Oh Holiday Tree, Oh Holiday Tree
We named you inoffensively.
Your boughs have been de- Christianized
Rededicated to mankind
Oh Holiday Tree, Oh Holiday tree
takes all denominations

Oh Holiday Tree, Oh Holiday tree
Enjoyed by Jew and Pagan.
You twinkle with a million lights
like the Universe of Carl Sagan.
Oh Holiday Tree, Oh Holiday Tree
Takes all denominations.

Oh Holiday Tree, Oh Holiday Tree
No Creche beneath your branches
Atop your pine- No Star Divine
instead a golden dollar sign
Oh Holiday Tree, Oh Holiday Tree
takes all denominations

Upon reading the article I found myself thinking that it was a topic tainting the beautiful art in the process of death. Death is something we all were born to one day or another eventually have to face whether we want to or not. Masking the process with mind altering drugs could possibly rob an individual of having a noble peaceful passing along with possible negative reactions from the surviving family members.

A question that came to mind after reading the assignment was, what was the family’s position in the decision to undertake such a treatment? Because death has a major impact on everyone left in the wake of losing a loved one.

In my current position I have to remain and always be neutral in my thoughts and if I find myself leaning one way or another I have to rebalance myself and never waiver to one side or another. In the Funeral Parlor business there are many religions that come seeking service and again I must encompass all denominations even if it is something I don’t believe in. I was never one to talk about political issues and definitely when the subjects about drugs ever come up I cannot afford to get involved with it.

In my pursuit of a higher education and working on obtaining a degree in the field of Mortuary Science I am beginning to see that my actions and reactions are now being redefined. I am also working on poise and proper composure along with training myself to think before speaking. In the field of Mortuary Science there is no room for mistakes for you only get one chance in every aspect in the business to make a lifelong memory of the situation that family’s face coming in for a service and a positive memory is what they expect.

Being a witness of the result of death on nearly a weekly and sometimes more basis, I have been entrusted and been welcomed into a community that only a select certain extremely  few individuals ever get to be a part of. There are many attributes that Funeral Directors in the field seriously look for in someone. It is imperative to always refrain from loose talk within the Funeral Home and especially in the Preparation Room and not to mention even in the public.

In last stage situations I have seen both sides of the coin and have to only accept not encourage one way or another if one chooses their avenue of departing. I’ve seen them pass away on heavy morphine and other drugs and also others stop all pain meds to go naturally and then the ones who also had no choice in the matter.

In closing, I found this assignment and subject matter extremely valuable to me because it gave me a perfect opportunity to express my true thoughts and beliefs along with practicing proper education in the field of Mortuary Science.

Death and Dying Class Assignment I received an 80 for a grade do to the avoidance of talking about the drug aspect. I feel that everyone in the class should have received a 100 because it was a reaction paper to what we all had to read.

(Sir Curt A. Rivard Sr. 1-24-14)

The slam poet in cords, in denim,
rambles from neon beer haven
to flybuzz brothel, cracking quiet
jokes about soup to shiny junebugs
in the relentless moonlight.
One hundred dollars in thirty-five bills
slowly retreat from wallet
toward water-cut whiskey.
He’s got a chapbook widely
available at frozen yogurt shops
across the metro; he’s got a
tour in the works, tri-county,
every middle school from
Shawnee to Seminole; he’s
got a collection of ex-girlfriends,
made up almost entirely of wizened lesbians;
he’s got an MFA from UNC Wilmington,
and he shouts this more than speaks this
from his treacherous barstool to the sleepy bartender.
One of the girls, she takes him upstairs,
and to her he says, Your freckles—islands
in the sea of your milk-white skin.

The night passes, warehouses are razed,
and he watches the loft apartments emerge.
The food trucks come. He parks beside them,
typing poems made to order out of his trunk. The
money flows in, crumpled and sweaty and
in one-dollar denominations. The Old Fashions
transfigure into Old English. And in his pocket
thesaurus he looks for a word. It’s not vagrant,
nor vagabond. It’s not homeless, nor wayward.
He lies in the long shadow of a Midwestern sunset,
starved and shaking. Up from the blackened
city shrubs comes an indifferent breeze and
just as he thinks the word Pauper, he dies one
on the corner of 23rd and Western.

As I kid I watched in wonder at the sight.
The shining goblet of Grape Juicy Juice,
Candles, flags, robes, and glorious gold-tipped bibles.
I loved the songs, the community, and the people.
Faces and arms raised to press up to the sky
Like they could literally feel the hand of God.
It was everything I'd been missing at home.
It was home cooked meals, smiles, and togetherness.
It was leadership, mentors, and pop rocks.
I joined AWANA at age 8.
We read the scriptures, played games, ate snacks,
And enjoyed the bath of warmth that God's love gives,
With the intensity and guilelessness that only kids can have.
There were no difficult questions and everything had an answer.
Until I got a little older.
The questions got harder and the words got harsher.
My mentor, Denise, loved me. I know she did, in her way.
But she didn't understand why my family never came with
To church or on my spiritual journey.
It was my responsibility to save their souls form eternal hellfire.
"Don't you love them? Don't you want them with you in paradise?"
Of course I did. I tried to tell them
But their expressions were condescending,
Like they knew something I didn't about the world.
But God wants to save them. God loves everyone.
Or does he?
Slowly there was less talk of love and forgiveness
More of sin, atonement, and apologies.
"You lied to your mother, Victoria?"
She rapped my hands with the bible
And looked down at me with disappointment in her eyes.
"You know God wants you to be sorry, but it's not enough."
She drilled it into me in increasingly violent ways.
The manifestations of my sins and their atonements became more.
More physical and more mental.
More and more rules piled up.
More and more sins piled up.
More and more lessons and meetings occur between us.
I read the entire bible. I memorized verse after verse.
I became passionate about helping others,
But instead of soup kitchens and fundraisers
We spent more time outlining everyone who would burn.
Gays, feminists, other religions, different denominations, Me.
"You don't deserve God's love and yet he gives it to you. Are you grateful?"
"You can't preach or teach, you will find a man one day who will help you."
"Hold out your arms."
Until one day found me sitting on the edge of my roof.
Wondering what it would be like if I was in hell.
Wondering if I was gone would anything be different.
Wondering how I could prove myself.
I climbed back in through the window and picked up a hammer.
The one my dad used, but never to fix things, before he left.
I laid down on my bed and slammed it into my ribs
Once. Twice. Three times.
Tears ran down my cheek
while I gasp quietly.
*Is it enough yet?

