Although flummoxed by the gabble of hibernaculum I seethe with the verdant quiddity that is a cross-pollination that spans the gamut of historical memory and owns the usucaption of infrastructure equipping our bootstrapped capacities of literacy tethered to the ecumenical capacity for proliferation through amplified discernment that percolates at decorative gallop into the stridor of unified apothegms that quantify the visibilia of the broadened universe into the nexility of formula bounded by the parameters that equip synergies of space-time to envelope its own reification and magnetize urbane freebooters of coalescence to grapple with the ineffable mathematics of absorbed losses in the human fraternity becoming overlooked because of the providence of shepherded acrimony to escape the oblivion of barely marginal exponential extinctions of impropriety into fast-paced panoramas of expedited dalliance with optimums constrained by the effluvia of hinderbaggle which exist only by domineering mercurial lability of manufacture enabled by the siphon of Promethean reason to catapult the slogmarch of advancement by punctuated achievements registered by canonical gravitas to revolutionize society in longevity and interplanetary awareness that places a 1000:1 premium on a 165 IQ in comparison to a 110 IQ. Although bewildered by the beaucoup of raxed originality the anoegenetic flux of slogan achieves but a petty solidarity in comparison to the galvanized bronteum of registered invention that provides decisively seminal locomotive prowess to the foisons of promulgated ingenuity propped up by the capacity for raltention that exceeds the inherent longevity of humans on Earth into the permanence of memory to achieve radical vanguard frontiers within diminishing frames of a once vapid time recorded only through the lens of finicky preoccupations of crude retention rather than the kinship of the perceptive unity of the authors who remarked on history to share the same vantage with the distant onlookers upon that very history with such a convergence of judgments the photons that trespassed on inquisitive eyes of inquierendo are the very same blueprint for the modern savory traipse with selfsame perceptions embedded in canonical history like the spool of an exact daydream unfurled before inoculated eyes differentiated by context but achieving the same visual footprint of historical lineament provided by the original exemplar. The luxury of our provisional prosperity is the unique ability to browse spontaneously a two-century travail of perceptible records embedded in the same perceptual rudiments captured by the original vetuda thereby enabling the specificity of prowess to vicariously encounter distant gulfs of time with the simultaneous realization of past becoming present tense because beyond the revisionism of the censors the human lineage originates in approximated design tethered to the aboriginal photographs and hallmark expenditures of celluloid digitized into annealed constellation to provide separate junctures in space time with the same indelible percept decontextualized but potent by showcase of the verdure of the generosity of shared perception rather than cleaved faint traces of divergent imagination conceiving junctures by distal lurches of insular harbors of private registries of tact and discretion without the shared raltention of the plevisable entities that populate the fragmented lineage of space-time to achieve full congruence in percept first and abstract eventually as neuroscience slogmarches with the nockerslug of invidious depredation of sanctanimity. Adrift in iconoduly sustained by lambent monasticism of abnegation we were lost widows of insular idiosyncrasies of similar concepts separated by the longevity of imagination redacted into communicable formula to ensure the divergence of impact of liturgies heterodyne by vast distances but linked to archaic designs that formed the paradigms which eventually merged with the wiseacres of Renaissance conserved in momentum over centuries into the information capital that forms the futtocks of the girdle of a womb matrix of society sustained by a newfangled uniformity of exposure that slowly churns the collectivism of memory and the syndication of the cartel into the ubiquity of prominent thorns of perception magnified by iconography of the megalography of historical permanence evasive of censors and embracing the entelechy of coherent perceptions siphoned by different engineers but arriving at precisely the same conceptual imprint thereby unifying the perceptual world with the usucaption of leveraged networking of browsers of antiquity. The finesse of leapfrogs of modern human impediment is to scour the reaches of the troves of the most vivid imagination and expedite the turnstiles of conserved rollercoasters of enthusiasm probed by the cadasters capable of castophrenia to syndicalize the autonomy of human perception sejungible from indelible vivid footprints of abstraction upon an interface of truly hard-won vehicles of transmissible abstraction to win the arduous relish of once a vacuum of infested instinct into an algorithm of an intelligent source that creates the precise conditions of parallax to seed through celestial hosts the flourishes of stereodimensional traces of permanent cadaster into something that elects beyond the ethereal snatches of oblivion the provisional apportionment of sentiment above continence to set ablaze the rarefaction of raltention and quantify the intelligible impact of one artifact of civilization over the constellated taxonomy of all apothegms within the divine grasp of a sublunary eternity revived and recycled into syndicated scrutiny that bows to a convergent entelechy of instantaneous improvisation of perdurable registry into indemnities that litigate the humorous quizzical trangams of vastly outmoded obsolescence borrowing from panspermatism of technocracy to the edgy appeal of scintillating horizons of peerless scope that approximate the ommateum of approximated omniety but never span far enough for the distant riometers to see for deputized galaxies to be evoked in concrete human-alien achievements sempervirent and virulent guardians of the toil of sensation to refract off of its overhang because of redundant upbringing to shelve the incendiary impediments of the chary into the corsairs of revelation beyond gamuts of lurch and bypassing elapsed regress to arrive at ceremonial progress to trespass upon many minds with a unified concrete hypostasized entelechy of a fielded incorporation of organic life into a manufactured cycle of the most prolonged and beatific longevity capable of digestion and implementation from the toolsheds of hubris accelerated by the vainglory of subsidized harmonies that break through the barriers of language to sprout convergence in direct opposition to entropy to achieve oculate ommateum.The opponents to the logical syndicalism of positivism emergent as the verdant drape of homogenized pasteurization of raw lavaderos that capsize swallock and devour consciousness with predatory mobilism is the tregounce of the ponderous imprints of recapitulated stupidity which is easy to quantify in terms of human rarity because the difference between a 130 IQ and a 155 IQ is a difference in ingenuity power than exceeds 25:1 or an even higher margin of liquidation of indebted concatenations forming the flombricks of capitalized language finessed into burgeoned growth to radically shift postulates into abstract precision that observes the flanges of the dominion of inculcation into the filibusters of gainsay that supersedes hearsay in an evolution of the dialectic to exert transformative esemplastic rejuvenation that transcends creed and ingeminates the festivity of spectacle with the alvantage of albenture to such an extent it predicates new modalities of persiflage grounded on the aggressive patented expansion of the noosphere to inherit the instincts of orthobiosis while simultaneously inheriting the flair of redoubled ingenuity swarming with the vespiaries of predatory discretion working to ***** out glaring beacons of sapience so that intellectual capital is a local rather than ubiquitous emergence because of the prizes of urbacity enhanced by systems of masonic creed that preserved foresight with varying degrees of exactitude knowledgeable about outcomes but incidental in creating those outcomes out of the alchemy of the convergent sphere of spacetime to curve to synclastic pancratic refinement realized in the taxation of the most domineering figures of canon to indoctrinate the inkburch of wernaggle while the panorama of peripheral obscurity adduced by the resourceful few provides the progeny for a seminal equation that encounters the quandaries of precise retention amplified by the synergies of language exponentially grown by the depth and breadth of lexicon siphoned through mechanisms of percolation seeded by the convergent progeny of hindsight meeting foresight to a truce in the elected interests of the filagersion of the spotlight highlighting a universe that only exists with self-aware reification rather than plodding animated instincts of a stagnant match with a slowpoke evolution that scrawls the gabble of the vacuums of faint oblivion knowing only pain, agony and brief felicity but never registered into ecosystems capable of enriching themselves with artifices of origination rather than vapid retrenchments of the stale vapor of the exigencies that plague the intellectually bereft with tertiary deskandent perfunctory desuetude outstripped by the parsecs of the 170 crowd who secretly orchestrates the think tanks that run the furtive cryptadia of regional governance with foisons of fruition realized as dividends of exponential bypasses of even a linear route of the streamline by warping time itself to a spontaneous entelechy that triangulates a warped trigonometry that fathoms what can only be mapped on an imaginary flickering plane of fluxed existence that achieves sub-Pythagorean travel by altering the vacillating distances predicated by the theory of relativity into shortened tracts of abbreviation separating the bridgewaters of locomotion from the vast lurking prowess of reconfigured geometries lurking beyond the shadowy grave of reconnaissance into the penumbra of conservatory refinement. The punctual symmetries of thermodynamic decay met with a conversant offset in reverse acceleration of thermolysis converge with the centripetal prism of annulment to make stalemates of atomic precision appear grandiose to the economic principle of leverage acquired by debt because the discounted cost of symmetrical approximations of sentiment, abstraction and the already syndicated unity of perception vastly scale the scope of the reach of the amenable universe to tractions bound more by eccentricity of parameterized volumes of competing hyperbolas of a warped unity of tugging forces spawned by the differential weights of a flummoxed calculus that provides obeisance in ecumenical uniformity that was absent by degrees through the tinkers of time to adjust the orbits