simply don’t really care.

It’s not a black/white thing. Or a left/right thing. Let’s clean the whole bird, and stop arguing about which wing.

Then, Flores faced the camera, and concluded:

Before the media starts wondering and guessing, they just answered all your questions. We’ll just stay inside.

the lawns are on pause as the light lathers
a hemisphere of manicured magnolias
and apparitions.
some joy is slain, and yet
the decals of Spring Guinivere
as naked as pollen in a breeze
of mirage. intermittent.
like a long day of extraordinary things
that didn’t happen
until you looked.

Give to me specialized, cowardly retreat treatment while I'm navigating the subtle history of what my elevated toilet seat meant in the throes of bowel movements that require knees with feet bent, housed like ***** hoes with raw beef refrigerated in a meat tent on polymorphed mammaries subjected to inflated **** rent. Chicken's tasty from Shake 'n Bake, better than creepy Cake-My-Snake. Elvis mashed American bananas into fresh peanut butter while his mammy fried plantains for a twinned-dead brother. [Mexican ******* is what Mexicans do to each other to make Mexico bigger.] Share in my stupefying hugeness! Get what's due to you! I'm all woman! I weigh 350 pounds after strenuous dieting that doesn't work! Let's chat. My body's dazzlingly groovy like a ***** who acts in a G-rated movie. ~ Of all the girly crones, Shirley Jones speaking on curly phones in surly tones, cussed out more burly clones with pearly cones. You're up Europe to throw up & up chuck while the sunny sun's up. [I'm looking for someone who enjoys the bankruptcy experience. Have you not wondered what it would be like to give your money to me? Things, material possessions, OWN you. It's a trap-shoot I tells you!] ~ I'm sweating like Jackie Gleason over a bowl of chili. If I smoked I would smoke cigarettes with a mild menthol flavor. If I had a best friend I would take her to Wales after Scotland and spend my inheritance on the Isle of Man. If I had a car I would have flame decals on the hood so people would yell: "Hey *******! Your car's on fire!" Why they'd call me "*******" I don't know. One'd think they'd show respect for a man who's got flames shootin' out his hood. Geez! Could I *** a sample o' your blood? You look anemical. Make it a small sample, enough to smear across a slide, because, the job of making new dogs, with dog fluid, is the job of dogs.