Deny it; it makes no difference:
the American government pitches its deceitful realtor-reality to the world:
flaunting our flag as the banner of the free, but avoiding
our faults and failures as a country.
“Oh yes! We’re rollin’ in the (borrowed) bucks!
We’re a proud superpower capable of chaos; calamity!”
Well, kudos on your catastrophes: we all know it’s a hollow show.

See, we’re slaves to China, bound by China’s chains
to billions of dollars, the deficit deepening daily.
And who’s to blame?
“Not I!” says the Democrat.
“Not I!” says the Republican.
“Not I” say I, but we
weaved our financial woes together.
It’s not stupidity; if we could see into the future, we’d be shakin’ our money makers.
But have you seen the current fiscal guillotine
whose blade looms low and approaching our throats?
Oh, irony of ironies: the American government isn’t free.
Oh mah gee.
Freak out!
Calm down...
Forbes informs me that federal spending spurs private sector growth.
But when fifty-four thousand buckaroos from you
and you
and you
and me too is just enough
to cover Congress’ **** until the dimwits there do another... (insert something dumb),
it’s time to draw the line.

And time to erase lines previously drawn:
George Washington warned us once before:
“...the common and continual mischiefs of [political] parties are sufficient to make it the... duty of a wise people to discourage... it.”
Yet here we are: the media’s reporting majority wars
that serve only to sail us further offshore from Pristine America
and a time when things really seemed to matter, especially when they did.
Deny it; it doesn’t matter; it doesn’t change
our chances of escaping another Cuban
Missile
Crisis. If we waged World
                               War
                                            Three, what would we
                                                       do?
                                                               One
thing: debate, procrastinate, our fate
a fragile plaything fought over
by infantile, full-grown fanatics who never quite phased out of high school debate.
They never learned to lose, and so they play the inane blame game,
I say quite frankly: gurl. Dat cray-cray.

Dear Democracy, when will my words hold water?
When will the weight of a rainbow OREO or a
monogamous monotone monotheistic chicken sandwich
on my guilty conscience be lifted?
Must I muster a hungry lackluster life in the land of opportunity
to oppose tyranny
and uphold justice? I turned eighteen last December,
but for as long as I can remember
I’ve been voting with the dollar bill, my ballot
traveling through the bloodstream, fueling the body of big business, who fuel the daring charities, who fuel their bills in congress.

Democracy, do you know me?

For this faux-democratic nation where the population waits for the government to lay itself to waste, the Founding Fathers sob, disgraced.
                                                       Oh, God Bless America!
the nation where when faced with any
[man, woman, child, intersex, genderqueer, etc.] who dares defile the status quo,
accept the stigma like a crown of thorns, on top of all the scorn
                                                                    We The People
donate millions to “charities” who dare to speak for
Jesus,
the meek and mild. John chapter eight, verses one through eight:
he drew a
fine line in the
sand, man:
it’s where your rights end and mine begin. Irony, irony: they are as good as
mine.
For this faux-democratic nation where the population waits for the government to lay itself to waste, the Founding Fathers sob, disgraced.

My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.

My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.

A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.

A devilish ******* of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.

Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.

A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.

Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.

Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.

Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.

A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.

A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)

A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.

A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.

A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.

An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.

A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.

A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.

Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.

A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.

Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.

No tomb like the present
A suffocating fact
I shan't see the crescent
A summer with no tact

There is a distinct, quiet suffering
That plagues the air every which summer
Though out there, the world is rapidly expanding
The smell of rot is the one that catches my nostril
As for what rots, I am not sure
Perhaps the trouble lies within myself
But in these days, I am slower, less responsive
And my conversations get more unhinged
With the entities in my living space
As for whether they are hallucinated
Or it's me yelling at bugs that have entered
I honestly would not be able to say

The air is thick, thicker than milky fog
And this thickness hurts the purity
Pure, white snow falls from my eyes
And cold, piercing winds from my throat
Icicles grow upon my fingertips
And my hair is made of frozen grass
I am the late autumn and early winter, I am
My stark and hailing demeanor freezes the weak
I am the very definition of an ice queen
Or at the very least I definitely pretend to be
Even though it's a charade everyone ignores

Have you ever sat in the back seat, while a parent drove?
You might even feel a bit of affection from them
So it is not so bad, not quite as impersonable
Not as horrifying as the passenger's seat
You are at risk but you are not the operative word
I am currently in the passenger's seat of my life
Have you ever felt similarly? Like you lost control?
My interactions are pure instincts and pheromones
My preferences are base level urges in all cases
Even the music I so enjoy, I entrust not to myself
But to the almighty, for their hand is far more sturdy
I shake, like an autumn leaf in a hurricane
Barely holding on the driver, which is always them
I will never learn how to drive a car