Astutely speaking, we all at some point

Ponder on matters spiritual, the kind
In the realms outside observable phenomena.
Even to some extent, we can’t help
Consulting various spiritual practitioners to
Extrapolate circumstances prevalent in the future.

Otherworldly beauty is not only a matter of
Fascination it’s an obsession too.

Hallowed space in today’s world is
Exceedingly limited, an abundant scarcity
A paucity of meaning attached to it.
Various denominations exist to
Entrench a semblance of piety to counter
A rather stack waywardness.
Neverland, is it real?

The Gods are money sound these days.
and priests have marketing degrees -
The faithful, called to worship
by giant plasma screens,
in mega-shopping sanctuaries
selling salvation through merchandising.

At the Church of Holy Consumption
all denominations are welcome –
hundreds, twenties, tens.
All the hymns are sung by Muzak -
the readings daily specials.

A sister spritzes us with holy essence
(The bottle's 40 bucks an ounce).          
Leave your offerings at the till -
major credit cards accepted.

When worship time is up,
sign the dollar across your chest
and bend a knee to the talking head
cooing soothing benedictions,

“Go in Peace, my child. You’re worth it.”

*January,  2007

I've been going to a Kingdom Hall and I've become a Jehovah's Witness.
The people are very friendly to each other which means we are blessed.
The Kingdom Halls have different preachers on each Sunday and Tuesday.
Unlike other Denominations, our preachers never receive pay.

At the Kingdom Halls, we are taught that Jehovah is God's name.
Some people tell lies about Jehovah Witnesses and it's a shame.
One lie that people tell is that we don't believe in Jesus.
We are good people, I hope that you'll come to see us.

Unlike other churches, we don't pass around a collection plate.
People at the Kingdom Halls are treated like family, it is great.
Besides listening to the preachers sermons, we study the Bible as well.
When people are untruthful about us, please ignore the lies that they tell.

The friendly of the friendly people might not change.
Except,  this world is changing in ways that might not be for the better.
We are segregating ourselves.

From the way we shop.
Where once you venture out to perform that service.
Now, many are on social sites ordering stuff.

Losing insight of greeting one another.
Back in the day , it was created by law and unwritten rules.
Some, of which fools still conform too.

Home schooling, is catching on in some corners.
And many offer logic and irrational to , why they are doing it?
But if your child doesn't have people's skills.
Then lord help them when they have to use them.

We have people of all races that stay to their own.
But in the real world of living.
This isn't a community at all.

There's no slots in heaven for assign races.
God didn't create anyone better than the others.
In his vision, we all are sisters and brothers.
Even, if we the human are segregating ourselves.

Think about these words when you're saying your prayers.
To get along, we must agree to be of one accord.
Many churches do our harm.
Which certain denominations think they are the appointed one to Christ.

Once I have been to that city
the city of ritzy splendour,
of hoary grandeur,
a gargantuan pile of steel and granite.
It stood an enigma
on the banks of Hudson,
lulling the waves to sleep
in the garish light of neon bulbs
with an eternal tumult
heating up its nerves

Walking down its streets alien
scenes eerie scurried past-
Men and women-
of all climes and continents
all ethnic denominations,
all shapes, sizes and colours,
blonds, brunettes,
blacks and whites,
tourists and nomads,
in flashing styles
outlandish costumes,
tonsured, dyed
and tattooed,
on shoulders, back and chest
with bizarre shapes,
Some dressed from top to toe
many bordering on ******,
splurging with life
feverish and frenzied
speaking different dialects,
some tall, some lean, many obese
trundling down busy streets
that never go still
with sleep and awakening
but action, commotion, agitation,
where each day is an eternity
and each night- a New Year’s Eve
where business runs without pause
rife with sounds and noises -
the incessant roars of fevered minds
muffled, stifled, excited, agonized
mixing with music flowing from concert halls
merging in sounds of siren
and speeding traffic
A banal hubbub-
A hoarse discordant clamour!

I passed through avenues
where sky scrapers
huddled together on either side
where once stood the Twin Towers
stabbing into clouds –
those titanic monuments of Yankee pride,
one day raced down to Ground Zero
where terrorists wreaked havoc
and wiped thousands unwary -
still frozen in the dark memories
of that day light nightmare!

Passing down Wall Street,
the nation’s Money Mart
that spawns an industry
of ruthless dreams and fantasies,
I saw,
the mammoth Bull, charging feral
under whose crushing hooves
many fall dead
and rise again like Phoenix
or soar into indefinable heights
or bury their dreams ever
under the sod.

Broad roads that stretched endless
seemed to lose themselves
like the mazy tangle of complex minds,
and pavements
littered with a thousand moving feet
Men and women in pairs,
hand in hand,
lip to lip,
bodies entwined
seen in beaches and parks
in whose brain
Marriage- labelled an anachronism!

In these hurricane of faces
with fleeting passions
or fixations of their own
What chemistry could I discern?
A zest for life--or its absence?
A search for a life lost in living?
A fight for survival
Or
A passive surrender to the inevitable?
I do not know—
I fail to define
I fail to divine.

the virus is raging: or so we're told -
i don't really mind whether we're told anything
anymore - i can finally come to grips
with the male version of the niqab:
just fine...

                              but once the virus impregnated:
whether our actual bodies or...
whether this: that be the detached from the herd
mind - whatever cull word: or choice of....

but... islam stopped: doing its business of
a revival... a revival... mind you...
that only involved the sunnis...
  it's like: the ******* would rather sweep their
whole schism under the magic carpet...
no... they wouldn't: they: sunnis...
wouldn't attack the sh'ites... the persians:
yeah... good luck with that...
the persians would bow before...
a bunch of camel jockeys:
  the library of baghdad...
              and: a library with only one book...
quasi-poetry: that damns poetry...

but i guess a book that takes hold of the heart
is much more than a book
that agitates the mind...
the bible: agitates the mind...
**** knows what it does to the heart...
but i'm sure to know that...
a proper adhan...
   can leave me in tears...
like...

but when i hear: da pacem domine...
or anything! anything resembling teuotnic songs
of the conquest of the baltic states:
too bad for merry ol' german...
having converted the prussians...
the prussians...
well: the revenge of the pagans over
their christian overlords...
or some **** like that: otherwise a different cover...
so much so that...
the polacks stood a chance with the kashubians...
and the silesians...
mongrel tongue they are much at home
than if ruled over by prussians...

