I feel like the white lion
stuck in a cage for the rest of my days
feet set to tread a path barred and dusty
from all of those who trod before it.

The only excitement, the jangles of
keys from the keeper who runs to
throw carcass of rabbit, turkeys
through my bars for me
to render sustenance, incomplete.

I fear the white lion
hear my lonely roar and wonder
at such talons, canines now stolen
and feet dismembered, claws ripped
from their shackles, top-of-the-food-chain
fear desecrated.

And a genetic time-bomb too
ticks under my skin and theirs
as I sit and I listen to the lies
your children now share.

My line also ends, a mere stutter
in the sand, as the tides flow steady
and the last lion lingers.

And I am, too, held high like a beacon,
a warning, a message spanning
centuries, look, children, look!
See the mistakes of your ancestors.

See how her coat shines so very bright
that it reflects all seven colours
of the light? See how lonely and low
the last of a manipulated, mistaken,
misconstrued species can go?

She was drawn from her mother
mixed with her father, no she doesn't need him
and the others, why yes, all left
are her kin!

How wonderful, how quaint, you
know only ten now remain?
None in the wild of course, where
their life cannot sustain,
better here locked under our
constraints where we have
so much wonder, so much recreation
and education to gain.

And true, from this bleak place
they can never migrate
but look at her, no where else to go
this man-made mistake.

Don’t worry about the pacing,
the maddened, gleaming eye
the freedom they miss
out there? They would die!
And they know no other way
than this.

I know she looks sad, but
that’s just your feelings projecting,
they’re just animals, my darling,
you’re innocent, shouting in consternation
save her in the name of conservation!

But we are all white lions
all now endangered, our steps
are no freer, our lives all
subject to external changes and we
cannot move but for the cage
they have constructed, their
lives are impacted but our
wonder is not deducted.

I feel like the white lion
this ambassador of our greatness
this one mistake, so very clever,
engineered to engage us, these lives that
were wrought solely to entertain us.

I feel it, their future entwined in mine
and in humans across the ages.

Meaning of life designed, its sibilant message
dangerous, a dumb animal wandering
a set path, disregarded, destructive, aimless.

Shopping outfashioned hunting and gathering,
Processed beats fresh,
Groceries replaced fruit trees,
Malls superceded forests,
Churches outnumbered temples,
Countries dissolved to territories,
Places devolved to areas,
Paths broke down into highways,
Commodity converted to currency,
Laborers submit to machinery,
Masters engage in humbug,
Apprentices reduced to students,
Knowledge downgraded to education,
And education is deducted to a show of grades,
While schools are the stages,
And the corporate world is the bigger runway,
With work slumped to employment,
Wisdom demoted to profession,
Where in jobs are the only future,
Careers are the only success,
Clicking and pressing buttons are skills,
Computers are correspondent to brains,
Information refers to news reports,
Intelligence means up-to-dateness,
Browsing is preferable to reading,
Studying is in demand more than learning,
Viewing things flashed on screens yields awareness,
Transportation is to traveling,
As buying is to the three basic needs,
And needs embody worldly possessions,
Worldly possessions define happiness,
Happiness is due to selfishness,
Selfishness is traced to the lack of love,
The lack of love draws from the lack of faith,
Because faith stands for religion,
And religion stands for membership,
Where politicians are the gods,
Celebrities are the preachers,
And the preachers are the enemies,
While networking is equal to friendship,
And connection equates to communication,
Experiences require photos,
Memories necessitate uploading,
Souvenirs can be downloaded,
Smartphones are substitute to pets,
Gadgets are toys,
Holding controllers is playing,
Watching TV is exploring the great outdoors,
Internet is recreation,
And technology is a way of life;
While humans are scientists,
Nature is a guinea pig,
And the earth is a laboratory,
Where prices are misidentified for worth,
Processes are miscalculated as progress,
Impoverishment is confused with improvement,
And getting more is mistaken as getting better;
And then we wonder why
Homes have become houses,
Family members have become boarders,
Nations are separate species
Composed of tired and hungry citizens,
Children are monsters
Who are biochemically rascals,
Teenagers are zombies
Whose adventures lead to delinquency,
Adults are robots
Who just clang when touched,
And life is not so simple
As how it is said to be.

The blank page stares at me
mockingly, an empty wishing well
of impermanent desires, my
thoughts a herd of nomadic
feral cats to be coraled.

It is a mathematical permutation
of the identity matrix, imaginary
numbers and exponents,
fractional divisions with
no order of operations.

Solve me for x, given y,
yield absolute value at
absolute zero as my
function crosses Cartesian boundaries.

     | x |  =   y * (universal truth / personal experience)  ±  squareRoot(-1)

y  =  zero;  go.

Factor in gravity (9.8 meters per second^2),
we have lost cabin pressure.

Please show all work, points will be deducted,
this is a test.

"You call this good service!? Why you little twit, let me speak to your manager! No, I don't want anything deducted from the bill, I want to speak to your manager RIGHT NOW! So, you're the manager? Well, your daft, twit of a waiter messed up our order THREE TIMES! I DON'T CARE if it's his first day! I WANT YOU TO FIRE HIM!"

The man woke up.

He walked to his refrigerator hoping to find last nights left over veal, but he doesn't.
He thought maybe it's a sign veal is bad in the morning, so he made his coffee and sat down to watch the news.
Linda Sparoski was on talking about Gun rights.
"I kind've want a gun, but it probably wouldn't be the best idea."
He kept watching until he heard someone at the door.
Paranoid, he crept up to the peep hole.
Peering through he saw an elderly woman delivering what looked to be like a package.
"I wasn't expecting anything... **** it must **** to be her age"
He waited until the frail old woman made her way back to the UPS truck and drove away.
He went outside to pick up the box, only to find it very light. Much lighter than he expected.
On the outside scribbled in blue pen was "The man's name" so he knew it was for him.
He saw it was taped up pretty good, kind've how a child wraps a Christmas present.
He grabbed his kitchen knife.
"Scissors are like double knifes, except you don't need a cutting board."
He put the knife back and grabbed a pair of scissors.
"Scissors are ****** double knifes."
He put the scissors back and grabbed the knife.