I often get called an adept storyteller
Some people call me vivid or imaginative, even
So I suppose I might as well ask the people in my head
To help me conjure up some short tales for you;
This one is of a young girl, dreaming

In some dreams she finds herself in a rancid, green room
There with her is another girl, a cynical kind
The two of them may have loved each other once, but
That time has long since passed
Acts of carnal urges and violence come to pass
Mold grows on the walls and ceilings
The camera slowly pans away from them, *******
To show the director and the audience

In some dreams, she finds herself in a small Japanese home
Discussing the fate of that infamous 100 ryo
"You'll never get it back" says the cynical girl
She vows to get it back and leaves the room
Most of the scene is silent, save for cicadas
In the night she returns, scars all over her face
She brutally dismembers the cynical girl
She simply was not meant to be a ronin

In some dreams she finds herself in a police station
The cynical woman is on the other ends of the desk
"We've got you by the *****, ****" she says
The girl answers only with a scoff and a crooked smile
"If you had me by the *****, this would be more enjoyable"
The cynical girl seems embarrassed, upset
The director shouts "More emotion, you dimwits, more!"
The camera zooms in, with shaking motion, towards the girl

In some dreams she finds herself alone, it's snowing inside
The cynical girl left. Surely something far more important.
She begins to draw a mural, in the style of Basquiat
A funky little guy, baby blue, bright orange, neon pink lines
Once done, she hears a voice: "It's been a while, babes"
Finally, he was back! It was the mural, speaking
Or in some sense, the very walls of the room spoke to her
"What's groovy, baby?" he asks, with his usual cheer

There's many more dreams to share, like the one where they reminisce
Or the one where they're janissaries, stationed in Serbia
Or the one where they're communists, in a bar during the Great War
Or the one where space has been conquered and they stayed back at home
Or the one where the mural learns to play drums, and the shadowy figure joins
I didn't even talk about the shadowy figure, even though he's a major character!
I mean hell, even I joined them occasionally, once they asked
They figured out I didn't know everything, and talked to me, what a lovely bunch
But obviously at one point, spunky little girls have to wake up

In this dream, she finds herself alone again, in a regular room
The heat of the scorching sun has been illuminating her abode all day
She remembers that in this reality, she plays improvised music
And yet, in such horrid weather, it'd be suicide to go play right now
She is sluggish, unconcerned, seemingly in another world already
No tomb like the present, she thinks and repeats, like a mantric chant
"No time! You keep saying the phrase all wrong!" a voice reprimands her
She knows and she deems it an unfit day to have yet more drama
"I know... I just thought the pun was amusing..."
She says in retort to herself, in order to pass the time.

Autistically
speaking
I applaud
your intelligence!

flap flap
clap clap

when you
don't think
before
you think

flap flap
clap clap

or open your
*******
******* mouth!

and disparage
and belittle
those with

a learning
disability.

But then maybe
It's you who is
disabled
as you don't
seem able to
distinguish
between what
is right and wrong
what is cruel and kind

flap flap
clap clap

in your ignorance
you are blind
and your
intellectual mind
is a snob
of the worse kind

Looking down
from your high brow
because you
are so clever

I forget
Let's all applaud
and you can remark
(Out of context of course)
that they're all ******* retards

flap flap
clap clap

Well aren't you hard!
You bully when
you say

the dimwits
and the morons,
unloveable,
undateable,
unwanted,
a drain of society
they should all be
put down.

Not somebody
you would choose
to be friends with
or if you did
it would be so you
take advantage of
an idiots good nature
and pure heart!

flap flap
clap clap

Or so you
could look good
in comparison
to them
and maybe it
would knock your
own IQ up
a number or two!

Your average ******
could teach you a
thing about numbers
if you asked them

And you wouldn't want
your own kids
playing
with them
incase they catch it....

Catch what?....
the ability to be
awesome
to think outside
the box
to see feel and
understand
and experience
the world and
people in a
completely
unheard of way.
To smell colours
and taste words,
and your inability
to deviate from
anything other
than your narrow
little mind
really is absurd!

So let's all clap
and flap flap
flap flap flap
and maybe
shriek a bit too!

They are the true
freethinkers
the true misfits
the pure and
the truly blessed

They are
the ones
the people
who are
"different"
"Individual"
as you
would like
to be

flap flap
clap clap
You ignorant ****!

Autistically speaking

Who's the ****** now?