jihad: a war of reclaiming land...
never a war of intrusion...
you reclaim all you have lost:
but you do not claim new land...
it's not a holy war beside:
what has to occur naturally: the growth of
an idea: that the enzyme is a sword...
well: no one's perfect...

but given there's a break from
fetish fashisto islamism...
     turban afghan / saudi sunni **** flinging
pajamas... well...
what about the hugo boss uniforms you
promised with all that oil money you ******
away on yachts and ****** that:
those ****** were waiting for you in jannah?!

of course i'm teasing the mamluk and
the janissary...
if you fed me... adhans... poetry...
and then: speeding to modern times...
played me as this egyptian stranger...
in amsterdam: architecture student... genius doodler...
an afternoon with him... beers and some jojo-and-mary...
in amsterdam... or... the previous afternoon
and these two slobs: germans...
and he gave me a song to listen to...
how the world dwarfed...
le trio joubran - masar...

i have nothing in christianity: a headache...
i tried judaism: too complicated...
linguistic avenues: herr zensor ha-shem:
the name of: kether: keter -
crown... you can only be so smart...
before: ehyeh asher ehyeh just because the same
bogus "trip" of pickled intellect you
have with that trinity and: fraction...

da pacem domine...
            muhammad can start wearing a niqab
at this moment... i don't even know whether
a proselyte status is teasing me:
i can't tame a heart: esp. my own...
but seeing the clear reduction of islamic
intrusion into christian affairs of:
yawn... usury? iconoclasm?
                        contra: the former...

you sold me on the romance of mamluk and
jannisary... because i'm fat from being tired
from what christianity has to offer...
honestly... even if there was a nag hammadi
library revival of the gnostic section...
or... 100 years from now...
there was news about the fate of isaiah
and the dead-sea-scrolls...

                 the muslims are not attacking...
by the grace of god...
some authoritarian mouthpiece from their shitpile
of clueless stopped talking...
and the adhan could be listened to: again...
and rumi minimalism could be read:
sufism! could be digested...

my mind can wander calendars... days and decades...
dreams and deja vus...
it can cross boundaries inanimate object
territory and turn to all things fuzzy
in the realm of hallucinations:
denial, doubt, conviction
in one way or another...
fractions of synonyms...

i cherish the one libra... the heart's:
yes....           or...                      no...
then there's the christianity that borrows too much
from its: "cultured" / cultivated paganism...
whether greek or trojan (alias latin)...
i'm tired of these arguments...
they're either claustrophobic (without any
evidence of clarifying workable space)....
trash: recycling matter... per-haps...

                      hoarder peoples of the world
"unite"... no... i'm "bored" and just exhausted
by the secular arguments or how
the trinity fraction ingenuity should work...
when islam is stsarting to turn lazy...
i figured: the romance associated with
the mamluk and the janissary is open, yes?

sufism and the indivisible one?
the vector: the north: point north vector -
the frankenstein moster clue: that's still open?
will i meet the drawfish turks along the way...
and they'll come up with...
canons for ****-open the walls
of constantinople?

      ever convert someone by way of
shrivelling up their testicles or crucifying their
mind on the altar of phobias?
if you don't have the heart...
you might as well be gagging for an achilles' heel...
if that!
christianity and pop cult. secularism...
i'm bored of worshipping
a static demigod...

        how many demigods came...
preceding? but this demigod is the fraction
celebration: the intellectual *******
of people who: cared not for...
the ferris wheel, etc.
                    
         rome is no more!
holy rome is no more: the "*****" achieved its purpose...
citing Casimir III also helped...
the nomads moved: jumped over the pond...
spider patience as released into
the city-scape: well of course... well done!
applause!

the question "question" is never asked...
given... hasn't christianity become a quasi-polytheism?
how many denominations?
too little gods: and the one...
as a fraction... can just keep on giving:
yet another preceding 0 of: the divided fraction
booth...

         the schism within islam was hardly
an intellectual:
all these "byzantine" precursor details...
such a bothersome spectacle for all:
that mind the bureucratic shoo! shoo!
              an intellectual affair:
                       worldly affairs... Ali was promised x...
the caliphs decided on project y...
the integrity of "the prophets" word:
while aging... senile yet still *******
a fresh cherub-and-orange akin to...
                 Khadija **** Khuwaylid still on my mind...
in praise of older women...

according to malcolm X and: cassius clay...
islam knows no race...
since... christian fwench... catholic...
spaniard catholic: later christian...
german retro: swiss...
anglican fudge-packers...
             yes... islam is not a nationality:
nor is it a race...
then again: what is croat... former yuogoslav...
or greek...
when... ahem... all that matters is...
h'american patriotism?!
if only the h'americans can be patriotic...
only the 50 shingles and twin barons
of stripes is on the ready...
the h'americans are: patriotic!
the rest of us are being nationalistic:
cousin-******-******!
can't islam come via Sarajevo and...
become... an escape plan?

   Ezra Pound might have cited:
the former proud stance of christianity against
usury... and now...
loan-sharks...
   i could be a slave to islam because
i could finally escape the "lost" e in
a ethnic grouping that has me locked in with...
the st. petersburg crowd...
the slavs...         and the germans: are... germs...
east a vowel - prefix at the wrong moment...
thank god that islam is not a people
but an idea...
and i'm burning with it...
without need to make or meet
proper formalities of conversion...
by heart's analogy of the mind's banquet
of the thesaurus...
when will the simple yes...
or the simple no arrive?
i don't know...
                i don't want to know...

after all: will you frequently hear...
of a *** / 'ebrew convert?
no! of course not! it's a... v.i.p. club...
you being a jew is more than an "idea"...
yep... it's exactly "also" a race...
you don't get to bypass all the cousin *******
cousin inbreeding on a whim...
you don't get to be given a "choice"...
while islam readily converts...
new blood...
islam readily converts because...
you were never a chosen within the confines
of the distinct few:
which is nice...
islam readily converts: while christianity willingly
abandons...
why am i looking into a mamluk /
janissary romance novel genre?
will i write one?
do i look like someone to turn a silver
spoon into a ***** and fake
a sigh?