When he returned to the box, he seemed to stare at the handwriting for quite some time.
He began to cut into the box.
On removal of the layers of scotch tape was a little note before the rest of the box could be open.
"Promise me?"
He was really confused now.
"I need more coffee"
Chugging his third cup, the man returns to the box.
Determined to open it.
He lifts the ***** keeping the pieces of cardboard box cube shaped, and begins to look inside.
The man sees photographs stacked on top of a few letters.
"Possibly something underneath."
As he dug through he saw a picture of himself dressed as Captain America on Halloween.
He tries remembering that Halloween but just can't quiet do it.
"I was never Cap.. "
He dug through more.
Found pictures of old beach houses he vaguely remembers, some pictures almost looked like a sonic drive through.
Stomach growl.
"Last nights quesadilla"
The man went to his fridge, with no luck of finding this cheesey goodness.
In fact his fridge was empty.
He doesn't remember it being empty.
He starts thinking about Halloween.
The man kicks the box under his coffee table, and stumbles to bed, even though it is only 6:47 pm.
Dreams of sand.
Dreams of sand.
Dreams of water.
Dreams of her.

The man woke up.

He heads to his coffee ***.
He has not made coffee yet.
He heads to his refrigerator to find last nights left over lasagna.
"When did I make that? 2 weeks-ago-ish?"
He does not find lasagna.
His coffee is done brewing.
He walks away without a cup to find the box.
The news was still on. Linda Sparracci was on talking about the man's town.
She said that the man's town was experiencing the worst drought since two thousand and sixteen.
"What year is it?"
The man tries to find a calendar but only finds twelve.
"So it could be 2025, 2026, 2028... Wait."
He deducted that it must be 2026, for this calendar had the most dates circled, and he has felt quite busy recently.
The man then fell.
When he came too he was on the couch.
It was snowing out.

Deciding it must be around December  time, he goes throughout his home looking for objects to wrap up and give to his family.
He finds a box.
The box has a note on the outside
"Promise me"
Without looking through the box, he wraps it up with what he can find.  
Thinking of where to send it, he thinks of the first address he can remember, presumably his parents house, and sends the box off.
"Captain America... "
The man decides to watch Duck Dynasty season 34 for the first time, without seeing the prior 33 seasons.
The man passes out.
Dreams of white.
Dreams of red.
Dreams of death.

The man woke up.

He walked to his refrigerator hoping to find last nights left over veal, but he doesn't.
He thought maybe it's a sign veal is bad in the morning, so he made his coffee and sat down to watch the news.
Linda Spurokik was on, talking about the new Captain America movie.
"I was Captain America once.."
The man gets up to feed his dog.
The man does not have a dog anymore.
The man sits down.
Halloween 3 comes on the television.
He remembers getting her roses, because she was mad he didn't want to go trick or treating.
They ending up going trick or treating anyway.
She didn't like the roses.
The man tries to imagine what Michael Meyers must've felt like.
Being cast so many times over because of his creepy plastic face.
"I bet it was really hard to find other work though..."
The man was unsettled with this thought and turned off the television.
With nothing to more to do, he crawls to bed, even though it is only 6:24 pm.
No dreams
Just blackness.

The man woke up.

He heard someone at the door.
Paranoid, he crept down the stairs to the window.
Peering through he saw a young man delivering what looked to be like a package.
"I wasn't expecting anything... **** it must **** to be that young in this day and age"
He waited until the man made his way back to the USPS truck and drove away.
He went outside to pick up the box, only to find it very light. Much lighter than he expected.
On the outside scribbled in blue pen was "The man's name" so he knew it was for him.
When he opens the box he finds a picture of himself dressed as Captain America and she was beside him.
"Even trying to look ugly she was beautiful."
The man begins to cry a bit.
Gently places the picture down, he digs through more.
He finds an old Valentine's Day card.
"Signed your's forever, love you so much"
The man puts the contents of the box back, and gently pushes it under the table.
He turns the television on and Linda Sadok is on talking about a fire.
"3 dead, 2 injured with 3rd degrees burns along 85% percent of their body"
The man states "****" and turns the television off.
"I'd rather be one of the three than one of the two"
The man grabs the last pack of tostitos he can find, and chows down for awhile.
The man dozes off.  

A few hours later the man awakes.
He house is quieter than normal, but he normally has all the washing machines running so he thinks "all good."
Walking to his refrigerator, he finds it filled with Mexican Taco Hot Pockets.
Not wanting to get fat, he rejects this refrigerator and demands a new one.
He does not get it.
Hot pocket.
He walks to his coffee table.
It is very long.
His box is gone.
Befuddled, he walks to his hallway to check under the door.
Upon opening the door, his house leads to another one of his houses.
It is the same house though, it's just his other one.
Walking to the refrigerator, he finds it filled with ingredients for fresh pesto and Texas toast.
Thinking maybe it would upset his stomach. He throws the fridge down his garbage disposal.
On returning to his living room, he sees a man.
This man is talking to the man about life.
Talking about how long could one go on for in the same space.  
This man tells the man, maybe you should **** yourself.
Get out.
The man has never liked suicide.
But given the preposterous conditions of his life, he thinks about it.
This man says a hand full of advil or a few too many sleeping pills could do it.
The man says no.
"I can't leave, I'm not done yet.
Then, this man asks what the man has not finished yet.
"I don't remember..."
This man tells the man, that he is not Captain America and disappears.
The man disagrees.
"Photo evidence"

The man wakes up.