©Jacqui Slade

I ponder what my parents told me,
“The light in your eyes is back.”
Not because I am happy,
(or sober…)

Its because I stare at the dimly lit skyline
In the City of Brotherly Love,
In a melancholy manner.

While I could make some cliché allegory
Of a cigarette being another source of faint luminescence.

But I am a college student,
A speck of a presence drowning in dimwits,
With such bright futures ahead!
(Along with a large sum of debt.)

So while I sit and stare
At the city lights,
Soaking in suicidal thoughts at the SEPTA station.

Remember the light in my eyes
Is a reflection of those city lights.
Dimly lit,
Not aflame.
I have no one but myself to blame.

You never
thought I'd
say never.

Get Clever.

**** a sickle from the star,
******' stick it in a cross.
******' vinegar, I'm hot.
I don't dance a lot.

Pull it it back
like a bow,
you'll never know
what I'm talking about,
I'll just throw
my paint at
the canvas, let it
work itself out.

Pucker up and tuck
it in. **** it up
and bless your sin.

Keep the privileged in their place
and keep the simple in their space,
there is no common you can't erase.

Too many
******' problems,
you wish
you
could
******' solve 'em.

Too much hate?
Your heart
has never had
to participate.

******' lonely?
You've got
too much
on your plate.

Reciprocate.

The surface,
the focus,
I'm sure of all of this.

Get clever.

In all seriousness,
I hate to say it's not an art that's improvised, it's more like you camp out, waiting, sitting, wishing, thinking, eating, waiting, sitting, wishing, thinking. Praying like **** for the the snare that you set up in an half assed attempt, like always, ******* hoping it comes through for you. Pathetic isn't it?

I've got too many ideas and as these dimwits stare at the bright light behind me I get sadder.
You're probably getting madder, like I'm a ******* ingrate, It's not too late to call me out because I've just begun my tirade.

Unreadable, I know.
If you made it this far I've got to say, you are completely frivolous, and forlorn;
for that I salute you, and realizing this is all in bad taste, I bid you goodnight.

****, that was fast. Didn't even get to what I meant to.

☭ ⛧ Ⓐ

Violent dimwits, who riot en masse
remain dimwits, no matter what pass.
Whether paid agitators
or mere perpetrators,
they need a swift kick in the ***.

At the will of my wants, I grab at the bag my city has to offer, and coffer up the cash in my crash of a party that never started in the alarmingly empty vessels, settled under the rain, and below the fog in a swamp of frogs, and snakes, where i stake my claims, and state my name at the door.

Its darker here, but there is something more, hiding in the mud, the trees, and under the floor, rising up in waves in a haze of euphoria.

You just know it, it just is, just this feeling of forgotten forests rotting through the ages, of ageless storms that sweltered its soil through the toil of horned beasts, preying on predators creeping through the sleet, reeking of meat that melted in the summer heat.

Now its just a bar where i drink and type into this thing, completely unaware of the people staring at my cheeks flexing as i think, and i think, the sun will rise this time, but i still sink a bit deeper each day, and sign my life to work, in the murky smog where im begotten of beguiled planks that i march right off of.

Smiling, and inspired by the brinks i keep to my chest for the best of dreams to be achieved in the melancholy belief, that it matters to see the light in darker things that often freeze in the shadowy breeze of intellect, but once in, it is infectious, a pleasurable sedative to align my derivatives prism-ed from my vision to the sprawl of letters on the screen.

I pluck and pick what goes into it, and tune out the ridiculous ******* spread all over the dim-lit dimwits dozing in the smokers pit, reciting lines in inadequate rhymes of how they aligned their life's away, with babies and wives, equipped with knives that still hang from their backs.

The solo drunk drools the best, as he laughs.

this isn't a time for nostalgia aimed at the times of the 2nd world war, only liars and cowards attack anyone except their enemy, to ease their sentiment at thinking they're liberal leftists... somehow the Cartesian formula doesn't work for them... odd... thinking doesn't magically precipitate into being... they're only liberal leftists... they'll never be conservative leftists (communists)... they value the anti-solipsistic stance of individually too much, hence their karaoke outpouring on X-factor - we need nurses! we need doctors! no! they're saying we need the next Frank ******* Sinatra to lullaby us to death. too much national pride aimed at reminding people of the past is degenerate in the presence, the future by such historical arithmetic is always bleak.... who cares for a Faraday is a light-bulb works, who cares for a Newton given the mechanics of rocket-launchers... and who cares for Shakespeare in the age of omnipresent literacy providing us sonnets?! in the age of desperation, former fame was revised, creating the backlog of fame into a single measure of being current, when once a man slaved for a lifetime to achieve it, modern fame is nothing, in comparison on the merit of utility and productivity - fame is hardly a concern for any of us given Orwell and the c.c.t.v. (or holy ghost), that will never materialise into a person of the Paraclete; best assurance, the famous donkey, the stick and the carrot... democracy only works within a sensible number to express it... applying democracy to insect methodology of plumbers, electricians, personal trainers etc. is merely an illusion... a moment in history where the weak attack the strong... and to cite Darwinism? we were already too intrinsically overtly bio-diverse to merge with the diversity of nature surrounding us... we were perfect chiral chimeras, non-super-imposed images... thus Darwinism and snippets, or crossword clues... i can't believe the English banked all their pride on an Aristotelian footnote... but then miracles do happen... not always a welcome distraction from the nuances of mishandling politics - or was that always a b.d.s.m. affair?

