if I should ever leave this town
I'll never change my ways to fit the plan of success
but rather use success as Play-Doh and mold it into what I want it to be
beautiful like the sea with wild waves crashing along with shores
or silent like the moon; forever following the earth with loyalty
forever holding the hands of the ones I love
never changing no matter who discovers me
no matter how many small steps for man or giant leaps for mankind may happen to occur upon the crevices of my very being
I will not crumble under those who try to walk all over me
but I will walk with confidence
and confide in those whom I love my deepest secrets
making sure that they become my diary
and "dear diary," I will say
and they will remain dear to my heart because I will end with "love always"
and always "diary" will now be synonymous for rock
for they will be the rocks I lean on when I’m stuck in a hard place
and when they're stuck in the grand canyon
I’ll be the rocks they'll grab on to, to climb to the top
and also the rope to pull them up when their hands slip
because you can only hold on to so much at one time
and I’ll also act as a backpack
and carry as much for them as I can
I’ll always have their back
because nobody has eyes on the back of their head to see what’s coming your way when you're not looking
a sort of "night vision" goggles for life
for the evils that they can't see
evil vision goggles for evils trying to evade into the molding of their very own success
and "dear diary" I will say if I happen to fail
maybe the Play-Doh was left out too long and dried up before the success was built
but sometimes tears can wash away the sadness, or bring back life to your Play-Doh
so it’s okay to fail and let your plans turn ever so frail
because you can be like the moon: loyal and quiet
but you can be like the sea too
you can reach for the shore again and again, trying to grasp your dreams with hands like liquid, salty from tears
and this can happen over and over until a strong wind or an earthquake in your soul erupts causing you to gain strength and take the world by storm
proving that you are more than a just follower
but you will still always follow your dreams

Khair choro ab rahney bhi doh,
Beetey wqt Ko jubaa pr aaney bhi doh,
Bhut Khel li Khel isq-mohbat ka,
Bachpan Ko jra zindagi se rubru honey doh!!

Bichurey saal Huey,
Na yaad hum aaye na tum,
Jaaney kaisey sbhi begaaney Huey,
USS gali se kyu anjaaney Huey!!

Sidhiyo pr chadhna seekha,sang mitti Mai girna,
Dosti ka mtlb ** ya pyaar ka fsana,
Hum sabney yhi seekha zindagi ka saath nibhana!!

Kya tum bhool gye wo yaadey,wo baatey,
Ghr jaaney ke raastey,
Barsaat Mai bheegtey,kichad Mai kudatey,
Bus ke pichey gulaab liye firtey,
Koi kuch khey toh whi adig ** jaatey!!

Kitni haseen hai wo yaadey, Bachpan ki baatey,
Fir kyu ek dujey se begaaney Huey,
USS gali se kyu anjaaney huey,!!

Khair choro ab rahney bhi doh,
Zindagi Ko Bachpan ki meethi yaado se rubru toh honey doh!!

To everyone else
I'm just a ball of play-doh
Stretched and pinched and pushed
To fit whatever mold they want

My family wants me
To be something I never will:
A nurse, a doctor, something with a large salary

My peers tell me
That being "cool" constitutes
Drinking, partying, getting high

And society shows me
Beauty is acquired by
Being inpossibly attractive, tall, slim

Don't they know that
Stretching play-doh too far
Eventually tears it apart?

I made a heart out of Play-Doh
Handed it to my son
Said I LOVE YOU
He gazed at it for a while
Then squeezed, poked, pinched, patted and rolled it
There was no sign of what it's original form was
But that's my heart
No matter how you treat it
It still loves you, beats for you and lives for you
Love you baby

You don't know strength until you have been a real ***,
You have no idea how deep this **** really goes,
Its not for the faint of heart nor you squares,
Too much of the game is not being sold but shared,
The cold breeze that chills your bones at night,
The dark eyes of other girls standing under the streetlight
They don't understand our struggle or see our strength
They only know the bad and try to stop it at any length
Yet we all share the same vision with similar goals
Inspired to stay down by his game that has no holes
We have all been given instructions to carry out fast
Breakin a trick make him give you his very last
Show him your down for him add it up
He will take care of your trap and stack it up
Every real 304 stands up when her folks is around
Every real p loves a real one who's down for his crown
Some say its silly to pay a **** your hard earned doh
But it races through our veins so when he sends me I go
Maybe I'm a dreamer and he is the merchant of dreams
And I am investing in our future crazy as it seems
But when he speaks I believe in the words that are spoken
And I make sure that I don't get too deep in my emotions
A **** is a born and from day one he is already game
To build himself a stand up *** and and get his fortune and fame.
So a message out to those of you who don't know
They say pimpin ain't easy but it takes true strength to be a real ***.

A child’s heart, torn apart
Fix it up
With Play-Doh
Numb from pain
Miswired brain
Patch it up
With Play-Doh
A myriad of colors
To cover your mistakes with
A selection of cupboards
To tuck away, the empty cup
Of Play-Doh

DP:  "I
I just
I just don't
I just don't know
I just don't know how to
how to.... to do this...how do I do this?"

DOH: " to do what?".

