Capricorns, Capricorns are ruled and schooled by the planet Saturn, Saturn, Saturn. A bandit with a similar pattern, pattern, pattern. Capricorns, Capricorns are brethren from a legion; a legion of an atmosphere of the southern-hemisphere; in the equatorial region. At an
angle, angle, angle; Capricorns, Capricorns are angels of Aquarius and

Sagittarius. They’re boisterous, courageous, contagious, glamorous,
prestigious, rebellious, various and victorious-goats, goats, goats!
Capricorns, Capricorns cope, devote, note and quote, quote, quote.
They’re ambitions with superstitions and various missions, missions, missions! They’re novelties and poverties, revelations and

revolutionaries, revolutionaries, revolutionaries. Capricorns, Capricorns are theories and visionaries, visionaries, visionaries.
They’re objects, projects and rejects. They’re leaders and readers that are poetically, negatively or positively dictatorial and doctorial!  Some are historical, optical, political and radical; authentic, eccentric,

neurotic, poetic, theoretic, theoretic, theoretic. Unicorns, Unicorns are biblical and mythical, mythical, mythical; they’re ******, exotic, iconic, ironic, magic, nostalgic creatures, creatures, creatures. Their features
resembling a horse of course, of course. Furthermore, they’re fierce and a force. They’re a breed and creed of desire, fire and perspire, perspire,

perspire, perspire! They’re viral, viral, viral! This partial, sworn steed;
born awesome, awesome, awesome and too blossom, blossom, blossom. Unicorn’s spiral, crescent horn usually projecting and protruding from their foreheads. Rough and tough enough too pierce,
pierce, pierce! Unicorns, Unicorns are defendants, independents and

pendants. Hark! Hark! Hark! They’re brilliant and resilient sparks, sparks, sparks! They’re told as bold, old art, from the heart, from the start. Unicorns, Unicorns are fillers and pillars of guide, pride and
stride, stride, stride. They’re along for the long, long, long ride...
Unicorns, Unicorns are strong, strong, strong! Some as a song, song,

song, some throng, throng, throng, some wrong, wrong, wrong. As a
child, child, child; wild, wild, wild! Unicorns, Unicorns overwhelm, overwhelm, overwhelm. Their domicile realm, apparently, inherently and originally belonging from India; alleluia, alleluia for India, India,

India! Capricorns and Unicorns; two different creations. Capricorns
and Unicorns; two different relations. Capricorns and Unicorns; two
different situations and superstitions. They’re rainbows that glow, know and show. They’re of borrow, of sorrow and of our tomorrow.

.i'd call it as far as deciding upon: ethno-dysphoria... given that the lingua franca doesn't like to entertain hyphen "riddled" word compounds, and how german never bothered with the hyphen... i'm pretty much convinced that ethno-dysphoria exists... i guess only the jews are immune to this phenomenon, as... i'm pretty sure, the dutch are... i once overheard an american talk to a dutch girl before ******* her in some park in stockholm: who cares about the dutch? what? more the people, or the language? the english language doesn't give a **** about either language or the respective people utilizing it... oh i think ethno-dysphoria is real, more real than any gender-"dysphoria"... no ****-wit from the gender-"dysphoria" camp will **** you... but sure as pork-chops and potato crisps... an ethno-dysphoria case will, "somehow" become a jihadi.

oh sure, i'm all for "free speech",
until the time comes,
and it usually does,
around the same time,
that these advocates
                   are given a: script.
yeah:
when they are asked to read
a "typo" interface...
               when the, said,
"freedom", is allowed to be
scrutinized,
   under the barrage...
     of "mishandling" literacy...
most of these free speech advocates
do not welcome
                reading,
printed words...
                     co-defendants...
funny, this, "barometer"...
   you are given the freedon
to speak freely...
   let's see how free you are...
when being asked to:
     read "freely"...
      see the disparity?
   people don't have a freedom
of speech,
when they are exposed
to reading material...
    given that exposure to reading
material,
          doesn't coincide
with the final statement
      of the ecclesiastical class...
relieving their literacy monopoly...
i'll take two examples...
both are instances
of a freedom of speech advocates...
one is given a script to read,
the other is not given a script...
just like Kierkegaard predicted:
some people are
just more concerned with
a freedom to speak,
                         rahter than think...
i'd say:
   as much freedom as your
reading ability entitles you
to entertain...
          this, "freedom" of speech...
i'm freely allowed to breathe...
this cul de sac of freedoms...
  different matter
when you hear the so-called
advocates of "freedom"
recite a draft of reading...
god-forbid they begin
entertaining diacritical markers!
yet you notice the differnece
between free speech: ignored,
and the same freedom,
coinciding with an ability
to read?
                  free speech was,
once upon time depicted
by joyce and the plagiarized sartre:
andsoitwascocerningadepictionakintothis...

      never mind the
aesthetic constraints
of punctuation marks...
that's freedom...
breaking from aesthetic constraints
of encoded speech...
           you can hardly find
anything suspect,
within the concerns
of the pedantic community...

enlighten me...
   i'm pretty sure
the same assortment of freedoms,
associated with
the "confines" of a non-script,
would be missing,
should a script emerge,
and the whole lot of us
would be left,
with something,
akin to making a signature
akin to the X marker;

     who said anything about
stripping this freedom,
what i was implying was...
some of us care about
punctuation & conjunctions;
as free as you want to be...
point being:
this, "freedom" of speech...
infiltrated by written text,
being read (no variant
past participle spelling
variation outside of: red)...

    this "freedom",
is only a freedom,
when being freed from
reading, scripted, text;
now posit the same advocates
against
    a page of script...
freedom? what freedom?!
unless we all forget
to write,
     and join the simmering
**** of: the all of us,
in the blah blah parade...
maybe i'm being overtly
pedantic...
            a "freedom" of
speech would,
subsequently,
imply:
            no point
in clinging to scripted speech,
esp.,
with a decision to
impose punctuation markers.

New Bedford has had thirty unsolved homicides since 2000.
Most stem from the ongoing feuds between gangs
of the United Front & Monte Park neighborhoods; the projects.
The gangs are located in the south and west ends of the city.