i too could rage at the belittling English society,
well... i might as well...
i'm not in Manchester, the Hackney populace
was relocated to the outer-suburbs to make
the "nation" proud - never seen so many
black dudes strolling near the countryside -
but that's another zoological matter -
what?! with the new dating show with all knit-grit
bits exposed you'd think that all Darwinian
comparison made it to the ten quid banknote -
the one objective language that has no zombie
adherents - poets' strike... oh wait, i forgot,
you prefer the ready-meals of song -
the English do, lazy ***** the whole lot of them -
i won't be making many friends and i don't intend to -
after the ridicule, the slander, the jokes -
i'm heading east! east it is - i'll leave a **** with
my signature in England - let the Scots find it
and shredder the ******* islands into snippets from
some novel; so you think you're not Soviet fated?
Jack will become Jackson - etymology is all about nouns -
you think i'd stay in this ****-hole? i got the message:
VERMIN GO HOME... i'm looking for a place
to relocate to... i don't like the Irish playing the prißed
puppets of the English... Michael Palin seeking
Europe in 2007, found Bohemia, found no litter,
vermin living in beauty while English outer-suburbia
rots? Euro trash? more like Benidorm suntan -
you started it... you little "not in my name" will not sell
me your phobia currency of Herr Censor -
odd, the colonial past was somehow erased because of
the Beatles - odd, isn't it? cultural contribution
erased the shackles... funny how things work out in
the end. i have been a complete and utter integration
failure, i blame the Irish and a catholic school -
i rather go home among the other rats -
i don't belong here - but at least home is where i left off,
aged 8... 22 years into analysis English and using it
i can preserve tact - Bangladeshi will write you a next
Shakespeare... just so it all looks pretty... and convenient...
i rather live there, i have no fake psychiatric history in
the country of my birth... the west ain't all that after all...
i'm with Snowden on this one, but i have the cushion
of speaking the tongue... the almighty west is nothing
but good music and charcoal films -
propaganda omniscience - the west asks for media
transparency, but i end up reading a tabloid newspaper
given the opinion section of *the times Monday to Friday -
some ******* mogul mongrel trying to be a Martin Luther -
it's basically a tabloid newspaper, i don't trust it -
the ultimate freedom corrupts - if revising foreign
governments is based upon media freedoms, then i think
the west did a ******* job with its own media -
without restrictions you get a box of chocolates and eat
all the best dimwits out - or a box of mixed nuts -
the Brazilians are the first to disappear.
plus the west doesn't like poetry, it prefers music, as in
the passive ingestion of art - never your own,
always someone else's - so you can be filled with
unexpressed egoism to occupy a space worth a cubic
metre or two... fun & games fair enough...
was i ever stereotyped? pushed to a limit,
am i one of those Chinese 2nd generation immigrants
that play the koala bear role in poetry who prescribe
the origin and figurative forgotten for a prize?
i don't think so... if i ever escape this ****** ****-hole
i'll be the king-rat, to my liking the Polish government
is being inspected by the E.U. about non-democratic
agendas - god i pray for an E.U. invasion reprimand -
i really feel like shooting someone by illusion defending
my conscience imagining simply throwing a pancake.
and why? because, at least, in Poland i talked to a
neurologist and was diagnosed sane -
while in England i was given to the dogs (psychiatrists)
and was diagnosed insane - at least i'll be
with the sane people and not some perverse form
of paedophilia of Alice in Wonderbra...
leave these agony aunts aside, leave these perverts
to their own demise - and if truly my friend,
as i did staring into my killers eyes,
if he only took me to a hospital to prove it was
a genuine mistake of misinformation about a certain
Amazonian plant... then i wouldn't be writing this verse...
but he didn't... he took me home...
as ever, i write this letter without pseudonym but under
the acronym: the misinformed (which really isn't an
acronym, i just liked the rhyme);
so if after 22 years spent in England i head to my vermin
abode, i think i'll be happy... unless Scotland beckons
to liberate it... otherwise? **** this ****-hole.