DP: "How I ought to deal with you".
" What is the kindest way to avoid drama....
To avoid the manipulation of self pity...
To save us both the indignation of an acting out?"

DOH: "There are at many ways to deal with me....
"nicely and neatly to avoid inflicting more pain,
directly and honestly to help you understand,
silently and patiently in hopes that you will find another to distract you,
sternly and without pity to engage your own sense of pride.
or....shall I remind you of the past and how difficult it was for you?
shall I simply give you increments of time to help you adjust?
shall I simply smile and promise to talk soon as I wave goodbye?"

DP: Or perhaps I should simply come to grips with the fact that you are in my life forever and thank God for you?
After all, who else would care for me as much as you? "

DOH: " Probably no one", and thinking a little longer responded, "No one can love you like me".

DP: "BUT YOU DON'T love me!"

DOH: "I don't? Hmm.... I guess I never noticed."

DP: "Perhaps this is true. But is it fair to do that, to take without returning, and how is it that you can continue to do that? Oh, who can answer my questions about fairness in relationships?"

DOP: You can, if you have the courage to face singleness."

Better stop and think, you should watch your step
be careful what you say, don't want to get me upset

just button your lip, no need to leave a tip
time to dummy up, go away now and get yourself hip

better pack it up, go live with your mom
the life i choose is a bit too strong

take on a wild girl like me, the kind they say many just hate us

a **** i couldn't give, hey boy i'm not your waitress

"I'm not your waitress"
hey, get your eyes off me
"I'm not your mommy"
don't touch me. cause i don't work for free
"I'm no not some **** waitress"
no oh whoa ...
"I'm not your inflatable dolly or sweet lovely waitress"


i'm sick and tired of your simple mind

can't you tell by now, you're a waste of time

dont push me around, the envelope you've stretched it


my name's not Natalie Step and Fetch-it

this kinda of scene is ill for mental health

you want something? then go get it yourself

take on a power girl like me, the type they say many only hate us

a crap i couldn't give, hey boy i'm not your waitress

"I'm not your waitress"
hey, get your eyes off me
"I'm not your mommy"
don't touch me. cause i don't work for free
"I'm no not some **** waitress"
no oh whoa ...
"I'm not your waitress"

i'm sick and tired of your idiot mind

cant you tell by now, to me you're a waste of time

dont push me around, the envelope you've stretched it


please dont grab at me or slap my hot **** ***

im not interested in you, an old poor white stupid trash

too bad, you look confused and so hungry fool

i wouldn't serve you well: it takes more than any money can do

listen up!

"I'm not your waitress"
hey, get your eyes off me
"I'm not your mommy"
don't touch me. cause no no no ... i don't work for free
"I'm no not some cheap waitress"
no oh whoa ...
"I'm not your missy prissy kiss kiss kissy  wa wa wa waitress"

fa fa fa fug-off jocko ****!

"I'm not your waitress"
hey, get your eyes off me
"I'm not your mommy"
don't touch me. cause i don't work for free
"I'm no not some **** doh doh waitress"
 no no oh oh whoa ...
...I'm not your waitress!

© 2009 david clare  clairvoyant music / BMI    all rights reserved

You know how the Lorax spoke for the trees? I feel the need to speak for my four-year-old niece. Not because she can't speak -- she can and rarely stops once she starts -- but because there are certain concepts time has yet to grant her. So until time does, I got you covered, Lucy.*

Mommy,
you call it the "poetry" of a child's sleep,
ohh 'n ahh, she's so, so sweet,
I call it child's "pose." Not the yoga neither.
I'm posing and rolling and cooing
biding time until you're tripping on the
Ambien retreating to a dream.
You're only reprieve.
'Cause when your *** is asleep,
I be mixing up the Play-doh,
red and yellow, black and white,
'till it's 50 shades of brown, alright?
Dirt pies from the backyard,
put 'em by the brownies
in the morning world-weary in your pajamys
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."

Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?

Over my shoulder, drinking from a thermos --
stumble in your step mean you gettin' nervous--
hand me piece of paper and two crayons
macaroni orange and swamp water liaisons
these coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
These coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
"Color outside the lines, eh Lucy?
don't play by the rules," my Mommy say,
but I been around long enough to know dat
'dese rules pay. Outside the lines?  Is just uh sloppy.
Been outside the club in front of the line
with my fellow shawties.
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."

Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?

Chicken and fries three meals-a-day.
Chocolate milk three meals-a-day.
Tricycle boys three wheels away.
Hands on your hips can't make me stay.

Lego blocks lodged in your skull.
I've hid the Advil. The Dayquil. Drank the Nyquil though.
Alright, alright, time to get confessional.
All my ***** accidents are intentional.
I melt my own Barbies to feel alive.
Snort glue sticks just to get hella high.

Mommy, you've got a messy ketchup face.
Mommy, you've got spiders in your hair.
Mommy, you've got ***-*** on your pants.
Ha. Ha.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Bi-otch.

Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?

doh re mi fa so la ti doh,now that's a sweet melody
but when love turns sour,the chords get broken,melody becomes a felony
my mama said "son,be careful when anybody comes to say,'i love you' "
my heart bleeds from all sides,a result of the expression "i love you"

the taste of sour love is worse than vinegar
it feels like ur locked up during the winter in a prison in Siberia
i never wanted it this way but this love became like a subway
it cant be repaired oh no! even if the parts are on lay away

when love turns sour,everything goes down the drain
i gave much,too much but don't know what ill get
cold nights,slow music,thoughts of what should have been in my brain
they told me love doesn't last,i shouldn't have made that bet

when love turns sour,you get a heavy heart on a skinny chest
its 50/50 fighting for love is like playing with the dead man's chest
still yet i'll take my chances in this Russian roulette
i tried so hard,but still my forehead got the bullet

this is what i get,mending the holes in my heart
i cant fight this alone,i tried,i tried :(
broken hearts,thoughtful heads,solitary lives,fear to commit,insecurities are all you get
WHEN LOVE TURNS SOUR

Arm gooin' daàn me muvva's
An arm gonna goo by buz
Cos me feet am bloomin' urtin'
An I aint got me an oss

Then arm off to ave some bevvies
An arm gonna get kaylied
If yow'm in the Jolly Nailor
Then arl shaàt ya one inside

Doh goo bein' a soft apeth
Doh goo doin' owt thats daft
Cos when yow'v dun ad' a skinful
Then yow know yow just get saft

If ar doh see yow befow'r yow goo
Arl see yow on anon
Cos arm kippin' on the sofa
Raànd me mums aàs back up um

Some people think that as an
Adult
I can be a tad rough
Rock solid skin
But as a
Child
I was exponentially
Worse

Kicked
Screamed
Cried
Teased
Scratched

A walking terror
My father deemed me
"Crab-Apple Lynn"


The neighbors would
Whisper
Of that horrid five-year-old
Girl
That would push and
Tackle
The boys down the street

And on the night
That I kicked my
Brother's friend in the
Groin
And he tumbled
Down the stairs
Word spread like
Wildfire
That Crab-Apple
Had struck again

Notorious bully
Walking with balled fists
Kicking over Lincoln Logs
Smashing Play-Doh sculptures
Sneezing purposefully
Spewing out green phlegm
And wiping the boogers
On fellow peers
Half-grinning
At their cries

Feared by all
But respect
Was the one thing
The miniature version of
Me
Could not earn

And despite my youth
Despite the over-sized chip on my shoulder
Tiny me
Found a way
To flip around
Turn a leaf
Turn a page
Turn a head

Completely change
Altogether

And suddenly
Crab-Apple disappeared
And Sarah grew in
View

It was as though
Somehow, someway
The little me knew that

Fear is worthless

I sit and watch a camel train go by and as it limps across the pale blue sky,shrouded in the clouds,I wonder if I could get upon a camels back and track along,could I learn the camel drover’s song?
A ditty,not so pretty,more a humpalong than any song I’ve ever heard with words that I can’t understand,though familiar in the camels land up in the sky,
Where I watch them going by.

Hip ,hop, clop, clump being a camel gives me the ****,how I wish to be a fish deep in the sea,like a whale.
I like a scale,a doh, ray, me,as far as I can see I’ll be a camel all my days and wander through a desert haze but my gaze is fixed as I roam free, on a cool and clear deep ocean sea.

Once,
I was a little thing until I grew and learnt to sing and now I don’t know anything,except
I want to be free,a fish in the sea,won’t some kind body please untie me,slip the noose and then un-sky me,set me on the coastal road,with my ****,without my load and let me smell the ocean breeze and slip into those lovely seas.
I want to be free and this you can see,before the clouds all break apart and with them goes my breaking heart and you could at least pretend to start to set me free.

there's this common consensus among the irish
in england that they're the big fish,
the shark migrants, the ones who say
do to other migrants, rather than be, among us;
for example? they take poles to be (holy) fools;
oddly enough irish arithmetic doesn't really
spawn in other ethnicities too well,
unless of course it's an arithmetic for the
number of pints of Guinness you drink;
funny to reduce a civilisation to a pint of beer
as the civilisation's biggest input for the world
to see; walk into an irish pub donning a little
german flag on your arm and you're immediately
courted with a sing-along-song with the words:
i can't serve you: i've never seen a people
so adamantly proud to have been colonised
when uprooting others who were not:
a shamrock of honour no doubt.

christianity was adopted by the roman
empire, for the jews and the romans
shared an aquiline physiognomy,
in rude terms it's also called the Gaul Nose.