On March 6, 1983 Cheryl Ann Araujo, 21,
was gang-***** by four men on a pool table
in Big Dan's tavern in New Bedford while other patrons watched,
but did not intervene. During the prosecution, the defendants' attorneys cross-examined Araujo to such an extent that the case
became widely seen as a template for "blaming the victim"
in **** cases. Her case was widely known as the "Big Dan's ****,"
after the name of the bar in which the attack occurred.
Ostracized in New Bedford, Araujo moved w/ her family
to Miami, Florida, to make a new life. She died a few years later
in a drunk driving car accident.The case also raised tensions
between the Portuguese-American community
& other ethnic groups in New Bedford,
as the defendants were Portuguese immigrants.
The 1988 film The Accused was loosely based on the incident,
& the crime is referenced in Dennis Lehane's book
Gone Baby Gone as well as its 2007 film adaptation.

In 2000, crime had dropped to a 20-year low.
Some 3,166 total crimes tracked by the Crime Reporting Unit
of the Massachusetts State Police,
of which 789 were violent crimes;
the lowest violent crime rate since 1975, & 2,377 were property crimes.
The city has been the site of some high-profile crimes.

On December 8, 2001, New Bedford was the site
of the biggest ******* drug arrest in Massachusetts history,
yielding a total of 260 kilograms.
The dealer was Rafael Yeje Cabrera.

According to witnesses and police,
on February 1, 2006, Jacob D. Robida attacked & seriously wounded
three patrons of Puzzles Lounge, a New Bedford gay bar.   He fled to Arkansas where he murdered a female companion
& a police officer and later died from wounds seemingly self-inflicted despite being received in a shootout w/ police;

New Bedford was featured on America's Most Wanted
on February 11, 2006,        for three unsolved murders:
that of Marcus Cruz in 2001,    Cecil Lopes III in 2004,
& Dana Haywood in 2005, run as part of a report
on the Stop Snitching phenomenon that has hindered police investigations nationwide. "Americas Most Wanted" senior correspondent
Tom Morris, who spoke w/ sources in New Bedford
for the piece, said he usually cannot discuss
the number or content of calls in response
to a particular segment. But he said he'd make an exception in this case.
"I was amazed at how minimal the response was.
I'm still wondering if we actually aired the show or not," he said.
"We expected people to call in & maybe say
'Hey, I was there July 4 when Dana Haywood was killed' ...
but we received no useful information."
The show received just a handful
of calls & one e-mail thanking its producers for running it,
the fewest ever for any episode in the show's history,
Mr. Morris said. "I've been doing this for 13 years," he said.
"I was really surprised by this." He said the show,
which aired Feb. 11,           received good ratings;

On December 12, 2006, gunman Scott Medeiros
shot and killed a doorman and a manager at the Foxy Lady *******,
shot a patron and two police officers, then killed himself;
On March 7, 2007, Michael Bianco, Inc.,
a leather products factory, was raided by Immigration & Customs Enforcement agents. 361 undocumented immigrants
were arrested by approximately 300 federal,
state & local law enforcement officers.
About 90 were transported to Texas
in preparation for deportation,   some w/out being contacted
by the Department of Social Services
regarding any infants & toddlers without care.
About 20 DSS case workers were sent to Texas to follow up
on care of families.

In recent years over 80 gang members from UFP,
Monte Park, & the Latin Kings have been detained,
indicted & imprisoned, curbing violence in 2007 & 2008.
In May, 2010, it was reported that "Not a single person arrested
in the roundups since 2007 has yet been acquitted
in the state superior or federal courts"
& "gang-related shootings & homicides are down
from the violent levels seen before 2007."

In September 2017,       New Bedford fishing mogul
Carlos Rafael was sentenced to 46 months in prison
after pleading guilty to lying to federal regulators
about his catches.                Rafael, dubbed "the Codfather"
by the local media, owned 40 fishing boats & controlled
about one-quarter of New England's landing of groundfish.

The cows graze in their pasture
Subservient to their master
Who doesn’t move faster
To help avoid disaster
So the cows are on their own
To deal with snow
Those all alone
Completely froze
Yet those who know
To use the warm glow
Of company that showed
Survive temperature lows

The cows used to solitary grazing
Now begin embracing
To fight cold air they’re facing
That is life erasing
While frost is lacing
The grass once worth tasting

The winter refuses to yield
As snow builds in the fields
The cows’ cohesion is revealed
As they protect their veal
And forget to steal
To connect and heal
During this ordeal

In times of inclement weather
The cows huddle together
Like someone pulled a lever
That won’t stay locked forever
So eventually ties are severed

As summer comes
The dumber numb
Thinking they won
Soaking up sun
Knowing winter is done
They divide into ones

A flow line
Of the bovine
Slow grind
Shows flies
Grow wise
With no size
They devise
To go for eyes
Cows go blind
In their mind
And cannot find
Their herd in time

Pretty soon the irritating fleas
Give them mad cow disease
As they don’t look to please
But put the good on their knees
While they’re hiding in trees
And biting with absolute ease
Seeing the absence of immunities
From their lack of community

The lost independent
Weather defendants
Become repentant
When they hear encroaching
Thunder clouds approaching
The cows become hectic
From a storm electric
Their formation eclectic
So they feel unprotected
But a fence was erected
So they can’t join the dejected
And this lonely life they elected
Is sadly reflected

The lasso angler
Hassling wranglers
Unmasked as stranglers
Bring the herd together
As they pull a lever
That’ll stay locked forever
As the cows’ heads are severed
And the horns in their head
Stick around once they’re dead
As we eat what they were fed
While they made their own bed

It's a rugged terrain that would roughly be translated
survivor.
The vast mountains make the trees feel weak because they don't grow very high.
No one blames them.
The ground and snow are intimate and unashamed. They called in sick because today wanted to be a memory.
The cottages and home protect the defendants of Vikings and barbaric voyagers.
These towns are clean and safe.
This island is hostile, but welcoming.
Our visit is not a burden because Mother Nature has been ripping herself apart
to embrace us
like family.