He finds the contents of the box sprawled all over his chest.
He had fallen asleep on the couch.
He hears her say goodnight.
He says I love you.
There is no one there.
He crawls to bed, and it is 2:34 am.
He cannot sleep.
This man returns to him.
This man asks the man if he had finished what he wanted to finish.
The man says no.
This man asks why once more.
"She's still gone, i'm not letting go"
This man says the man already has.
The man rolls over in his bed.
This man says you've been done here for awhile.
The man pretends to be asleep,
motionless, yet awake for hours.

The sun never came up, because he didn't want it too.
The fridge was always empty, because he didn't want to eat.
The box would appear, because he wanted it too.
She was gone, because he knew she was gone.
He stayed, and kept resealing and opening that box. Day in day out.
Surviving healthy off of nothing at all.

He never left.

Every course should be marked on content.
In todays schooling we ask students to write final essays or regular essays to discuss their knowledge in a specific topic. However, marks are deducted for minor sentence errors, grammatical errors and style errors. But does that mean they don’t have sufficient knowledge about the topic or that the content of the essay does mean standards? No. Students lose marks for unrelated reasons. Grammar is not content. Grammar is grammar. Content could be excellent while the grammar is horrible. Philosophers potentially had the worst grammar ever, however we have glorified their thoughts for centuries.
This is where schooling has changed. And this is how schooling needs to change. Writing an essay is irrelevant to knowledge about a topic. Writing skills and understanding of content do not intertwine. If I wanted someone to apply knowledge they learned from a topic an essay is perhaps a very irrelevant way of doing so. Why judge someone on something that is, in today’s society exposed to interferences? Interferences such as grammatical errors.
If I wanted to know someones knowledge about a certain topic and wanted them to apply logic and theories they learned from courses, why not talk to them rather than using paper as a pigeon to share ideas? If it was spoken I can’t say “you lost marks because you didn’t put a period here and a comma there.” If it is spoken, you will still be able to notice if the student understands the topic. This way there is not interferences. It is strictly about content of knowledge and the students ability to apply what they have learned into specific views about a question I would have for them.
If I asked a teacher to have a class discussion where everyone had input, how would the teacher grade them? On quality of their answer, and clarity. Clarity being their ability to get to the point. However, if it is not clear, can the student make it clear for the rest of the class? Because what sometimes isn’t clear for one person, could be unclear because they are not as intelligent to be able to understand. The other student might not be so stupid because he said it in a way that is unclear. Maybe the listener is stupid because they didn’t understand? However, if the student can make it clear then their quality of the answer enhances and they will receive a higher grade.
For instance, if this was a formal essay that attempted to answer “What is wrong with schooling?” I would lose marks because I asked questions. Asking questions for some reason is not allowed? Is it informal? No. But society tells us we shouldn’t ask questions we should instead assume something and make a statement because that imposes confidence in a thought. But, if I was questioning certain aspects of something would that prove that I have sufficient knowledge towards one topic? Wouldn’t that impose that I have enough knowledge to understand details and question them? But hey, don’t formulate that statement in a question. It’s stupid. Question everything because you will never know all the answers regardless of all the resources.
By discussing a topic, the answers are direct. Content may vary depending on how much the student learned (providing the teacher is good at teaching and the proper course are in place). If the student struggles to understand a topic it will be evident in the quality of their answer. We can still see if the student is trying too hard (which is never a bad thing to set the standard high, shoot for the stars), or if the answer they have is someone else’s because they aren’t necessarily answers that they would have or words that they would use. But that is an assumption. Never assume, instead question. We can still notice if the student paid attention the course lectures and successfully answered the topic question with detail, reference, questions, relations, and application of knowledge that was taught to the student.
Just because a student can’t write a thought out on paper, does not mean they didn’t understand it. **** I used contractions, I would lose more marks there as well. See what I mean, a highschool teacher would tell me that I can’t say “Can’t” I was supposed to say “Can not” because that is formal. What is formal? Who said that is formal? Jim Joe Bob down the road? Who cares, does the student understand the topic or not? Stop docking marks for things unrelated to the subject.
If this was a writing course it would be understood why a student would lose marks for grammar and word choice and sentence structure or clarity. But students lose marks in History essays for word choice, and in political science for forgetting a period and in gender studies for saying “you” in a final essay. These are unneeded reasons for losing marks. At the end of the day does the student understand the historical importance of the topic? Or does the student understand the importance of the judiciary amongst the political system? Or does the student understand that sexism will only negatively impact society? If no, then he or she gets a bad mark, if yes, they get a good mark. Stop making up reasons for bad marks.
However, one will say; “Well what if the quality of the essay is so ****** I can’t even understand their knowledge?” This proves the instability of essays. Don’t ask for an essay. Ask to talk to the student about the topic. You’ll know if he or she understands. Just like when you go to a retail store and ask for advice about a product. We know if the associate knows what they are talking about, if they have no idea or if they are just telling us what they learned from training (which isn’t bad). Teachers potentially train students in a certain area. Why not ask a question which enforces them to apply the knowledge which they gained from the training to their answer? The teacher will know if the student knows what they are talking about (because they paid attention in training/class) or if they have no idea (because they did not understand or pay attention). Even if they retell you everything that was taught to them. Don’t they know something about the answer? Yes, it’s not the most enriched content because it was your own words but the student learned something right? Isn’t that why they go to school? To learn?
Another will say; “But we can’t escape writing. We have to do it everyday. A person must know how to write.” Fair. But why not teach writing in a writing course? One where the student will be marked on their ability to be clear in writing, or their ability to be grammatically correct, or their word selectiveness, or the sentence and paragraph structure. This seems like an appropriate course to deduct marks for incorrect application of knowledge. However, another person will ask; “then how do you teach structure and grammar?” Through exercises. Ask them to write a paper. Go through assignments as a class, encourage class participation and discussion. If the student doesn’t talk, the teacher will know what they understand therefore, how are they to give them anything but a bad mark? It’s at the student’s discretion but the proper systems need to be in place.
An example; how many people have gotten a paper back, looked at their grade and put the paper away? Did not even look at the corrections or suggestions for reasons why the mark was so poor or decent? Every one. Why not give a student a second chance? Why not scare them to do their best? Try this: Ask students to answer a question, any question. Have them hand it in 10 days from the assigned date. Students who want a good mark will use their time wisely to proof read, get the proper references and apply the correct knowledge. Students who want to get by will start two nights before. Once the papers are handed in, edit them. Once finished, return them without a mark. Wait for the students reaction. They will come up to you asking “what’d I get?”, “why isn’t there a mark?”. Tell them that, they aren’t getting a mark, they need to read the corrections and implement them. Have the paper due in three days. Once the papers are submitted, grade them. There will be less grammatical errors. At least for the students who took the time to read the corrections and implement them. The students who did not, will not receive a high grade a potentially face the threat of a failing grade. Hand the papers back with grades. Once this is done, ask for them to write another essay on a different topic. A topic such as “Should capital punishment be reinforced in Canada?” This topic is ok because you can write about any topic, its still writing. Writing is not confined to topics such as grammar, story writing or essay writing. Writing has infinite topic possibilities. But once the essay topic is given out, tell them they have 10 days to hand it in. Once handed in, give them a grade. Don’t give the chance for editing this time, and see if there is less errors for each student, ask to sit down with them and compare the errors that were made. In this way the student will learn and most importantly remember why and why not to write in certain structures while adding certain grammatical content.
With this exercise the student will learn how to clearly write, but it will take a while. It should be mandatory that students take a writing course throughout elementary and secondary school because the statement is true “we cannot escape writing”. Everyone must know how to write. But in society we struggle to remember that, just because someone can’t write something doesn’t mean they do not understand the topic. If I was to ask Einstein to write a topic on the differences of between time and space in APA format, His content would very well achieve high academic standards but his grammar and format would be god awful. It would be horrendous. He did not know how to write in specific manners, he would use his resources to learn but that was because from what we know he wanted to achieve in the highest manner possible. But he understood the content, and isn’t that what is most important? O the other hand, if I asked him to tell me about the topic, would it be more credible? Would it blow someone’s mind because they couldn’t take away marks. He would receive 100% on everything because he understood the content. That’s all that matters. For those who want to write, take writing courses. Or in today’s society, every context course is a writing course, as students are not be graded on their quality, rather, they are being graded on writing abilities. So to conclude, are we teaching history, science, politics, law, child and youth studies or are we just teaching students how to write without expanding their knowledge of the topic. We can’t base content off of what is written down,  interferences are infinite. ****, I used “can’t”. Sorry.