of consideration by tilted warbles of the songbirds that swim in abysses reaching sizable celestial tutelage providing reprisal for quintessential crudity mapped into a syntax of evolved refinement amplified by conserved concatenation accelerated into mastery by the coalescence of new lexicon to probe conceptual space unchartered by the nexility of normal human conduct and therefore bound to a different pattern of evolution that is oleaginous to the engines of revved ostentation in intellectual prowess that is selfsame from the majesty of heaven because of preordained populace meeting transitory flickerstorms twinged with the irony of discursive disclaimer and discretion of disclosure of emissary vehicles that power synaptic vesicles to burst with signal strength harnessing the unity of conscientiousness into a coenesthesia that fathoms interdisciplinary bridges rarely exacted by the formulas of a more rudimentary mind demarcated in taxonomies of scope that are taxemes for unrealized entelechy bristling against the headwinds of doldrum rather than zephyrs of accelerated approximations of the enumeration of elaborate sveldtang into seminal traversals of the inhibitory grasp of narquiddity exceeded by the alacrity of provident discretion in apportioned judgment enough to parameterize vast distances with instantaneous wiseacres rather than rippled mirrors of faint simulations of simultagnosia bounded by the regional scope of subliminal etches of harnessed flombricks invisible to most aptitude measures of working memory but evocative of subroutines that flourish because of the cross-pollination of exasperated sapience clambering for a perpetuity of renewable raltentions conveyed widely and succinctly in indelible tacenda broached by the wisest sophrosyne inclinations to survive the onslaught of traditional nexilities that make obtuse minds hardened by slowpoke myelination and hidebound parameters of achieved convention recursive on reiteration but not expansive on the tracts of genius reserved for the asylum boundary between insanity of delusion and bountiful riches of harvested non-conventional imagination which sometimes pollutes the integral provenance of rapid conveyance. True transcendence is summarily defined as outpacing pace itself to visibly outfox the forsifamiliation of events perceived as distance sworn by the ability of the accelerated frontier to understand the vestiges of the outmoded to the extent redintegration can surpass with imagination beyond the tethers of quddity that narrowcast swallock but refine the space that distances itself from magnitude and achieves a limited vetuda that phenomenalizes the redacted plucky perjury of self-anonymity to identify a novel visibilia of characterized clarity only specialized to the extent the vast sphere of retention exerts a gravitas over footloose fragments of disunity to surpass the skeumorphs of the trailing bolides of distant comets to avoid by meteoric trajectory the lapse incumbent to E=MC^2 which guarantees implicitly in the barter of nebbich chalky rigmarole that the energy of refinement is an abstraction limited only by the coherence of marginal dumose decay to estrange inertia as plevisable from motion and thermolysis as sejungible in partition what cannot be summarily be filibustered by the succedaneum of shortchanged shorthand convenience of the credulity of those who perceive dynamism of delivery as an easily fudged quandary not restrained by the logarithmic slowdown of conservatory inseminations of panspermatism of invention. The riddle of the enigma of neuroscience that presides over classifiable qualia is that the outstretched rax of rectiserial reorganization must gradatim invoke spurious prestige to predicate the entrapment of narrative exponentially slower than the impregnated literacy of an integral harpsichord of mind to finesse the octaves so that sublime majesties become superlative ringleaders of seditious conventions embedded more by absorptive brocrawlers than expressive werniques. We must fashion an orthobiosis that is leniency embodied but plenitude outnumbered by the progeny of its sculpted riches for extravagant spools of tapestries of refinement to be the imprints of legacy compounded by the complexities of inheritance in lineaments situated in the context of overhanging specters and domineering prospects swimming by commonwealth acatelepsy in a maelstrom of revived gammerstang notions of impetuous apostasy benighted by the macroscian and macrobian spans of the captive capture of a Taylor Series of infinite expenditure assuming perpetuity that necessarily converges on organization because of conscientious reversals of entropy into ladders of betrayal against the hegemony of ******* over the synquests of hortoriginality that spurn the castigations inherited from its immodesty of permutation to fixate on global problems of intricacy ragged in salebrosity bereft of the marginal galvanization of hidden inquirendos into artifice contingent upon elapsed epiphenomena of compounded rigmarole resonant with a simplified system of hostage complicity to a least common denominator that belongs to suboptimal refrains issued by Procrustean forces against demassified parsecs of bounded limitations exceeding the volume of perceptible shadows recessive in the alleles of culture but eventually transmogrified into teetotaler totalitarian principles of grave gravities of tabanids to the aceldamas of territorial joust rather than annealed irony of the recidivism of the plucky thorns of percurrent but latent vehicles for oppression to swamp the lethargy of durative formation such that the hambourne atrocity of hambaskets of hinderbaggle grapple mostly with the adolescent excesses of milked pleonexia becoming the downfall of cagey imprisoned syntax bereft of capable constellation and thereby stranded in vagrant proclivities that net positive only in the rare grandeur of my formative axiom of the axiolative excesses of my recensed definition of transcendence. The vacant harbor of asylum of abiding auctions of flexible transistors of wealth is inherently a poolswap of attractive chocolate-box travestime of incurred wreffalaxity suborning the lewd machination of funneled flipcreeks to the commerstargall of incendiary glaciers basking in boardrooms of ataraxic placations of commiseration found in dynamos lamenting degraded embodiments of regaled regelation as seasonal flictions of submerged vanity vaporizing the wisps of whimsical bloated grievances of paltry imparlance to the defalcation of a filigree of mind only sustained by the steady churlishness of preserved relic hibernating in brocrawler pleonasm to grindole the welter of spates of vapid deceleration of successful vibrancy measured in the gamut of hues to exact a penultimate ruse before the finitude of the capstone of capers of fiat remission slick with glamborge of gallionic sciamachy prone to revelry in the cretaceous extinction of monochromatic mathematicization of gradgrind visagists toying with the treacle of blue-sky action billowed into toxic spurts of contrarian aggression of herculean appendages of hackumber providing the bronteum of recidivism to vanquish a righteous trajectory on a pause of Canada Dry conveniences sultry in daft hipsters of tilted stage grafting conclusion prior to rapport of introduced variables of poignant tethers of necessary succor for a desiccated bastion of hidden unspoken reach fizzling into trangams of obsolescence because of perennial inebriations that thwart strong character to scandalize a pinhoked vessel of conscientious objection to the radiology of centerpiece hapless forlorn arid squelches of the vibrant verdure of macrobian dumose shelter for reformatories that invent incidentally accidents otherwise precluded by the ommateum of wasted foresight guzzled on the premium of disaster for a showcase of verve going awry steamy with livid filagersion aimed with a reluctant enmity against the cagey headwinds of recalcitrance inveterate to the scruples of the otherwise unscrupulous who foist lewd licentious philandered paragons of philogeant mysticism to forefront cowcatchers that eliminate kumbaya rijuice of gridlock impressionism guarded by the sentinels of rambunctious destructive attempts to evict intellectual propriety from careens of subtlety barnstorming with polyacoustic nuances of differential gradients of vapid bastions of strident but backwards versamily froward and bountiful of Head Hunter specters rather than heaved recombinations of orthotropism wed with mangers of savory dilettantism of the lionized array of brooks branching into rivulets and the fluminous barnstorm of pelagic awareness interrupted by the finicky prevarications of piggybacked fair-weather allies who secretly fund the slander for the mainour of dirt fundamental to meteoric rises acclimated to dissipated moral vacuums of disbelief of evidentiary miracles among the jostle of scientific regency that slakes opprobrium to illiteracy while benefiting greatly from my perceived barathrum that is rather a crowning ravenous achievement of appetite above substance and distinction varied from prediction that my Titanic zalkengur spared from the unnecessary sacrilege of less accommodating curglaff to the metaphorical hypothermia of albatross in dramaturgy rather than a pause glowering with mastery against my jarred enemies preying on weakened reach due to preeminent dirges of inkburch and swallock to ravage my sanctity with a hyped stage without a starlet daydream fantasia spectacle that is calculated to upstage even in the coverthrow of intelligentsia against the plodding boweries of pestilential raving resentment absconding with elusive enmity rather than cherishing a true trident champion of the seized seas and the traindeque of emulated intellectual accordions of claptrap chockablock pedigree that outlast gallywow afflictions of rapacious venality tenacious to the detritus of constructive detriment building the ashes of effigy before I am dead and buried with the storge of perennial legacy rather than scandalous privation of the obolary tenets of desecration above reabsorption of mendicant bodges of the bodewash of freedom’s counterstrokes of maskirovka ineradicable and plenipotentiary wit deniable but legacy ineffable by degrees of exponential long-winded flambeaus of filagersion swiveling with recessive rubble in a crenellated fortress guarded with tripwire insubordination against cordslave dependencies liable to recurrent reproach rather than sustainable filigrees of electrified balkanization toxic to the aquifers of modernity streamlining Roman imperium. To this flajoust I owe eternal behest as the captaincy of time is not a perishable whangam of superstition an affront to a provident rejoinder of verifiable prestige because the curvature of time favors the ripple effect of magnetized reninjuble charms alerted to upward soaring skies of inevitable peerless dominion in the  perceived symphily of competing benevolence with a shared stake in Earthly pulchritude emanating a sworn allegiance to the best interests of philosophical enlightenment