There I sat with a cast and black eye
Just got small children down for the night
Tim decided to take tots for a swim
"Over my dead body", I yelled at him

We discussed our views in loud voices
Continued to fight, made bad choices
Very soon Westminsters finest pulled up
Domestic situation, cops abrupt

Got both sides of story, mine in jest
Smart *** me, I was soon under arrest
Handcuffed, shoved into waiting squad car
Was ******-cussed at my treatment so far

"I want your badge number", I threatened the cop
Ill sue for false arrest, and no I won't stop
Assault and battery on who, on Tim?
Refused to put out cig, didn't touch him

Got booked, printed and a soggy sack lunch
Wore old lady ******, rode up in a bunch
In population still in cast with black eye
The word spread around that I battered a guy

I crutched my way across shiny jail floor
Eyes following me as if to implore
Came up on a woman, looked like a ****
Then she asked, "**** girl what's he look like?"

Got released next day, had court appearance
Plead not guilty with no interference
Set date for jury trial of my peers
Never been in court in all of my years

With public defender at defendants table
Jury looked at me as if I were unable
To batter, assault a serious offense
I was so small, this did not make much sense

I bravely testified on my own behalf
Brought up Tims prior abuse, hid a laugh
OBJECTION YOUR HONOR, spouted DA
Too late, the jury heard what I had to say

They filed out to deliberation space
Came back in fifteen, looked Tim in the face
The judge read the verdict, not guilty at all I was a free woman and skipped down the hall

oh god, how could i forget, the year was sometime in
the 1990s, en vogue released their debut single:
don't let go...
fell in love with it...
                as truant i say true:
before the **** impregnated
the white boy economy,
                 i made it to university on
two thousand and a spare allowance,
studying chemistry you get the hours,
**** knows the humanities...
any self-respecting humanities
student learns humanism the hard way:
psychiatry - not writing novels:
but doing social service - **** pay,
the man is happy,
happy girls of 12 month cycles
disillusioned suddenly by Papa Farmer
Heidegger - not really...
i could sneeze Hegel through my ***
and never get a **** from any
French philosopher's nostril:
born to ****, born to ostrich it...
and that's about as much as i'm avowed to hit...
it was the 1990s, the Poles were part
of the cultural shift including the world war
ii veterans, safety in west London,
then the kebabs came by,
and the kebabs fried the reputation,
they said: SO LI DA RI TY!
                  i remember being 9 at the time,
or whatever age suits the chronology,
en vogue was better than the prodigy,
the jilted revulsion to stagecraft,
Michael Jordan did more than Broccoli Adam
alias O,
                  silver back and the safety net of
philandering Clinton: let the white
boy eat ****... you let the white
boys do the annals and you the *******
to do the opposite of the Christian bypass:
let's the ***** experience it and rhetoric anti-gay
statements...
                       a  bit harsh, a bit too harsh mate...
you use the girl to manifesto anti-gay laws...
i wasn't born with **** stimulation,
but would i agree or disagree with it?
i wouldn't ask a girl to do **** with me...
me? too much pleasure from taking a ****,
who do you hang around with?
                           the Schnitzel Patriots?
but if there be  god i swear:
i decided to buy en vogue's single rather than
the album: music for the jilted generation...
then came about breathe when i
was discovering type o negative
             with the mortal kombat..
then i let gaming sorta sizzle, until i met a gamer
girl... no phobia... the status encouragement
said: read two books, play 33 video games...
1990's England... was it so different as it is today
or was it because i was a a kid born in the 1980's
seeing my first double deck bus aged 8 in 1994?
we never got the mafia Caribbean treatment
worthy of a carnival, i was never part of the Empire,
only a cause for war...
                 the truants moved to Scotland,
we got east London, or something resembling the east...
i loved the 1990s... the music esp.,
                                    well, that was then...
it ain't that anymore... back in the 1990s i'd
rather have listened to en vogue rather than
the spice girls' paedophilia chant
Savile's case bankrupted the b.b.c.,
   they're really trying, showing shows
from 2015 and earlier in 2014,
                                          they're broke!
broke little *******! and the chant is:
i thought she was administering consent with
that ***-selfie while i ****** off..
                i thought the age of consent was there
at the time, the age where you get to abuse
your own body...
      apparently that's slave talk: your body
isn't yours.
                     Huxley was a prophet in his own right,
but never mind the intricacies -
                 there weren't any...
she posts consent he posts shadow...
                    in the extremity of all possible laws:
we defend the defendants rights to an exclusion of conscience,
because, god-forgiving we only succumbed to the idea
of not thinking: i.e. we preferred the idea of god
managing us rather than the idea of thought...
    but it was nice in the 1990s, the brave few that made it...
then the serfs came when the Union expanded....
                         it really doesn't matter now...
apathy Regina, pathology Rex;
                                better fix the toilet
before the **** comes down alright...
                              as one half human potential said:
half of me would have made a quarter of the man
and woman involved in obstructing me teaching
in rhapsodies...
                                 oh well...
born a Glaswegian pauper, always a Glaswegian
pauper...
                       and sooner my fate among the karma
fate of words lost in Herr Censor,
              than me knocking on tombstones and saying:
your life?
                  i'm not that much interested, to be honest,
i care to remember what single c.d. i bought
in the 1990's rather than what could have ignited in
me a neo-socialist sense of community
coming from a communist society, undermined
by a society trying so hard to make the perfect advert;
what a load of *******!

and indeed poetry, the science of abandonment, and contentment with such feats, the science of unabashed conquests, and very little regrets.*

