Dependent, well that was never a word i would’ve used to describe myself 

heavily reliant on another person to make them happy, feel fulffilled and pound away the overwhelming notion of hopelessness engraved into their bones

yep, definitely not me

id rather settle with calling them a distraction instead of admitting that i, who depicts myself as a nonchalant, unfeeling ***** that doesn’t give a **** actually gives a ****

narcissistic much? yep 

happiness, i wish i could call that my goal.
maybe when i was eleven and still held the belief that everything ends up perfect as long as you turn in your homework and dress nicely 

ah, simpler times

now days i only accomplish that so i can motivate myself to keep trying on a daily basis 

even writing seems like a chore that i don’t want to bring myself to finish anymore

getting through the day without repeatedly slamming my head into a wall in order to block out the numbness is my version of happiness now

i wish i could pinpoint when it became like this

my therapist tells me to find what triggers these feelings and once i do to squash them before they can mess with my head

i don’t know how to tell her that there is no trigger, i can’t kick them out when they’ve made me into their home 

i know how it feels to be left behind and i would never put them through that

i decide against telling her I’ve personified my depression now

this is sam, he’s always there to give me a helping hand back into bed when i look in the mirror and don’t want to face myself

this is melody, she’s always there singing soothing tunes to lure me into a spiraling fit of paranoid self hatred 

this is luke, he’s my guardian angel, always following me around making sure to bring me back down to earth whenever i get too happy

I’m grateful for them, i really am.
always involved in my life making sure not to miss anything that happens to me, no matter how big or small

which leaves me to wonder if I’m the one that has pushed all my real friends away, by only ever focusing on my fake ones

not ready to face that yet so ill leave that in the “denial” section of my brain, which is overflowing by the minute

the thing about this sadness, is that I’m not sure who i would be without it

with it goes my sense of identity and I’m not ready to have a one on one session with my real, gritty self because I’m afraid i won’t like what i find

fear, isn’t that what binds us all?

keeps us from leaving people, keeps us from staying with them

dependability, often i tell myself that if i were to live all by my lonesome in alaska with nothing but the sound of wind and smell of the forest i would be content

dependability, being able to be alone is something i pride myself on

dependability, with only my thoughts to keep me company id probably stab myself repeatedly 
dependability, i can’t depend on myself so i have to find someone i can

dependability, the sad truth

I was raised by a man with broad shoulders and a gentle heart
A sign that my strengths would reside above my waistline
I learned to stand up straight at an early age
Not necessarily to improve my posture like my father had intended
But I believed looking into his eyes would give me an all-access pass to manhood
And by double digits I wanted to reciprocate his masculinity
Nothing would have harmonized my earlobes like the words- You're a man now son

As I grew taller, I finally met the spheres into my father's soul
And much to my surprise, they screamed a sadder melody than I had anticipated
They leaned on crutches, crippled by societal catastrophes
Their stories- captives to cultural constraints
They stared at me blindly as if my presence was backbreaking
My heart was crushed as my father's shoulders shook
And the strengths I once desired were now fossilized by fear

To be a man -society grunts so effortlessly- is to be masculine
And since masculinity and success are socially synonymous
Obviously, success cannot be established without perfection or aggression or oppression

To be a man is to be unbreakable
Because the slightest wrinkle in armor alludes to inability
And combat is unavoidable regardless of swordsmanship

To be a man is to be rigid
Because being fixed in outdated traditions is far easier
Than challenging for innovative conditions

To be a man is to be emotionless
Because passion is pathetic
Sensitivity strikes the community as instability, not authenticity

To be a man is to be strong
Because strength means maintaining control and independence
Not establishing dependability or acceptance

Masculinity still towers over little boys just like me
Presenting textbook answers for real world problems
Masculinity is a skyscraper imposing its will on innocent civilians
By replacing sunlight with systematic shadows
And ripping shooting stars right out of the sky
Masculinity forms internal thunderstorms harboring havoc
For individuals that need more than rainfall for adequate growth
We are not shrubbery photosynthesizing our thoughts into energy
We are not born to throw our feelings into sealed vaults
Our genuine intentions deserve to be delivered on silver platters

Gender roles are one way streets clogged by oncoming traffic
Mirrored headlights approaching complete chaos
There are no maps to point you down the right path
There is no right path
There is no right path
Only roadblocks inhibiting you from any type of progress
Life is meant to be traveled on unmarked ground
Where men and women alike regulate the steering wheel regardless of society's traffic laws
And I long for the day when my son or daughter looks up to me
The day when my son or daughter stands up straight
Looks me in my eyes and sees a portrait painted differently
A soul actualizing strength, not personifying ingenuity

I can't
I can’t always be there for everyone
in the perfect little way they've invented
every single time they have a problem
believe me, i want to be.
but sometimes even though its irrational
i just need to be there for myself to keep my head above water
and im sorry for that.
but ****

Wind swept

Wild places the grass it puts on a veritable orchestra of movement as it undulates to the power of the breeze that passes
Mountain meadows splashed with a profusion of flowers they jiggle as if there tickled about something or other
The crest of the hill bordered with trees sloping down the hill children are running reminiscent of Jack and Jill
This utopia of nature sets aside the hurly burly the curvature of the hills still the wind hold the sun just right you it invites

Cross these pasture lands the feeding ground of many cattle and sheep the pride of the farmer who keeps
Inexorably bound by breed and creed for centuries this way of life flourishes among these native grasses
Tender shoots these roots give of their riches the sun and rain gives them a time to reign with joy all reaps
Pleasure in the walk letting fingers glide over the heads of tall grasses the silent telling of harmony filled poise

Future generations will be brought to these shadowed grounds they too will by their lives express and know contentment
Hourly they hold in sod that has known the breath of time as it has passed time and time again it enlivens breaks fourth
Sturdy and resplendent it shows all its dependability the same respect settlers knew is found the builders of this continent
Long shadows grow upon earths shoulders she knows the good and the bad but through resilience remains unconquered

The distant mountain stands eternal guard, it affects rainfall, mutes the winds force guarantying a peaceful valley
Perpetuity is taught in this land tomorrows unfold from days gone by with regularity they build and keep the way open
Stewardship the blessed hope working in harmony with all that surrounds at days end this will be the final sum and tally
The herdsman knows the time he invests it well always with broad vision does he act in this wisdom all will be victorious