if the sinking-of-boat …ice-cream by name
be deducted from the swept-off-in-flood … by name roll no 31
then would the wings of the comics
cease to exist

what says the uninterrupted sound of water-falling
from the stomach of the moon

what writes the pus and blood
what writes the fuming-hot rice

the creepers and the herbs grow continuously
in the insomniac bath-tub

the sounds of the horse-hoof floated by the river
used to change the velocity of its clothes
both in the morning and evening

the birds from the cornice go to school
by dip-swimming

it may come one day when the fishes
become very angry and in the tale of the sweet-meat
the potter will destroy the jointly-built bee-hive

then all hurricane would be habituated to dinner
sans saliva

then there would be no such morning-walk
in the body of the trees
from which such a bore could be found out
through which an elderly saral may fly
into the blue translation of a squirrel

the magnetic field of the orange-pulp
and the productivity of the open window
reside in the same locality

if their frequency be touched  

then the the antenna of the mermaids
speared with sleeping-oil
may be injured

by burnings their eyes
the crow-birds knocks at
in the soap-foams
produced by the afternoon

the pond with a jumping deer
wants to make bite  

it is not known by this way
when a white hyphen
sticks to the palate of the shirt

now put off all the whispers
and let it be talked on the will-paper of the bees

why the pages from the honourable ash-trays
be excluded

those bunch of waters
that come out from the churning of the anises
and the jumps born of their *****
also make friends with the group-photos

now let this other night sends its best wishes
to the future candles
through a cell-phone

i.
pictures hung so abundantly like there was a ponytail for every assorted alcoholic beverage that would go down while you sat on the counter top with grey in your eyes
or on my lap like lavender gloves. i bought flour and red velvet as atonement, but hollow words are as indicative of unfaithfulness as your eyelashes were indicative of my heartbeat speeding up like your raggedy red Taurus on the Pike and slowing down like our souls in self-reflection, co-morbidly.

ii.
i clip to cold like frozen gnomes but the room with fire was bellowing through the chimney in your irises. it was the ceiling i was the most comfortable collapsing under. Merlot, you are a peach and almost all of the sun that our brains can ultravioletly receive. There is no where to run to when logs and THC are crackling while you let my try on your scarves and you rub my arm horizontally like there was no famine or *** trafficking in the world. The rabbit is always right and Dewey loved the hay and telling us that we belong together. there was no time to guess the right combination of psych meds and there was certainly no one there to close the sliding glass door.

we'd unzip and kiss in a mist of dampened television volume while everyone was asleep. i fell into you, first in billions of separate-cardboard puzzle pieces and then all at once like oblivion within a climate-controlled stadium.


iii.
i noted the same pictures in this room and how your ponytails ended all existing threats to human suffering.

iv.
i loved the dark and the stars and the soupy-vacuum, pulling us in and spitting us out like a bitter mango.
there was never any water in your pool to turn green and so the unfilled concrete was an ocean to our symmetrical lawn-chair thrones, radiating green jeans and the hazel-stained dream-scene.

we lost what vision was real and what was a dream. this was a gift beyond any explanation or expectation. yet, you wouldn't let me remove all of the shrapnel and funnel antibiotics with my barren fingertips onto your scalp.

v.
here, there was kin-
the only room in which your skin didn't show me a piece of you,
but your words did.
there's a way that all of our lives collide like a supernova and our explosion felt more like a hundred-decade erosion,
giving and taking from each other like a sea-side boulder and the tide.