at least a grave is not as depressing
as a digital biographic article
on a page - at least then no
leisurely time to attach to the orbit,
at least then no voyeurism of sorts,
i too think posthumous fame to be
the perfect escape, although at a great
cost; what a strange life we lead,
periphery or not periphery, silent
squabbles over who presides over the
throne and who presides over the
peddle stool; what a strange life,
it's not so much about regurgitating the
exactness of facts, but about how we feel
concerning them - strangers - those defendants
of the facts as a necessary rigid upkeep -
the ones of phobia uprooting vines and
weeds, to clear the way for the pristine -
or as one man said: 'it's so beautiful,
but it's so ****** up!' true that, very true
to be sure - oh at least read with the same ease if writing,
with the same ease - do not make it missing -
but why make adamant the up-keeping of
facts, mistranslating emotional content of experience
with superstition - for fear that the stronghold of
facts will crumble should one impose a straight
line on the Pisan tower? indeed i finally
met my tedium in reading Ezra Pound's cantos,
pages 488 - 489, indeed there i met Sisyphus,
one night, one tiresome night i met Sisyphus rolling
up a hill of blank an inkwell, but i have an excuse,
i said, i assure you! these pages are denoted among
all other pisan cantos, the man was in prison,
i gave up faith with him giving up faith,
i too in prison, divorced from my library,
given only abstracts and cold things,
but given pen & paper, remember: given pen & paper!
i gave up hope finishing the **** book damning
all fellow countrymen on those pages,
the stint at the asylum was like a holiday
in comparison - fellow caged budgies attested likewise;
i'm waiting for the right shade of pink in the sunset
to rekindle hope, and walk with him to the end
like dante holding hands with virgil in the inferno...
i need time, i need a sip of water, a crumb or two of
bread and rest... after all, seeing what's to come,
i see him airing, opening windows to his house
of poetry, venturing into blank space, open spaces,
conquering his agoraphobia but inverting it (somehow)
and writing more scarce, more scarce, perfectly, scarcely...
long gone the complication of phonetic encoding,
and hence the firm belief in the chinese pictogram
method of saying, something like: good day, good morning,
goodnight...
but here i am, strapped with him in the Pisan ghetto
of iron bars, exhausted, having favoured the winds
for so long and eager, exhausted,
as the sails are rolled up, and the oars have to be taken
up by hands to row; when will that time come
when the sails can be unrolled? i dare not know.

what poetry could not
the easiest access for rhyming,
e.g. the less i feel the more (a#)
i tend to harvest the ore (a#),
because it all feels domestic (b)
too modest too anachronistic (b)...
rhyme for me has become
deluded in terms of its importance
in poetry, it's un-important,
several technique references also,
but not so much, rhyming is the prime,
people everywhere are asking for abstraction,
they want to be able to read mathematics
by reading complex poetics
so they can craft a patent for ignoring
the verbs associated with mathematics
and entrench themselves in flanders fields
of nouns... i'm bilingual i have no talent
for crosswords, even the easiest ones,
but i can do a su doku... although not samurai
ones... if i state a vector and no one
travels along this route, it's no bother...
the last time i checked i felt inclined to
teach the south of Rodin's kiss, the north,
the west and the east in terms of changed narration
due to changed narration due to changed
perspective... all enclosures in cubic representation
where allowed, those in squared representations
of square on square like david's lyre of triangle
on triangle where the scientific approach
rather than lazy religious...
elsewhere two coordinations for the template
of abstracted three dimensional bodies
proved the one dimension that didn't exist
beyond the pinpoint "coordinate"...
otherwise known as the blind-spot.
poetry needs to evolve, it can't be stuck in the pit
of effort to keep with tradition, to keep with
technique... it has to forget technique
that might identify it as poetry,
the use of metaphor et al. does not necessarily
precipitate poetry, casual language usage
has become too stiff too predictable because
poetry has become so also...
imagine having other conversations,
philosophy has long quenched poetry,
crushed it, made it too democratic,
meaning anyone can write it,
only because plato's republic stated that
the rulers were not entertained by poets
in times when you couldn't record music
and stream it but had to be ready impromptu to
sing song... poetry, thanks to plato has become
too democratic, everyone's allowed a poem,
a demeaning signature of an X...
it has lost its republican status...
where is the: let poet ease my ear before i draft
the inauguration speech... so you see the tradition?
politicians want poets to speak with them,
they want one from the people to bless
the president's speech... but beyond that poetry
is a ***** art-form, and because of it,
it has become a wredna sztuka / wredna nauka,
which translates as: abhorring / abhorred art / science...
sztuka also translates as unit... hence the nuances
readied... like the reform of a 1984 law...
foresight accounted for, in terms of what
could be prevented... diluted understanding
does not necessarily involve an enlightened meaning,
in lawful terms it means confusing the populace,
confusing the strict guideline is a profit margin
in the courts of law...
the interpreter read the judge's speech
and didn't believe the necessary intricacy of ******,
he confused people with a gang of thirteen,
one carrying a knife, three carrying grit silver,
the rest not knowing... the three along with the one
accused, manslaughter the case resolve,
i understood the complexity of the high court judge's
wording, prime and auxiliary defendants,
prosecutors in tiers: victim, judge and jury...
the prosecutor tier missing because ineffective
and underpaid... prosecutors are effectively
the lawyers of the unread, uneducated...
currently there's an egyptian working the legal
system accused of the highest abomination
among the legal columns of un-excusable...
he committed a crime, and he's practising law...
one day his career will be over...
the man opposing never asked for reparations,
didn't ask for a jail cubic...
he asked for the beginning bias of the act not
perpetrated... ontologically speak, it's a question
of how man unto man should act, when given
the onomatopoeic simplicity of animals...
in england i will not receive justice,
i've been given a fake mental health history,
and thus dis-integrating from a society
i've known since the age of 8, i must someone
integrate my thought into my ethnic origin,
hence i need the european conglomerate of
many nations union...
because a psychiatrist in england
is actually a neurologist in poland
and the latter, dicta: if someone says you're
mentally ill, they're mentally ill themselves.

They say, she's easy.
But pretends to be so hard.
They say, she known to many.

Rather she is.
Or isn't.
She has the right to be selected.

A bad reputation only sticks.
Because of the people claiming to be so perfect.

For once.
When theirs become known.
Then they wants to place her on the savior throne.

We realize and know.
No one lives the perfect life.
We just think we do.
Until someone toss an attack at you.

She should defend herself.
Except she let the comments go on.
Even if she has defendants standing up for her.

Who states?
If we all look within the mirror.
Could we admit to ourselves?
That a past won't come back upon us.

Because a mirror don't lie.
Many times, it makes us apologize.

And immediately there fell from his eyes as it had been scales:
     and he received sight forthwith...      [Acts 9:18]

When judges decipher what lawyers speak,
offended defendants may leave confused.
Legalese labyrinths capture the weak;
Babylon's law makes for justice refused.
Enshrined at the ziggurat's doubtful peak
tyrannic gibberish mocks the accused.
He blinks at the courtroom, bewildered freak
as sentences are uttered unrecused.
Cuneiform marks... codified patter—
who dares define such esoteric terms;
in Heaven's eyes does it even matter ?
While the sacrificial defendant squirms,
Justice, unblinded, lifts higher the sword
unscaled eyes beholding—her gaze restored.