let's see... what else? ah, there's this problem
about the criticism of communism,
after all, western europe (inc. sweden...
huh? sweden?! sweden was neutral!)
was given the marshall plan bail out,
e.r.p. monopoly money...
eastern europe wasn't given that option,
it was given communism, a higher
bidder took offer, the jew said of the slav:
make him proud; of the german? not
so much proud but in a chicken house
of glass and cubicle, offices of paper lifting
mächtigmensch: in fifty years time,
having lost momentum of the industrial
revolution, exported everything to china
(unlike american national capitalism
china's national capitalism is subtler,
just a little tag on a shirt: MADE IN CHINA,
but... designed in caulifornia, the white brain
state), they'll be left with a recurring mid-life
crisis having to brand each life, sell it,
exhaust any chance of entering dialectics,
spewing out opinion after opinion after
even more opinion, basically taking out
a mortgage on an interesting life, and that'll
be the end of it... the advertising boys and girls,
by-products of a New Age Iconoclasm,
not with images, like St. Jerome hunched
or St. Francis of Assisi begging for birdsong
translations of the dove's descent
onto the head of John the Baptist...
New Age Iconoclasm, you see it everywhere:
usually with a trade-mark and a copyright...
New Age Iconoclasm examples?
Coca-Cola... Pepsi... MTv... Levis... Apple...
TM TM... COPYRIGHT FM....
the only damnable thing not ready for nostalgia
concerning former communist states...
well there was poland under the martial law...
a satellite state gearing up to either civil war
or the empire of the warsaw pact (z.s.s.r.)
1981 - 1983... terrible times... but not communist time...
now everyone wants socialism...
food banks in england, migrants in shanty towns
in france... germans being very courteous (hmm),
greeks throwing falafel into turkey,
spain the gem of south america frozen...
all in all, every european frightened of federalism
that cripples u.s.a., no european wants federalism,
no european wants to be bleached into speaking
*klar englisch, centuries of differences done in
conglomerating over the course of a few decades?
madness! no one wants to be like the scots
or the irish or the welsh... who simply say...
aye, buts wee 'ave an accent...
indeed, all you have is a historic insinuation
to what your tongue used to speak,
before the great kabbalistic anatomists
told you to always speak with your eyes open,
rather than sometimes closing them, and speaking
using the kabbalah to see the mouth's anatomy
of the 20 and above organs, including the main one,
the tongue, the brain of the mouth.

p.s. there's only one aspect of kabbalah that
seems dumb from the start,
akin to being pulverised by too many
maxims from philosophy,
and thoughtlessness of the oriental aversion
to think anything that might create
a self in transit...
it's numerology... i've never understood
a point of it, from such a methodological
investigation of phonetics with the
scalpel that is the tetragrammaton,
in order that alpha bravo charlie dumb-dumb
could not exist to stress clarity of
pronunciation / so that bravado would
not be investigated using linguistic cryptology,
as noted via: bruh-vah-doh / brəˈvɑːdəʊ
to saying: a = 1, b = 2, c = 3...
and the words kept me going were represented
by 11 + 5 + 16 + 20, 13 + 5, 7 + 15 + 9 + 14 + 7
actually meant anything.

It's Shangri La on mescalin,
got no drugs
you don't get in
but paradise is just as nice drug free
at least you'll see
the fuller colours of your life.
believe me
it is true.
I once flew the underground with sounds of eagles in my hair but I realise now, I wasn't really there at all
but trapped behind the sliding walls and door of wanting just a little more than life could give.

I stand now,in some cool reception,waiting for that flash of inspiration,perception alters as we age,
two more words wrote on my page,
Getting wiser.

A life dedicated to serve both God and Man,
A Srilankan beauty with an Indian fragrance.
Came into my life like a sweet soft melody,
Teaching me the Doh, Reh, Meh of music and the depth of life.
A pianist, a perfectionist, a disciplinarian;
A teacher, a friend and a sister.
As I reached great heights and moved on,
You remained in the shadows like the wind beneath my wings.
The creator has called you back,
To enchant his paradise with your music;
Knowing that your memory will echo,
In every note of music we hear!

i saw a glimpse of you in that landscape.
it was painted with the colors of your time management
but sometimes you were too impatient.
i swore on biblical verses and too many shots that
you had skyscrapers for fingers and you knew
how to take the best out of me.
we shaped play doh into giants that would walk,
just to renovate and play god for a day since
sometimes we felt too little to even be alive.
we heard the top of buildings laugh,
golden cities never found a place in my heart,
but what do i know?
maybe we just tried to direct, reflect, dissect.
i can't pinpoint my points on your cork board
because there are too many ads telling me about
the things we lost, the moments
we left on the grounds, like low light second levels
and fish bowl blemishes on saturday afternoons.
your catholic boy demeanor, or lack thereof,
was nothing short of a misunderstanding and those who
had the time wanted the resources but those who mattered
didn't have the watch to tell them when to listen.
heart listeners don't show up and god only talks to
skyscrapers,
building off of what is closer when we all need
something to reach out to touch.
heart listeners negotiate by linguistics and wooden
tables,
mapping out the streets and yet
some of us just recycle the paper so we can start
all over again.
some of us just want to be a city,
beating hearts leading giants
to maybe someday talk to time.

When I met you, I never intended on dancing for so long.  Every year I’d think, “this is the last time I’ll ever see him”.  And I would get all weepy and teary-eyed as we sent the boats out for the last time, partially dismembered and covered in old, ***** tarp.  But sometimes, I swear, I swear, I’d feel some warped sense of

Relief.