a bit faded, i cruise through loose threads in my argument.
i recoil from dimwits that flip wigs and false coin.
i join the null set of lost clubs on main street, discreetly -
but strut like a peacock in leather feathers,
for non -boys...
so many
girls.

i'm in two worlds,
but **** if she don't fit in, pro bono.
she knows what i don't know, like a book spout of lovely.
my bones lend juice to the stew of her gifts, when she'll have me.
but luck gets cut and what not, and better fellas
rob joy from so
many worlds

they're Cuckoo.

i snip pearls
for this
one.

my intentions are
sincere
if not

see-through.

Some days remembered
are so dark
that I never want to
remember them and some days
are happy as a lark
making me wish that
they would last forever
and forget them
I could never.

Try to  realize that
every moment of your life
is the most important moment
so know that no future time
is better than now to let down
your guard and love.

Pride says "it's risky"
as reason says "it's pointless"
but the heart whispers "give it a try"
and sometimes you will have to cry
upon recalling those
days remembered.

Some days remembered are amazing
and some days are happy
and some are sad and some
are amazing happy and sad
all at the same time
so just be glad that you
are human.

Having had some fun
and blessed beyond belief
to have made it this far
I guess what I am still
looking for is a little relief
instead of feeling
like a thief because
my poetry speaks volumes
about some very ugly
parts of my life that
were filled with much strife
and emotions so thick you
could cut them
with a knife.

I 've had some fun
matching wits
with lost love dimwits
and playing their love games
that just left me lame
but with lots of
days remembered and
a knowing that
what sometimes breaks us
makes us stronger
and gives us the power
to go on for just a little longer
as we recall those days
remembered.       Jon  York         2013

As you know, I come from an emotional, dysfunctional delusion
A sort of internal, infernal, disowning confusion
This pain is sempiternal, but I'm a dynamite with the fuse lit
I’m not gonna complain again, cause that’d be useless
I mean it’s not like she’d ever hear the words that I say it's
As if I never spoke them, oh god I'm nuisance

I'm so pessimistic
It's really pathetic
To watch me **** myself over a few sad sentences
I'm so narcissistic
It's really poetic
To tie the knots on my noose with my own words

Before I die though
I'll go on the aggressive
With some passive resistance
Because I'm honestly quite sick of all this constant *******
Call me Ghandi and I'll be quick to dismiss it
Unlike him, I know when I'm through being messed with
And I don't let people step on me like I'm a rug on their doorstep
Unlike me, he's not over possessive
And people didn't call him out for being over obsessive
But we both fight for what we think is right
Except he teaches on the lesson
While I'm kind of offensive
And the amount of times I swear is a little over excessive
But It helps get the point across to these ******* thick headed dimwits
So I can see how I'm not one they'd be impressed with
You know who you are when I'm this far on the defensive
I'm just a little over protective
There's no limit to how much I can stress it
You'd be my way too if you were looking from my perspective.
Because what if all of the sudden
Like a flame in the kitchen
Something you thought was normal grew into something that isn't
Because they only listen
When there is no way of saving
And only when you die do they even look what you've written
Poem after song and song after poem
I'm so sick of all these words unspoken
But I'll let out all my thoughts and that is a promise
So look me in the eyes and I'll be honest

Let's see, Emily turned twelve in February(2016), Evan turned fifteen about a week ago(March 2016), I will turn....okay, we can toss that one out the window. It does evoke memories however, memories that will never go away, at least I hope not.
New to this world, lying in your crib, looking up at me while changing your diaper, I could see  and almost hear the wheels in your head churning, as if saying, "So you're the dimwits that will be rearing me for the next several years, God help us!" And He did, has, and hopefully, will continue to do so with Evan and Emily. It was a new experience for us, a welcomed responsibility, and I think that Karen and I did a "pretty darned good job!"

We didn't do it alone.

Thank you Lord, for your guidance!

rriddle: 04-03-2016

I can't feel my face anymore
It's as if my whole world has gone numb
My wings have been snapped clean off
Now I'm living off the scraps like some type of wild animal
I can't breathe...
Feels like I'm being suffocated by the seven seas
But in actuality it's just the pain getting the best of me
As I crawl attempting to reach sanctuary
But everytime it seems like I'm getting closer to the light
I can feel the darkness creeping up my spine and yanking me back into the heart of the night
It then caress me like a momma to her new born baby
Whispering in my ears there is no escaping
I'm stranded here
And there is no one coming to rescue me
I mean why would they...
I'm in this mess because of those dimwits
Always kicking me and punching me
Making me feel like I'm nothing more then an old piece of chewed up gum stuck to the bottom of your shoes
Can't blame them though,
Because that's what I am
A nuisance, an inconvenience to society
So instead of fighting it let me embrace it
Now I'm dead trapped in a unmarked wooden box

Smiling...