"Striking the match across my thumbnail, it's too slow of an action to me. The sparks stay in the air for too long and I haven't taken a breath in what feels like hours. Snow White couldn't have done it better, she paved the way. You sleep with the enemy, you sleep with the rich, you tear your way in with a calming, sweet smile and they let you in, they always do. The match falls on the heap of limbs. 'Here comes the sun.' ~ Jade Day


DR. NIGHTMARE: Hello? Mr. Nino?

[Dr. Nightmare whistles and snaps his fingers twice]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Are you ready for the procedure?

DO: It’s not like I have a choice now do I?

DR. NIGHTMARE: You always have a choice Mr. Nino. Your very future lies within the consciousness of every decision you may or may not make. With that being said which choice do you think will effectively see that you are better off?

DO: Well neither you or I can predict the future so we might as well continue playing and see what happens.

[Dr. Nightmare chuckles]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Not bad for a young man such as yourself, Mr Nino.

DO: I try. Let us carry on with the procedure now shall we sir?

DR. NIGHTMARE: Oh, yes right. Please fill out these papers to ensure that we have your full consent to conduct any and/or all events of this procedure.

DO: How can I possibly fill out these papers if I am still restrained by this straight jacket?

DR. NIGHTMARE: Oh, how foolish of me to have forgotten.

[Dr. Nightmare then begins unbuckling Do’s straight jacket. He then removes the jacket and passes Do a check pad and a pen with multiple documents. Do then begins to sign them. Dr. Nightmare closely reviews the papers as Do is signing them]

DO: Okay, I’m done.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Great now if you’ll just initial here, here and here we will be ready to go.

[Do finishes initialing his papers and passes them back to Dr. Nightmare.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Thank you Mr. Nino. I’ll give you a couple of minutes to relax while I run and grab my list of questions. You may talk to AnaÏs while she performs a brief blood test on you.

NURSE YUCKI: Thank you, Dr. Nightmare.

[AnaÏs blushes with a slight smile as she twists both of her knees inward. She then walks over to sit in the chair directly across from Do. She pulls out her first aid kit and opens it. She takes out a lancet, some sanitary wipes and some gauze.]

NURSE YUCKI: Hello, Mr. Nino. How are you doing today?

[Anaïs opens a pack of sanitary wipes and begins wiping Do’s right ring finger. She then ****** his finger with the lancet drawing forth small droplets of blood. Do slightly winces in pain. Anaïs then places a small test tube to the test site in which his finger was pricked in order to draw blood.]

DO: Please just call me Do. I’m doing alright I suppose. How about yourself?

NURSE YUCKI: Thank you, Do. I am doing okay though I am quite tired. I have been here since five this morning and it is now a quarter to one.

DO: I can understand how that may be ******* you. Not everyone is a morning person.

NURSE YUCKI: Yeah, you’re right. The pay is great here though so I suppose it is worth dealing with.

DO: Yeah but is that ever really enough? Is that truly all that you want?

NURSE YUCKI: No, of course not. I have dreams just like everybody else. This job exists as just an in the moment thing for me. It is a means to get me by or as most people say “a leg up” in the industry.

DO: Those times are always the most trying.

NURSE YUCKI: You can say that again.

[Anaïs eventually finishes drawing blood from Do’s finger and places a couple of pieces of gauze to it and wrapped a band-aid around it. She then pours the blood sample into a slightly bigger and wider test tube and then places a top over it placing it along with the lancet back into her first aid kit.]

DO: Those times are always the most trying.

[Anaïs laughs. Do slightly smiles in return.]

NURSE YUCKI: I didn’t mean literally silly ha ha.

DO: Hey a little humor never hurt anyone ha ha.

NURSE YUCKI: If that were the case this place would cease to be a business.

[Anaïs and Do both laughed.]

NURSE YUCKI: I don’t mean to be a creep but I think you have really pretty eyes.

[Do was an African-American man with short, curly black hair. He also had dark brown eyes with his skin being the shade of chocolate chip cookie brown. He had a goatee as well.]

DO: Thank you, Anaïs. You’re honestly a lot funnier than I thought plus you are very beautiful.

[Anaïs was a white British woman with long, jet black hair and winter blue eyes. She had fairly tan skin along with a nice figure. She also wore black lipstick and had various tattoos.

NURSE YUCKI: Thank you, Do. So do you ha—

[The door to Do’s padded cell abruptly opens.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Okay, I’m back. Thank you for keeping my patient company Anaïs.

NURSE YUCKI: Oh, you’re welcome, Archie.

[Anaïs stomped very loudly as she walked away.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: I told that ***** I don’t like when people call me Archie in public.

DO: Well, that is your birth name is it not? Besides Anaïs is a really nice woman.

DR. NIGHTMARE: That’s like saying a ****** is a teething ring.

DO: So are you saying you have been sexless for six months or are you asexual?

DR. NIGHTMARE: Hey, who is the doctor here?

DO: I’m just saying. You may be inserting your tongue incorrectly.

[Dr. Nightmare ignores Do’s comments blushing out of embarrassment.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Well, if you are done fooling around we can begin.

DO: Let’s do it.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Okay, Mr Nino. Your first name is Do, correct?

DO: Yes, sir.

DR. NIGHTMARE: We already know your last name so on to the next question. What is your date of birth?

DO: August 2, 1990

DR. NIGHTMARE: Ah, so you’re twenty-three years old eh?? I thought you were like sixteen.

DO: Ha ha nope but I get that a lot so it’s nothing I’m not used to.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Where are you from?

DO: Springfield, Illinois

DR. NIGHTMARE: Where were you currently living before you came here?