dare i: dare not i: "not i"...
back into the basic structure of words:
back into syllables...
words like: da-je (it's giving)
                           i forget all the other mamas' and
papas'... "lyrics"...
i'm just bored of the exclusivity and
inclusivity of peoples...
mind you: i mind more...
what's that: fidgeting me... irritating me...
such the atom: like the letter abounding
around them...
it's nothing special... it's just: fudge...
and a simple metaphor of concrete and
indigestion to have to... endure...
gorge... digest...

                i'm bored of christianity
because of the ruling "christianity" of h'america...
back to basics: son of sam...
thank god for the atlantic ocean...
some distance... some perspective...
evangelical: denominations of old world
protestantism...
no... all the basics of:
looking at women with "fun" prospects...
joy... what about the joy of a bicycle...
it's like ******* retards claiming:
casper the friendly ghosts and
spiderman were touch-up buddies to sooth...

thank you h'america... send me back
to afghanistan... and pashtun womens' poetry...
too many minutes spent on this insomnia footprint
of the web: i still believe a t.v. and a computer
and internet access should be akin
to resembling a fireplace... fixed locations...
no?
i don't actually mind:
eating a burger and getting a blockjob
like driving a car...
on a smooth motorway...
try the same... and giggling... on horseback...

if i could gonvern myself to establish a matrix
of prayer - rummagings of a lacklustre
of schiphrenia - perhaps...
for all the freedoms "imposed":
and not imposed - shimmy shimmy -
and all that isn't received as: to pass...
restrictions galore...
the smooth shake-me-up...
secular: testicular clean shaven *******
tip of luck when licked: etc.

           yeah... yeah: sign me up for that...
pedestrian safehaven!
the promises of science...
                  the christian day to day...
and the... straitjacket of islam...
or... or... prop-er... PWOPH-EER "judeo-christian":
and some salty Cicero...
and some pepper stiff 'istotle!
                  
   love is... love is: pseudo-echo: his eyes...
and all the little idiosyncracies still alive in me:
that makes me focus on me:
and not on... the expendable you...
     all i want is to focus on these details
without having to infringe on: detailing you...
to what...
                impaled... which has to be
more insufferable than a crucifixion...
but... let's not mind that...

              the detail comes around with:
the civic world is a world that the ancient
romans laid a claim on...
the rest? that the romans didn't lay...
a claim on? fifth partition of poland...
a ****** job over the "question" of iraq...
i'm not this "white" ****-boy's boor...
but that i am: since i'm not his baron.

- all that bob woodward & carl bernstein
achieved... deep-throat alias
of that ninja in m.g.s. PSI...
but what i included... but what jonathan landay
and warren strobel couldn't...
it breaks, the "heart"...
or at least the mind... capable of...

- honestly... i never much appreciated
rembrandt...
but... what wouldn't... otherwise...
a sobering-up sessions of sitting on the edge
of the bed do... otherwise:
better good... than the thus presented...
than... hang-over... looking at prints
of the aging rembrandt...
no... not the zenith... the impeding
nadir...

          would it still be necessary for me
to ingest from l.s.d.?
the lazy strokes of grace-
any other adjective of pompous
sycophancy is open: though... to be added...
no... not because his a well known name...
but because: i never found the sort of
raw beef: or the sort of stomach...

the question of the "question"...
within the realms of the diaspora...
that's a hard "question"...
given the diaspora is... a status quo that...
look at the orthodox yids / hebs
of brooklyn...
they're not leaving and brooklyn isn't...
either... the question of a people
without a diaspora...
is still only a "question"...
like that: MADE IN CHINA... "question"...
i still haved things in my possession that have...
MADE IN HOLLAND...
MADE IN INDIA... MADE IN IRELAND...
hell... even MADE IN BANGLADESH
makes you believe in a higher quality than...
all that CHeap CHequers ***** from
the land of BING JING... and the squirming
dwagon...

ask any thai or any... the chinese are not
the best parts of h'america...
and the worst parts of russia...
and... all the rest: reincarnated horde motto:
mongol...
joke... stinking camel jockeys will
not touch a squat of pork for fear
of the silk road mafia:
yow-eatz the stinking sheepz...
me eatz pork & leather
    me eatz pork & leather...
                                     shoe?! shoe?!

shrimp **** gets a hard-on and there's no
mushroom saxon esq. 1960s mantra...
of toll culture!
               well: shrimp **** is hardly:
a korean sand-bag or a piece of japanese
porcelain skin... whiter than porky-pink
gets handled by haggling over Libya...
and the Spanish... sun... tan!
- it's a good nuance though...
given that... all of the baltic sushi is
ascribed the status of: herring herring herring;
raw... yes... in a gherkin infused
cream... creamy dreams of a less robotic...
less stockholm syndrome... Stockholm...
the museum of the tomb of the Vasa ship...
and all those yachts...
seeing Stockholm... no need to see Oslo...
Helsinki... Copenhagen... seeing St. Petersburg...
i really... really need to see Istambul;
smoled salmon... rye bread...
mayonnaise... cucumber... dill...
rainbow trout caviar...
it would be a luxury... caviar...
if everyone was willing to eat it...
but... given the price... only a few could...
caviar would be a yacht symbol of richness...
no... you want a better summary?
caviar is... marmite...
you either love it... or hate it...
everyone almost everyone:
the greater majority... can stomach...
poultry abortions...
caviar is not a luxury... it's an idiosyncracy;
there's no "acquired" taste...
it's something akin to: the web architecture
a priori in the confines of
'ed... of the spider...
or how... the woodland pigeon builds
a nest... "from thin air"...

             learning to walk...
is so class-A drug... bourgeoisie...
                perhaps there was a russian revolution...
perhaps there was the industrial revolution...
all in all: there was only the french revolution.

It’s really shameful to acknowledge
the divisiveness of all denominations;
a continuing lack of understanding is…  
diluting Love’s message of Salvation.

The ongoing promotion of religious brands
has not convinced or impressed the World;
the wholeness of God’s holy Word must be
embraced by everyone, as His boys and girls.

These current disagreements and hostilities
of religious debates waste our precious time;
clearly a lack of Christian unity of beliefs
blurs the position of Faith’s dividing line.

Silly tendencies to argue, keeps us unfocused
and separated from today’s task of evangelism;
Christ died to unite us in fellowship with Him
and not vying for the best speaker’s magnetism.

Faith’s intimacy really permits us to become one
with God in times of quiet reflection and prayer;
religious brands are simply counter-intuitive,
reducing our effective witness of Heaven’s flair.
.
.
.
Author Notes

Inspired by:
1 Cor 1:10; Rom 16:17

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.