Rappin like I'm strappin. Cause every time I rhyme it's a crime of passion. Directing these words to take action, splitting these ******* into fractions. Killing wack rappers for your satisfaction.
Bring back that boom bap for a new vibration. Cause we need to move this nation that slowing to stagnation. These new spitters have no inspiration. No words for the kids that spectating, they raise kids into self hating, unappreciating the knowledge awaiting.
You see.
My reason for breathing is to keep you believing in the dreaming worth seeing.
Rhyming to those who need some healing. The children need to know its ok to have feelings.
There's a king or queen in these young beings.
But you teach em to struggle from the beginning.
But I preach the hustles O.G. meaning.
Teach em your mental muscle out weighs and out pays dope dealing.
That when you die the last thing you take is your with your *** is cash and bling bling.
Teach these kids to run with no legs... Lil tink tink.  So dont close your eyes, life passes by in a half blink.
**** conforming I'm preforming to make them think.
This country is not weak we're just on the brink of finding that missing link to confirm the only belief... wich is love, and only our love should reign from above. One love is the riches of all lives, from saints to thugs and that's because...
 you matter, I matter, matter of fact we are all made of matter, and equality is still a missing factor. This country was built from immigrants, and it's insignificance has lead to neglence and ignorance. But our omnipresence could be start of our new independence, get out the past and rise up to the present. We have a presence that could change us from the accused to the defendants.

They run down corridors, penetrate
Eardrums, tympanic membranes vibrating
Sounds of whispered ignorantia, injected
In minds, spewed out of unclosing mouths.

Actively engaged in spreading the word,
As meticulous news reporters committed
To divulge, unfounded information, undercover
Agents passing off as martyrs compelled,

To fulfil their duties pretending
To reluctantly execute a social service, yet,
No one knows whether the lady down
The street truly cheated, nor if her daughter

Also slept with the alleged lover, while
The audience is convinced and has convicted
The adultery of the first sentencing the second,
To shame and long-lasting denigrating fame.

The punishment assigned to the free walking
Defendants, found guilty by a jury of their peers,
A public court rising to judge an offence
Sickly existing merely in those insinuating

Voices, inundating the tribunal corridors
Of the neighbourhood, the city, the world,
Tv and the web. Leaving the only words
That count engraved in marble, epitaph

On the tombstone of a suicidal man,

‘In loving memory of Mallory Dupe.
Beloved husband of Helen and loving
Father to Giselle. Shamelessly killed
By rumours. No redemption granted.’

find myself studying the Kama Sutra
or lost between Carlos Casteneda
and Don Juan
tilting at telephone poles
because all the windmills have gone
Or toking on Hobbit stories
amazed by J. R. R?
Studying Tolstoy
imagining War or peace
questioning
why we all are how
we are such defendants
when we are
what we are
just human?

i'm sitting... well... i can't call it sitting... not given my proportions
and the size of the windowsill...
i'm perched on it... sure... sitting... i managed to turn
my folded leg: on which i'm sitting into a makeshift cushion:
sure... the leg is numb after i drifted off into the night
and... oddly... the night saved me from the nothing
that not thinking: i.e. pretending to think while not thinking
(creative a narrative) actually creates...
i like the night... the night is not the universe...
i hardly think about the world from the perspective of
thinking about the universe... black holes and stars don't
really bother me... they amaze me... but...
let's just say i need something immediate...
i know it's winter because the early morning fog is heavy
and fog hanging in the air is what finally makes
the trees loose all their golden fleeces of pointless
chlorophyll... so there they are: daunting skeletons...
plus the air is getting heavier because it's getting dried
in the cold... but not the sort of cold associate
with the continent...
    i just sit there and wonder... looking at my private
library... the last books my late grandfather bought...
i'm on vol. 6 of the modern epic and: to no surprise...
i couldn't have read the books in English...
just like i couldn't read a philosophy book in English...
with one exception... Wittgenstein's Tractatus...
the opening line hooked me:
     that line about tautology... and... well?
how people speak tautologically... i.e. misguiding actual
rhetoric for... sinking into the depths of a thesaurus (rex)...
i dipped into that grand book from time to time:
but rarely did i give it much attention...
why? well... if there's a substitute word i can use
to other turn a daisy into a ******* bouquet of flowers...
if my language can exfoliate...
oh... you see it with the decrepit writers...
they will employ the thesaurus from time to time:
it's so obvious... why? the substitute word used stands
out like a Siamese Twin's fourth limb...
if you don't use "said" word on a daily basis...
why are you ramping / vamping your otherwise passing-by
vocab?
esp. when you can work and work around with
alternations of 2 + 2 = 4... why complicate 2 + 2 = 4
with... say... 2 + √4 = 4?!
                                       but i like these moments...
i'm sitting without a single cognitive-itch of thought
cramming my mind... looking at the night
and the night looking back at me...
infuriating me with an absence of something
that's not a wife or children...
or conversation...
                        
                           it's a Friday night and i have a party in
my head... even though i'm not dancing...
well... tapping my fingers keeping a rhythm to
a song: make-out... Cristooh...
long gone are the years of being 18 through to 21
and walking back home from a night out in a club
being "rejected" by women...
i forgot about screaming mad being rejected...
these days it's so much easier...
i just go to the brothel and get my fill...
luck? what luck... i'm just smart to have avoided
any sexually transmitted diseases...
i played this one "prank" on Mona while she surprised
me by wanting to perform oral *** on me
without protection... i ****** my naked flesh into
her twice: i knew she was not willing...
but i did it as a "joke"... listen, i told her...
i know... but i just wanted to give you a feel...
all hell broke loose when i realised that
she actually put a ****** on my phallus that was
way too small... after climaxing and the great
"shrimp-shrinking"... the ****** with the offload
remained in her... my problem?
you put a ****** on me that was too small!