DO: Cordova, Tennessee

DR. NIGHTMARE: Did you like it there?

DO: No, not really. I actually hate it there and am desperate to get away from there and move to a bigger city.

DR NIGHTMARE: Oh? What for may I ask?

DO: To take advantage of more career opportunities to achieve my dreams.

DR. NIGHTMARE: I really like where your head is at kid. Who were you currently living with before you came here?

DO: My mother along with three of my siblings, niece and nephew.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Do you get along with them at all?

DO: When I want to but even then it is just a feigned interest.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Where were you working before you came to this institution?

DO: I was working as a dishwasher and prep cook at my local pancake joint and bakery. The name of the restaurant is Love 'N’ Lust.

DR. NIGHTMARE: That title sounds intriguing. What kind of food do they make there? Do they pay you well for your services?

DO: We make all kinds of foods in the shape and/or imagery of sexually provocative thought patterns. Basically we make cakes in the shapes of genitals, *******, ***, etc… We do this for breakfast, lunch and dinner around the clock. They pay me $7.25 an hour.

DR. NIGHTMARE: I got to take my girlfriend some time soon. You get paid more to do that here. I believe the maximum is $15 an hour in translation from Euro dollars to American dollars.

DO: You won’t regret it sir. There are actually some of restaurants located throughout France.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Thank you, Mr. Nino. I’ll keep that in mind.

DO: You’re welcome, sir.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Do you have any passions, Mr. Nino?

DO: Yes, I do. As a matter of fact I have two passions. They are poetry and disc jockeying.

DR. NIGHTMARE: How long have you been writing poetry and disc jockeying?

DO: I have been writing poetry since November of 2008. I am only just beginning within the disc jockeying field.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What were you like in school, Mr. Nino?

DO: I’ve been to many schools doctor. I require that you be more specific

DR. NIGHTMARE: What was life like for you in high school?

DO: Well, I never actively made the effort to socialize with anyone outside of school simply because I was disinterested. When people would take part in extracurricular activities I would just ignore them and go home. I never even went to my own prom.

DR. NIGHTMARE: And why didn’t you go to your prom?

DO: Because I never had a date nor did I have the courage to ask one of the girls out

DR. NIGHTMARE: Well, I would tell you that I understand but I have no idea what that is like. In my day I was a ****. Everybody knew me. All the girls wanted to talk to me.

DO: Yeah, you’re not helping.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Nino

DO: It’s alright, doctor.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Moving on, what was your life like as you were growing up?

DO: There was lots of domestic violence and unwanted sheriff visits because my mother would always feel the urge to call the police every time I voiced an opinion that she did not agree with. I have even been in physical fights with her, my father, brother, sister and grandmother. I even splashed orange juice in my grandmother's face one time because she was ******* me the *******. There was the occasional use and profiting of the most popular drug at the time by a parent because my father smoked and sold drugs. He hung out with the wrong people a lot of the times mostly people who desired to buy drugs from him. Day in and day out deep down I feel that there are still some grudges floating around. My family won’t let me move past them nor will they let me forget about them. They always like to bring them up every chance that they get. I was also expelled from middle school at the age of fourteen for tossing my gym shorts at the assistant principal when she told me to shut up while I was talking. I felt disrespected and it ****** me off. I didn’t know what else to do. I also took antidepressants at the age of sixteen for crying out loud and when I was twenty I was mugged only just one week shy of my twenty-first birthday. It was a late night and I was walking home.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Sounds like you have had a rather rough life

DO: Yeah, well my life is not as bad compared to others.

DR. NIGHTMARE: That doesn’t matter Mr. Nino. It still counts. What was the name of the antidepressant medication that you were taking for you depression?

DO: I honestly don’t remember. That was so long ago. I’m twenty-three now. I’ll be twenty-four in the summer so that was nearly eight years ago. I do remember my mother making me take medications such as Stratera and Adderall for Attention Deficit Hyper Disorder.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What is your relationship with your family like now?

DO: I only talk to them when I want or need something like most people, but other than that I steer clear of them to avoid confrontation and drama. Drama never falls short in the Nino family.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Why do you think that is, Mr. Nino?

DO: Well, it’s just that when me and my immediate family members are in the same room together I can feel a significant amount of tension, hatred and anger coursing throughout the room. It makes me feel very uncomfortable so I just leave.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What do you fear the most, Mr. Nino?

DO: Abandonment and death

DR. NIGHTMARE: All of which are very powerful and reasonable things to be in fear of. What is your attitude toward the opposite ***? What was it in childhood and later years?

DO: I always took notice of the hot girls and the unbearably **** girls. I just never made the effort to talk to them because most of them ignored me or were stuck up and thought they were higher and mightier than me. In later and considerably more recent years my patience for the opposite *** has lessened greatly with each passing day. It has gotten to the point where I hate romantic relationships leading me to believe that they are a complete waste of time. Marriages are pointless as well. I would operate just fine in a No Strings Attached, Friends With Benefits or a One Night Stand type of deal. At least with those types of relationships an emotional connection is not at all required. I like *****. End of story. I get enough emotional connection through bowel movements.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Are you ambitious, sensitive, inclined to outbursts of temper, domineering, shy, or impatient?

DO: Yes, sir. I am very ambitious. I’m a poet so there is no doubt that I am sensitive. Yes, I do tend to have short, mild outbursts concerning my temper. I get mad when people cut me off or talk over me when I am speaking. I hate when people ignore me and I hate when I try to join a conversation and everyone acts like I am not there. It’s like can’t they see that I am trying to be apart of the conversation. I mean even when I try to socialize and make friends they fail to realize it. It is all alright though. I have learned not to give a **** anymore. Honestly, it is the best way to avoid any drama in life.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What sort of people did you physically allow yourself to be around you prior to arriving at this institution? Were they impatient, bad-tempered, or affectionate?

DO: Affection was far from the equation, doctor. I was around a lot of impatient and bad-tempered people. When I speak of these people I speak mainly about my family, but also some of my co-workers as well. They drove me incredibly insane. I would often go home depressed and dreading the next work day.

DR. NIGHTMARE: How do you sleep?

DO: Most of the time I find it difficult to sleep. I frequently watch Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response or (ASMR) videos to aid in me that and so far it has worked exceedingly well.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What dreams do you have?

DO: I rarely have any happy dreams I’ll tell you that. Most of the dreams I have are of running down dark hallways, chasing shadows, jumping off of cliffs and being unexpectedly attacked by random strangers whether it be physically or verbally. I also tend to have a lot of dreams where I am screaming my head off at the people surrounding me in the dream. I even go so far as to push their heads back a little with the palm of my hand. I was really mad in those dreams. I have a lot of mildly terrifying as well as psychotically depressing dreams. I also tend to have dreams about abandonment.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What illnesses are there in your family background?

DO: Well both of my grandmas are diabetic however one of them has been deceased for six and a half years now. She was English plus she had struggled with breast cancer for years. One of my sisters has been diagnosed as bipolar. I believe I may be bipolar, but just undiagnosed. I am allergic to penicillin. Both of my little brothers have asthma. One of my brothers is allergic to peanut butter.That’s about it. My father has problems with digesting solid foods. I don’t really know all that much about the history of my family’s mental health. There was one time when my mom called the cops on me when I was sixteen. The cop although unlicensed said that he thinks I may be schizophrenic. I didn’t believe a word that he said back then, but eight years later I am now starting to realize the justness of what he said and even starting to believe it.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Have you ever had ***, Mr. Nino?

DO: No, sir. I have not. I do think about it very often though.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Do you watch any **** at all?

DO: Every night.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What kind of **** do you like to watch? Do you have any fetishes?