vi.**
you finally showed me the flesh you were ashamed to show the couch, your bed for two in Easthampton, mac & cheese without almond milk, the top of Wachusett, the pit of a pizza dish, the sink of the swooning stitches, the empty pool, the movie theater, your fake bras, and
everything else that supported us like an apparition that wouldn't return my favorite t-shirts.

and i was in.

my fingernails were there. every hair i touched while panic deducted consciousness in some scarce granting of a wish was another prarie for me to grow corn and flowers and ecstasy within. every single crop died but i never forget how self-loathing turned into a comforting sleep. we ran from consciousness like a runaway train but you were always on my back, whispering that solidarity was a the solution to a world that values prosperity over pragmatic humanity.

all the tears and dreams that danced like the branches in the frigid, unforgiving winter were dried up like a creek that i lost consciousness in when you shut the door.

these spaces exist in purgatory because i don't remember my dreams anymore and nothing really ever means anything,
like biting off my fingers in all of these rooms that are left with only memories of you.

Shallow breathing along with
lazy dew between your lids.
Finger tips leading me between
blue flowers, bones and sheep.
Barley open,
can you see me?
Late laundry deducted time from slumber.
Craving only to lay down
and match my breath with your heartbeat.
To be secure in your exhales of morning rest melody.
Tears and tobacco followed soon after,
medicine for leaving.
Pain of wanting to swallow my pride along with yours.
But fleeing from wrong feelings,
only made it worse.
Tumble dry in the salty sea breeze that
follows the silk shower of disappointment.
Do you see me through your slumber drenched eyes,
gassed up and driving in the direction of failure fears?

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Her childhood she spent
In a backwater of development
Where harmful practices
Mainly the fair *** that subject,
Thrived rampant.

A blow on the row dealt
Broke she sobbed and wept
Irritate at a community
Social filths that tolerate.

On a way to school
***** by a woody pool,
She and her dream
For a life better
Got asunder,
Not to mention
The lacerating physical pain
She was forced to suffer!

A mental serenity deprived
Panicky rendered
Worse still,
A sinful by all shunned
Her psychological carapace
To panic ceded  place!

A mental serenity deprived
Panicky rendered
Scoffed out from school
She dropped.

With few
To understand her position
She felt it a terrible sin
To give a red card to the seed
That forced its way in.

However unable to withstand
Repulsion to the conceived
Revolt took the upper-hand
As it is not hard to understand.

After the conceived
A cherub turned
Qualms of concise assailed
Afraid abduction
And a **** second
In fleeing to town
She sought salivation,
Expecting people
With a touch of civilization.

There, to a couple with a child
A servant she turned
And some skills she acquired,
But seduced by the husband
By the wife upbraided and slapped
Half her chicken fed salary deducted
To compensate for a glass
She clumsily in haste smashed
Herself she found
Cadging for bread
And shelter in the neighborhood.

By a dealer advised
And lured by what she heard
Hand me downs attired
A brothel she joined
With feelings buyout
Inundated.

Nights wild she spent
With the fortune and alcohol mad
Even the pilferers and the frustrated
To alcohol,'Chat',***-******
And hashish addicted.

So and so her health unheeded
She soon ailed from ailments of every kind
And took to bed.
To the God blest friends who brings
Her bread
This she said on her deathbed,
"As tradition bid
When my obituary is read
My body to my mother town ferried
And dust on me turned,
Make sure this is included
When before God  I stand
And my case is heard
"Where is your conceived?
And why my commandments
You haven't observed?"
I will answer
It is the community that
Me born and raised
And cruelly molded bad shaped
accountable should be held
For all I did ill fate coerced
Besides to hell I am inured!
Thanks to' you revering mankind!'

So God
Hell if once more
I am to be remanded
Am I to be sacred?
From earthly hell
To heavily hell transferred!
© Alem Hailu GAbre Kristos, 5 months ago

superficiality in my bones
in my thighs
in my smiles and hidden lies
a double ghost, I lost my flesh
somewhere in the unsuspected mess-
Wait a second, don't go yet
I'll lure you in with my black turtleneck
Black Turtlenecks and Kanken Backpacks,
Oxford shoes, Casio watches
Can't you see I'm too cool to forget
I'll carry around this 800 page novel that I haven't even finished 1/10th of
I'll risk the weight to carry on my show
If you haven't deducted quite yet
This is my artwork I'll force down your throat-
A walking masterpiece printed of the internet.

Is it a projection of my imagination
In which I create this entire nation
You, a figure easily changeable
Morphing into the molds that follow my head
Maps that lead nowhere besides the edge

Are you here to save me from caving in
Or convince me there is no end
See, constant battles of unexplained forces thrown upon me
Being played by the universe
Begging to be a creator
Instead, deducted to a strain
I am here forgotten
By the gods who yell in the sky
I am a whisper,
Reaching out I plead
Stop this madness of doubting
I am surrounded by fiction yet again
Being reduced to non less than friction
As constraint movements to remind me of life
Only flashbacks poison my sanity
Were they illusions?
Or the reality hiding about in our ignorance
Taught by whom, taught by truth or fear
For I am scared,
Seeking to know
I continue this path solely alone
Longing to mean
But what I havent seen
Is while truth subsides
I was already lifted my from the lies

Seeing
tax deduction of
20% on my salary
Is that portion of my labour
belongs to
Government??

I lived in Shenzhen, China, for my 6th and 7th grades.
- China was AMAZING.

In China, blond hair is unusual, I stood out like neon
and touching blond hair was considered good luck.

In a train station, if I stood still, I could draw a curious mob
- especially in the provinces like Heubi and Shanxi. I was in
more than a few selfies but people were polite and respectful.

China is much more advanced than the U.S..
Everything is new, clean and modern - the Internet is faster.
Most trains are bullet trains that travel 325kph (>200mph).
There are more than 10 new, gleaming cities larger (and newer) than New York.