but i just started sitting there "thinking"...
we're not a part of any generation that has...
the capacity to become innovators of bettering existence...
we didn't invent the hammer coupled with the nail...
we didn't invent the ship, or beer...
we didn't invent electricity... we saturated this space
with social media and **** knows what else...
i'm sitting there and thinking...
furore! Adolf ****** killed X number of people...
AIDS? probably killed just as much...
and the latter half weren't dehumanised... they walked
into the slaughterhouse like slaughter-bound-cretins...
the former half had a decent amount of party
with the **** speaking: blah blah you'll be fine...

we don't live in a time when some genius is going
to reinvent aeroplanes... or the process of making whiskey...
or sending an email... or bypassing
the scrutiny of editors of publishing houses:
which are no longer houses...
same ****, different cover on some page
on the internet...
             we're a generation that can either:
1. create as little existential complications... or...
2. create as many existential complications as are deemed
required... possible...
too bad i'm bilingual and my lessons in grammar
sort of short-circuit when an English-speaking person
with the generosity of identifying as trans-ortho-meta-
benzene-cuck-ring-****-friendly-dwag-qveen-blah­-blah...
comes across someone akin to: i'm not budging...
i gave up my formative years to pedagogy...
strict... catholic pedagogy... old dog new tricks...
you think one biologically adult wants to learn lessons
from another biologically adult that has the mental
capacity less inquisitive of a child, something?!
you think?!

oh sure... at 36... i should have a wife and kids...
learning from the most proximate defendants of said practice...
my mother and my father... freaks...
my great-grandfather and great-grandmother...
also freaks...
the rest? oh... nomads of the heart...
perhaps my great-uncle and great-aunty on my maternal
side... he ended up being an amputee
and she turned out to be a hunchback... they stuck together...
the rest? shrapnel alliances...
i'm not getting involved...
i have my space and my books...
and my ******...

                but we will not be of a generation where
something grand will emerge... we have everything...
foremost we have medicinal anaesthesia!
for ****'s sake... the wonders people managed discovering
the ultra-components of cloves!
the discovery of beer!
                         what are "we" supposed to discover?
the decency to shut the **** up and live a very pleasant life
on the verges of teasing a "metaphor" of
Robinson Crusoe?!
                               looks that way!

we're the mediating generation...
mind you... ask me 3 hours prior while i was helping with
putting up the Christmas decorations...
who's your favorite Batman...
i would have told you... Michael Keaton...
hands down...
then again... who directed those two films?
first movie was fine... second movie?
Bat meets Scissor-hand-man... that ******...
teenage girl macabre... i get it... the Penguin made it great...

oh but this Batman movie wasn't like
all that stupendous Christopher Nolan "thinking"...
i actually liked this movie... well...
the first 20 minutes of it... the football was on
and i was gearing up to being busy with drinking...
but? a heresy...
Robert Pattison is the best Batman... ever...

Michael Keaton was... but...
                       no no... this is another level of the playing
field... it's like asking someone: who's you favorite Bond...
Daniel Craig... Brosnan, Connery, T. Dalton... or Moore...
eh? trick question...
   WOE'G'ER! ****'s sake... a ginger **** that ****
beats anything south of ginger... or auburn...
or mahogany... or whatever that ******* pumpernickel
was or wasn't... alive or terribly sorry: dead...

**** me, i grew up on a diet of Batman this...
Batman that...
i wasn't raised by my father from the age of
4 through to 8...
i wasn't raised by mother from the age of 6 through
to 8... it wasn't difficult...
but the "moniker" stuck with me...  
            no wonder i'm stll living in the "incesto...

incestoual rupture: wow! another google-whack
via a mis-spelling:
  incestoual rupture vs.
                  incestual rupture...

time to die... zeit zu sein geboren!
    und alles das ist... willkommen! das ist alle!
nein! nein! alles ist alles!

this begging before the altar of freedoms
before the atomised projection of the bomb...
death by stealth.. carried the dead baby
to its cranium and cradle with
Hispanic sighs...

i still love you: regardless the misgivings
of older and more provocative men...
i still love you...
       i will shed wanting with the tears i'd want
to shed: which i won't...
but i will not cry...
i'll just think of ice-cream!

In memory of an unmemorable 4th of August
On a once calm, but malicious day of 2020
Eyes were blinded by unforgivable eruptions
That stormed its rage alongshore Beirut
Banging down the mightiest of towers
Too overwhelming to be recognizably real
Too agonizing to be tolerably sensible
All witness bodies of wandering souls
Of victims heaped beneath breathless rubble
Of dust streams escaping through mindless erections

In memory of an aching 4th of August
From an unknown hour, as an alarming clock strikes six-o-eight
Ears were deafened by voiceless sobs
Of too many people chained in abominable wounds
Echoing thunders through audacious streets
Such a calamity we had to endure
Such a misery we are destined to co-opt
Each would rise again in delirium
In fervor for a melodrama
In search for the shielded guilty

In memory of a treacherous 4th of August
After a long-lost year in mourning distress
Six-o-eight is vividly reborn when
Hand-in-hand all stand upright
Weak but willful for a cause
Tormented yet woven in hope
To walk the walls of beloved Beirut
To carry up high its bleeding flags
To soothe spoken words of a sorrowful mother
“Death is my hope that shall take me to my son”

In memory of a promising 4th of August
The six-o-eight shall ring its bell
And scream “Hail down to the defendants!”


           NHH                                                              ­     "Plume"

Humanity is the lie,
Waiting for the end, we all die.
Humanity is the lie,
Hiding away within disguise,
Screaming about acceptance,
Weapon uses within vengeance,
Words of offensive, know a jail sentence,
Fat is beautiful, health conditions non presence,
Junk food is the source, over eating non admittance,
We want to be accepted, we are also resistance,
We want to be accepted, we are snowflakes about the eldery rememberance,
We want to erase all history, but it ok for black history to be represented.

Humanity is the lie,
Waiting for the end, we all die.
Humanity is the lie,
Hiding away within disguise,
Screaming about acceptance,
Weapon uses within vengeance,
Shut the whole down, offended,
We don't  want facts, we are not fully comprehended.
We are not acceptable for academia,
Cause education is straight lies and descended,
We won't fight in a war, we are not that generation, we are not kids, we are done pretending,
We won't admit our wrongs or sins, we are the righteous and correct defendants,
We are the generation, here for only one reason,to care about the lying agenda,
Simple Google Search and wikipedia, our only true source of truth and independence,
We know that wikipedia can be changed, we also know that simple google search is just nonsense same as the media.