Twisted recollections
Superficial self-esteem
Boorish charms exceeded
Only by a dream

So cocky is the strut
That often shows the stature
For the nature of the beast
Becomes its hidden disaster

Calculating deeper calamity
To justify split design
Depicting cheaper denominations
Harden psyches face decline

Epithetical clichés inanimately
Falling like all conjectures
But no closer to actuations      
Only changes without measure

It's all  conspiracy
Idle hands are the Devil's playthings
I told you so
Remove the feeding tube
But not during the gestation period
By after the gastric bypass
And right before the insemination
Put the fault on the horse voiced gentry
And the perpendicular denominations
What's it to you?
You estranged neo-native
Counterfeit piety and disobedient estranged friends unnerve you
You act so factious
Deliberately making everything a joke
Ponder the trajectory of my fist to your glass jaw
And the brass knuckles to your abdomen
You'll want to get an iron lung when we're through
Maybe a respirator and a catheter
Now, go count your toenail clippings as the idle minds cast their votes for this referendum

       -Tommy Johnson

On a throne in Rome is where satan is seated; eating the flesh of man; like a pagan Caesar being fed grapes. He sits, awaiting man, to kneel before him: kissing the ring.

Drinking the blood of man, by his royal cup; that which he never touches with his own fingers. King of all kings, lord of all lords; pope, pontiff patriarch and arch-bishop of all Christendom -- rejects you Rome.
From the schism to the Reformation, yet the prey are tempted as you ****** a bogus return. To/from an institution steeped in crises; openly admitting its satanic infiltration. Men adorn you with biblical claims of negative revelation. As if your satanic throne was of divine establishment. Claiming a unity that never was. Your foes thinking 'denominations' are a division of Christ's Church. While you knowing that 'a house divided cannot stand'.

Awaken your souls hiding among the farther Eastern 'Church', or those farther West. Separated brethren --or-- imitation Christian may your throne be carried on your shoulders by those observing your divine monarchy. Hail Popery! As you in self-pity's pedestal sight Peter. While the post-Protestant ecclesial coward prey sight Judas.

© S. Wesley Mcgranor

A trillion lights bid hasty reflection
The bowed following preordained paths to
cardboard suburbia , under jet fuel rain , gnashed
in misery , some oxycontin follower , worshippers of Herod , rock ***** payback in five dollar denominations
A trick , a spittle of ***** in a ladle drawing gold from a coat pocket
Like a child's first snow , the learners license , naked in city lake
Kings with chewed teeth , bottom feeders in search of a vein , convenient Christ for **** and Jane , peanut butter for crustless sandwiches and taxed brains
Anarchy dreams , Presidential schemes , Syrian children burnt beyond
recognition , American pregnant teens , what would Jesus do ?
He's left us to our own devices* ...

yet again a niche topic.

well, it was either the study of the Noumenon (thing-in-itself)
of Kant, or his 20th century successor,
and i too will consider his variant spelling
of being, i.e. beyng - logically? being at bay:
but mine isn't a consolidation akin to
Ezra Pound's with W. Whitman -
          whether an apologist or not:
the newspaper today speaks of the Royal
family of Windsor: and it's associations with
**** Germany, even a picture of H.M.Q.
(her majesty the queen) and her mother making
the salute reserved for Caesars, Tsars, Führers
and Frankfurters;
                     not to mention all other patriarchal
denominations -
    but i'll play on a different word, and chance no
obscurity. the word in question? *ecstasy.
       my play on it? well, there was a time when i
had a very rigid vocabulary, a very in vitro
  sort of vocabulary: experimentally rigid -
i focused on prefixes greatly, and the reflective (mirror)
versus the reflexive (reflex) expressions of
distinct potential - but that was long ago, still...
the language was curbed in a sense of being
restrictive - again this prefix waterfall fascination,
in this case re- (again and again) - a mimic
experiment to paint the res (thing) that the moon
is, in all its phantomic pandemonium eeriness.
this time? from ecstasis: ex-stasis
ex- (out of) -stasis (στάσις), i.e. standing still.
perhaps this is what one interpretation of the concept
of dasein involves: ecstasy of movement -
or as the other interpretation suggests: lack of -
a variant of permanence: or idolatry at variation -
rather than the fleeting moment, insect like
impermanence: or the insistence of the hives -
frivolity and pressurised activity / bußiness (being
busy in a counterproductive way to avoid hoarding).
ralφ myerz & the jack herren band
in the background; now the nomad and the album
concentrated.
              now a return to the narrative, p.13 of
Heidegger's ponderings ii - vi...
           footnote number 6. {unfamiliar symbol.}
the symbol? a crossed-out И (cyrillic / neo-Greek
    / Greek eta H, η, e.g. the /i/ skewed i
                    in machine).
that's the content, but in context?
            'whither with the asking of this question?
  into the (crossed-out) И.
    first suggestion?                 not-i.
          working backwards:
'but how to bring about this pledging?
depth and breadth of the engagement of da-sein
in the question of being!'
     then furthered into a second use of the "unfamiliar
symbol":
          'but the (crossed-out) И must be borne in silence
through the questioning and in the attuned silence
must be gained by struggling toward grace.'
   cf. (conferre / compare) p.8
  the auftrag (mission) of humanity, in the above
cited. indeed the expression: ex-stasis
toward a happening - or as many already suggested:
to fill the plughole that's Buddha meditating.
the man with the crown of myrrh: clearly too painful
to spare a thought toward: what began in Greece
   became entombed in Germany.
me on Nietzsche on Kant: idiot or no idiot:
                                   a hellish read in his later years;
and i could have been more influenced
by Gil Scott Heron, but Malcolm X wrote a decent
autobiography - plus my temperament lies with
sniffing out burning wood in winter:
that husky, smoky perfume only accessible in winter:
where winter is.
                           as a final reminder:
it didn't simply take the aesthetic twins η & ε
(you'd think with a name like eta, you'd use the
scalpel and cut it open into e-     &     -ta
  and write e in words rather than a skewed iota
/ι/, right? well, apparently not)
              or φ & θ                  or           o & ω:
you can to ascend toward the heights like some
Prometheus and bring down the fire of diacritical
distinction too; a bewildering task, in all honesty.
  or man akin to the rebellious gods v. the titans
when used / inserted to bewilder rather than be
kept coherently used: yet again the bureaucracy
of intellectual power.
or so i thought, with this and that above in
a certain hallowed form of despair starting the
chain of cigarettes and tea - or as already apparent:
perpetual night (variant to come) with only one
hour of daylight: fleeting moonshine of
                                                       the spotted mind;
as such, the already stated illumination.