You are witnessing a prodigious talent and promise, and to a lesser extent but still to the degree whereby it should keep you awake at night writhing in cold sweats, your life, slip agonisingly through your open and clammy palms. Promise means so little if not actualised. You have been granted chance after warning after fortuitous escape yet have blithely spurned every omen and will one day fall, swiftly and perhaps terminally. You are almost certainly depressed. You say you love your girlfriend, and you mean it wholeheartedly when you do, but you worry that the relationship perpetuates as without her there would be no reason to rise with the sun. Even if the relationship is  unstable, and at times verging on the unhealthy, you believe you love her but are too great a coward to consider decisive action if that belief is to reside or subside. Your friends range from kind and honest yet deeply flawed to somehow toeing an inextricably thin line between dependability and duplicitousness. Conversations with a certain few of your friends necessitate decrying every undercooked ethos you've every conned yourself into believing you hold (you could well be the most hypocritical liberal to walk the earth, for you are innately and irrepressibly selfish) yet you still nod placidly as your conscience squirms. Grotesquely, like a beaten spouse, you crave the gaze of those who have treated you with the most insulting derision, but are too proud (of what?) and, a running theme, too cowardly, to stoop to a simple detante. You must change, for it pains you on a most base level to have to accept the feeble, whimpering, simpering spectre you have become. You must be bold, brave, unashamed in your convictions, anything but pursed and silent lips. You have a voice, and you must now speak loud enough for them to hear, for that which has become blunted must be whetted, sharpened, readied for battle to be unsheathed at an utterance. Heed the signs and change, for our sake. You, a milksop who attentively notes the sophistry of courage, you can still be brave, and you must be.

For one day you will be swelled with a courage and fortitude to fill your sails taut, enough to leave this place, forget these people and bear you away.

A cropped haircut, remembrances of time
The best way to reduce cuticles to bone
And forget what dances behind eyelids
Loosed teardrops and wavering dependability
Useless porch light, shameful gas tank
With shadows which count seconds
Stretching over regrowth
A cropped haircut, remembrances of time

I woke up thinking about this.

         A Thought About Loyalty

I’ve been thinking about loyalty:
A many-sided world of nuances,
The subtle differences.
We all know it means faithfulness,
A sticking-to devotedly.
Unfurled it shows its nasty sides,
The negatives that worry me:
Allegiance and adherence -
-Ism’s steel prepared to go to war
Against all criticizers,
-Isms’ others
Carving up the brotherhood
Of man.
Not for nothing
That a missile system drawn
To sense and intercept an enemy:
Is named the Patriot:
A system to annihilate.

I worry ‘bout obedience,
Compliance and submissiveness.
I like reliability, dependability,
Dedication if it’s not perverted
Duty, if it leads to thought,
A moral sense,
An ethic that agrees with life;
Loyalty without the strife.
Loyalty to think about.

A Thought About Loyalty 9.10.2017
Nature In & Of Reality; Out Times, Out Culture II;
Arlene Corwin

I am a
plenipotentiary
of your heart
but not your tongue
Which whips
with shout
Inflicting
all this
doubt
--
Try not to see my glaring mistakes
when uncaring I am trumpeting arrogant aches.
--
I became lost in channels of the self and now-
I have smoothed out my spikes,
inverted my aversions, diluted my delusions-
I have incrementally expanded my positive mentality.
I am the Xenolith within the conglomerate
uncomfortable with chafing sand.
Displaying dependability with the straightening of back,
gone is lithe youth's unbecoming stand.

I shall trust inappropriately and love exponentially.
I shall treat you, The Stranger-
even stranger
like family.

I lie in bed gazing at my bumpy popcorn ceiling
I let my stare settle to follow my fan's revolution
Focusing on one plates trip around its axle
It is without fail and I find in my fan dependability
It deserves its place up there
It knows the right direction and spinning speed
It has no temptations to stop or slow
And rarely does it make a sound
It refuses to fall, to let the pressure win
It does not care its only painted to look like wood
Or that its never dusted clean
It does not complain about how the lights get more attention
Or how central air is more popular
It has purpose on the verge of personality
I lie in bed for my purpose is not so clear
And a personality not so worthy
Yet I am the one with the freedom to choose
Question: But what if my answers
Not to be
This fan seems to have proven a bitter point
It has made a mockery out of my passive glares
I fear its judgements, for it whispers disapproval
I tear myself away from its patronizing winds
And allow my eyes to float and find a mirror
Making sense of looks and location
And the human stare that beams back
Smiles and agrees
Decisively objective in its demeanor
I must admit that my reflection is convincing
But its light is late, and its fancy tricks deceive
Tis a fools mistake to reduce verbs to stale states
Question: To be alive or to live a life
Or choose to gamble with one's talent to lie
I lie; I lie in bed

We’re playing the long game.
We share things, we’re lovers,
we slip in and out of each other’s lives
like jackets hanging on the back of a door.

Relationships are like instruments,
they must be played, kept in tune,
the carnal and the corny balanced,
carefully, like sections of an orchestra.

Sometimes, I feel that I have to bring the energy,
BE the entertainment - and I can do that - in spades
but not forever - I’m not a tireless-giver - in fact,
I'm atavistically Parisien (we admit loving nothing).

I’m learning that when a relationship’s conducted,
at great remove, the basics - like punctuality,
dependability and preparation - become a big deal.

When I’m in an optimistic headspace, I think we can do it,
maybe, that we know what we want and who we are.

That we’re playing the long game

I pledge allegiance, to materialism
Of the apportioned states of America
And to the Government
For which it hides, One nation
Under false pretense, Dividable, with dependability and unethicalness for all

When he was born his father was drunk,
his mother was doped up.
He was born three months early with double pneumonia,
but he lived.

Growing up, his father would put down the bottle
only to hit him and his mother.
For some reason, he wasn't sure, his sister and brother were spared.

His father died when he was eleven.
His father killed himself with the same pistol he killed two Japanese men with. His mother remarried, with no job, experience, or even a drivers license, she had to remarry quick.

His stepfather put down the bottle only long enough to hit him and his mother. This time, his sister and brother were not spared.

Two weeks after his seventeenth birthday, he learned to play while my guitar gently weeps on a third hand guitar his stepfather had spent a fifth of his monthly salary buying.

He made money playing guitar. He wasn't the best, no Eddie Van Halen, no Eric Clapton. He did without the flashy showmanship. He had something called dependability. He was never late for an audition, he never ****** up an audition, he never fought with his band mates.

Driving home from a gig thirteen days after his twenty second birthday, a drunk teenager in a pickup truck plowed into him at an intersection.
He spent 5 weeks in the hospital. Doped up the whole time. When they let him leave, he left with a plate in his head and a monkey on his back.