It tells a story, the grip of such men
You can give it a mark from one up to ten
The flaccid none particular of whom you might as well forget
From the strong and sturdy and pleased to meet you, much more of a safe bet
For a hand with five fingers that has no strength will hold up no life long wills
It will crumble and fail at the first sign on danger, never willing to foot the bills
But a rigorous grasp with a smile and heartily clasp is a better hand to follow
Not a weak and wet lettuce, whose hand felt like a cretins, mostly hiding in the shadows
As life can often take us on a path led by utter dimwits
But choose a journey not laid out by those who you just don't seem fit.

JJB

Bi, Bi, Bi,
two and either
this or that
Ain't that what the woman said
so if that s the case, why come opposing
come rain on my parade
come sabotage like good gang stalkers do
come do your job and create doubts and confusion
I put you where I want you and make you look foolish as you are
its a job for you, a plaything to while away boredom for me
you are jokes, thirty years and yet you can't frustrate one man
you should hang your head in shame, majority always win
the majority that's been hopping up and down for over thirty years
just one man, no help or support, yet you still can't drive mad
you still can't frustrate enough to even say a breakdown
you are pathetic, CONTEMPTIBLE, a pure and utter pack of
MORONS
fools trying to anchor Black...you think I am as STUPID as YOU
even if black, can't my eyes its not that complexion
I don't think in colors, I don't have a one track mind
and you all are too STUPID to play with my mind
the EVIDENCE is before you dimwits
30 years and you can't frustrate ONE SINGLE MAN
Where is your SHAME....

why psychological studies are a load of *******; the "near" assurance of the non-existence of god, the almighty mechanisation of man in the mind of man, with the study of a soul, as the extension toward god, and made into an extension toward the other's ego, no wonder the canvas is inexhaustible! how can anyone exhaust a blank canvas?! only a psychologist can... but no psychologist is actually confined by being sublimely correct... god has become exhausted by the distancing in averting a connection between the study of soul, and the existence of god... psychology is the labour of carrying of stones, with the stones resembling the multiplication of ego that resembles anything morphing into the transcending aspect of breath, i.e. soul; i.e. thought detached from body attached to the "body" of god.*

wait a minute,
so you're telling me that i grew
a beard
to prove is disprove that
i was either more or less,
violent?!
     can't i simply reply:
it gets chilly at the end of
December and early January?
no, really, my face gets cold,
i feel an army of imaginary
***** pinching at my ****** tissue
and i'm trying to prevent them
from doing do...
       so a clean shave = excess of
aggression?
   no one is actually a boxing fan among
the autistic crowd-surfers...
sorry sorry for ramping up
the ****** status,
but there's one thing
     protecting the weak,
and another treating them as propaganda
shields like the Israelis already know
the Palestinians are doing,
don't throw a ****** in my way,
throw yourself
let me see how much ***** you have!
so that i might at least count
up to 2, perhaps 1, or... none!
           i didn't grow a beard to "appear"
more aggressive,
i grew mine because it was getting colder...
*******-dim-whit "scientists"...
            it's cold, i don a beard,
i'm not looking for forking a ****,
dimwits...
            science... ooh look at me i'm
Spartacus!
                  suddenly you're *******
Einstein having revealed to the people
your glorious revelation?!
          i bet you are...
                    science...
almost as bad as religion,
but only half as bad in acting out
a religious practice;
which makes science quasi-religious
in attempting to give an answer...
                  where religion had doubt
that morphed into faith,
science has denial,
that cannot really morph into popular
talk beyond falsehood versus truth...
religion has no asset of denial,
only an assertion of  doubt...
       the scientific
deniability of doubt
                       is in no way,
shape or form,
               a currency to establish
a resurgence of religion with
a doubting of denial...
             since denial is a certainity
while doubt an uncertainty...
          we've reached a point of simlipcirty
that's accustomed to treating
language with a focus of
1 + 1 = 2, as Kant would have put it...
the lesser idiot, and certainly
half the madman...
                             no one best embodies
the madman than the actor
in the role of idiot... and Kant was one...
or so: post-mortem thought
to be...
                 much harder to play
Mr. Bean than to play the Black Adder.