An App called WeChat (used on your phone) runs the world.
imagine Facebook, iMessage, PayPal and Uber combined
- with that one App you could do anything.

At restaurants, you paid your bill at your table using WeChat from a QR code that the electronic corner of your table displayed. You even paid street vendors with the app - no one used cash.

Cameras are everywhere - if you break a law like jaywalking and BBBZZZZ you get a text and the fine is deducted from your WeChat account - all automatically.

Public TV screens, located on corners, show recent violations with the perps picture and the fine they paid - again, automatic.

Does this sound Orwellian? Well, maybe, but Chinese police
don't **** people - or even engage people for minor offenses.

America, you're broke and on the edge of being a third world country.

Yeah, yeah, I know that China is free-market-communist
and certainly imperfect - but if you saw China, you'd be impressed
and you'd know the ugly truth - America has squandered it's wealth on military macho and forty years of war. China's last, small war was in 1980 (With Vietnam who they beat in 3 weeks and 2 days).

Middle America looks almost bombed-out with closed businesses
(even before the pandemic) - but in China, you can’t look anywhere
without seeing building cranes - like a forest of trees. A physical
illustration of Americas loss of wealth.

I LOVE America - it’s sad to see. We've gotta wake up.

numbers already proven to be
larger than the smallest infinity
a set ( of things, people, possibly
perhaps chances too)
more than one point is always
one
an innate expectation (probability
deducted to be seventy percent)
part of evolution
part of the stream that flows from
(the sun, star births, carried into)
infinity with smaller bursts
childbirth,
death,
ad nauseum

so i was sitting down on the steps in the garden
eating a lychee
and drinking a Pimm's: i know, the profanity...
just Pimm's and lemonade...
i made my parents the proper stuff:
with strawberries, cucumber and mint...
but i was just thinking there...
father comes over and tells me that both
the Glasgow teams managed to qualify to the champions
league... what about the 'burgh teams?
'burgh teams?
yeah... i don't mean the Champions League:
Europa league... Herts or Hibernian?
no... not that i know of...
mind you... Herts is under scrutiny...
about what?
                     over-paying their players...
oh! like the investigation that had Juventus demoted
from Seria A(h) to a lower league?
like the points deducted from Derby County FC
and Saracens RC (rugby club)...
in the meantime my manager texts me about
a chance to work a shift in Basildon...
some Garage Festival... i used to have friends at school
who were garage music fanatics...
they were also big into graffiti...
all the girls at school loved those idiots...
most ended up in prison or were popping ******
pills before they were 16...
i sent him a text: can i be "Irish" about this whole affair?
it's no problem for me getting there,
it's the getting out that's an issue...
if i could get a lift back home: i'll do it...
mind you: i have a Wembley shift on the 3rd...
in between he replies with a LOL...
i hate these LOLz...
hey... i'm not working a shift after which i have
to pay for a hotel... i earn in order to spend
is not my thing: i earn for umbrellas and rainy days
and prostitutes... mostly prostitutes:
they can spend my money the hell they want...
hmm... Herts is being investigated for
propping up the wages of its players?
so... so deflation does exist! deflation does exist
in capitalism!
that's deflation! what's deflation?
the end product is sold at the same price as:
per usual... but the people selling the product...
are paid more than usual!
in the current times, what's the hot topic?
once upon a time it was Brexit...
then it was Covid... now it's: ******* Russians
cranking up the gas supply to Europe:
if i were Russian? i'd be ******* too...
i abhor Russophobia of the Europeans:
and i'm a ******... i should be the biggest *******
Russophobe around... but i've dated a Russian
girl... ***** had it easy: i don't even know
why she managed to get away with slapping me:
oh... right... i was in her St. Petersburg flat
visiting her for a month... we went and saw
Metallica in Moscow... she thought i was cheating
on her while in fact her ex-boyfriend
with connections was sticking around her like
a leech while we drank cognac with a slice
of lemon.. for that: ooh! ooze of a squeeze...
i made her fuckable... she trimmed her dread
and looked ****-ugly when i was ******* her...
a masterpiece of the degradation of womanhood....
still.... nice ****... all Russian **** are nice...
and a ****-of-left-overs that might wet any man's
appetite for most oysters...
what?! ha ha... i dated this one French psychology
exchange student... climbed Arthur's Seat with her...
but i felt her scorn when she exclaimed:
but you have a picture of Napoleon hanging on your
wall: true... but i also have a picture
of Plato: gay... and Marquis de Sade hanging next
to Napoleon... as a Frenchwoman you ought
to know that Napoleon did more for the ****** people
that any of the Hapsburg *****!
he erected the satellite state of the Duchy of Warsaw!
what's you ******* problem?
the relationship ended soon after i lost my
virginity and she lost the plot by starting
to braid her beautiful auburn hair...
i held her head while she vomited a leash
of a waterfall... Toby... this funny Swiss drummer
who i jammed with helped me:
look at me, worried, eyes all questions:
you know this girl, don't you?
yeah... my eyes replied... i do know her...
i lost my virginity to her... we watched Japanese
animation movies like grow-ups...
in between me feeling up her **** like
i might be fiddling with a wallet looking for spare
change... or the keys to my house...

never mind that... **** Grenoble and ****
psychology students!
**** 'em... and **** Fiona and **** my *******
mandolin: **** it!
what's important? domino affect... or the ripple effect...
it's one calamity after another...
this is not going to stop:
this is a joke... a proper joke: like arbeit macht frei
is a proper joke...
i'm climbing a hill of skulls...

         i'm keeping one of the words... macht...

leute macht froh!
      that's my ******* "neo-****" motto...
leute macht froh!

         and yes! deflation does exist! it's a niche experiment...
now, for now? associated with football and rugby clubs...
the wages of players are explosive...
what has changed in the game of rugby or that
of football? the footballs have become larger?
no one is using shoelaces? everyone is running
******* shirtless?!
the goalposts have moved! oh no! really?!
the pitch is larger? smaller?!
wow!