For three years he lived on the streets. He'd play his guitar on the corner by the CBGBs for change. He'd take that change and buy ******. After three years, exactly three years of this, he realized he could play guitar better sober. He stopped using.

He got an associates degree in English, a concentration in teaching.
He taught English and Beginning Guitar at the same high school he hid his bruises at years earlier. He had favorite students, how could he not? They were always hiding bruises.

♦ Become a friend
♦ Learn her secrets
♦ Swallow her demons by choice
♦ Tell her she is wanted always in all ways
♦ Choose time shared over all else
♦ Pick weakness out of need
♦ Push hard while showing kindness
♦ Sincerity and pain
♦ Wanting all, yet giving nothing
♦ Prove dependability
♦ Turn fear into reality
♦ Use her heart against her, gutting her invisible

And with the final lie that defines a gender
"I want you to always be here"
Turns into a silent, wordless exit

Whether we like it or not,
Friendship is a contract
Which, when mutually accepted,
Binds us closely together.

In friendship, we are bound emotionally,
We have a social bond
Which entails a responsibility
To care and be cared for;
To maintain and nuture,
To preserve the boundary's,
Hold to the mould,
And endure....
Endure beyond hardship,
Social discomfort,illness
And even death.

Trust me.....
To be a true friend
You must undertake this contract
And honour it indefinately.
You enter the roller coaster of emotion
Entailed with the close mortal link
With another soul.

Friendship, if taken seriously,
Is a heavy responsibility
But it's benefits bestow the participants
With the sure knowledge
Of a close warmth of contact,
Of understanding and dependability
And a confidence of spirit
In knowing that out there....
Someone very special cares.
M.

You led me to safety, with white knuckles and wobbling knees

No matter your state of being you always put my peace of mind first

You were open and straightforward, telling me every word of your life story, omitting no nitty gritty details

You told me you were only honest with me

And I had no reason to think differently

But if that's true, I think there might be more to pursue, I think we might be exploring the wrong avenues

I admire so much about you, your generosity, your intentions, your honesty and ambitions

You are my safety net, an angel on request

You are dependability when no one has stepped up yet

You're one of the best I know, and I'm so glad to have you in my life, no matter what's in between the lines.

I won't long for more than I have, because not many are lucky enough to have a friend as good as mine.

You can't keep this up.
I burned the walls of your pasture,
I'm no longer yours to herd.
And you're right.
I am guiltless, free of that pressure
you forced onto my shoulders.
That avalanche of boulders you hurled
at me have crumbled to dust at my feet.
Fueled by you.
Your constant slugging, endless dependability,
fixation on control that destroyed us, and now
are about to destroy you. (If they haven't already.)

I am freed.

I've found solace in something new.
And it's about time you did too.

You said I was the closest thing you had to a home
comfort and security,strength,dependability
Then you tore me down like walls
bricks fell upon you
did you feel the screams of anguish in each cracking
every vibration, a love being ripped apart.

I had searched for you in the days before
each time a different face showing
I heard malice in the air when you whispered into anothers ear my story
not yours to tell.

Each word,every syllable you gave away
was another cut,another tear
Did you think these walls were so pliable
that they would not lose fundation
nothing left but raw exposure.

Foundations stand where you stood
of barbed wire and steel
a cemented corner that bears your name
like a headstone
Forgiveness was possible
too many times
I will mourn you as I mourn so many choices.

promise me! promise me to get me out of this hell-hole i put myself in! promise me! i don't know why i put myself through, several days of transcribing a snippet, this was merely a snippet from Kierkegaard's oeuvre, but, how unbelievable! each word was a labour, prop up the book in the right place, read, don't look at the keyboard, let the devil find work for idle hands... look for the devil who would be able to write like he might read Braille! my god, the punctuation, ****** an elephant's ***...the essential Kierkegaard - edited by howard v. hong & edna h. hong: hurt my sensibilities, or, rather, my pedantry, when it comes to punctuation... transcribing is not plagiarism... its brick-layer toils... one word, after another... if i were translating from Danish, i think i'd punctuate the text better: to give it some... panache! some: oomph! you know? this is my dedication, i'm supposed to be awake at 7am... i already shined my shoes, i've already prepped my white shirt, black trousers, black clip on tie, i have my papers (credentials) in order... tomorrow i'll be at the London Stadium overlooking West Ham take on Leeds United in the FA cup... like always, i'll be more interested in the crowd... spotting a pretty girl among the "yobs"... because i truly care about football when it's on the t.v.: in real life... i once stood with three cans of beer and watched a non-league / non-professional match compromising of enthusiasts in a park, at a distance... i couldn't see much... i still don't see much difference... unless it's on the t.v.: the stadium doesnt really "frighten" me... but this one time in the park, i sort of looked the Michael Myers part... headphones in... one young woman was trying to... communicate to this older woman: also walking her dog... about confronting me... i think i "said": gaze... i looked at them... the younger woman was trying to tell the older woman about confronting me... the older woman told the younger woman: YOU, HAVE, NOTHING, TO TALK ABOUT, WITH THIS, MAN! i was drinking a beer, standing... a decent distance from the football match: but i also remember that... that 1995 Charity Shield game at the Old Wembley between Manchester United & Newcastle: ants kicking a grain of sand... obviously i didn't understand why i might pretend to be a *****... my new favorite word... *****... alias for paedohpile... if i don't look menacing and some woman can "think" she stands a chance against me: merely posturing... then we have issues... oh **** me... transcribing... that's worse than plagiarism.... i once did the most pristine plagiarism job on some... social-science course up in Edinburgh... i was having to make up credit scores, being the romantic idiot... losing my virginity to Isabella of Grenoble... oh, get a French girlfriend, take up French... i hate the language... they write what they don't speak: phonetically... which is sort of in line with my prior ambition for the plunge - to transcribe some Kierkegaard, but also translate some SZYMON STAROWOLSKI observations... circa... 1650... the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth... sorry.. it's not going to happen... i've done enough transcribing enough *******'s worth of: this punctuation needs to... "go"... to better understand myself... through this iron maiden of: someone else wrote: what someone else wrote... i'll leave ol' SIMON for another take... given... transcribing is a labour... writing, freely... idiosyncratically: appealing to my, appeal...  how, why, when... oh i can deal with that, these days... it's not even concerning what sort of thesaurus peacocking exfoliation is being used / abused by the writer... i'm... more allured... by... punctuation... since i don't bother to rhyme, since i find all lyricism a tad bit... crass... what else is there? the measure of: how to stop... how to begin... how to "objectify" the conjunction-intermediacy of... punctuation... no manner of human speech can be / could be encapsulated by comparing it to a river... point being... i'd rather write as freely as i can, about the most mundane events in my own life: prop up my subjectivity than... somehow... "somehow"... succumb to some sensible objective reality... objectivity does not give me a drive... it does not equip me with a manly persevence... it's antithetical to what i understand as human nature simply because... ha ha... objectivity has been owned by the English... it's their lot of being sensible... like watching would-be journalists looking at what's currently happening in Kazakhstan... then trying to compare it to... the posturing: the civilian security of protests in Ham-Ham-H'America... and it's like... so what? the people are simply, expected to, take it?! the liberty's of the individual that believes himself to be outside the collective will... sure... well... sounds nice... unless of course... the hive really does come after you... i'm all for individual liberties, after all... i own a private library that could put the public library where i live to shame... although... i'll give them a sly one: Thomas Mann's Dr. Faustus... they owned it, i simply loaned it... fair enough... but i'd rather write about women... i was having my haircut done... closed my eyes... because... hell... the mirror and ****... with my eyes closed i was stroked by this blonde bombshell... we talked about owning dogs, about owning cats... Alsatians? oh, i really have a hard-on for them... i used to own a dobberman... prior to it being illegal to snip their ears and cut their tails... she was a cat that does that to her? like she looks to be self-harming? perhaps she should nickname him Freddy Krueger?! my maine ****? oh... it's rainy, he just sleeps in my bed... he usually sleeps with me.. what?! the bed's big enough for the both of us... i'd love to own a boxer... i'd love to own a rottweiler... i'd also love to own a Triumph bike...