We are not students any more, we are just Narcissist,
We are not even artist, we are not even activist,
95 percent of us are not even the smartest,
Not from mental health and health disorders, but by choice.

Humanity is the lie,
Waiting for the end, we all die.
Humanity is the lie,
Hiding away within disguise,
Screaming about acceptance,
Weapon uses within vengeance,

The beautiful angelic daughter of Charlemagne,
king of Saracen Kato, came to court to participate
in a tournament in which pagans and Christian
pagans. The courage of his brother, with whom
he offered the following: win the fight of the Christians
who had taken the Day. According to the soldiers,
the battles, also called Ferraguto Ferraù, killed him
and left him, in search of his own angel Argyle,
bigger than its palaces, prostitutes and Orlando
and Reg. When the defendants, according
to the forest of the Ardennes, prostitutes
and prostitutes drunk are part of the river
with the source of love, love the kings of
Rachel while they drink, advise and they
hate hatred, they hate the angel,                                                the prostitutes.
and it must also be part of it. Pasa Orlando,
Agrican lets them go, launches and kills
him and must be successful. Then, along
with Rinaldo, who had left the island,
they would have to return to France
to fight to convince themselves that the side
of the Great Carlos, therefore, the prostitutes
and the insult of the prostitutes of Orlando
and his Rinaldo. Meanwhile, the king of the Saracens,
Amamath and the prostitutes are subject
to a large army in Galla, is Rodin's Ferrari,
the deepest and many more, the prostitutes
and the revenge of his father before being
killed by the Trojan God... Ronald stayed
in France, suffered persecution, prostitutes
and angelic condition, loved him,
dogs and many murdered, on the contrary,                        the city of our God. Return to the forest of the Ardennes,
this crack of the river and take a sip in front
of the angelic springs. Orlando and Rinaldo
have not yet died and Carlos,                                           the old Gran Maxim,
has promised to fight against the incredible courage.     Meanwhile, Muslims because they are Ruggero Brandamante Reg, love.        How to write a song, prostitutes and suddenly, it is said that the positions
of the French forces invaded Italy
under the direction of Charles,
explains that he had 8 Boiardo. Charlemagne,
beautiful angelic daughter of King Saraken Cataio,
came to court to participate in a tournament
in which pagans and pagan Christians. The courage
of his brother, with whom he offered the following:
he defeated the struggle of the Christians
who had taken the Army. According to the soldiers,
the battles, also called Figaroa Ferraù, killed
him and left him, pursuing his own angel Argyle,
bigger than his palaces, prostitutes and Orlando,
namely Reg. When the accused, according
to the forest of the Ardennes, prostitutes
and drinks are part of the river with the fountain of love,
love the kings of Ramtha as they drink,
advise and hate with hatred, hate angels,
******* and must also be a part.                                     She passes Orlando,
Argon to let them go, ******* herself
and **** him. and it must be successful.
Then, along with Rinaldo,                                           who had left the island,
they would have to return to France to fight
to convince themselves that the side of the Great
Carlos, as a result, the prostitutes and the insult
of the prostitutes of Orlando and his country.                                      Rinaldo.
Meanwhile, the King of the Saracens, Aramantha
and the prostitutes are subject to a large army
in Galla, are Rodin's Ferrari's, the deepest
and many more, the prostitutes and the revenge
of his father before being killed by the Trojan of the Lord God ...
Viral, stayed in France, suffered persecutions,
prostitutes and angelic condition, loooo,
******* and many were killed on the contrary,
the city of our God. Back in the forest
of the Ardennes, this crack of the river
is delayed and drinks in front
of the angelic springs.                                                         ­       The prostitutes
of Orlando and Rinaldo continue
to postpone Maria, and Carlos,
the old Gran Maxim, promised
to fight against the incredible
courage. Meanwhile, Muslims
because they are Ruggiero
Bradamante                                                      ­               Reg, love.
                                                                ­   How to write a song for prostitutes,                                                  and­ suddenly, it is said
that the positions
of the French forces
invaded Italy under
the direction of Charles,
explains that he had 8 Bordellos.

In September 1818, from the exclusion to escape
the book came back with the problem of waiting for women,
a year before becoming pregnant in Italy.
In particular, Bologna, Florence, Milanese ******
and the trip to Naples  
more tourists. It is worth discussing the death
of gypsy ***** and gypsies among many German tourists
in the Greek coffee shop. This was said, Johannes,
between sluggish oppression and malfunctioning.
With the rest of the country, the old buildings,
the theater and the skill of an experienced man,
the work of pain of thought had to start in a bed.
I wanted to use some powerful people in Italy
to become entrepreneurs in matters of marriage.

But in terms of not knowing the size of ******,
and not in detail, ****** and therefore genitalia.
For reasons, the decomposition took place
in Eden and a sister. Financial problems of ***.
Hey, in the city, and - Total near the mother
and the third ****** and fourth -
He denied that Arthur wanted wealth,
and his mother was very angry about what he said.
The *****'s skills and experience of women
in business, not only for four minutes,
spent the money on ****** and finally the bank
better. These things, reports and about the relationship
between the three members of the desolate
Yešopinihāwihāri family. Due to the kemošilo
t'ešilini in Italy, his question was correctly
addressed and returned. Economically people,
****** are free, there is little response to the issue,
which is pleased to say that should take
the opportunity to promote the academic
šilence, but the integrity of the census was.
           The University of Berlin
reports friends were ****** and beautiful.
Dr of the love of the Republic. University
for Adaptation, through laziness,
the differences that accepted his teaching,
with the Holy Spirit gave them a unification.

However, there are only five classes
of students who started buying ******
and eliminated the problem. Philosophy,
A modern disorderly ***** complains
that the be'akedemiwochi always works.