in terms of inflation... the price of a ticket to see
a game goes up...
in terms of deflation... well... well well...
the earnings of the players go up...
so? say... a team like Saracens increases their
wage-gap and attracts all the best players...
so... the monotony continues...
the personna non grata elements kicks in...
monopoly of the monotony...
unlike Mark Noble of West Ham... i just overheard
it... players? these days?! mercenaries...

a bit ******* different to being a mercenary samurai
though... a RONIN...

i'm getting older and my rage is not abating....
then again: maybe i'm not getting any younger...
maybe i'm stalling...
my body is roving through the natural
demands but my mind is drifting off
back towards the days of my precious youth...

i do feel... like i'm living in the times of Ancient Rome...
here i am... scribbling while something
in the Coliseum of happening and i'm like...
eh... the clouds are more entertaining being
more eternal..

Introduction:

If I, with my childlike mind, thus
Interpret Hawking’s analogy here
Of the Universum Infinitus
Not as a fringeless sphere
But as he described, like the surface
Of our beloved planet Earth

Then, the only place
That is beyond time and space
That is with-out time and space
Must be hidden within
Forever, within
Eternity’s grace

What would we see,
If we left Plato’s cave
Into the Perfect Circle
As if through the looking glass
See all of life and existence
For what it was
Without our restricting frame of
Reference:
Our Consciousness
Fear and awareness of change
And loss
Without fear of the light,
Because we were shielded
By the shadows on the walls
For too long?

I

Through the perfectly lucid concave
I saw every String and every way
I saw the river of time, the ring of time
Unified
I saw it ebbs and flows, without death
And seemingly, forever alive

Humanity, consciousness, swim freely
But each soul stay in place, yet as
The river itself moves, and changes,
No one ever ceases to move

As St.Augustine deducted:
Time is the awareness of change
Something must come from
The Future
And
It will unstoppably pass into
The Past

The Present
Is almost nonexistent
Ever within one indivisible
Moment
Thus,
Time is meaningless to God
Time only exists for us
For it is what is gained
And what is immediately lost
TIME doesn’t exist for the eternal

II

Over time, I noticed something This River Time on the other sideSeems to be changing over nightIts flow becoming slower and slowerYetIts waves becoming wider and widerTill less steps is necessary To be able to cross over time     

We measure time by change
But even change is quickly
Changing
Becoming more and more often
More and more senile and forgetful

Is TIME ageing? Dying?
Is the river of time becoming
More and more viscous
As the sentiments build-up
Becoming more and more
Like milk or even honey?

III

Century is the new millennium!
If we measure the river of time
By section or meters of changes
Then, surely we can see that
As the flow of the denser and denser
Bodies of water slow down
Quicker and quicker
What used to be a thousand waves,
Or a thousand years
Is now a hundred waves
Or a hundred years:

If each fixed section or meter
Is marked by a great shift
Paradigm shift or
Great Change
Then
It is clear that the younger time
Used to take shorter, quicker,
Steps
And as it grows and ages
His steps become steady and slowerBut each stride becoming longer 
Thus travels faster
Till only in about a hundred paces
Would he encounter another
Lamppost,
As opposed to Olden Day’s
Every thousand paces

Conclusion:

Time is Consciousness
Or Awareness of change
For if nothing dies, arrives,
Then the constant present
Is forever a place without time

What if the speed of change changes
What happens when change
Seems to be coming quicker
And quicker?

Is change coming towards us
Or are we flowing towards change

Is time ageing?
Is our conscious awareness of
Change
Moving in greater and greater
Strides?
Moving from thousands of years
To hundreds
To decades
To months, weeks,
Days?

Would such a frequency
Exhaust time itself to death?

And grants us our search
For eternity
Not for us to live unbelievably
To age beyond Adam’s 930
But for us, within a hundred years,
A decade, year, month, day,
Hours, seconds
Experience all possible changes
Till we lose it all,
Till no more changes could occur
And
Forever stills the Status Quo.

We are experiencing it now,
Quicker and quicker
From a thousand years old
To a hundred years old
From centuries of greatness
To fifteen minutes of fame
To weeks of love
And endless separation
Till we exhaust it all
Ran all the way
To end up in the
Land of Waste

Or find a way
Beyond the cave
Into the unfathomable
Perfect Circle
Beyond loss, beyond change

Either way,
We will end up in a place
Beyond Time and Space

By: Cedric McClester

He’s the precedent
Not the president
A stable genius?
Or is he heinous?
I think he lied
But you can decide
Whether he’s the precedent
Or the president

Now he’s concluded
He never colluded
And he’s deducted
He never obstructed
The Mueller probe
Though he’s been disrobed
So is he the precedent
Or the president

Who could have thought
All that man has wrought
And it’s very clear
That we need to fear
What’s gonna be proven
He needs removing
Because he’s the precedent
Not the president

We shouldn’t have to ask
Whether he’s a horse’s ***
By now it’s crystal clear
By the evidence that’s there
He’s a narcissist
And so let’s ponder this
He’s not the president
HE'S THE PRECEDENT!



Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.

Hexagonal  Birthright

The composition of this Hexagonal primogeniture, is varying by them in itself visiting this hexagonal course that is now oblong by the rays of the morning engaged, inviting them to take the dry cove to Bethlehem in the company of The Apostle, Vernarth, Etréstles, Raeder and Petrobus, Eurídice and Alikanto. They get on the Gigas Camels and meditate on them, it was not yet dawn, and there were six camels for this hexagonal brotherhood in the remaining six that were for supplies and clothing for their retinues. They all get in an oblique row looking towards the Valley of Hinnom and Kidron ..., waiting the four minutes before the Sun appears. Each one would begin to ski him a balsamic acetol legaña, which with the generous Sun would reign over their Davidian faces . At that very moment the King appears in front of them, walking through the long Davidian caravan…, in their very faces, thus stopping in their march and seeing their gold and bronze hair as an alliance of lights from a cold morning.