one of my replies... you know, a liter of whiskey can go down well... i get double drunk from good conversation, i rarely encounter what i'd consider a good conversation... that's why... i much prefer to drink alone, of note... i had more fun pretending to talk to myself than expecting "talking" to be an anti-canvas with some, living, breathing: might have kidney failure, etc. punk or, sociopathic? here's the script:

see you now,, i'm just about to rewrite a Kierkegaard transcript.... i can't imagine it being much fun... the whole process is so unoriginal... but oh, oh so necessary... that i sort of don't want to live without it... bonus points... i''ve drank enough to make it... bearable... trans-scripting....i danced a little in my bedroom, donned my cat with a pair of sunglasses.... thank god i'm not kind of a sort of H'american version of a... "winner"... so much of life can be tolerated when it's not being competed for!...

i've just filled out an induction form for the West Ham stadium, played niceties with my supervisor, sent her an emoticon, LOLz back... i'm pumped up, ready to smack a few teenage boys into shape, what, could possibly go wrong? speaking below the depth of breath / audibility, watching the birds... i want, i want to give them a second, a third, a fourth... chance... let me give these people a chance... i know their failures... but... the possibility of being loved by one of them, whether man, or woman, whether pseudo-woman... i'll go as far as to say... i wouldn't mind a "Thai surprise"... i know they're capable of it... give me this already acquired heart of stone... and i'll show you... that they'll bleed rivers of honesty... just a little while... that is all i ask...

this is all, of course, before the plunge begins...
wait...l of course there's more, there have to be constellations
involved!

it was originally titled: Private Library Allure...
now, i'm "thinking": two ripe mangoes...
a mango curry or a mango chutney,
or perhaps, both?!

i have this one particular constellation in mind, that's visible to the naked eye, don't worry about - wait... let me take a second look:

•
                  •


                    •
      •



           •

•
    

            •          (circa)... the big wheel...
the grizzly she... in terms of gods & men...
there's an replica: much smaller...
so i guess this is the microscope: since it is enlarged
while the identical constellation
is a telescope...
       no matter... i'm thinking of this constellation

                                 •
                          
                          •
      
                   •
                       •
                    

                          •
                             •
                                •



              •
          ­                                            •

the scorpion constellation, it only appeared once
(to my knowledge) in pop culture,
in Dreamworks' the Prince of Egypt...

now wouldn't that be a waste... me simply drinking,
not allowing alcohol to be the extra calorie intake
that might require me to scribble...
waste of a good whiskey: should i simply drink it
and not focus on scribbling...

point being, i'm about to undertake something
i'm not very keen on, to prove a point,
i'm about to transcript two of the most profound pieces
of writing that recently caught my attention...

not to mention i'm reserving bragging rights...
my private library is... richer...
than the public library of the town of Romford...
i might be an alcoholic,
but i'm also a bibliophile...
there's nothing more precious thank a book...
perhaps a tonne of bricks...

why did i decide to cycle in these temperatures...
****'s sake... i'm old school,
i don't "trust" wi-fi cordless earphones...
the temperature dipped so low that
now the wires are performing at sub-optimal standards...
sort of hushed...
mind you... i love the cold of the January nights...
******* get such a hard-on for the wind
that they almost feel like they've been pierced...

none of the following will be original content,
but i just have to transcript it...
maybe a whiskey refill... a cigarette...
i need to get into the groove of typing up
someone else's work...
oh ****, there are two of them...
well... at least one of them i will not have to translate...
however: do i want to include the original...
all those diacritical markers (ctrl + c / ctrl + p)
will be rather fiddly... do i have the time?

- oh, right... i'm here... the above was...
"somewhere" / "sometime" else...
a sort of... quantum-dasein...
past-participle... black hole... blah blah...
i'm still gearing up for the transcript
of Kierkegaard...
the translation of that ****** equivalent
of the Czech: YAN HUß

-------------------------------------- (pending line)

the pending line is not moving... i've already
written a pre-scriptum a day "late"...
i think i'll manage the Kierkegaard...
but none of the ****** "crap": since...
i'm not about to translate...

once more, please refer to the essential Kierkegaard...
edited by howard. v. hong...
& edna h. hong...
            hong? i too have a terrible surname...
a bit like ******, or Stalin...
people see Elert... they immediately prompt me
with: so... you're AH-LERT?!
i never hit them back with with...
you sort of missed this zeppelin...
it's etymologically german...
in earnest... it's missing: SCH...
that's... ESCHLERT...
          but i have no trouble with people
who like... low hanging fruit...
pedestrian interactions...
         a peasant among among peasants...
a peasant who can discriminate against
peasants...
my given surname at birth was no much better...
fellow countrymen...
oh... i remember it... this one time...
tricked me...
open your mouth...
so i opened my mouth...
then quickly closed it...
i was spat at... a fellow countryman spat
in my face...
although he was aiming at my mouth...
i hold... not allegiance to the English...
1997... why was i deported?
for being an economical migrant?!
oh... the world is now, somehow, ******* welcome?!
i hold not allegiance to the English:
to the tongue: all...
but i also hold not allegiance to my inherent
****** reference... i'd rather just call it
a "reference"...

