tickle tickle tickle
giggle giggle giggle
why you're so adorable yet lovable
humble humble humble
simple simple simple
why this heartbeat getting louder yet messier
apple apple apple
waffle waffle waffle
couldn't get enough to be your good listener
mister mister mister
crazier crazier crazier
would you please be my special pleaser?
Is this useless?
Am I useless?
Are doubts the mark of wisdom?
As the wise sit and wait.
The greatest advice I heard,
For my family to lift my chin
For my shoulders to lift our backs,
Is that the ground has nothing for eyes.
With one last look around I noticed why,
This debris is interesting, but deprived.
Stories. From what is left behind.
The beginnings of my deductive empathy
Sound like the pauses in my discrepancy
And sure, these countless questions can lead to great things
But when should I release my reticence for my wings?
Another twinge in rhetoric,
A singe in my time's tick
I must look up from the path to see my own,
There is no use in musing at buried bone.
A miser of different dirts will become rich among rubble.
Not believing that anything is worth its trouble,
Is a mark of death, not wisdom.
I am sorry for not seeing this prison.
High soaring above the Raven glides
What do you see with your eyes?
A bird? A black bird?
What to you hear? A caw? A song?
What if we are in a dome?
The Raven looking down
What does the Raven see?
What colour are we?
The Raven is a paradox
If he sees us and we see him
Both observing that neither of us are black, nor Ravens
Increases our belief that the Raven is black
Unrelated observations under the dome
Supposition, inductive logic, intuition
Illustrate ours and the Raven's deductive logic.
Our logic is the same.
The Raven soars on
The last time I saw you, you were standing there at the gate, watching me walk away
I was trying to look cool, like nostalgia in motion
That’s a difficult thing to pull off when you’re constantly looking back
You were smiling and waving, like it was all gonna be alright
I secretly hated you for that
Everything in my being screamed at me to turn around, to run back to you
I wanted to take your hand in mine and pull you out of there like Wayne did to Cassandra…
Only I didn’t
I did my duty
I turned around one last time at the end of the longest hallway in the world and stole one last look
Blinking back the burning sensation in my eyeballs and the tightness in my throat
And then I plodded on
Just like I was supposed to
I had a stabbing pain in my gut like things would never be the same again
Like the WE we were was dying and going away forever
At the time I dismissed that sharp unbearable thought as sentimental weakness
The sloshy musings of an admittedly overdramatic youth
Never would’ve guessed my gut knew so much more than my thirsty brain
With its linear logic and high powered deductive reasoning
I told myself we’d be together again soon
I told myself to focus on the task at hand, and you’d be the reward waiting for me at the end of it all
The bright white light at the end of my long dark tunnel
I told myself you’d be the sunshine on the other side of the mountain
Knowing somewhere deep down it wasn’t true
Knowing somewhere deep down, that the WE we were
Now existed only in my fondest memories
Only in the dark moments I would occasionally indulge on the cool side of my pillow
I turned around
And walked out of your life
fevered reaper selecting baby souls
only one tool keeps the beast young
sun shines behind grime covered window frames
criminal thinking sinking the ship
quipping pre-teens preen while they lose
deductive reasoning flees and genetically modified food stuffs
alter our life code
strife molds encircle biochemists
mutated fingers point blame
shame covers faces of misplaced racial stereotypes
Cold decomposed moral compass
worn down from years of abuse
overused, as holey shoes
by the religious and worse
the fundamentally pure
hide white skin
while white hair
flows beneath white clouds
telling all non-whites to conform as best they can
and with hard work
and proper taxation
one day they could be considered differently
accepted into the greater herd
part of a better society
not white, but accepted----
broken dams drown civilization
Stroked yokes of yesterday’s slavery
sit upon grandpa’s shoulder
tales of tribulation and uprising
behind wild eyes bent on maintaining the norm
“it is the failings of a nation that gives rise to interracial breeding”
“without purity there can be only chaos”
…….I sit profoundly injured
my psyche battered by the blood
that flows in our collective veins
how could we all have come from such hate and bigotry
is it really that strange that we are so crazy about political correctness
when we separated church and state
was it the same as pulling the head
off a grasshopper
contented in a land of unease
my hat sits slightly tilted
to match the society in which I live
This is a precursor to everything to come in the next year. I believe if I begin to focus on stream of consciousness writing, my content may begin to resemble that of Bukowski or Poe but hopefully not as rapaciously violent or ominously insane. More specifically, I figure in my own storytelling fashion I will account my platonic relationships gone awry based on false pretenses established by reputation of the "societal self". As well as the romantic relationships that I so eagerly sabotage(d) believing in the assigned repetoire cast upon me by others who believed in seductive over deductive reasoning. When someone calls you something for long enough, you begin to believe it. But unlike others, I can't drown my demons because they know how to swim. I seek catharsis and self definition. I seek growth and competency. I seek understanding, and I seek to turn my version of insanity into something that others can relate to or translate.
All estuaries flow eastbound, and the subterranean rail tracks keep forcing against the estuaries’ grain and dust foundations perpendicularly to them.
How can a sane proposition -- a quantification of syntax execution (those squirming cuticles through bonds of regression)— an excessive reflection, reflexive inspection,
Prove its sanity through continued suggestion?
Deductive insurrections stirred in memory,
A rumble, causing sediments to crumble,
Wineglasses balanced atop countertops tumble.
Spilling contents upon the grained wooden, elitists' floors.
"Anesthetic, onsetting tuberculosis in breath patterns,
Gavels ringing on rigged tolling tongs in caverns,
Dark tolerances to Copernican astronomy in shadows,
And the handle grinds as boxcar wheels' flints and steels catch and spark in addled locks," I mumbled from a half-nap.
It was surgery, the smooth procedures on the moving trains,
The gains and plectrums scraped against the brains' spider veins,
To reorganize the sane, to bridge the broken definitions changed,
To prevent arguments' bone structure from fractures and sprains.
"Use gavels against the scalpels, sculpt with their judgment," a corona dream's habitant corrugated.
He pounded the gavel's end against the knife to chisel at the pituitary gland pulsing in his subject,
And her arms flailed like a horse's legs in heat-induced convulsion.
I thought it was done.
The Canson Merue train screamed in the night under earth to Yellowknife to meet Canadian soil as the Heavy Breather pounded his gavel.
By: Cedric McClester
The law applies to all
So when the mighty fall
Just like the rest of us - y’all
They hear the clarion call
When asked - Oh yes indeed!
They do regret their greed
So no matter their misdeed
For leniency they plead
And let’s keep it real
Cuz they’re not made of steel
They’d like to cut a deal
Found guilty they’ll appeal
And baby I’m not lyin’
By accident or design
Without them even tryin’
They’re lookin’ at big time
When they’re cut down to size
It makes you realize
They fall quicker than they rise
Right before our eyes
Past actions sealed their fate
But it’s no cause to celebrate
Cuz they got crushed under the weight
And they learned that lesson late
So you ask for the deductive?
It should serve to be instructive
Not at all counterproductive
How greed can be seductive
Although they celluloid it
By all means just avoid it
There’s no need to Sigmund Freud it
Just because they once enjoyed it
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.