Like I could finally send all my lust and desires off with you to another tomorrow, where I would not be.  Every year was your last year.  And every year I’d say, “this is the last time I’m ever gonna see you” and you’d say “don’t be ridiculous, we’re gonna see each other again.” And I, “How can you ever know for sure?” And you, “I just got a feeling”.  Okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly like that, it was much more poetic.  You’re much more poetic.  And I’d melt like play-doh in the sun when you’d look at me lazily with those sky, sky blue eyes. And wither at the thought of you leaving me forever, my sunshine warming my skin to reach and grow.

But then like the tide, you would always return.

And then it was back to those hot, hot summer days, sweating ***** and drug cocktails out of every pore imaginable.  And in this state, being expected to attend to all the ridiculous tourists looking for a boat ride around the Public Garden. Yeah, can’t say pedaling a two-ton boat full of gossipy annoying foreigners is easy.  But the work pays for my play, so it’s back to the old wooden dock once more.  To your irritable character staining the dock Fridays through Sundays, as if your unbearable hangovers were my fault somehow.  Bloodshot eyes behind those ridiculous J-Lo-esque bright green sunglasses you insisted on wearing.  That is, until they broke and fell into the swampy glittering water.  Which started another screaming match between us, ending in me pouring disgusting pond water into your open, snoring mouth.  Yeah, it was mean, but someone had to let you know that you were being an *******.  You threatened to throw me off the dock, you even pretended to try.  But when you wrapped your cinnamon arms around me, the last thing I had on my mind was fear.  

I can’t even count on my fingers and toes the number of fights we’ve had, the times I’ve made you desperately rip at your thick blonde hair to try and quench the fire I started deep in your belly.  The times you’ve called me weak and naïve, stupid, childlike, to which I’d say you looked like an angry leprechaun.  That one always hit you the hardest.  But when we’d be up in each others’ faces bellowing and screaming, the energy passing between us was of such crushing force I could almost feel myself being ripped toward you, like a magnet to metal.  I could feel myself becoming a part of you, or you a part of me, whether I liked it or not.  

Between the fights and the hangovers and the thick ****** tension hanging in the air like smog, there were the “good days”.  The Mondays, the Wednesdays, when the only thing tainting the air was the rich conversation shared between us.  Some days we would talk for hours on end, about anything that crossed our minds.  “What’s your favorite color?”, “You don’t really believe in the end of the world, do you?” and “How do you say ******* in Italian?”.  You’d laugh at my silliness and I would bask in your happiness, drink it in like sweet nectar from a flower covered in thorns.  And then your happiness would transform into my happiness, and I would skip all the way home singing.  And so continues this delicate dance we began so long ago.

Three years.

Three years.   The difference between you and I, and time past.  Time I’ve spent watching you so carefully as you strut down the dock, muscles contracting and relaxing in rhythm with each deliberate step.  I watch devoutly for the white of your teeth to greet the sun shining so brightly in the sky blue sky.  Sky blue eyes.  All mine, sometimes.  This time.  In my mind I am forever living in the moments we spent entwined together on the forest green bench at the end of the dock, soaking in the sunrays in a content exhaustion.  I am living with your arms around me, you teasing my hair with tired fingertips.  At night I can still see you swerving down Commonwealth Ave and nearly knocking me over with your drunken embrace, then simply placing your arm around my waist.  It fit so well on the small of my back.  The days when you would loop your arm through mine as we finally got out of work and we’d practically run out of the place, as if we were chasing the remaining day through downtown Boston.  I always, always go back to the times you’d put your face so close to mine, as if we were living on a single breath between us.  But I’d blush and shy away, embarrassed, ashamed for feeling anything at all.  

These days, I find it hard to decipher what is me and what is you.  It’s as if we have been dancing around each other for so long we have morphed into one body, moving and mesmerizing.  Our time together is coming to an end, and minutes that once ticked by so slowly race through my fingertips, sand falling through the hourglass in an endless stream.  Days fall off the calendar effortlessly in a final solemn countdown to graduation day.  Every morning is one more morning without you, another moment wasted with you so far away.  Every night is one more night swimming in my loneliness, choking on words I wish so badly to throw at you, so you can finally carry the crushing weight drowning me.  Soon I will go looking to dive into the pools of your eyes and you will not be there.  I know the day I walk on the dock alone is coming, too quickly.  And to rip apart from you now might destroy me.

So time continues, and I continue. To watch, to wait, to covet.  Three years and I’m still hanging on to nothing.  When will you leave me and never come back?

It smells like loneliness outside.
The smell of a hot dog on a grill after a storm,
mingled with propane and cigarettes.
The smell of solitary.

A string of “cold and broken hallelujahs”
no longer dulls the senses.
It’s senseless anyway.

I eat my brown rice in front of the sink
and I am reminded of the taste of Play-Doh.
It’s funny how loneliness creeps in on the wind,
the cars’ wheels in the rain,
the braking of the bus,
scuttling of squirrels...

Maybe a hot tea or toddy
(maybe something stronger)
will keep this autumn-ness at bay.

