The ******* of embezzled glory staunchly defend their counterfeit stature by defalcating the public trust of industrious societies governed internally by compunction and sabotaged externally by the tempests of acerbic fate met with inclement aleatory convergence. To supply a society with ingenuity without being complaisant or officious with unctuous pleas to the overlords we must fashion a new vogue that taps the bustle of giants and aggrandizes the margins to oversee their own creative destinies with scaffolded arrangements of titanic promise and justifiable fluidity to conquer the blinkered dogmatism of a dissolute chastity to inveterate apocryphal tenets of factitious but unmerited perspectives. Democracy crumbles when the convenience of sensationalism supplants the resolve of those that fossick hidden wealth and promulgate validity instead of undergirding pomp with precarious prevarications of duplicitous omission guarded gingerly by the gatekeepers of a ****** sanity that whitewashes the discussion with invented hobgoblins and purblind catharsis. To defeat simplicity and enshrine byzantine elegance as the paragon for voguish commentary rather than abide by a bowdlerized decorum for appeasing simpletons with divisive balkanization through identity politics we can overcome the impediments to human progress that are engineered to persist because of the inertia of the listless and the stubbornness of doctrinaire politicization and invent vivacity and festivity anew. We need to divorce ourselves from pedestrian quibbles of hero-worship that endanger the vitality of the common discourse because of fastidious pedantic disempowerment that ravages us with debased dreams by underscoring nuisances and tolerable nightmares that emasculate the virulence of the liberated individual and subvert his ambitions to contend with a picaresque world of limitless promise and self-motivated internal wealth.
      The bane of modernity is how chary the world becomes because of fractured histories intersecting with controversial destinies and the antidote to that poisonous self-defeating self-censorship is the audacity of brazen challenges to expurgation through assiduous resourcefulness and delicate diplomacy in wrangling controversies with outspoken courage rather than whispered resentment. Temerity waged in inclement circumstance is justified and curiosity stoked by lambent flames of fulgurant individualism should be fortified to the extent necessary to conquer the feckless spoilsports of unctuous puritanism and institutional obedience. The quacksalvers that blather about inconsequence strand the imagination in a desiccated desert that is ostracized from the palettes of the artistic whim to wield efflorescence rather than squander life in pursuit of perfunctory lucre or tenuous solidarity around banal idealism promised by social justice warriors that forget the biggest war being waged on humanity is on the ingenuity of the common discourse and the liberty to opine about real issues rather than saccharine conventions of emasculation through linguistic imprisonment and epicurean slavery to fashimites who relish the buzzword but never the enlightened audience that scoffs at feeble attempts at cultural commentary like Childish Gambino’s “This is America” music video. This particular artifact is a demonstration of how childishly fickle the plebeian mentality really is, stitching together a bricolage of violence to engineer controversy and serenading it with the most banal music imaginable and exhorting people to herald it as a high artform while inundating the world with unimaginative comic book movies and Star Wars rip-offs because of the lucrative business of formulaic replication. “This is America” should be regarded as a parody of itself because of how hackneyed its design is and how cacophonous it sounds and mocks its audience with lowbrow tactics of adding tinsel to trash and marketing it as the glory of tatterdemalions rather than the refinement of true cinematic achievements that have been relegated because Warhol’s Campbells-Soup-consumerism trumps true belletrist in the public view.
        Cultural watersheds punctuate our history with salient achievements in experimentation, but the formulaic profiteering of buzzword sensationalism and yellow journalism and the ostentatious glorification of promiscuous boasting and fancy cars tantalize the mice to continue playing slot machines rather than penning a novel or doing something promethean. The world scoffs at Trump but ignores the bigger institutional caveats that endanger us much more than a pragmatic albeit unconventional pontificator who is complicit in constructing a false narrative to enslave mindless people to fret about eminence rather than delight themselves in the consequential nuances of established refinement that used to serenade the world with flourish and spectacle. The world kowtows to the crusade against flavor-of-the-week enemies of the liberal-conservative syncretism because it has been conditioned to believe that synthesis is the only logical solution for the polarized worldviews of churlish people that become parvenus not on their merits but on their marketable pitfalls and their public foibles. Peccadillos are more important to people than virtues and this makes society morally bankrupt if we loiter around Astroturf causes that have been infiltrated by corporatism and venal debauchery and acquiesce as disempowered gossip hounds that hunt in packs to find jest in aberration rather than achievement in self-created narratives that defy the stupid purblind boorishness of the mainstream media and its haughty liberalism or the persnickety condemnation of priggish conservative moralities that had an expiration date 50 years ago. Who the **** cares about transgender-touting-gender-fluidity quidnuncs and the snooty obsession with lurid personal endeavors of reputable people that made minor ****** transgressions in a world policed by wide-eyed feminazis that seek to ransack men of their vital virulence to spotlight their unjustifiable oppression. Women are oppressed but the carnal nature of their calumniation and their vindictive powers of persuasion are deployed with such vehement vigilance and such distaste for the majority that the world relegates itself to quibbles of celebrities rather than substantive issues. There is a systemic feminization of society occurring that seeks to demarcate despotic uxorious pleasantries as an incarceration of vocal dissent against supercilious women and their tamed men that slavishly grovel in repudiation of anything prickly.  