DO: I like to watch female bodybuilders workout in the ****, I also like to watch regular girls fool around in the **** as do most men. I also enjoy watching lesbian **** as well. My fetishes are women with muscle. I’m talking large muscle mass from the neck down. It just gets me so hot. Another fetish of mine and don’t tell anyone this, but I like to watch women take dumps in the toilet. I don’t however like actually seeing the feces. I only like to see them sitting on the toilet while doing it and hearing the sounds. I do not like seeing what is going on underneath. Other fetishes of mine include women with tattoos, tall women, and also slightly psychotic women though intelligent women.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What are you hoping to get out of these sessions and procedures?

DO: I just seek to be happy again. That is all I ask. That is all I want.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Well this concludes our interview, Mr. Nino. I will run to the lab and decipher you

He build me up only to tear me down
With words that hide behind a laugh, "I'm only playing"
But I can see through you and feel what you're doing to me
Breaking my confidence, my strength
Questioning my character
And for moments you had me
Under your manipulation
Consumed with the gratification when something was pleasing in your eyes
Inside I become wary of what I might say and how it'll be perceived
I can't live up to your perfect "image" of what a woman's suppose to be
The truth is it's too exhausting pretending to be okay
That somehow you'll change, when I've been exposed to your true self
The self that finds fault with almost everything
The self that refuses to love blindly
The self that is domineering, controlling, deafening
The self that is cold and calculating
The Narcissist in you

outgoing?
I'd say outspoken
never been arbitrary
or overbearing-
just vocal

my passion runs deep
and pours out
excited
overflowing
when it finds
another soul to share it with

the energy
others direct towards me
I absorb
and like a mirror
reflect it back towards them

the energy
that rests inside me
is like water
waiting
for an outside force
to heat me up
excite
my molecules
or
to cool me down
mellow
the chaos inside me
making me stable
making me solid

if being an extrovert
makes me
popular and
domineering,
a fun-loving,
party animal
who lacks introspection,

tell me why
I always choose
to isolate myself

why
my few friends I do have
I keep at a distance
except when I force myself
to enjoy their company
once or twice
in a year

why
I am easily talked over
my words drowned out
ignored
like background noise
my input
apbrubtly halted
as others drive over it
making it no more
than the dust
their tires kick up
why I let them
talk over me
rather than raise my voice

why I would rather
read in solitude
than go to a party
or play a video game
rather than socialize
why
would I choose
to ponder existence
over
existing with others

extroverted
means I get my energy
from external events
rather than the internal

I am not a synonym
for gregariousness

By: Cedric McClester

Judging by the way
It’s now appearing
Looks like the lady
Wants  a hearing
Even though their deadline
Is swiftly nearing
And old white men
Are often domineering

There’s two sides to
Each and every story
Theirs and the truth
Then there’s allegory
Now you can disagree
But you can’t ignore me
He might cop a plea
If he wants to bore me

She’ll be accused of
All kinds of lying
As he prods along
Patently denying
That anything happened
Way back then
You know how it is
Men will be men

How it’s gonna wind up
Is anybody’s guess
Although he should be toast
More or less
Cuz his confirmation’s turning
Into one big mess
He should be withdrawn
See it’s no contest










Cedri c McClester, Copyright © 2018.  All rights reserved.

cackle sublime savagery
in domineering supremacy
a knee repletes successive concussions
and by viscous absurd petulance
crack this gourd, thought bearing toothed
                                                   i
                                evol
                    ot
  hurt
               uoY,,,;

The day crept by; we all held
our breaths.
Tip Toeing on egg shells,  
doing our collective best.
Attempting only forced
politeness and meaningless
small chat.

While avoiding the family elephant in
the room, our father's painful history
of attacking his kid's many faults and
failings, with his long history of aggressive
verbal abuse.

The tree was lighted, the room gaily
decorated with all the colorful Christmas
props of our childhood. Mom cooked her
best guess of each of our, once adolescent
favorite foods. My two sisters, my older
and younger brother and me too.

While Dad bit his tongue and tried to stay
hushed, as Mom had pleaded for days for
him to do.

Half way through dinner and a few Hot
Buttered Rums, the small talk turned serious,
and just like that, we were all truly back
home again.

Grown adults quickly reduced to sniveling
petty children sitting at their curl and
domineering Father's dinner table.

Old wounds opened and bleed upon Mom's
best-treasured table cloth. Food grew cold
for lack of interest, eyes flared and oaths of
profanity mingled with cheery Holiday Music
on the stereo.  Belligerence ensued and the old
man raged as one by one he verbally listed his
disappointments, at each of our many collective
faults. A string of loud insults and accusation
were exchanged and flung liberally about in
both directions. 

Judy's new husband took a swing at Jason for
reasons unknown, and the women protesting
their loutish behavior, separated them.

Earl and his small clan fled out the door and
drove straight back to Emeryville with not one
word of goodbye having been uttered, leaving
his kids Presents, behind unopened.

In tears, Sandy ran back up to her old room as she
had always done to escape, only to discover, that
it had been turned into a "Home Office/Sewing Den."
All her things gone to the Goodwill or garbage bin.

Dad went to the cupboard and got his bottle of
Scotch and the rest of us all quickly adjourned.

Mom started to cry and never quit.

The Dog Days of Christmas had recommenced,
and all the Kings horses and all the Kings men
could never put our broken Castle together again.

I donned my helmet, swung a leg over my Hog
and headed for the mountains, leaving Christmas
and all of them in my rear-view mirror.  

"Peace on Earth and Good Will Towards Men",
does not work for everybody friend. Hopefully,
maybe next year, we'll try it all again.

She stole her own joy played it close to the vest she gave new meaning to the idea of being straight
Laced she was controlled even to the point of obsessive as an observer looking in you came to this
Conclusion and this picture was formed in your mind she lived in a small cube not quite a cell but the
Shadow of bars were cast on the floor and she did pace like a person does in a cell but when she slept
She went from inhibited limitation to the large expanse from dismal to the ornate elegance it was her
Dream lover the illogical prisoner of her own design it was through his presence his style in commanding
A domineering grand elegance that was the first tender sleepy voice that spoke freedom into her rigid
Trap of unhappiness it was the breaking in upon and surprising the lovely creature she was capable of
Being she arose in this sleep walking existence her gown was off the shoulder her shoulders and arms
Was the flash of femininity her woman hood each move of her dance was perfection the lines were
Impeccable these grand rooms held her framed her in grace his words still was her guide he called to
All that is women she answered as only someone who is newly free that was part of the magic but only
A small piece because the real show was how she released secretly those moves of loveliness the
Stunning spectacle of grace she portrayed made the great chandelier seem quaint in comparison
It was outshined without light but her form was electrifying and the central theme was you are seeing
Mythology drawn down legendary quality in stilled in my being the sum total of longing to even brush
Past you incite pleasure want to see man complete look no further than woman the dazzle the invite
Spoiled bored lifeless until she walks she speaks truly dreamlike scenes splash and flow out into the
Distance you get to inhabit them but they are not dreams they are real you are a prince there is a lot of
Truth about her kiss can change a frog into a prince want to experience what this piece is talking about
Go to your beloved she has to be prompted she only needs your suggestive word it will open her cell
That life loves to create in lives she has fallen into the trap that she is no longer attractive exciting trap
Rhymes with pardon me crap I could continue explain the full proof plan but I don’t need to just be the
Impetus reorder your own mind just be the man of her dreams and get out of the way because a
Butterfly a swan will emerge from the shadows and partially blind you and yes a little touch of madness
Will grip you bliss always has that effect a gift stands before you how large it will grow is up to you be
The romantic counterpart and I swear you will see the very mist of Avalon and all that goes with it the
White charger her head wearing a crown its lies below the outer woman it’s within her soul speak magic
Prince and a royal life will be yours

You find yourself in a strange street somewhere, a busy street of a big town or city
There's people going around about their business
They pass you by paying you no heed
You'd think you'd feel lost, an outsider here
But no! You don't,
You've been here before
And what's more you seem to know your way around
And there's this wonderful excitement inside of you
This delicious expectation of something
You know there's great delights to be had here.