Two different churches, two denominations
Two separate cities, a real conglomeration
Coming together to help those in need
First as strangers replaced by fast friends indeed
And we, though many, begin to be one

Throughout work and during play
Dew in morn, crew time at end of day
Working side by side, laughing, crying, sharing,
Praying, growing, changing, and above all: caring
And we, though many, are becoming one

Sharing a meal, the churches; they two
A common bond is shared between me and you
New friends are made as time goes along
Doubting no longer; happy you were wrong
And we, though many, are nearly one

A family we are now: close knit and firm
Through our experiences, much we have learned
A power there is, far great than any;
That makes beautiful the one with the many
And we, who were many, are now as ONE!

When I sit to think
Trying to find the missing link
I wonder why sin is so sleek
And the atmosphere around it, really thick

Some people just want to stay blind
By refusing the renewal of their mind
Each day, denominations keep stringing up
And evil just won’t stop

Doctrines have gone wild
Trying to make situations seen mild
But it only makes the truth so clear
That His appearance is really near
And only those who hold Him dearly will see Him

So in your best interest, neglect this old devil
That you may make heaven
His love for you is more than you can know
The knowledge of Him will help you grow
Washing you with His blood that makes white as snow

A quarter past
The afternoon,
back on the chair
of bevelled legs
Baffled
with the hex
of number
Tested
by the brooding
threat, incumbent.

Never been too
good at tables,
Better that
I eat alone
Seen, faceless men
in grim apparel
waiting for
a chance
to come,

Convincing
with their
bare contempt.

And, I
the part
of all my sums,
cannot explain
where it went wrong.

Sat playing
with the cornerstones
of new denominations.

Be forever watchful for the charlatans , the snake charmers
of certain Baptist denominations ...
The monsters in need of jet airplanes to spread the Gospel of
their convenient , malleable Jesus that scour the Earth ..
They tell of Gods word in privy , ****** the elderly and the afflicted out of every last penny ..
Jeweled Temples built with iniquity , ever reaching for the clouds will find a scarlet termination , an incredible hard fall one day to the cold , unforgiving ground ....

Straight from my hands to my nose.
Numb from my head to my toes.

Take a deep breath,  'cause its not
Over yet,
When your heart starts to pound and your head starts to sweat.

The denominations of your conversations,
They turn to elation and full demonstration,
It rings in your head like a radio station,
This rushed and egregious euphoric sensation,
This white lubrication for socialization,

This is what I call *******.

To my kids,
There is so much you do not understand in your skins. I could give you some kind of divine download, fill that thing between your ears with everything there is to know but then what choice would you have to live free as I intended you to live? I gave you the earth and everything in it. I created you in My image that you see with your eyes " male and female as partners " not slave and master, and that part of you inside that you don’t see, deep in you, its that part that knows Me, your soul and spirit. It’s that place we connect. I surrounded you with everything you needed. And before you freak out, all you vegans, I created the animals and I killed the first ones so you would be warm and covered when you chose to walk without Me covering you. Clothes were totally optional. You had Me, you picked heifer…still scratchin’ my imaginary beard over that one. You chose… Sure, I had angels in full body gear standing around " but I wanted you because I love you. I want your companionship. I want your intimacy. I don’t want your laundry list of “He’p me GAWT, but if it’s the only thing you can give, I won’t turn you away. If only I could get past your religion, your doctrine, your fears where you could believe Me, all the crap you put each other through would simply be unimportant. Some of you scurry around and scream about me and my Old Testament, bad ***, flood the planet judgment and you totally skip the part about how I sent someone to you, just like you, a real human with real blood and real tears to stand in for all the stupid stuff you’ll ever do or have done. It was so simple, one death, one sacrifice and we’re all clean but you have to work it and manipulated it and qualify it until denominations and gurus and Oprah and Chopra have your minds so twisted you couldn’t see Me for who I Am if I sat on a unicorn, clothed myself in grape leaves, and led the Macy’s Parade. Don’t you get it? I’m not mad at you. I don’t hate you. I am Love and I am incapable of hating you. EVER. All I ever wanted is for you to simply love Me back. You gotta trust Me. You can’t look at earthquakes and floods and famine and the rise and fall of the dollar bill as punishment from Me. All this stuff is temporary, except you, and Me. We are Forever. This planet isn’t your Paradise, kids. It’s just your training ground. I have amazing plans for you. And the sooner you grasp that, the sooner you stop swallowing the pills and the cheap thrills and stressing over the bills, and wringing your hands over “My will” the better off you’ll be. Oh, and as long as I’m monologuing, get off the backs of my worshippers. I’m perfect. You aren’t. I’d rather have you getting together in my name and singing and dancing, Kids your praise, when you just abandon your petty egos and party before me, it makes my heart swell with all the pride a Father could have. I’d rather see you do that " with the mistakes and the fussing " than each one of you alone under a tree somewhere barking about our “relationship” or watching the church channel 24/7 and calling it “comin’ ta Jeezus. I created you to work together in my name. Don’t freak out so much about the name of the building or the color of the wafers, or the drums and piercings. I will know if you love me. Quit running, quit hiding, quit comparing yourself to somebody else, quit blaming everyone else for your own mistakes when you never ask me to help you deal… Quit asking me to “fix somebody else” because if they like the thought of being critter fritters for eternity then that’s their choice to make, not yours. I do not impede on your free will. I won’t impede on anyone else’s free will. You can’t earn it. I don’t give out gold stars for good behavior. You either respond in love, or you don’t. The only thing I crave is that you get it, really get it. I love you. Always have, always will. You can’t do anything, you can’t **** enough, you can’t lie enough, you can’t destroy enough, you can go straight to Hell if you want, but I am everywhere…even in Hell…I’m with you. Of course, it will be your choice if you want to refrain, you know? See? Once you lock in your answer, you don’t get to phone a friend…You have a choice even I don’t have, me the almighty, the limitless with a limitation…you can choose to love…For me? It’s not an option…because I AM LOVE.