i abhor both parties... one for sort of telling me to
******* because:
they're now the church-going party of people
and my grandfather was conflated with being
a communist party member:
sure... since... socialism in a soviet
satellite was very much the same sort of shin-dig
as it was in RaSHa... ROSIYA...
*******... wanking me off a little...
**** Poland... **** England...
both can sink... to... whatever they deem
to be acceptable by their standards of...
oh... in England... peer Lord Ahmed... *****...
Rotherham... fun times!
i don't even want to know anything about
Poland.... my ethnic class by birth...
i'd rather ******* and create trans-ethnic mongrel
gremlins with a a girl from Kenya...
in Kenya...
yeah... me... in Kenya... creating a pseudo-Brazillian
republic of... copper-skinned polymaths &
multilingual freaks!
sign me up!
                  
i really didn't expect to mind much of me...
it's nice that... they read so little nd watch so much regurgitation
of a t.v...

like i once pointed out: objectivity is...
overrated... hell... it's more than that...
by now it has been hijacked by fake-news and
anti-science pseudo-narratives...

which tells you a lot about a people who
seemingly tolerate Muslims...
tolerating Muslims that don't tolerate Sufism...
i'm good with the Turkish barbers...
anything else... you better ask a Hindu...
how do Hindus "tolerate" Islam... if, at all?

these are not my words... they are a verbatim
transcript that most public libraries will not own,
but i own... ergo...

the subjective existing thinker is aware of the dialectic of communication. whereas objective thinking is indifferent to the thinking subject and his existence, the subjective thinker as existing is essentially interested in his own thinking, is existing in it.

(insert: my own questioning furthered from the genesis of this 19th century Danish thinker... point aside... i am... the queen's subject... i am not, the queen's object... the queen is not forcing me to be subjectively objectionable to... say... building a new wing for Windsor Castle... i can't be, regarded as the queen's object... constitutional monarchy doesn't work through the expedience of extension... i am the queen's subject, i am not her object... i am subjected to the queen... the monarch... but i'm not... "objected"? i'm not objecting to the hierarchy she presupposes, predisposes with... it's almost a "paradox"... but as a subject... in the most immediacy... as a subject... i am not her object... i am not her servant! that some people, within her immediacy are her objects, by regal extension, her guards, her... ******* tea nannies... sure... but... i am beyond her claim for being objectified... i am "subjectified"... how? i can fester... concern for the monarch, i can adorn her with "dasein": care... but her regal extension dilutes itself... her regal power... the cut-off point... is... when she can no longer objectify me... i can be no more her ******* tea-*****-nanny... her soldier... hell... a police officer is not made a police officer by some royal decree.... a police officer is a subject of the regal authority... a soldier? an object of the regal authority... why? the soldier serves the crown... the police officer? serves the public: the subject of the subject(s)... not... like the solider: the object of the object... to be subjected to "something": is hardly demeaning when otherwise the supposed stance of being "demeaned" is to be: objectified... counter to any sort of "argument": to be objectified... is to be spared... the experience of being: subjected to... i.e. / e.g. to objectify a woman... is a synonymous expression for... not subjecting a woman to... what objectifying her in the first place might... entail... by objectifying a woman... you're at least not subjecting her to... the undercurrents of objectification per se...

even i am thinking to myself: this sounds stupid...
the fox is currently having an asthmatic fit of giggles
come 2:20am...
if i am objectifying a woman as a "thinking thing"...
then... i'll be less likely to subject her to: think...
if i am objectifying a woman as a hammer...
then... i'll be less likely to ask her to:
also bring some nails along...
that's the positive on the micro-scale...
because on the macro-scale?
i'd rather be the queen's subject than...
be her... well... the extension of the queen:
her object... her tea-*****-nanny...
her soldier... her... prime minister...
it's a ******* weird dynamic... but...
it's the most pristine that has ever existed... period...

constitutional monarchy ought to be
the envy of the world, for some of the bad apples...
it still i... it should never be undermined...
should it ever be... i'd call that... treason!
to the very fabric of reality!
and as someone who was diagnosed as schizophrenic?!
go figure... but don't come cryuig to me...
make, sure...
you have some "ice-cream" **** readily available
to sa e you, some Rotherham **** heart-throb...
why oh why... having lived n these Isles...
for as long as i have...
the would me mothers of my would be children...
i'm not even going to beg to, ask...
low i.q. breeds low i.q.:
naive... people(s)...
           genius is an aberration...
it's a  mutation...better stuid and reproductive...
work along: plenty for the ants..
*******, ants...
and once they age?
darts?! football matches?

i can't blame them!
i have yet to cite them proper...
although: thank god the filter
of having to invest in having to read...
in people actually reading

therefore, his thinking has another kind of reflection, specifically, that of inwardness, of possession, whereby it belongs to the subject and to no one else. whereas objective thinking invests everything in the result and assists all humankind  to cheat by copying and reeling off the results and answers, subjective thinking invests everything in the process of becoming and omits the result, partly because this belongs to him, since he possesses the way, partly because he as existing is continually in the process of becoming, as is every human being who has not permitted himself to be tricked into becoming objective, into inhumanly becoming speculative thought.

the reflection of inwardness is the subjective thinker's double-reflection. in thinking, he thinks the universal, but, as existing in this thinking, as acquiring this in his inwardness, he becomes more and more subjectively isolated.

the difference between subjective and objective thinking must also manifest itself in the form of communication ˣ. this means that the subjective thinker must promptly become aware that the form of communication must artistically possess just as much reflection as he himself, existing in his thinking, possesses. artistically, please note, for the secret does not consist in his enunciating the double-reflection directly, since such an enunciation is a direct contradiction.

ordinary communication between one human being and another is entirely immediate, because people ordinarily exist in immediacy. when one person sttes something and another acknowledges the same thing verbatim, they are assumed to be in agreement and to have understood each other. yet because the one making the statement is unware of the duplexity (dobbelthed) of thought-existence, he is also unable to be aware of the double-reflection of communication. therefore, he has no intimation that this kind of agreement can be the greatest misunderstanding and naturally has no intimation that, just as the subjective existing thinker has set himself free by the duplexity, so the secret of communication specifically hinges on setting the other free, and for that very reason he must not communicate himself directly; indeed, it is even irreligious to do so. this latter applies in proportion to the essentiality of the subjective and consequently applies first and foremost within the religious domain, that is, if the communicator is not god himself or does not presume to appeal to the miraculous authority of an apostle but is just a human being and also cares to have meaning in what he says and what he does.