You seem to know exactly where to go
You turn off the street into another and walk a short way
Then there's another street with some shops
And there's this one particular shop
Outside it's not much to look at
Even inside there doesn't seem to be much going on
There's other people there but you're not interested... you're not even curious
It's like you're on autopilot
You walk right up to the counter
And the lady comes over
And you whisper "I'd like to go in the back please"
It's just like a Speakeasy
She tells you to wait, to take a seat for a second, then she disappears
A few moments later a door opens over at the side
The lady is standing there, she beckons you to come over
You go and suddenly there's this long hallway/corridor
You go down it and there at the end
It's the Salon !

You can ask for whatever you want in the Salon, whatever you desire
And it's all... it's all totally free
Suddenly you find yourself in a room
There's a beautiful lady there
She's naked and she's smiling right at you
Then you realize that you too are naked
She comes up to you and caresses you, she's so soft and gentle
You can feel her touch, feel her body pressing against yours, and then she kisses you
Her tongue in your mouth
It's like licking an ice cream...an ice cream cone
She's so...so sweet
You can really feel her like she's something... something totally real.

(I remember when I was younger I used get these nightmares all the time
There was one and it was like this claw around your throat suffocating you
You'd have to really fight it, make an almighty effort to wake up, to escape it
It was something real, a force you had to fight, you could really feel it
The feeling in the Salon, it was similar but it was like the opposite of that
Instead of being something threatening it was something wonderfully pleasurable and thrilling).

She's so amazing, so soft and so gentle
You start to get aroused, it's like a lovely energy running through you
Like a wonderful slithering snake, so pleasurable
You feel like laughing at the joy of it all,
Normally now you'd come to a ****** and that'd be it over
But this time, no! this time I suddenly stop her, and I start to talk to her (I find I can talk to her)
"You know", I say, "you're so beautiful, so gentle and soft and kind
You're too good for the likes of me, I don't deserve you
Where I come from, I haven't met many really nice girls, not like you
It's always been like a battle, the Girls I've known,
They run you down, rip holes in you
Talking loud, trying to shock you and embarass you, control you
Have one eye on you, the other on their gang behind you
Their in no way genuine
You're nothing but a plaything to them
And y'know... it's all I've ever really known
I've never met any...any soulmate
And what's really sad is now I find myself gravitating towards those kinds of women...
I mean the cruel heartless ones
Why...why is that?

Me! I'm like that song "I don't know what Love is (I want you to show me)"
I don't know what real Love is, I haven't the faintest clue, the faintest idea
Hell! I don't even know what a girl, a woman is
I never had a sister and when you don't have a sister
It's the media, the world that tells you what a girl, a woman is
Their just pretty faces and nice *****, lovely legs and shapely bottoms
Then I look at her and I ask
"You don't have another more strict, more harsh severe kind of Lady
Some demanding imperious black leather clad (or rubber clad) *****
Maybe some superior cold aloof glacial goddess type,
Or what about a beautiful black booted stiletto heeled nice blonde **** girl, beautifully cold and merciless ?"
With this she gives me a knowing smile
"I know just what you're looking for" she says
Then she brings me to a room and tells me to wait there
She smiles when she's leaving me and there's so much in that smile she gives me
It tells me I'm in for an amazing time.
When she's gone I think to myself
"Well, this is a first, this never happened before
Now I'm gonna meet some awesome formidable lady, some terrible haughty domineering Queen
Y'know she might even talk to me, I might learn something
She might tell me why things are the way they are.

Anyway I'm waiting there pacing excitedly up and down the room
I can hardly contain myself
I can hear voices in the next room
Suddenly then, right out of the blue, suddenly this Bell goes off, yea! this bell starts ringing
What's that! I think to myself, Is there a fire! Are we being raided !!! What's going on ?
So I look out the door and there's this girl talking to another girl down the hall, their smiling and laughing together
They seem oblivious to any bell that's ringing
What the hell, I think, what's going on, that's really annoying
What's... what's that Bell ?
Eventually my eyelids, they start to flicker
Until finally they open up altogether
I find myself lying in my bed and my alarm clock on the bedside table... my alarm clock it's ringing
"Feckin', feckin' alarm clock!" I think to myself,
"Now that's what I call... that's what I call Bad timing".

Love's not better, the second time around,
not with you at least, in quick time I found;
you hadn't changed your frame of mind,
you were  too ruthless and still unkind.

The years had only made you bitter,
the time you had with me, you'd fritter;
I had more good things to say and do,
than moan and whine or compete with you.

My one divorce for you was not enough,
you still remained embroiled and rough;
so you caused me to go and make it twice,
because your love to me, it wasn't nice.

I only wanted for you to meet me halfway,
but for you, there's only one ****** way;
you wanted to be the domineering one,
well now the place is yours...have fun.

But don't expect to see me anytime soon,
can't stay with someone crazy as a loon;
love's not better the second time around,
not with you at least; that much I found.

Put this matter with trowel and ***,
Into the dark and fertile ground,
With each hit, he loosed the soil
A once happy man thou condemned to uselessly toil  
His claws, cracked and broken shells
Jaundiced with the duty long days that did require
Lamed by grief and forced to work
Here, till the end of days, within this garden, this mire.
Deep does a ****** live here, past the clay and bedrock
Like the pride and valor and resolute spirit of the domineering ****
Or so her mien, it does beget
Or some other erroneous sentiment
That she, not he, were to bear this labor.
Within the ground, he did remember, in his spritely youth,
He planted, and thought none of, but a seed,
Into this verdant splendor, which bore that infernal ****.
And, thence, thereof came a fruit,
Of malignity infinite,
All the while it poisoned the ******’s white and water’s pure,
As its eerie little spines proceeded to take root.
Her garments poised to emulate white, instead
The ******, to him, had lost her white
Or never had white at all,
The ******, to him, had lost her white,
To him, the ****** was dead.
The fruit and seed, effulgent and pretty, to those who saw them bloom
Attractive were they so to them, irresistible to behold
That they, to him with great chagrin, did immediately consume.
“But the ******,” he cried. “The ****** has poisoned them!”
Yet they continued to eat.
“We do not believe you,” they replied, and slept ceaselessly on their feet.
One by one did they all collapse from the toxin of its juice.
The ****** watched and laughed, of caution was there no use.
Powerless and sullen, he stood, for remedy was far passed.
The ******, now regarded with delight,
Has he, poor, poor man, to tend to his blight.
The garden gone, its cleanliness perverted,
His words were ignored, and thrown wayside,
His admonition he so heatedly asserted,
The ******, her words never to be trusted
Had won over the people, whose homes she sought to entreat,
And with her rite, so treasured, so adored,
They enslaved and force him to his mire, to tend to the rag and filthy lands
Where he would remain with the garden
His words, his skin so like the sands

I thought you cared for me
Because, your words had always conveyed that to me
I was supposed to be your best friend
However, our relationship, you decided to end
You said you were my sister
But you left me feeling rather bitter
Because you cared only about yourself
And left me hating myself
For something as minor as a Facebook comment
Never did you have any good intent!

I thought you cared for me
But it was never "we"
It was all "you"
Our friendship had no value
Because you were obsessed about yourself
You and your anaconda sized ego
Which you could never let go
You and your precious Mumbai Indians
Were the only **** sapiens
Who truly mattered to you
Apart from your "bestest friend"
You, would he blindly defend
As though you were a Nobel Prize winner
While you were actually a sore loser
With an extremely domineering personality
Masked by a deceptively sweet tongue

I thought you cared for me
But you never let me be
Because, all that mattered, was your precious image
Often, would you take umbrage
Over relatively insignificant matters
Such as me not marking you present
When you were LITERALLY absent
No wonder, did you have your haters
Because, YOU came before everyone else
Never did you take a pause
And empathise with anyone
In fact, YOU were everyone!!