Davidian Presence: “There are four minutes that we have left, appearing in the morning twilight, it is four hundred years that Davidian ruled, as second of Israel, I was born in Bethlehem, where I will go with you, until I arrive in this stony oasis of the House of Bread I figured as the central axis of the Old Testament. I was the Eighth and last son of Jesse or Jesse, a member of one of the main families of the tribe of Judah, the prophet Samuel secretly anointed me as sovereign of the Hebrews when I was just a boy taking care of the paternal flocks in Bethlehem. I have created a united and powerful nation, of a markedly theocratic character, although of short life, since it vanished shortly after the death of my son Solomon; While in the religious sphere, my poetic compositions stood out, "recognizing myself in the authorship of a total of 73 psalms", and the great project that I ordered to build for a great temple in Jerusalem to house the Ark of the Covenant, a building that would have to ***** my successor on the throne. "

David, get on the seventh camel Giga, and they all leave in a file, when the four minutes fell on the sand of the Northeast of Jerusalem, they became burning flames of the hair of the Davidian dawn. All catch their shadows with a vocal ensemble through the turquoise stripes of the Tekhelet that he wore on his Davidian skeleton. From the minimum moment that allowed him to climb his bones, until he mounted the Camel, his past became outside, lightening his volatile blue flesh by going to the first sabbatical day that ran his calendar. He tempered his compromising memory, which wandered before his birth and after his death, where many wanted to incinerate his Tekhelet, or perhaps plagiarize him in his agony with the Messiah, when he met the apostles above his tomb.
Davidian Tomb: “When the Lord was above me, I felt his aroma of Davidian flowers approaching, encompassing in my coffin two square meters of the perimeter of my death that began purging in that of the Messiah. My body drank like horchata in my blood vessels, many times I wanted to get up and tear down the barriers that separated us, but I was distracted by the snake that hung over me in front of me, coindexing the apples on my tree, which never got wormy ..., turned into copper snakes on sickled cars pulling away from the arms of the Messiah. I saw myself at his service in nine light years from the twelfth aspirant of billions of kilometers more, that is to say, a quarter of light years to reach him estimated. My four minutes are what I aspire to reach the five that I had left of my temporal origin ..., to restore the last thousandths of the end of my life to honor him ubiquitous, even looking at me from the universe from where he observes me, listens to me and will speak Davidiano … ”

The Davidian Phenomenon continued to impact everyone, as this happened on camels when they sensed the reappearance of the blunders of the sky, believing they were a part of it, but the bodies of space are so far away that their whimsical light would take a long time to reach us, chewing through the universe of another voracious dilapidated galaxy. The more distant the object is from our consecration, the longer it will take for the light to arrive and therefore what we see is even further away than the past. Perhaps its lineage was a thousand years before it could materialize, after 1040 years ..., after David, perhaps it did not seem to disturb the refractory passage of degraded millennia. This equation was worth to him to use, to apologize to the Messiah, for not having made his nation the best that could have been treated and inherited towards him synchronously at the time he was condemned. In such a way as to subtract years from the one who was born and ruled, they would thus be deducted from him as is due to his soul that has been traveling at an invisible speed of the bluish light of the Menorah.

Davidian Light : “it was 1040 BC. C. in which I saw the light being born, approaching the same one that saw us being born in Bethlehem in the same Messiah village, after 1040 years in which it separated us both and saw us being born in different age phases ..., it arrived at its stable with his mother Davidiana. I Messianic, I fell, bursting with the explosion of the beams of extinct light years, similar to those that accompany me today in the ceramic that also appears in Bethlehem. J ust as were the wise men of Zoroaster illuminated by the star that allowed them to carry their white poster rugs and their offerings. So I will follow the exalted Hexagonal birthright along with the Davidian spectrum, accompanying the people who saw them both born. "

He was done arguing another up hill battle
Walking away so many issues with ppl
Being told how to act
Made out to be someone he wasn't
He would roll with it before
Now he shuts it down not welcoming
Many rumors spread the truth came out
Fighting to be heard deciding not to say anything
And okay with being ignore not the right crowd
Use to being excluded more time to write
Giving too much credit while being deducted
Asked to have an opinion told how to think
It doesn't work like that
It's okay to have a different point of view
Just because it's different different doesn't make it weak
Try to understand before unleashing the vicious wrath of hatred
Better to not say anything or get involved

if politics is the Abyss
and the sacred has been corrupted

what to do when faced with this
the evidence deducted?

literature might lead the way
stories remake lives

traveling and telling tales
also thrill to thrive

movies also call to all
who yearn for mythic dark

so too wandering woods in solitude
or playing in the park

but poetry and music
create my highest hopes

the words, the sounds, the hidden things
when they form my soul elopes

and dances at night with those who sing
of love and heart and truth

though older now, I find my way
long gone, now found - my youth!

What do you call these
....???
People who officially rob you of your hard earned money. Income tax is first deducted and there after a salary is given to the ordinary working class.
Thereafter, logically the money is yours to spend and save;
but oh  no.... The poor middle class family pays tax.. GST... for every little thing purchased, be they essentials or a small meal at a restaurant.

They stinge and save small amounts to make a FD, even that is taxed. This means the Government is like a leech. The poor man cannot enjoy anything.

The rich MPs and MLAs loot the public and enjoy very many perks. These parasites actually thrive on us. Besides this they have huge assets, land, jewelry, money , what not to last their future generations.

Nothing concrete happens. Roads are bad, water isn't sufficient nor pure. Petrol prices and essential commodities are always on the rise.

Medical care is pathetic. Education in municipal schools is name sake, children often learn foul language.

Where are we going???
Where is the progress???
This is not the Bharat of my dreams.

Wake up, shake up. RISE N SHINE.

Armin Dutia Motashaw