Men historically have oppressed women but the solution to this quandary isn’t a reverse discrimination where the minority concern is spotlighted as a majoritarian issue that overshadows the disproportionate nature of our society where nominal accreditation is afforded in a non-meritocratic way to absolve people of their carnality and demote the vigorous defense of human liberty as secondary to compromise solutions that appease more people than they offend but simultaneously result in suboptimal conditions that reward arbitrarily coachable people while jettisoning anyone witty enough to be capable of insubordination of a hedonistic epicurean world obsessed with appearance and ravaged by the decadence of formulaic profiteering at the expense of originality and true promethean art that is herculean enough to defy hackneyed tropes and siphon the best elements from a piecemeal world variegated with complexity but stifled by fomented hatred.
The solutions to these problems is to create a watchdog group of artistic critics who become eminent and ubiquitously heard enough to offer creative consultation to the artistic endeavors that we consume and the music that is curated for fastidious ears that crave euphonic originality rather than the banality of easily dovetailed bass-heavy cookie-cutter garbage and the gaudy tactics of talentless rappers whose swagger derives from  the intersection of opportunism and the divestiture of an industry that rewards gloated supercilious epicureanism and meretricious marketability. Am I the only one jaded by second-rate superhero movies that infest the cinemas that borrow from Michael Bay while thrusting pulse-pounding but narratively bankrupt movies down the throats of consumers that might prize the cinematic originality of the heyday of filmmaking? Is it always high art to invent controversy that is witless or half-witted just because it will create buzz? Shouldn’t we condemn the laziness of society in acquiescing to the penury of the modern cultural narrative which belabors the dead horses of racism and sexism ad nauseum? Shouldn’t we fight the war of against inequity through legislation rather than hibernating about scandalous eminence and testy malfeasance?
          Liberty should be championed above all else and we are turning our backs on the future unless we muster the resolve to diminish the sway of the common narrative and aim our spotlight at consequential endeavors rather than the tropes of prosaic and pedestrian bastardization of art and culture. We need to fight artistic laziness which has ravaged our culture and castigate the tactics of wannabee celebrities that use lurid tactics to attract an audience by bedizening themselves with Pyrrhic ostentations and rampant fakery to create more melodrama in a world that needs to be less histrionic. YouTube celebrities swarm us as they get high on ******* and lean-- at our expense-- and vandalize property and convincing nine-year-old’s like Lil Tay to flex her money like it is infinitely renewable in a finite world where all our attention is wasted on artless artifice of less talented people that know how to engineer a ruckus by strutting themselves beyond all decency and selling out to a corporatist nightmare of enslaved convenience. We need to be more vocal about the dissolution of artistic merit and the formulaic repetition of successful formulas that jade us and make us yawn about another retread of a previously successful idea that is milked to the point of cruelty.                                                         ­                       
       Let’s change the narrative and focus on creating true art rather than reacting to the meretricious tinsel of the vogue consensus which is so impotent in its ability to rivet audiences because it has become so notoriously lazy. Fight laziness in art, dismiss your news feeds, be resourceful, seek true happiness rather than find yourself hoodwinked and duped by the idea that Trump is the most important issue or getting caught in thought loops and brooding about sexism and inequality. Let us strive to be egalitarian but within limits that would also appease hominists rather than just the hypertrophy of the leftist narrative that seeks to cage us with the doublespeak of complaisant conformity.  Reject the unctuous charlatans that pretend priggishness when their banausic purpose is barbaric but beguiling to be a lullaby for laggards. We need to fight for the future of civilization rather than hobnob with convenience and loiter around decrying false perpetrators rather than systemic injustices that could otherwise be rectified if enough people fought for it. We can invent a future that is a great festivity serenaded by cultivated artistic refinement and forget about the trifles that divide us. United in ambition and fueled by ingenuity we can defeat artistic laziness and be resourceful with how we decide what is newsworthy. Spurred by the argosy of proactive motivation we can change the world in a substantial way by deciphering the subtext that governs the world. The subtext is everything!