Then, after many years, she lives
on her ****** and attends the highest
price of, Nuremberg, Stuttgart,
continues in Florence months in Milan.
But the prize three years ago, 47, met
in New York, Mary, who met with for
the last time.                                 September 1821 is that the list is unknown.
He has an entrance if they do not eat,
but he told Sarah's ****** who could see a romance
from the land of Likireti. I think that especially
what does this work cannot be, to the right side.
The direct rewards of 1827 and May of this year
to improve retirement were condemned
by the court until his death in 1842. Italy and Italian ******
                                                           and learned ****** learn English.
                                                           The ends of the earth. In most cases after a year tomorrow in Munich.
Some may be because of the disease has infected a person.
The doctor discovered that he presented the hooks in English,
German, Kantian ****** and trad. She was expelled.
                                                         Spain returned to Berlin
                                                         and studied some of its favorite authors who could read in their native language.
Kolideroni Peter de la Barca, Dee Lopez Horatio,
human society ****** and especially loved.
In addition, the experiments do not publish
their interpretations. When they were asked
to move to other universities, they tried
to get the Cicero developers. Berlin years
that are silent again. The defendants arrived
in another region for 17 years.

I watch them fly
With grace, so free.
Unburdened by
Prosperity.

No time for entertainment.
Hearts not weighed and balanced against gold bars.
No defendants, and no claimants.
Living in each moment only where they are.

Light enough to lift off.
Strong enough to stand.
Each day is faced,
With strength and grace.
No expectation. Nothing planned.

I watch them perch
With purpose, unknown.
Each one a force
Itself, alone.

No need for supervision.
Making no objects, hoarding no wealth.
Living off of flight and vision.
Living for the flock, and for the self.

Only motivation, sunrise.
Only purpose is to live.
Perhaps thoughtless,
Perhaps unknowing,
Still, it’s wisdom that they give.

By: Cedric McClester

Though hearts are broken
The  jury has spoken
But they had to be joking
Cos now we all are woken
Our justice system is flawed
Though it once was awed
It’s now thought of as fraud
Not worthy of an applaud

So as not to be unkind
I thought justice was blind
But that was only in my mind
Cos it is not as you shall find
And it needs to be stated
It can be complicated
Or perhaps it’s overrated
It’s not always checkmated

Despite instructions sent
It can be skewed or bent
By the human element
Influenced by the eloquent
Closing arguments
Which can shade the intents
Of all kinds of defendants
Who’ve been freed therefore and hence

There’s a big dichotomy
Between how it’s supposed to be
And the things we actually see
In the courtroom which is key
To the thesis herein rendered
About the apprehended
Because of verdicts that engendered
Outcomes that haven’t been splendored

















Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2021.  All rights reserved.

It may seem like today we have all fallen victims to a powerful curse or perhaps something so much worse. There are a lot of people in this sick sad world that just demented as they are perverse. They wonder freely though this entire universe. This has been channel nine news  You have heard it here first. Now form our sponsors these words. Gateraide Go on Quench your thirst

As one of the most horrific and grizzly ****** scenes seen here in the last 30 years so begins to unfold The viewers are simply captivated completely infatuated. The murders they say were without a doubt pre mediated. The perpetrators we said to not even have hestattied Possible motives now are being heavily debated. For now all these theories are just speculated. It was said all of this began with already dire situations escalated. Now the school steller legacy has been descraited. Causing a wide spread panic leaving bare raw emotions running rampant unchecked and unregulated. Putting much duress in the over dressed and under educated that were said to have participated. This heinous crime seems so complex and complicated. Now matter how ******* the details the detectives concentrated they still merely looked constipated. To turn your back on the people could leave you devastated. Just another murders that needs to be investigated
The defendants were said to all their lives self medicated. An obvious fact from being seen as if they were half *** sedated or intoxicated. From going out attempting to get themselves faded. Such a vicious brutality they have demonstrated. Due to the amount of over whelming evidence against them they were implicated., incriminated.and finally incarcerated. It just goes to show you even the most enibreated shouldn't be under estimated. This has been channel Nine saying Love thy neighbor especially those you at one hated. Channel nine news  unexaggerated.
We now return you to your regular schedule programming already in progress.
As the Dope Burns
To whomever it concerns. What's alarming is the rate of return for such a substance that makes your stomach churn. This is something that you definitely seem to yern.  It's almost like us addicts never seem to learn like anyone else we roll a joint and we may even rock a bowl for sure turning up that Rick and roll.i just trying to fill this hole inside of my very soul.I grow colder and more corrupt the older I grow. So welcome all to the **** show. Where the dope burns slow. Embers all a.glow solvents colorful as a rainbow as the toxic fumes start to fill the room. I feel like I'm being crushed underneath the weight of this pending doom. I feel perhaps the end mpsy be coming soon. At least I assume that leaves me red assed like a **** baboon. Higher than a **** ballin. Animated I'm all drawn out like a **** cartoon. Silvered underneath the neon moon Eyes bigger than dinner plates at nine in the afternoon. Normal activities to resume. As once again. The flames in my hell consume Get ready for the masquerade go and put on your costume. Dance as if you're stark raving mad laughing like a loon a definite ****** toon I should have notified my next of kin that I was headed straight to the ****** bin, but once I got there those ******* wouldn't let me in. So I was then released to reek havoc and run amuck once again. I'm not you're foe but I am a fiend my friend. I went out searching for a means to an end and found nothing but whispers in the wind a big yellow submarine we could all live in. Insanity it seems to again. Coming up next is Rin Tin Tin followed by Lassie a classic Timmy in a well. He must have gotten dizzy turning in full circles on the carasoul when into the well he had fell. oh well is that  Fairy's tale that's demented not just swell A character I am in this demented as hell. Why couldn't I just be saved by the sounds of the tubular bell. Ask me no questions and no lies will I sell  a fond fare the well I bid to thee. I lam being the only person I know how to be I am just me. Form me I cannot seem. Yo save myself can you not see or maybe it's I that will save me after all I am sick of failing from dark tragic sky. where I chase smoke clouds and spirits even though I don't know why. I. The stratosphere I  continue to fly high. No tears falling from. Either eye. An epic fail to no avail I truly did try
One day I will meet up with my cousin Billy Wayne as a he patiently awaits for me on the other side Perched  on the pride which is his ride. He's my die or ride that  with the power glide we'll slide right on though to the other side. Where catastrophes and chaos seem to collide, where good and evil seek to coincidence. I traveled on without that he guide. Proving myself to be completely fried. The real me is buried down deep somewhere inside. Like the monsters inside of me I also hide..