objective thinking is completely indifferent to subjectivity and thereby to inwardness and appropriation; its communication is therefore direct. it is obvious that it does not therefore have to be easy. but it is direct, it does not have the illusiveness and the art of double-reflection. it does not have that god-fearing and humane soliciude of subjective thinking in communicating itself; it can be understood directly; it can be reeled off. objective thinking is therefore aware only of itself and is therefore no communication, at least no artistic communication, inasmuch as it would always be required to think of the receiver and to pay attention to the form of communication in relation to the receiver's misunderstanding. objective thinking is, like most people, so fervently kind and communicative; it communicates right away and at most resorts to assurances about its truth, to recommendations and promises about how all people someday will accept this truth - so sure is it. or perhaps rather so unsure, because the assurances are recommendations are the promises, which are indeed for the sake of those others who are supposed to accept this truth, might also be for the sake of the teacher, who needs the security and dependability of a majority vote. if his contemporaries deny him this, he will draw on posterity - so sure is he. this security has something in common with the independence that, independent of the world, needs the world as witness to one's independenceso as to be certain of being independent.

ˣ double-reflection is already implicit in the ideas of communication itself: that the subjective individual (why by inwardness wants to express the life of the eternal, in which all sociality and all companionship are inconceivable because the existence-category, movement, is inconceivable here, and hence essential communication is also inconceivable because everyone must be assumed to possess everything essentially), existing in the isolation of inwardness, wants to communicate himself, consequently that he simultaneously wants to keep his thinking in the inwardness of his subjective existence and yet wants to communicate himself. it is not possible (except for thoughtlessness, for which ll things are indeed possible) for this contradiction to become manifest in a direct form. - it is not so difficult, however, to understand that a subject existing in this way may want to communicate himself. a person in love, for instance, to whom his ****** love is his very inwardness, may well want to communicate himself, but not directly, just because the inwardness of ****** love is the main thing for him. essentially occupied with continually acquiring the inwardness of ****** love, he has no result and is never finished, but he may nevertheless want to communicate; yet for that very reason he can never use a direct form, since that presupposes results and completion. so it is also in a god-relationship. just because he himself is continually in the process of becoming in an inward direction, that is, in inwardness, he can never communicate himself directly, since the movement is here the very opposite. direct communication requires certainty, but certainty is impossible for a person in the process of becoming, and it is indeed a deception. thus, to employ an ****** relationship, if a maiden in love yearns for the wedding day because this would give her assured certainty, if she wanted to make herself comfortable in legal security as a spouse, if she preferred marital yawning to maidenly yearning, then the man would rightfully deplore her unfaithfulness, although she indeed did not love anyone else, because she would have lost the idea and actually did not love him. and this, after all, is the essential unfaithfulness in an ****** relationship, the incidental unfaithfulness is to love someone else.

as a side-note... these impossible, to my mind:
imaginary "problems"...
say, for example...
the racist... the non-racist... and the... anti-racist...
do i use racial slurs, sure, but i always tend
to "translate" them to by implicitly urban scenario
tokens... i'm a "******" if i don't get on time,
i'm supposed to work for free...
i think of racism along the lines...
well... you, know... that Pakistani grooming
gang in Rotherham...
it doesn't affect me personally,
i'm a bachelor, i don't have a daughter...
but... even on my level, since i'm so far away
from the issue... i start to get affected...
**** is the lowest of the low...
i once ****** a *******... all giggly and drunk
at first... but then... she started crying during *******...
a burn-out moment on her behalf...
i had to stop... o.k. you're selling yourself... willingly...
but... i'm not going to... whatever...
if she might have claimed p.t.s.d.
i could also claim the same...

*** is ugly... just before perching myself on the windowsill
once the night arrived...
i heard a voice in the darkness... thanking me...
at the end of my garden... i wasn't exactly listening:
i never listen... but these words of: thank you
sort of penetrated me...
where is the supposed "Ummah"
when it comes to the Uyghurs?!
the fond fellows of Arabia... would rather send
their suicide virgins to the western land
with prospect of conquest, with prospect of seeking
our proselytes... than...
keep their Ummah intact... do the Arabs really think
that their Chinese believers are...
worth so little to them?
           where are the attacks on China?!
eh... Pakistani uncle said grandma
then decided to **** some cousin...
  sorry... low... hanging... fruit...
   i need a drink...
                            
        i can understand racism... esp. given the attempt
at a multicultural society...
i rather think of myself as a non-racist...
****** a black girl, ****** a Thai girl...
****** an Indian girl...
but... this... white, female, anti-racism stance?
i don't get it... daddy issues?
they must be daddy issues... parental issues...
you have to purposively make yourself anti-racist...
affirmative action buzzwords...
you can never be: the highest pinnacle of negation:
not-racist... you have to be actively: anti-racist...
you can never be passively: non-racist...
you have to... do... "x, y & z"...

these words shouldn't even see the light of day...
so much *******...
all of it... crass...
as much as the Brazil-Project of interracial
new-Arab interbreeding sounds great...
newly tanned "Spaniards"... "Arabs"...
"Indians"... if you've ever visited Kenya...
i remember being approached by these three gorgeous
Kenyan girls working the pandering circuit...
black skin glistening in the moonlight...
as if someone rubbed them with butter...
plump... one of the local Kenyan boys asked whether
i'd like to visit a local bar... i declined...
i forgot myself... took to the hammock...
slept the whole night in the open...
some ****** stole my cognac while i was asleep...
me? we best interact...
but... interracial breeding sort of disrespects...
the seeming aeons of... what allowed black people
to be black... what allowed white people to be
white...
it's no good, like... black girls are not angry
when the white girls are giving up so much ***
to their male counterparts?

if i'm supposed to "think" about race... sure... i'll give
it a short shot... because i'm expected...
i have a furry river and.. by now:
i'm more res vanus than res cogitans...
i don't think i need to think on the basis of
narration... i'll just be reactionary...
not because it's easier... it just seems rather...
necessary...

anti-racist: tropes! they are just that... people try
so hard to not-be... X... that they almost forget that...
they are X... because they are compensating for
the environment they were brought up in...
daddy's sins... mother's opinions...
by now a racist is better suited for conversation
than an anti-racist... who the ****** bleached "us"?
it's like: i can't the difference between people...
like... Somalis don't look more ancient than the rest
of the Africans?! maybe i should find more Ethiopians...

i sometimes think of "existing" in a way that...
elevates the posit of: exiting...
sure... cogito, ergo... blah blah...
but that's not enough... to exist is also readying
yourself to exit... existing is a pseudo-continuum
of rented... time, body... in order to...
make the banal finalities of / for an exit...