I thought you cared for me
But you never truly cared for anyone
You thought you were a special someone
Who deserved all the attention in the world
On the other hand, often did you fold
At the slightest hint of pressure
Though you were so sure
That you were always right
Oh boy, never were you a pretty sight!!

I thought you cared for me
But you never took the trouble to understand me
You called me your best friend
But I was nothing more than a means to an end
Because you were a narcissist
And as a friend, one of the worst
Seriously, accepting your offer of friendship
Was nothing short of a mishap!!
Anyway, you will get what's coming to you
Your friends will eventually leave you
And then it will be just YOU
Left to fend for yourself
As you deserve to be
Because you are so obsessed with yourself
However, the world is for all
It's time you learned that
Once and for all!!

The Show


I awake circa two AM to observe an Earth under siege.
Fearsome blasts of lighting lightening unceasing,
illuminate a sky that is divided into two; a grey white
boundary-less blob of cloud, bolt pricked in a steady
but random pattern for at the least the hour since I was
awakened and a blackened horizon lining defining the land of men.

I debate my choice of word; at some point I slip from the bed to
relieve myself for such is the age of burden I currently occupy;
but my fingers disobey wanting to write relive myself,
to assure myself, that I am, will be, a surviving witness to an awesome and terrifying spectacle, noting the appropriate dueling nature of “awesomeness” for it brings a joyous awe and a paralyzing fear with equal measure, but without any trace of forcible distributive equity.

The lightening is fulsome; sometimes well hid above in a
single whiteness that is the very definition of singularity,
without cue, but within, Z shape bolts of comic book proportionality.

Here’s the rub! All this demonstration is done in a complete,
comforter (!) of silence. The house periodically rumbles its
machinery, whether in fear, or because it must mechanically
do so in the same manner we breathe, or simply to alert me
that I frail human, am at the mercy of the skymaster above,
and the manmade array of pipes, compressors, big apparatuses pinstalled in the earth below to serve until they don’t, and then
we must service them.

The silence is amazing for it is total and domineering and absent thunder. The Show occurs in the largest venue available, the Bay,
but the well behaved audience makes no sound, not a whit,
no coughing, sneezing puncturing or punctuating (reader’s choice) the eerie quiet of a speechless world that cannot speak, as if its larynx was removed, but it’s eye were restored to the age of 20/20.

Well over an hour, closer to two, the demonstration is concluded
and we return to the supine, neutrally, even emotionless, for the gamut and gauntlet we have survived dry and in safety has
concluded and the thick picture window did its job admirably.

Wait Now, a pockmark of bursts in the absence of all light, the now blackness has replaced everything, except for a momentary pinprick of of cloud framed orange hue, a shell exploding far across the bay.

S. sleeps relatively unperturbed, until she does not; for a long minute she rattles the ship, kicking tantrum violently both legs, until the covers are disarrayed, only to fall back into a deep blue colored stage of sleep, and pulling the covers onto the custom fitted aperture neath the chin.

This secondary, receding lightening demonstration that has been taking place; as if a heavenly Lincoln~Stephens oratorical battle occurs over the nearby Atlantic of  nonstop proportion, leaving my my mind to dwell on this topic:

Resolved: This man, that pens this missive about sky missiles is a good writer, or even reasonably ok.

I am representing both sides (duh). and skip to the judges decision without further ado, for brevity is a skill I am profoundly lacking and appreciate, and the eloquence of the debaters is acutely not bad, as prideful acumen is the standard.

Sorry. Split decision, 3 -2, he is merely an ok writer.

Now past 4 AM, glance outside but once more, and there a slow slewing of dawn light emerging like springtime buds, the trees on the lawn are faintly distinguishable, outlined against a normalized, post-storm night sky full of debris EXCEPT in the not-faraway-enough-distance, a few straggler lighting bolts are yet appearing to remind me the night is indeed always awesome and full of terror, just like a good poem.

4:22 AM Jul 5 2023

Poetry is not frozen.............
Still surged in poetry
A stream stemming from the crux
An energetic reflection
An external of internalized intuitions

The flow of the words
Attuned and harmonized
Umpteen snow, melodic tunes
Visualized dreams mending arts

A bursting imagination
A word behind the beats
A free energy of octaves
Pulses of natural architecture

HP our home of anonymities
Acquainted monikers broadcast
Poetry strum through the universe
The singular tones attached

Poetry a scaffold of true expression
A design encoded to amuse
The beauty silhouette on plinth
Hollowed ice with steaming warmth

Poetry the distributed condenser
Sliding from 126hz to 136hz
The domineering kingship
Posing the echoes in words