It seems they own us already... Well played... Well played... Thanks to all the fuckwits with out integrity or vision... **** all the dimwits placated with social justice bs and not on choices and moral values caring for life and living. We are all well and truly ******. Virus take me, this **** is laying out a painful future I don't want to be a part of. Stay safe. You're never safe.  It's immunity or strength. We're still part of a conspiracy we all didn't want to see coming...

Oh, where are you Orwell when we need you? What a prophet, wondrous genius labelled it fantasy so that those who could see may lead the blind...

War machine no1 mkultra on steroids social and cultural shift media. Blurry lines, smaller tribes are overcome much easier with global propaganda. Watching the sun's role in global warming. It is omnipotent and we are in its fancy, but as we destroy ourselves we lament and continue our diet of convienence truths and lies.

Where are you Orwell when we need you? What a prophet, wondrous genius labelled it fantasy so that those who could see may lead the blind...

Our youth dumber and more pandered and selfish than ever
The road to communism was never straight
Our identities once given now traded into the thin air of whimsy only to be handed them again.

As we destroy ourselves we lament and continue our diet of convienent truths and lies.

The Beast the bible foretold, is ourselves and what the elements we have created as the four horse men...


never a truer wiser book was there written than the humble of the humblessed... yeah I know you see what I did there... or do you? Best blessings SS **

Some people have tattoos.
Others don’t wear shoes.
The kindest people I know
are not afraid to show

all their colors boldly.
Though they’re greeted coldly
from narrow-minded folks
who snicker and make jokes

at people different from them.
Treated as coughed up phlegm.
What a sad world it’s become.
Swept away like a crumb

because I hold my ground.
I never will be bound
by other people’s limits.
Those so-called people are dimwits!

Feels like I’m on the brink,
Every time I open up my pie hole.
Will I live to see another cinco de mayo?
Hold up gotta let that **** sink.
Before it numbs out cause of the wine-o.
That liquid courage, that helps me nab some fine **’s.
I’m fine though, I swear I don’t need no shrink!
Knowing **** well I’ll end up either in jail, rehab or like Amy Winehouse.
And I know it’s a miracle I lived this long, cause trust me bud I had my doubts.
Gotta **** around to find out.
Reality sure ain’t no Mickey Mouse clubhouse.
(Insert mickey voice and gun fire)
Ain’t sleep a wink in a minute.
Got One eye open playing paw patrol.
Looking out for the monsters ink cause I ain’t complicit.
I’m Just a paranoid guy spacing out to rock and roll.
Eating bats and other **** deemed explicit.
As if the Prince of darkness has taken over my soul.
Riling up the media to distract the dimwits.
From the Illuminati, if you know you know.
But as they say one gotta be careful if one spills it.
Cause you’ll Get suicided like Epstein in a hot minute!

Come on chavs
come stop me, stop me quick
I'm so hot...I'm smoking, stop me now
or I'll set your women on fire

indulgent dummies decide
we are going to degrade execellence
we don't like confident people
we hate the strong and secured self assured types
after-all we should all be equal,
its unfair that man has a big **** and intelligent to boot
we must gang up and tear him down
drain his confidence
make him feel weak, insecure, frightened and *******
that's what we cowardly bully do

In your limping dreams, you half baked potatoes
like it my fault you are too stupid to develop and grow
to make use of opportunities, instead of chickening out
and blaming others'oh its because my dad is a dustman'
its because I didn't go to the right school
Its because my leg fell off...*******
you're a bunch of indulgent, weak, efforts adverse spoilt cowards
you don't make the efforts, you can never put yourself out
or make sacrifices or withstand just a bit of pressure

I married one of youse
she thinks I'm too hard because I push her to achieve
to strive, be strong, stop being a ******* snowflake
look at the Indian shopkeeper who opens from 7a.m. till 11 p.m.
when he drives a Roller, you dimwits gets envious
I don't see you busting anything to reach heights
then you think dweeps like you can gang up and turn me into
a brainless weak shallow, dumb, indulgent, nonsense's like you
we are planting seeds of doubts in his mind, yea *** I'm a dope
*** I'm a dumb toe-rags like you
like some immature toddy fool sitting before a PC writing ****
I see you, I laugh at you, you are nothing but pathetic weaklings
Thieving, joyless, weak, underhand backstabbers
Arrogant, lying, false, fake, *****=playing charlatans

Fairy in a bottle, prisoner to the common-folk
under royal guard, she grants wishes for their riches
a tax that only few can afford, the hoard of gold
thus is the law as the king himself spoke:
"The magick of our fairy princess is a powerful and sacred resource,
for the elite nobles and wealthiest few, I will arrange an audience for you
to request a wish, within reason and of minor impact to my kingdom, of course."