You are a money hungry hungry ***** you are
You just sit there counting your doh
You are definitely a money hungry
Money hungry ***** you are
You don’t care for the poor on no
You go into the country club
As the poor go to the pub
And after you say goodbye to your Mates saying I had a great day
The pub people are having a brawl
The poor aren’t free
But you are mate in that great
Country club
And that makes you are money hungry *****
Every day to go
You are a money hungry money hungry ***** you are
Enjoying spending money like wearing
Underwear
Money hungry money hungry ***** you are not caring for the little guys
Oh no
The poor head off to the football match thinking any seat will do
But as they get there the rich avoid the queues and head straight up to the members stand for a great view
What a money hungry money hungry ***** they are enjoying the match and the view
While the poor are fighting for the best spot and sometimes it can be a brawl when you go to a concert to listen to the lovely tunes you get your spot thinking it is good
But the money hungry ****** have found a better spot
In the middle in the box
With champagne and nibbles oh yeah but we have to sit there watching them be total total fools oh yeah
You are being pushed over by the crowd while they are sipping champagne it is enough to drive a poor man nuts
Come on mate move out of the way
The rich are driving me nuts
Money hungry money hungry money hungry ****** always seem better than you, you know **** them
I don’t care the rich don’t care about me I prefer to stay here enjoying being poor saying the rich have nothing on me