True love lies somewhere between rage and serenity
The antithesis of anonymity
Exists on the paved roads of pain filled memories
Lodged amid warm thoughts
Childlike fantasies
For women it’s a strong masculinity
For men it’s an infinite dependability
On a woman who is both a nurturer and a lover
A best friend when there is no other
A confidant
Someone who’s shares
And keeps the insecurities of your thinking buried deep where no one can find it
This person carries a light so high that no one can outshine it
In a life where we are born with no favors
No waivers
That lessen the life lessons of the environments we live in
Like God forgave yours
Give your heart a break
Let love make amends for the sin of the world
And those that hurt you
Those that hit you
Those that abused you
While wrong
I pray you let me sing you a song that heals you
And fills you with a joy that you cannot explain
A love that confounds every theory and excuse you have not to love again
No matter how you found it
Or whether you deserve it
What matters now is that you are worth it
Love rests in the pain we live through
And the connections we seek
Tales of unrealistic expectations are lies we place on ourselves to be strong
But really make us weak

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I would always favorite some signs over others. I would always say "Oh I'm so glad that I have no gemini in me" or "I'll never have a scorpio baby one day." But after analyzing you, I have learned that you are a little bit of each sign and that is beautiful to me. I've learned that each sign has contributed very special and important traits to craft you just the way you are. I am no longer so close minded towards some signs, you have taught me that beauty can come from any and all of them.

I love that you are a Taurus and that I am a Virgo and that that is a great compatibility. I love that we are both Earth signs and stable and practical because of this. I love that your Taurus sun allows you to be patient, calm, and cautiously slow. I love that you live simply and if it's not broken, you don't fix it. I love that your Gemini ascendant is the reason you are so restless and why your eyes wander all over the room and back in a matter of a few seconds. I love that your Gemini moon provides you with a quick intellectual mind and persistency. I love that your Mercury is Taurus provides your constructive mind and your second nature of observing. I love that your Venus in Aries allows you to be strongly sensual and flirtatious. Your Mars in Leo allows your great drive to put your ideas into actions and your warm, lucky personality. Your Jupiter in Sagittarius is why you think big and profit accordingly, and provides your higher mind capacity. Your Saturn in Pisces is your vivid imagination and intuition. Your Uranus in Aquarius is your inventiveness and originality, your wry sense of humor and your unique mind. Your Neptune in Capricorn is why you are extra practical and concrete, and good at Chemistry (your major)! Your Pluto in Scorpio is your tendency towards secrecy, psychic abilities, and passionate side. Mars in your 3rd house is your determination and need to stay active and speak your mind. Jupiter in your 6th house is your success in work, loyalty, and dependability. Pluto in your 6th house is your excellent concentration and intent on seeing results. Neptune in your 8th house is why you are a visionary and you seek to give your life more meaning. Uranus in your 8th house is your unusual outlook on life & death. Saturn in your 10th house is your self-reliance, ambition, perseverance, self discipline, and likelihood of achieving success. Venus in your 11th house is your sociable side and your desire to marry a friend. The Sun in your 12th house is why you enjoy privacy and quiet, you have difficulty expressing yourself, you are only close to a few, and success may come later in life for you. Your Mercury in your 12th house is your tendency to be contemplative, and your ability to work things out for yourself. Your Moon in your 12th house is your sensitive side, your reception and intuition towards others, your tendency to hide your real feelings, your need to get away from others to restore yourself, and your creative imagination.

A word that describes you is "practical."
Before doing anything, you want to know
Whether it has a definite purpose.
If it doesn't, it's a no-go.

Before taking action, you must determine
What advantages will be gained.
If you lose your concentration
And scatter your forces, you'll feel drained.

You can concentrate all of your energy
For protracted periods of time.
But if anyone tries to rush you,
That, to you, is a major crime.

Whatever you call reality,
That is what you cling to securely.
And because of your stick-to-itiveness,
You don't give up prematurely.

You need to feel emotionally secure,
And so you are naturally cautious--
Always on the look-out for those
Weighty concerns that threaten to squash us.

Regarding dependability,
That is something at which you excel.
But to you it's extremely important
That you can depend on others as well.

Disappointment doesn't come easy;
You take it very much to heart,
Especially since you know you always
Put the horse before the cart.

If you can follow your planned agenda
And have the time, your tenacity
Helps you accomplish all your goals--
Everything that's within your capacity.

You can be loving and patient,
Soft-spoken, and subdued;
But you can be a stubborn cuss
When you're in a not-so-good mood.

Though you're usually slow to anger,
Surely you know what people say:
If you make a Taurean mad,
You'd better get out of his or her way!

You have a keen eye for beauty,
But don't be too materialistic.
Your strong need for material comforts
Could make you act opportunistic.

You need to be close to the earth;
Nature gives you inspiration.
The feeling that your foundation is weak
Causes a lot of exasperation.

If you're stubborn, you're VERY stubborn;
If you're lazy, you've VERY lazy.
Since you're good at whatever you do,
That shouldn't sound so crazy.

Your determination and strength
Should be an inspiration to all.
If you want to, you can do wonders.
It's up to you; it's your call.

- by Bob B (4-23-17)

..What was meant was never said and what is satiable isn’t fed upon. Long to be that faun in a misty meadow, lounging at dawn on the grass, gazing upon the peaks of eternity. What are we learning and what’s with the misuse? We tenderly abuse that which we dwell on. Claiming it a love letter, when a Better view reveals(in a peeling manner) that these are just clingings of a scrotal piercing fashion. Latching to these attachments as sacraments of dependability, nullifies valued spectacality. The pureness to the core of reality and the mess is a beautifully delicious birthday cake which never ends

Constancy is no more, it jabs an antonym
Dependability on only what elongates ache
Spasms cordiality that is nearly lost memory
There is a mechanism of biology unforgiving
This black box jocose
Laughing at ruination
Temptation to dive forward into flames
Rather than run
Unfailingness, ends are eventual
Everything is spotted with its departure
When you're seeing your own

I’m haunted by the memories of you…
Your smile
Your RAGE
Your laughter
Your SCREAMS
Your dependability
Your CHAOS
Your sweetness
Your CRUELTY
Your love
Your HATE
Your trustworthiness
Your LIES
I remember…
I will always love you
AS LONG AS YOU LISTEN
I need you
YOU CAN’T DO THIS WITHOUT ME
I can’t breathe without you
YOU’D DIE WITHOUT ME
Your beautiful
NO ONE ELSE WILL WANT YOU NOW
Always and forever
YOU’LL NEVER ESCAPE FROM ME
- How long am I supposed to let you keep torturing me

Pppzzzzzzzzz
The pan pops and sizzles
As I open the creaky wooden door.