Disempowered
sat in the dentist chair

Yes, perhaps 'tis true.
Everywhere I go-with all t'ese dwindling thoughts on my mind-
'tis always the same shadows that roam, and moan-
before my eyes: and t'eir never-ending business.
Crawling on t'eir lips,
poisoning t'eir bosoms, chins, and hips-
but unrelenting in their unfolded shades;
with a swamp of bruises like mazes-tangled mazes;
likening them to spoiled, yet uncherished, little pearls.
How despairing-such views I obtaineth, on my every journey!
But shalt there still be space for us, to be outstanding;
to understand this world from a pair of eyes
glistening like unquestioning gentleness; but learning simultaneously
its unvivid perspectives
with such comprehension t'at is crystal clear;
such wit t'at is far from recklessness and greed-
salutations that are pure, and distant from any blighting threats
of equivocation? For t'is world is, in spite of its minuteness,
was framed and brought into life from
awesome darkness, abysmal cells of lifelessness
and hateful ambiguity.
How terrifying!
And often have I enforced myself to wandereth into those shades,
with unmolested poems boiling up in my brains-
and t'ose windy thoughts toppling out into th' paper
on my hand,
jostling through my veins like some ghastly, furious power
t'at's unseen, invisible as it is to th' human eye-
frail and susceptible to th' weather's surly temptations-
and entrapping me in the shrieks of its wondrous grot-
so I could never wane it any further, in my guileless brambles.
How I have dreaded t'ose sights-and t'eir dormant treachery! Lessons of
guilt, teaching of such guilty flakes of harm
and abomination! And how in my following quietude have I pondered-
t'at t'is would be just a balmy prelude to some far bigger strains of
mockery, obstinacy, and destitution. Hark to how those powers
shall arise! And that will indeed be th' abjuration of our splendidness-
everything shalt stop at a halt-everything will become flawed,
and no more poems shalt be liberated-from living souls, and t'eir undamaged
blood, as t'ey still are now! How I shiver at t'ose possibilities, as soon as our
latent enemies be on th' loose-free in t'eir ruthlessness, traces of dark,
unperturbed miseries, and brutal savagery.
And shalt we shine no more-like those summer flowers that are waiting for us-
to be fed daily like th' hungry morning doves;
with their thorns as sharp as love, and innocent gladness
in the arms of their lips-'tis but a scent so dear to the heartbeat
of oureth salubrious mornings.
But t'at danger, danger indeed! And its eyes of glaring monstrosity!
And 'tis just of substantial profoundness t'at we should be
cautious-yes, cautious, my dear fellows, towards t'ose signs
of th' upcoming storm-th malevolent storm of human rage, t'at shalt attack us
one day-at one perilous night, unpredicted and unexpected is its fate-
especially when all th' battling footsteps areth
peaceful in their slumbers-and no more palms dancing around
piles of paper-in th' holy procurement of continual wealth.
How t'at moment shalt be our early Armageddon-awakened shalt be
all rivers of terrors, and waves of hatred. How t'is beautiful solitude shalt end-
in th' fierce burning, brimming death of t'at flame-credulous shalt we be,
disempowered from th' heat-which shalt bring us but our dead feet.
Thus I but sincerely hope t'at gloom shalt not conquer our race-
the noblest of all creatures on earth-on t'is dull earth, fatigued as it is
from all th' uniformed battles, hatred, and anger-t'at untiringly sneer
at th' faces of those dying soldiers.
Peace, peace, my dear mates!
Ought to realize thou now-t'at swords shalt shed blood only if instructed.
So tranquility is but in oureth hands-yes, we are but th' key to our own salvation,
and since it is so, shalt we move forward and be the charms of t'is world's
new foundation: for it is our own life that we shalt save.
Peace, my friends, shalt but break all t'ese unseen boundaries amongst us,
and enrich our fathom of t'eir unspoken presence; so t'at th' small world is but
th' most dwelling of comfort, and aught but ease to our hearts-
our very dear, dear hearts in t'is life.