I AM A LITTLE BABY YOUNG DUDE, THEY SAY I AM A BIG YOUNG DUDE MATE

I AM SAYING, CAUSE I AM NOT EQUIPPED TO BE A BIG YOUNG DUDE

I KNOW I SAID I WAS A BIG YOUNG DUDE

BUT THAT IS WHEN I FELT NEEDED AT THE RAINBOW

ONE FOR ALL AND ALL FOR ONE, I WAS A LITTLE YOUNG DUDE, MATE

WHO WAS KIDNAPPED 3 TIMES BEFORE I WAS BORN

YA SEE THE WITCH DOCTOR STRAPPED TO A CHAIR, AND

I TELL THIS VOICE DON’T HASSLE ME, I AM A LITTLE YOUNG DUDE

AND THE WITCH DOCTOR, YOUR A BIG YOUNG DUDE, MATE

BUT MY MATE WANTS ME, TO BE A LITTLE YOUNG DUDE

BUT THE WITCH DOCTOR SAID FINE, TED BUNDY GRAB BRIAN AND BRENDAN

FROM THE WORLD, AND KEEP THEM *******, OR MAKE BRENDAN KID LEGS SHOW

TO SAY, YOU AIN’T A KID NO MORE, AND THEN MAKE BRIAN GRAB BRENDAN

AND IMPLY IT’S BETTER TO TIE HIM UP

AND I SAID, I AM KIDNAPPED BY TED BUNDY’S GHOST

I AM A LITTLE YOUNG DUDE, AND I SAID KIDS LIKE BRENDAN GET KIDNAPPED

LITTLE YOUNG DUDES, LIKE YA MATE GETS MUGGED

YOU GET TAKEN HOSTAGE BY THE GHOSTS OF TED BUNDY AND ED GEIN

AND I SCREAMED AND THE WITCH DOCTOR FORCED ME TO SAY

THAT I LIKE YOUNG DUDES ESPECIALLY ON TOAST

AND THEN STARTED SINGING A PILE OF JINGLES, LIKE

KIDNAP BRIAN AND KIDNAP BRENDAN, KEEP BRIAN AND BRENDAN IN OUR CAGES

KIDNAP BRIAN AND KIDNAP BRENDAN, KEEP BRIAN AND BRENDANH ******* TIGHTLY

AND A FREE RANGE VERSION OF THE DOSEY DOH, OH SAY DO, DON’T SAY NO

PLEASE KIDNAP MARK MARLOR, AND THEN I SANG EVIL TUNES ABOUT

MY NIECES, WHICH, I WISHED KIDNAPPING UPON THEM

LIKE KIDNAP CAITLIN KIDNAP CAITLIN SUSAN TOO SUSAN TOO

KIDNAP MY LITTLE NIECE CAITLIN, AND KEEP THEM BOTH *******

I AM NOT A PHEADPHILE, I DON’T WANT THESE VOICES, IT JUST CAME

AS I WAS BEING TOLD TO SHUT UP BY A DISABLED **** AT LEAD

I PREFER TO BE SINGLE, RATHER THAN **** THE UNDERAGE

I DISAGREE WITH MEN LIKE MY PAST, THAT ISN’T ME AT ALL

I LIKE TO BE COOL, YA SEE, I HATED WHEN MY FRIEND SAID GO AWAY

WHEN I WATCHED HER PLAY BOWLING, AND MARK WAS A TYPICAL GUY

AND THEN I WAS GETTING MY HORMONES GOING CRAZY

I AM NOT OR A PHEDAPHILE, I AM NORMAL, YOU SEE

I GOT HYPED UP ON THESE CRAZY VOICES WHEN I WAS WORRIED

MARK MARLOR WAS TREATED LIKE ME, WHEN HE STICKY TAPED HIS NICE KID

IT HYPED UP THE CRAZY CHARNWOOD AXE MURDERER, WHICH DOESN’T EXIST

SOME GUY GRABBED MY LEGS, BUT I GOT AWAY, ONE CHOIRBOYS CONCERT AT THE CHARNWOOD INN

AND THAT VOICE LEFT ME, BUT IN 2004, MARK MARLOR WAS KIDNAPPED BY THE SAME PERSON

I LIKED MARK, HE WAS FUCKEN RAD, AND I LIKE BRENDAN I WAS FUCKEN SICK

I LIKED PLAYING WITH MY NIECES, BUT I HAVE TO GROW UP

AND I WANT THE RETARDS OUT OF MY BRAIN, CAUSE I AM NICNAMED BRAINS ALLAN BROWN

TRIPLE B, IS MY NAME, PARTYING IS MY GAME

NOT 2 YEAR OLD PARTIES, TO, US ADULTS, ARE PRETTY LAME

MY DAD READ, THE STORY ABOUT KIDNAPPING MY NIECES, BUT HE WAS AN OLD FOGIE

BECAUSE, I WAS TRYING TO WRITE IT OUT OF ME, LIKE A COOL PERSON

DAD IS SOON TO BE, DAVID AND LISA’S CHILD, BROTHER OF LEO AND OTHER TWIN

GRANDCHILD OF JIMMY BARNES

DAD IS SAYING YOUR LIKE ME AND MUMMY BRIAN

CAUSE, I HAVEN’T GOT A JOB, AND I RECKON MY STUFF CAN BE WORTH A LOT OF MONEY

KEEP THIS OFF MY FAMILY, THEY WILL ONLY WORRY ABOUT ME

I WANT A BETTER LIFE, BUT WHEN I AM READY, I AM WORKING ON MY CHARACTERS

WHEN I GO FOR A WALK, I HEAR PEOPLE SAY, ABOUT ME

WHAT IS THIS ****** DOING, WHY ISN’T HE GOING HOME

I NEEDED TO REST, AND EAT MY GRAPES FOR MY DINNER

KIDNAPPING ISN’T PART OF MY WORLD ANYMORE

I DON’T HAVE ***, CAUSE I LOVE BABIES

I CAN’T ENJOY THE OTHER *** FOR PLEASURE

AND MY HORMONES ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY, DUDES

AS I HEAR MY MATE, SAYING, YOUR STILL GETTING TEASED, BUDDY BOY SONNY JIM

I SAID I AM A LITTLE YOUNG DUDE, AND HE SAID YOUR A BIG YOUNG DUDE MATE

CAUSE LITTLE YOUNG DUDES GET GRABBED, SO I SAID

I AM A BIG YOUNG DUDE, BIGGEST YOUNG DUDE AROUND

BIGGEST YOUNG DUDE, THAT YOU HAVE EVER SEEN

I PLAYED FOOTBALL, AND I INSPIRED BURKE AND WILLS

AND TEN PIN BOWLING I AM ****** GREAT

I AM A BIG YOUNG DUDE, BIGGEST YOUNG DUDE AROUND

THE BIGGEST YOUNG DUDE AROUND OH YEAH

I WAS READING LITTERATURE IN 100 YEARS WAR

AND KIDNAPPED BY A TERRORIST TRYING TO **** MY *****

AND I PREFER TO ERECTED ***** FROM BEAUTIFUL **** WOMEN

RATHER THAN MEN OR KIDS, PLEASE LEAVE US LITTLE YOUNG DUDES ALONE

i just turned 17 and i bought a ****** e-cig
off some guy in venice.
it squeaks when i try to use it
and the vapor scares my cat,
and i’m in love with this girl who tried it
while she was tangled up in my sheets —
she said she hated it but hey,
i just turned 17 and i can’t be the only kid
in this city who doesn’t need a nicotine fix.
on thursday nights i stand outside coffee shops
with the ones who smoke those reds
and blues and velvet blacks
that come in wooden boxes like fine cigars.
i hate that scene but i’m addicted to it
because i just turned 17 and everything
about me is being reshaped like play-doh.
my mom calls it impressionable, i call it fearless.
i just turned 17 and i’d like to think i’m not as insecure
as i feel, but i had to move the full-length mirror
out of my room and nothing i do counts
unless i put it on instagram.
i just turned 17 and that’s the age all the
songs are about, the year of dancing queens
and cheap red wine and sneaking through
the suburbs to get to your girlfriend’s house.
i used to think i wanted to see the world but
i just turned 17 and i can’t stop falling in love
with the city i live in —
you can’t see too many stars here but it feels
safer that way, like i’m less likely to float into space.
tethered is a good thing to be,
at least until all the different parts of me
finally get strung together.
i just turned 17 and i’m scared the nicotine
can’t hide that i’m just a work in progress.

yud say av gorra chip on me shoulder
if i adunett it
am from fukkn inner city liverpool la
an a won' letya fuggerit
yer posh scrans jus werds ter me
so gerrit down ya neck
instedda waxin lyrical abar it
coz a doh no wot ya jus sed

(20 minute poetry)

This day,
what day?
Monday
that day!

On my way,
the pilgrimage to
work,
It is a sacrifice
which I make
five days a week

and two days shall I rest
one more than God,
quite odd
considering we think
that he knew best
or am I mistaken?

If the proof is in the pudding
'let them eat cake'

we need no validation
for this is
occupation
an occupation,
the formulation of a man.