Shhhhhhh
The kitchen sink sings,
He washes a pepper covered cutting board.

The sounds never change,
The routine is always the same.

I count on,
"How was your day?"
And "what do you want to drink."

Dependability, stability.
One thing know at the end of the day.


The plates clink as they touch the table.
"Lets eat."

All is not well in Trumplandia we hear.
Investigations are closing in,
And all efforts to find or maintain
Integrity are wearing thin.

Untold uncertainty looms;
Unhealed sores are starting to fester.
The leadership position has been
Usurped by the court jester.

Vultures wait in anticipation
While jackals feast on defenseless lambs.
The court jester has wily perfected
And art of confusing facts and shams.

The naïve crowds hear "Hoax!" and "Fiction!"
And think the jester is being funny.
Their grating cheers drown out the call:
"Follow the money! Follow the money!"

Snake oil is in demand.
Distractions are the name of the game.
The focus has shifted from seeking the truth
And doing what's right to passing the blame.

Structures are crumbling, and yet the push
Is mainly on finding the wherewithal
To place on the country's southern border
An unnecessary wall.

In the Big House, day after day,
The leaders are playing musical chairs.
While donors and supporters watch,
Their eyes carefully guarding their shares.

Credit is taken where credit's not due;
Trust and dependability scatter.
A dream come true to a few becomes
A nightmare when the wrong things matter.

All is not well in Trumplandia.
Shhh! The world can't know. But wait!
You say the cat is out of the bag?
Then it's too late! It's way too late!

-by Bob B (8-5-17)

I’ll get a tattoo
that I cannot reach and ask
you for some lotion

Distance in an instant
Reflect and recline back
Rail and Airlines can get a fund
But Buses are left out not being among
Buses have been moving America more than you know
But you seem you just want to let go
Buses support communities and I am not talking about cities
Passengers depend on the bus because Rail and Airlines don’t go direct
So buses do have and add to the travel effect
Buses support highways I daily travel
So how noble
Now buses are the only magic carpet being destination direct
Again, buses do have that effect
Buses are more than just wheels that roll
It’s the pride and honor in Motor Coach Driving Engineers who take hold
Safety being the number one priority
So bus travel dependability being a reality
Long before trains and air, buses were the backbone roads that started in encouraging people to travel by bus
It’s not a fuss it was a plus
As the parade of buses embark upon Washington, DC, it is a message to keep motor coaches striving
As the buses honk their horns in your city, it is all about Unity
“Buses Move America”
I hope the message will move into you Senator’s heart, and think twice that buses should be funded as well
The results are strongly depended at the Nation’s Capitol
Please sign the Motor Coach Bill
Don’t let buses be a road ****
So Senators, please make it your will
Without buses and drivers, bus companies will be non-existent
Think on the time of your Greyhound and Trailways ride
Think on the scenery you encountered as America passed by
It was a memorable travel experience
Now take that experience and let Motor Coaches Continue to Move America into tomorrow
Please don’t let it be sorrow
All it takes is a sign
I hope you will consider and be kind
Now buses deserve all the recognition and that would be fine.

Education
We have told getting good scores is happiness
But
It prevailed only when it got
compared with fellow student not globally and then they promised the real happiness in jobs

Career
we joined office, we are told real happiness in promotions and we reached.
Again, there is a point to a joint your  promotion will become real happiness only if you have a family

Family**
We get married then society say have children, you will have real happiness

Children
Well wisher advice you, If you groom your children's then see the world around you will be praised  for your effort and there and then happiness flow..

Between
Your children grown but refuse to live with you and want to be like a bird and you find your hopes was shaken, but neighbors says if you have grandchildren you will be happy

Grandchildren
Now, your find a kind of happiness on dependability with your grandchildren and they need you for same..

Is happiness is in dependability??

My E Bay purchase SL D303 sprang to life
( for a few joyous months)
Springs replaced once
and the second time, it died like a swan,
no spare parts!
Soon it burnt into the pocket
Suburban luggage of a layered kind
alongside my vinyl collection
cant always trust dependability

Poem number 1000 – Part Three : Deeper and deeper


Forever onward, into a future of possibilities;
Another line, from inside a mind, without sense, but with sensibility.
Throughout time I have learned to garner my abilities,
To become the man you hear; I have earned my dependability.


In partnership, I have discovered my heart
And I doomed it from the start, to starve inside a life of scars.
****** for eternity, to tear myself apart;
Without a guiding hand to guide me, I fell beneath the stars.


Blessed mornings are all slept right through
And aspirations are lost alongside the dripping dew.
The sunshine awakens my eyes, as I see through the blind;
But I shall still not arise, from this cocoon.


Into slumber I drift, indifference I change;
I have become a slave of my own disdain.
The words echo out of my mouth and around the room;
In tunes we marvel, in love we are eternally doomed.


Our hope is curtailed, so we have set sail;
The voyage of the ******, Poseidon at our tail.
A war of world’s, inside a shattered soul;
Our thoughts come and go, but we are deep inside this hole.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

It's like I never learned about humility
Like I didn't know tranquility.
or like my mindset is to spawn hostility.
Maybe because I was never taught responsibility.
I have less appeal to you than a book that lacks readability.
and you refuse to acknowledge our lack of compatibility.
We're trying to build on the epitome of instability
and we wonder why we have the inability
to make something with any sort of durability.
It'd be easier if I wasn't such a liability,
or if there was any probability
that I could understand accountability.
I'm sorry for the times I lacked the sensibility
to become a better person, or improve my suitability.
I'm sorry for my actions and my incivility
There were times you couldn't count on me for dependability
and for that I'd like to say if there is any plausibility
or some kind of magic ability
that would allow me the chance to see you again I'd beg and crawl to the ends of space and time on only the basis of possibility.

give me strength, give me hope
tell me you'll never
let me go
feel my heart bleeding
when you go

make me feel so incomplete
teach me
dependability
show me i need you
in everything

why do i see you
in everything

and do we think of each other, only
when it's cold and dark
i need to know if you'll love me
when it gets warmer
in the summer, in the light
or
maybe it's just when you're high.