It feels strange when I don't write
But stranger when I have nothing to write about.

I could write about new starts
And how I'm feeling near-adult these days
Or about how nothing's the same as it was two months ago.
But writing about events always feels wrong to me.
Forced.
Artificial.
Desperate.

What if writing was just a summer's phase?
A passing fancy
Disempowered with the start of fall
Disempowered by my attempts at improvement.

Maybe I only had enough poet in me for these three hundred.
Maybe I've used myself up.

Maybe I'm just not letting myself be inspired.

Cultivators of silent corpses seed plague, in the ignorant,
Across webs of lust and greed where they will bleed, and pray.
In the motley virile fictions they intoxicate the disempowered,
Dominating with illusions and indoctrinated stories where they prey.
What feared is the interpretation of the vice, not the tyrant,
That is when, history becomes a weapon to, a future, portray.

In writhing thickets of hair the salt of the vengeance is ambient,
Each who was indulged within false Utopia will then repay.
On wounds, salt, time will pour, for the witling faded poor.
That is when, we rinse our papers and end this spurious play.

Scripts to them are art to perceive to what benefits and sells.
Nations are blocked with blind belief of man but not the superior,
While rulers control their puppets, and puppets drug with pills.
Doubting and standing against is remote, it is the ulterior.
With words and malice they steer heads, and penetrate the cells,
Building their heaven upon our hell, where we stay the inferior.
Imprisoning the gospel truthfulness in themselves, the rotten cells.

The times of miracles are over, and prophecies are fulfilled,
but freeing ourselves from mendacity would be our grand miracle.
Salvation is waking up from a fancy dream, and a truth spilled.

Of past loves and temptations
the horoscope did warn.
But how dispel those faces
Who from my heart's book i have torn?

I find the first two now are faded,
all those recollections jaded
down to barest bones of memory
they are worn

The others yet torment me
in these visions that beset me
If some days i don't know my own face
I'll surely see theirs 'fore the morn

In the end this one's a coward
though spirit on him I showered,
another faithless, the third brimful of scorn.
The last saw me disempowered
before independence flowered,
Yet their absence oft finds me still forlorn

How can it be that all this time
I’ve been playing a role
That disempowered me
I walked around with my head hung low in shame
I deserved not your love or friendship
It was true that if I had been victimized
I must be no good

Then somehow I see a video, I hear a word
I suddenly get it
I’m not a victim
I’m a volunteer
I signed up for domestic violence
I walked in ignoring the red flags
Thinking I can change him
He won’t do it to me
I’m the love of your life
Why can’t you see?

My lack of boundaries
My fear to disagree
Painted me into a pretty corner
I won’t again see
I’m through signing up
I’m done being a volunteer
I woke up today and saw
The real me

This ***** ain’t taking your patronizing **** no more
Go call someone else honey and tell ‘em how to feel
‘cuz today I had enough
Of your belittling me
All it took was a choice
To say nothing and slowly **** my spirit
Or to wake up roar and let you deal with it

HA HA HA

You men were excellent teachers
Showing me everything I don’t want to be
So thank you
I am through
My *** is laughing merrily
The choice was always mine..