Your Abba....

a many a great things have happened recently...
hmm (insert a weasle's snigger)...
i was watching a russian production of...
the escape from sobibor...
yes... i know that rutger hauer is dead...
but not unless listening to some vex'd...
citations from blade runner:

    firey the angels fell - leaping thunder rolled
around their shoulders -
burning with the fires of orc...

at least that's what i heard...

    i want, more: life... ******... which echoes...
no not that 1987 tv flick...
the russian produiction...
      of recent years...
          upon this the god's green earth...
        i could watch... schindrel's list two times
in a row... before being subjected to...
escape from sobibor...
                if only i had a toothpick handy
and pickles and some martini and god forbid
the onslaught of yawns...
         only one aspect of the film stood out...
a sort of:

    the death of Matti Nykanen...
the finnish ski-jumper who ended up being
a stripper...

    i didn't recognize him at first...
or "at last" i'm usually good with faces...
esp. those on film...

         i think the film itself was supposed to
be... the need to capture "the look"!
      oh believe me... a cary grant or
a gregory peck would never...
                                a rock hudson?
a john wayne: drawl... yep: that six-a-piece
sharp shooter...
guns 'n' roses: civil war...
opening citation: from cool hand luke...
paul newman eating all those... hard-boiled eggs...
paul newman couldn't give "the look"...
that antithesis of roxette's pop stamp...
the verb that is actually a noun...
when there's someone worth it...

no... they could never convince me of ever
having: "the look"... these major actors...
paul newman or a robert redford...
i'm counting only the men...
this one's spezial...

        from first hearing queen... to seeing the movie...
Karl Frenzel...
   that same tortured soul
of a Ralph Fiennes playing Amon Göth...
i had to wonder...
did they decide upon psychopaths...
or was it already a priori from the words
first uttered in the hitlerjunge?

nope... completely amiss...
is that really christopher lambert?
raiden from mortal combat...
connor macleod...
                 hell: if this be the fate of skin
to be a much later devised
disguise in stretch-armstrong of leather...

but it was all about "the look"...
it was so intimidating in it being intimate...
"do you still remember me"...
i don't think i had such trouble
with val kilmer...
then again: who's the busy body
in my receding memory loop-hole to loot
from?

  they must have used dubbing...
otherwise it would seem that christopher lambert
spoke the very base of german
like a puppet of a ghost...
most certainly a changed man...

he had that look in his eyes that read:
i don't remember myself...
this face is no good: for you... either...
and it truly wasn't...
truly petrifying this enigmatic cloak
of ****** features...
but those two voids like a lemniscate (∞)...

i can X with my eyes when concentrating
on the egoism of the tip of my nose
and see the water inside the aquarium
all blurry and salty and mirage prone...
but not this...
this was a sensation of...
seeing an unrecognisable face...

again: i'd sooner revisit watching schindler's
list: because of it being in black & white...
otherwise cudos for the work
by a yanuš kamińци... that red dress:
"here" and... "there"...

for a russian the poles are traitors...
but thank god for the bulgarians
being the bell-boys of their whole
affair of wounded pride...
given the bulgars frequent the aisles
of st. cyril...
             but it looks like... the mongolians
are having... "counter-productive"
thoughts: themselves... good for them!

so close to the germans:
is it eastern europe west of kiev?
is it?
  traitors... oh god... those minor
denominations of the baltic states...
   perhaps... once upon... a time...
prussia would have been just a pocket of influence
akin to estonia... or latvia...
let's not mention lithuania...

it was a christopher lambert... by god...
sure... he was suited to age...
isn't everyone? but not like this...
in a positive way, though...
incomprehensibly unrecognizable...
a loot of enigmas...
well... if gérard depardieu a citizen
of ol' mother russia...
what doesn't stop a christopher lambert...
being dubbed when speaking german
like a manakin does running...
eyes that scream rather than peer...

it's one of those sad affairs of appreciating...
beside theatre... acting...
of course everything is in the detail
of the edit and the production of the end
product: with at very little hiccups as is to be
avoided...
it's a russian production: nonetheless...

but thoese eyes...
i didn't remember him...
was it perhaps donning the uniform...
or was it perhaps... perhaps of:
    seymour hoffman?
   but why couldn't i pick out...
a b-list actor... look at me... mr. hierarchical prone...
but no?
    chris cooper... bruce greenwood...
sure... no problem...
always the general, the "protagonist" of
"real" life... somehow along the line:
hardly a basis of a shadow meets shadow
compromise...

i think i saw a human being that became
unrecognizable from the burden of life
off-screen! i actually found a conviction from
a thespian... i saw two blinding cauldrons
of ire... which was...
ire... it wasn't fire...
    two blinding cauldrons of ire: i saw...
a blue tinge of flame... i saw tears...
it wasn't a purity of fire that will be later
made into a recycling power...
it was...

a fire that keeps intact a status quo...
that unfathomable perspetive
and an unmoveable object:
even if armed with the binding will
of a sisyphean determination:
where are the demons whipping him
to comply?!

   i was two blinding cauldrons of ire...
i saw fluorescent blue of glowing squid and less
revealing monsters of the deep...
i saw... a face disguised as a mask...
i saw a face from beneath a donned niqab...
more clearer than the glee of smile...
the chubby moon-clip
or the scythe of reasons behind...
the bulging shadow of harvests pending...

all this... and not much more...
  i'm good with faces...
   apparently not good enough...
was it really christopher lambert playing
karl frenzel in escape from sobibor?
i try to bypass the glamour and all that dry
artifact affair of keeping score...
to denounce all actors as...
the last and the least obliged to put pressure
and fathomability of the concern
for human... "things"....

what sort of a man is a christopher lambert
wearing.. if his eyes are...
pencils and needles piercing me...
that i can't recognise his face?
have i been gorging on too many
digestive biscuits... or something?

    by faking it... but i didn't see a slouch
of wanting to fake it...
given the numbers...
          what are the puny rhymes...
                   i want to see a rhyme
that riddled a blunt hammer-axe at the end
of this... foreboding of "contemplation"...
i want to find it soothing
for man to justify the antics of a slaughterhouse
concerning the wailing pigs
and the... cowering aum litany of the...
sanctity of beef...
            or the lesser kind via
the goat of the graces of riccota...

          i don't exactly know what i saw
in those eyes...
    but i saw enough to make me forget
a face.... i would most, be assured to...
have a memory of...
i was drawn into the eyes...
it's not like brian may aged so badly...