I wear my armour like
a decongestant,
am I not a contestant
sitting out the race?
spitting in the face of
evolution.

and who cares who wins
anyway?


(Wrote this on the way to work and promptly forgot I had) Doh.

Wake,
stretch,
give thanks,
stay blessed,

yoga is a daily meditation,
that always beats a head depression,

mix my asanas with vegetables,
but no pasta nah because I’m gluten free,
stay hydrated and celebrated because I made it,
out of the gutter and into the upper echelons of society,

now I practice Jiu-Jitsu,
with the Gracies in Beverly Hills,
now I’ve got beautiful guy friends,
and amazing lover girls,

see these hands and massage your tensions,
or they can choke you into submission,
I could plant a seed that gives birth to life,
or I could take a life away in 8 seconds,
we can give life and taketh away,
I’d say it’s all just a matter of intention,
and they say that necessity,
is the mother of all inventions,

shout out to Plato for coming up with that one,
as we mold our future like Play Doh,
see we literally made everything we have,
we are literally our own creators,

it’s incredible what we can manifest,
as cliche as that sounds,
see you are the Master of your own destiny,
you decide if you win or lose,

every morning is a new day and a new chance to choose,

don’t let Yesterday’s regrets,
hold you back from Tomorrow’s goals,
get rid of any addiction you might have,
if that addiction doesn’t serve the soul,

see maybe reincarnation is real,
or maybe it’s not,
either way you’re alive right now,
and right now this life is all you’ve got,

to live your life,
that’s why they call it living,
and give thanks before every meal,
as if every meal is Thanksgiving,

see I have a saying,
if you don’t thank God for your blessings,
then you’ll soon have no more blessings,
to thank God for,

so give thanks,
not only to God but to your friends,
and not only to your friends,
but also to your self,

stay focused,
be true,
and remember this is only advice,
ultimately it’s all up to you,

so what are you going to do,
what choices are you going to make,
are you going to be one of the Real Ones that shine,
or are you just going to be another fronting fake,

choose wisely,
and over all be good,
give thanks nightly,
remember to rest well,

get as much sleep as you need,
so you can awake refreshed,
pay attention to your dreams,
and let go of all regrets,

wake,
stretch,
give thanks,
stay blessed.

∆ LaLux ∆

New Book Is FREE To Read & Download Here: www.scribd.com/document/367036005

Men made from Play-Doh
good to go

steam punks in plasticine
a ******* for a dry day.

what a state we're in
deeply submerged
sunken in sin.

I need concrete
dry powder
underneath
my feet

but the sand on the street
is shifting

new forces in play.

Growing up's a bit like when giants chase you
it happens
and you never know what you're going to do

We do it anyway

Play-Doh
good to know
good to go.

During fermentation,
Yeast organisms
Consume sugars &
Produce alcohol, i.e.,
Yeast eats sugar &
***** alcohol.
Makes you want to go
Right out and get drunk,
Don’t it?
Donut?
Doh!

Yesterday, while waiting for a bus on the corner of Newbury Street
I found God.
She carried a burlap sack over her shoulder a map of the world in her right hand and a bottle of whiskey in her left.
She asks me where I’m headed and I tell her I’m running.
She tells me she is too
She says: “ It all started when I was a kid, I held the solar system in my palm and took the colors from the palette of galaxies and finger painted the Earth.”
I took something that was nothing and made it everything.
And every day since, this world has thinned me.
Asking too much out of something too little.
I fear the darkness that was created from the light I produced.
Some days, all my body can do is act like the Earth and tremble.
And in the deepest hour, my heart grew heavier than the sky that watches us all so I let it go.
I let the pain rain down like morning dew getting caught on people’s cheekbones.

I want to purify the air and our oxygen of all that is unjust in every atom.  
When I look into your eyes I see bigots,
I see sexists,
And killers
And I want to want to rid our days of the night but I can’t.
So instead, I hit children.
May they stay forever full of laughter and light
Of pigtails and play-doh and gummy worms and popsicle sticks.
white dresses and untied shoelaces.
In a world where guns double for dignity
Where love is a receipt
Where self-worth is measured by grade point average.
Dare not the dark fault their fair eyes.
Dare their souls not fall victim to the tainted being that is our sleepless nights and alleviated anguish.
When I look into your eyes, I see hate. But when I look through them, a see a child.
And so I lose myself on the bench of a bus stop on the corner of Newbury street.
Watching the world tumble down like a toddler learning to climb a staircase.
In my absence, the polluted cloud that makes its bed on our sky dissipates among the rain storms.
Should you run, you steal light from this fading life.

And I say to her
Show me how to be the bravery I ever so seldom see in the world.
I wanna lift bridges with poems
And I wanna lift poems out of my warm breath.

And she tells me

What rocky roads you have in front of you.
What hands you have yet to hold.
But I’ll tell you one thing
You’re already something
And something’s better than nothing
And that is everything.

Visage of an angel,
Just a mirage,
Lies from a stranger,
All a facade.
A halo, of play-doh,
Wings made of clay, no
One would ever guess this fallen angel's far from faithful.