With each breath I breathe I challenge the status quo, be authentic, be imperfect, be honest.  With each heartbeat I challenge the concept of time, in perpetuity in this moment, blessed and sacred, the past, the future, and all experiences.  
With each step I challenge, the monotony, the indifferent, the cynic, be it by smiles, be it the silent observer, be it my open minded disposition.  
With each thought I challenge, pseudo-complexities, faux friends, false alliances, spiteful relatives, fake loyalists, and shady lovers, be like water, powerful, assertive, submissive, and passive.  
With each emotion I challenge, the indoctrinated, the subservient, the living dead, the disempowered, and the prosthleziers, by being kind, by expressing love, by displaying compassion and ceasing moments of opportunities.  
With each savory taste of sustenance I chew in amazement and marvel at the texture and the sensation of uami, be it decadence, be it bliss, be it hedonistic.
With each choice made, I celebrate my free will, with every decision, I honor my freedom I challenge the unseen prisons, the culture of maniacal psychopaths, and the assassination of the sacred and cultural genocide.
With my constitution, I challenge those that dare to live, to thrive, to love, to conquer, to ascend, and to create.

Madness
Serenity
Misplacing
Memory
Never be
Jealousy
Moribund’s
Elegy
No more
Fecundity
Blooms
From the fertile
Just ashen heap
Mountainous
Obstacles
Hurdle
No optional
Off and on
Switch to the shifted
We riff,
And we drift,
And we sift
Through the misfits
And this is  
My gift,
My accursed
Uniqueness
The strength that I draw
From the wellsprings of weakness

No one will ever stop me,
you'll never devour me,
I have grown to care less
about people who fail
to see my worth.

You will never water down
my self esteem,
I burn like kerosene,
and now all my words
gather together
to prove that you
will never matter,
never make me shatter.

You deemed me disempowered,
inferior,
but you've never glimpsed
my interior.
You deemed me all the things
I'll never be;
it doesn't bother me.

Because I will keep
moving forward and growing,
cutting away the weeds, ruthlessly
planting new seeds,
but you on the other hand,
your heart will become puckered
and your skin will grow to match it,
tainted and wrinkled by
the millions of seconds you spent
underestimating a masterpiece.

I thought of her as my best friend.
The sister, the role-model.
I never had that from another woman.
Almost a decade older.
She was blonde and Brazilian.
A former successful attorney.
What does that really mean though?

The woman I was becoming:
Shifting to disempowered without even knowing who I was spending my time with.
Damaged and betrayed
She looks for external fixes for internal problems.
Let’s buy some hair and skin care for you, she’d say.
Ignoring people. Always working.
Without knowing why.
Uncommitted to her appointments.
Lost in her 1 dimensional world
It sounded like 5 out loud.
Something felt off.

I continued talking to her about all my relationships, it felt like her life was spilling into mine and I couldn’t get out.
She encouraged me through her own past to be involved with a man who was highly unwell and attempted harm on us both.

These were the facades of the longest shadow, and also where the most leaning in, learning, growth, and shifting took place for me.

She never made time to be my friend.
Women who invite you over to cook and bake, go out for dinner or tea, drink, make silly videos on YouTube, get your hair and nails done, and drag you to parties, may be friendly towards you but they aren’t necessarily what we call friendship.
Physical and emotional care is wellness. And I knew it.

But, we ignore the signs I think because we believe ourselves into feeling like we need someone when they don’t need anyone.
We don’t need, we just focus on building ourselves, discovering health in new ways.

Values, personal qualities, standards, strengths, and illuminated boundaries are the ingredients to the foundation of a true friend.

It took me almost 2 years to speak up and drop the knife.

Look for the meaning in the experience.

Nothing can make up for the aligned place within.

I have since showed up to never expected experiences that I created from what I’ve healed from.

Now this woman can go inside, she can shift it, and externally it must change.

This is personal power.
Evolving deeper and deeper into the highest expression of who I was meant to be.

We all have attributes that make-up our  character.

Attributes show up, but they are inherent to our nature and it is a matter of adaptability to get out of situations that we need in order to be our best and to become these healed attributes.
And it happens through living our higher self. And that self is mere awareness.
Dive in. I believe in you.

Time to think.
You bring handwritten
testament with mistakes.

I exist because
you were there. Between
sun and moon, there
was no controversy.

I was knitting
my life near hornets nest.
Words betray the anguish,
giving credit to hemlock.

Disempowered
in shadows, I become
my own rival to fight
green snakes.

In sleepwalking
you discover the blind
walls. All blood-stained skulls
start rolling.