She was slave to the whims of dimwits with limited vision in the castle keep
as awake and alive as she yearned to be, their gold rattling nearly put her to sleep
and the politics, the requests for maidens and knights, flying horses, saddle-broken unicorns,
unbreakable steel, all these selfish boons, while ever-obeying the king's private decree
no magick would last beyond the boundary of his kingdom, or for more than one day
under pain of being lashed by a whip of poisoned thorns and de-winged for all to see
the crown he wore was one of wicked gold, doubling as a helmet in war with two pointed horns

To subject all people to his view of how the fairy came to be bottled he adorned himself as a conqueror
his horned battle-crown and golden inlaid cape that twirled around his chestplate, ornate with dried rose petals preserved
on the pattern of spiraling cuts, white-gold engravings that made it look at first glance as if the statue of some idol had been crushed by a falling star
for he wore his status as a reminder, that he captured the fairy princess and made the first wish, to be the richest king of all the land near and far  
with which she made her own decree:
"In slaughtering the forest and my kin you have shown who you are. Your lustful desire requires a powerful toll, if you do not pay for your crown you will bargain with your soul. This magick of sin takes and gives form to the fell, fear for a dragon, should you short the hoard below its skin and scales or the dragon will rain hell. Gold it demands to take such a form in this plane, thus gold it will demand to remain."      

The king had fed the dragon, resting in his keep, mountains and hilltops
peaks and valleys of fortunes for the privilege he took as a possession
but, time cannot be bought, and even the thrill of magick stops
when it is so costly and flows freely with so little discretion
the rich, nobles and lucky all became wise to the deal
as long as you stay within his borders for a day after you pay
you can have almost whatever you feel
after days had passed the great bat wings of the lizard were felt stirring
the dragon grumbled, shaking the fields miles beyond the castle walls
the king's own throne fell from the tremors alone, brick and stone blurring
as the dragon takes flight, unstoppable and massive, the king crawls
the entire world shivers at the destruction to follow
and he crawls to the fairy, to beg forgiveness, if he could only pay his debt tomorrow
while the air explodes, the chemical heat massacres hundreds
his cape turns to furs, his chestplate back to bone and his crown to the buffalo hood the fairy made it of
kneeling at her altar, finally he reaches for the bottle above
as the air grows impossibly hot, the king laughs high and shrill, all hydration left in sweat, he sits pale as a ghost on the castle floor
a second from his death, he admires her one last trick
no sign of the fairy or the bottle, clutching nothing but one golden brick.

Working like hampsters,
they scribble and compute
obsessively checking their work
These "bright minds"
these dimwits
the school drones compete.
Who will win the gold?
It's just another day in
summer school.

Verse 1:
Somebody call the coroner, I done murdered this ***** and governor.
Three some gone wrong, better take a shot and have another beer!
Talk about groping and coping mixed with some codeine; I’m paranoid and full of fear.
Should’ve seen it coming, was bullied and teased by the world who only ever saw me as being weird.
So I **** to fill the void, cause it used to hit me like morphine; but now that intoxication has ******* disappeared.
**** got me annoyed! Got me scratching at the floor boards; like the devil’s here!
Fifty shades of grey, go get the toys, what’s that squeaking sound? Dear governor?
(Halloween tense noise)
Aww.. why’d ya have to go in there?

Hook:
Like a ghoul in the shadows, like a fiend on the loose, there’s a monster outside, better go get the noose!
I’m a ghoul on mission, so best hide your momma and her scrumptious caboose!

Verse 2:
Got a taste of the dark side, blood in my gin.
Soul decomposing, but I’ll still put it in.
I’m fiend in the night, I’m giving in to my sin,
Hush now already, it’s all right to give in!
(Crunch of an apple sound and screams)
I’m dying just to taste it, my appetite is wicked, eating souls to survive, ain’t got nothing to conflict with!
Some dimwits call me sadistic, but pain is where I thrive; so it don’t matter if yawl plead the fifth.
It’s a struggle to survive in a world where homelessness is treated a myth.
I just might be psychotic but the governments the real sith!
Just take a look at them CIA files man, that ***** real sick.
But if ya expose too much, you’ll end up dead real quick!
Guess I’m not only ghoul in the shadows lurking with them silencers that go.. click; click!

Hook:
Like a ghoul in the shadows, like a fiend on the loose, there’s a monster outside, better go get the noose!
I’m a ghoul on mission, so best hide your momma and her scrumptious caboose!