i did see the flabby skin of a pig become
stretched... then contracted...
over a square mile of a Berliner's post-code
"hum and oops"...
    little ******* good that would ever
do me!

              these tires need to be burned...
this soil needs to be shovelled...
this butter needs to be spread on
oozing warmth toast...
this rootweiler requires a leash:
are you the sort of walker
to allow a lessening of tension...
mind you: this "hanz" and "heinrich"
tends to tug along like
a pirañha on a diet...

                 the other head
of... the clamour fest... of feeding of...
cerberus... this night-walker this...
shadow-thief...
                   this... burden of my pride...
synonym coupled with ego...
rottweiler to the east...
       dobermann-pinscher to the west...
get this...
a ******* pop-up head of
a dachshund heading south:
                                        in lombardy!
hey presto...
                    my luvvie-dubbie companion!

for me... give me a harem of 72 dogs...
i'll sooner dog-wrestle bit
and chow-mein
and clash with teeth before...
         don't make me...
preside over the gratification of having
72 virgins: that same number
of the names ascribed to the hebrew god:
you and not you...
"you" hairy-hey-rab! ibin!

there's a barking... i'm pretty sure i don't
hear anything worth biting into?!
i'm quiet unamused hearing barking...
when i'm not entertaining
the convinction to suma summarum
it with: chewing...

              i would most certainly like
to hear less barking...
****** punctures of flesh...
i'd like that very much...

              i'd like filled stomachs of dogs
to be the only precursors...
the wolves are at the gates...
    
           words like daffodils easily
plucked up...
                  is that serious enough of "us"
to have these minor griefs...
as... vectors for what's to become
of the unfolding rest?

They are in the alleys of our cities
in the parks of our small towns
and under bridges
even in many tiny villages

Their cries for help go unheard
as if they have no voice

More often than not
they are ignored
as if they are invisible

Yet they are there
and in need

Is there a point to life
when all that exists in the heart is despair
when basic human needs
are only delivered for a very short
and temporary moment
when any relief and happiness
is shallow enough
to be washed away in the next

What point is there when
depression
is all you have

Life should be full
real and honest
delivering joy to the heart
encouragement to the spirit
peace to the soul
and a satisfaction to the stomach

The streets seldom provide for these needs

Governments attempt to criminalize people
for a homelessness
that is beyond the control
of these people who have lost all hope
and have been reduced to life in the streets
for the greed of the super rich
and an ever growing lack of care
for those we should be treating
as brothers and sisters

When did we cease as a nation
to be “for the people”

How did our government
get to the point of turning away from the people
to serve the rich above all others

Churches
regardless of their denominations
or religions
claim they are there to do Gods work

Since when has it been Gods work
to leave children hungry
cold, lonely and in the streets

Since when has it been Gods work
to treat other humans as vermin
because they have been dirtied on the surface
because of a life of hardship
have different beliefs, customs or life styles

So many do so little
they are the sayers

There are a few that do all they can
they are the doers

The doers
some are believers
others are not
the doers
have hearts
broken for those in need

Where governments and religions
now stand in the way
of help for these people
made of the same clay
giving a voice to the homeless
so they might have their say
the doers step in
and help as they may

I chose to follow Jesus- He is my Savior and my Lord but not my religion.
Religion is man made and confining and there is no freedom there in . Religion means you are looking for Christ and Spirituality mean you have found Christ and never lost him at all. The only requirements Christ places on you is that you follow him and love your neighbor as yourself.
My faith is grounded in Jesus Christ and The Catholic Faith which is the most united church that I have ever joined. I need a set of rules to live by and based my life upon and I have found these rules within the One true Catholic Church. It is just not enough to go to church on Sunday and Wednesday night, and then do your own thing for the rest of the week.
Catholic Church has Mass every day and not just twice a week. Sunday and Wednesday nights, and they are faithful to their members unlike so many  Protestant Denominations are today.
Yes, I chose to follow Jesus - He is my Savior but not my Religion.

"Lookin' in the mirror like I'm runnin' for ya" @mrswoope

I found free bread,
looked like I was living,
deep down I've been dead,
he's the only one who knew it,
said I'm forgiven,
said he isn't a liar,
said it's the truth,
I saw the evidence,
denied the proof.

Multiple ifs,
if I made a will would it be the Fathers?
If I showed them my ***** laundry,
would that make me clean?
If I wore all the T-shirts would it prove I'm part of the team?

If it doesn't profit I'm accounting the losses,
drunk from a bitter well,
still thirsty,
boy better know...

If He's the forerunner I wanna be among the runner ups.
uneased,
attention sicker,
face booked,
mind felt thicker,
new addiction,
birds on twitter,
running from my situation,
looking for instagrammyfication.

I'm back in the lab,
don't tell dee dee,
no magic tricks,
now you see me.

Just grazing amataba,
corn liquor,
I see the mountain dew as the moon shines but I won't drink,
I don't wanna go to court,
had enough miranda,
pass me something fresh,
life-giving 7up now I'm full of pep, see?

101 denominations Cruella smiles at my blind spots,
feeling Shaggy,
stole my dogs,
let them out,
don't tell ******,
chasing a double standard of living,
lowering my own,
trying to be real ended up a clone,
whitewash inanimate,
despicable like a minion,
peeling my plastic,
under a basket.

Cashier at the pharmacy,
chuckling at the after life,
said he only went to Sunday school so his mum would keep being nice.

Have 99 problems ahead,
he never leaves 1 behind,
thought I stood,
felt the fall,
read the writing on the wall,
started righting all my wrongs,
listing them from the least to greatest yeah I hope he erased them.

Knock on the door I'm Judas peeping through the keyhole,
cares of life lost for Word,
can't fill the gaps suicidal,
hanged man,
Jesus Christ died once,
even though I double crossed him,
He said it is finished,
he came for the lost,
I count it all loss then.

Had sweat on my brow,
trying to toot my own horn,
it took a while but I found a better one to blow.

amataba(maize in icibemba)

We got soul
We got life
       O
(@)      (@)
  ! !        ! !
($)        ($)
But
We run for money ($$)
Couple of papers
With some denominations
Ruling us

We are having no time
To know about sufferings
Of others

24 hours a day
Still no time
To have something
For us

Running for the money
M for money
Rich becoming Richer
Poor becoming poorer

But who will take those
Papers at the end

We come like a ray
And leave like a ray

No baggages are allowed
You have to take your
Final flight
No medicine No food