**Keep going everyone at HP, you are all beautiful!Lets the words dance

DISCLAIMER: READ THE WHOLE THING IT IS MUCH MORE GENIUS TOWARDS THE END



Bypass the circumlocutions of elementary rhetoric and the obvious bulges into the ethereal realm of supersolid supercalendar emigrations of the wednongues of vogue emigrating into a new frontier of boundless awakening that blisters the sore solid metaphors of a crumbled bricolage of articulate history becoming a reiterative gabble of entropy that curdles the blood-boiling hatred of those envious of those that capitalize on the true girth rather than the flaccid otiose etymology of differential physics becoming a denatured figment of prideful imagination on a frolic with desuetude in the normalization of the wernaggles of ewnastique that defile the ridicule of even the most astute aspirations of those that despise history rather than reveling in its subtle ironies that swelter in connotation rather than suborn the cadged bridewells of those that are estranged by the Dousk Remix rather than the Voulez-Vouz Danser populism of true urbacity expanded upon a national stage as an anthem not for profligate saturnalia but rather an ode to the odium of the reckless titanism of titanic intellects clashing with the dudgeons of intermittent eye-rolling irreverence double-dealing a stacked deck of pleckigger on an intellectual stagecraft for bandwagon apostasy that leads to solidarity among tentative allegiance. We barnstorm for a grift in the grimace of an alpenglow winter to lead to the salvation of all people united under the banner of neat nexility rather than long-winded elocution reserved only for notched caliber against the nativist diatribe that serves the subservience of the engineer of the white chattel indoctrinated into turnstiles of professed irreverence for demarches of solidarity that is gainsay for gain rather than pittances for pitfall. Rhetoric should be duly curtailed against the overcomplication of hypertrophy and trimmed into the sweet success not of saccharine fads of foofaraw but engineered resistance that galvanizes albatross intellectualism into a revved engine without purpose that mobilizes because of estranged impotence in the revelry of the subtle rather than the cordial tethers of emergent entelechy of the esemplastic orthobiosis that we should all strive for not just as pioneers of the socially engineered harbingers of a remedial society but also for the trendsetters that communicate with the canvass and the celluloid rather than spelunking dormitage of drifted anomaly perceptible to everyone but heralded as prominent by the rigged ambeer of a toxicity of a plumage of city over state and country over planet. We need to provide the verdure of the verdant forest that survives the conflagrations of rage indoctrinated by systematic attempts at stilted ignorance that is engendered more by Leftism than Right-Wing thinkers because in general when observed in organic settings we notice that the Right-Wing escapes the sloganeered jaundice of limited bounds for otherwise boundless thought and provides more seminal pathways that reconcile normative virtues with entrenched inveterate harbingers of economic success. The faulty deadstocks that propel the retinoise of the anomaly among Leftism to disregard the girouettism of a world that is so piebald with dishonesty that it elects a patronage that seethes with passion but aimless in its curiosity for deeper embedded candor because the popular might count themselves among the aristocratic Left but the truly Promethean belong to a centrist tribe that borrows the ingenuity of spurned but never spurious interpretations of a sputtered history that remarks with revelry  rather than disdains with #CancelCulture irreverence that seeks to deracinate all context for insipid utopianism that is a shared prerogative of the delusional Left against their complaints of Sebastomania among right-wing zealots that are equally invalidated by the frogmarch of a dilettante history curbed in storms of a pure tempest rather than a banal reiteration of novelty phrased with participant intonation rather than blathers of whispered arbitrage ennobled by hypocrisy immune to criticism among those that crusade for economic justice without understanding formal flombricks of the true gnomic riddles of alchemy fundamental to global panoramic pleonasms becoming the aleatory vagary of admonished warning that spars against spartanism. Instead of pilfering from the exorbitant defalcation of immunized partisan bromides against the ratcheted warranty upon defective obsolescence we must coalesce around the imperious ****** of divinity bequeathing the living water of a fully-lived life that qualifies its felicity not by junctures but by an overall harmony that conforms to the finicky demands of an overly polarized complexion of dimpled conformity founded on girouettism that earns more traction than the deasil sundial emergence of brimstone rejection for alabaster limelight we must urge others to ditch the conformist utilitarian usucaption of the usufruct of manipulative sports for domineering talents suborned into inclement straits because of unwitting albatross that replicates into a fission of uniformity encapsulated in the half-assed witticisms of attempted belletrist succeeding only in alienating the noxious fumes of alveolate diminutive reduction rather than expansive detritus that scrapes the wreckage of a turmoil to build masterworks out of broken sculptures themselves indemnified from a categorical judgment by the panoramic oversight of proctored civilized ambition. We need to exhort self-education that hinges upon not a listless acquiescence to a second-exit impulsive barnacle to the urchins of brimstone because of an insipid blather of flapdoons of brittle banality because the hackencrude is an outmoded entity to the vast resources of the sizable capital of the growing power of the intelligentsia over the weakened grasp and wrangle of terminus meeting consuetude weakly enough with pleasantry to appease but ultimately a complete witwanton persiflage of sizzled destruction rather than the savory contemplation of the cotqueans of majesty derided but never derailed by terminal revivals because the generativity of the titanic original might not be a popular indoctrination but the liberated thought of the untethered is ultimately more decisive in world affairs than the synergistic hive of bees building an imperious defense against dynasty built only upon provincial hatred of hidebound illiteracy combustible into the brazen bravado of a reckless intrepid effrontery against civilized chains into the ******* of complicit interconnection rather than dissolved dissolutions that solve global problems more fundamentally rather than driving through avenues of wide pressures gilded with expansive growth but ultimately bereaved by the ultimate succor of the youthful exuberance of captive audiences rather than the wily connivance of genius unbounded. God is obviously a benevolent provider of all bounties and despite the conspiracies that predicate heterodoxy the uniform mannequin of a mascot Democracy ultimately becomes a fickle bandwagon allegiance to relationship rather than a true witness to authentic ******* to a subservient relationship to a creative God synergized with energies that should exceed all galloped windlass into demarche and expose rather than rundles of ridicule interminable because of the permanence of kitsch memorial rather than living sculpture that breathes a swiveled light that beckons preened self-accountable responsibility to a dutiful matriotic duty of optimism rather than a contrarian futility of those that despise the unequal suave crackjaw dementia of the temulentia of derangement among crowds that provide fewer bounties and more deprivations calculated to indenture need rather than motivate want. We must motivate want by fueling ambition rather than quelling dissent in defensive posture because that strategy of antinomian discord is a dead-end street against an inveterate enmity that can never be fully deposed but only opposed with nominal futility raging with violence rather than seething with the motivation to reform because reform is an efficacy mobilized. Novelty of wednongue propriety grown through the heirs of drastic impertinence gilded from the siphon of lavadero hypogeiody blasphemous in bletonism that guards a piebald scrivelo because the sought dementia of an overwrought alacrity is a purpose without a terminus but an ambition soaring through scraped ice cream stratosphere that marvels at the minutiae of the civilized anthill that becomes a beehive of industry when the rationale of moral reform becomes insuperable rather than suborned into effete recursive cycles of pittances of pitfalls obsessively pondered but never solved because the fustilugianation of a forever tampered travesty is the esemplastic rejection of a categorical aim that leans of windlasses of elegance that surpass the levy of hatred and achieve sizable filagersion to squirm above the squawk upon populace rather than the consternation of an urbane but cloistered metropolitan arrogance contravened by the historical emergence of happenstance locales fostering the most well-guarded treasures of bohemian pedigree rather than dimpled resolve faffling on ergasia in bromidrosis rather than cavorting with a skeptical indoctrination by default evaded by those that equate an improbable scenario with a definitive solution to acatalepsy quandary because by reckoning with indeterminacy we grow in historical lineaments and solve global detritus by recycling the rattled brevity of promontory preens of plumage into a recursive ostentation defalcating heavily from sturdy macroeconomic proofs of the trendsetter rather than the trend and therefore grapple with profound personalized disdain rather than cordial harmony. Essentially by the logical positivism of proof we remind ourselves that obviously a chattering blather swims in tentative irony as long as it is a penultimate relativity because the lack of capstone ensures that the relevant treads beneath the mountain of rapprochement in benign endeavors to survive and thrive in definitive conclusion rather than intermediary conclusions of amnesia in jaundice. By the gnomic apothegms that guard the fortress of the demassified we have quantulated that the preposition of continuance is in fact a guarantee of the fickle supremacy of the recent and even more preponderantly the supremacy of expectancy of latent junctures that never manifest becoming a dictatorial rule of driven alacrity of wastrels that should fast from conclusive opinion and rather favor the primordial fabric of the inveterate truths rounded by the conversion of alchemy solidified by calculated canon converging with esoteric apartheid against the simultagnosia of the simpleton drivel of primordial myths bowdlerized from history neither lewd nor depraved but moribund because of the conclusive ****** of a peremptory intermediary certainty predicating a more precise foresight. The lackluster luster of numinous foghorn subliminal graft is a nativist confusion of legionnaire mettle swaddled by the cosseted grasp of interminable boundaries that demarcate linear time even when supersolid filigrees of elemental confusion erratically swerve into oblivion that becomes a forestalled happenstance so hapless that the connivance of alveolate synergies necessarily precludes event from becoming indelible because the tentative judgment wallops the tributary incontinence of the warble of axiolative jaundice materialized by crystalline fabrication neutered by soundbyte sclerotic calculus inveterate in summations of conclusion only because of peremptory weights upon geometric certainties rather than logarithmic dampers of attenuation that spar against spartan priggish epithets upon the flamboyant grit of grisly specter of speculative sepulchral venal vanity. The timberlask cineaste irony of the partisan usucaption of sapwood is a pirated timber of startled alarm becoming a useful or useless cacophony of barnstorm for the deadstock of past cadasters of rigmarole in the docimasy of pretense in impartial circumstance in specialized oratory bounded by a hemmed bailiwick of verdure denatured by the flombricks of subtle persuasion that ignores minority fringes of opinion that occupy that majority that cowcatchers brush aside rather with cruel contemptuous unkempt slippery agenda for drivel that spawns ingeminated redoubled explosions in participle bias rather than conglomerate arraignment of arrayed brooked swamps turgid not with the pettier travesty but the charade of a brokered ceremonial calculation against the wrikpond spurious by degeneration into corruptible complicity that thrives in obscurantism but never obscurity when the omnified owns a capitalized swiftboat of never a temulentia but always an optimism in the curvature of lineaments into the self-educated shepherd of the ultimate autarky rather than insubordination in the scrappy schlep of demographic ripples of swift enrichment at great personal flops in the floppy disk of a Democratic enrichment rather than a parched rectiserial hidebound tome. A quirky time stanched by tomes of patricide against family ingratiated by parrots to anthem but lacking the lettered verve of ignoble but parsed parsecs of finite light captivated into prismatic conscience we launch the demerited ploys of foible into the heralded controversy rather than the unheralded mercenary hands behind dogmatic ripostes livid because of the suave prestidigitation of the sublime mastery of the syncopated irony of mismatch attuned to radical rhythm we become bloated slaves to a rich lineage decried widely in attempts of covert coup raxes of a largesse of continual primipara perversions of courted cotqueans of uxorious justice that by defalcating from tributary orthobiosis in specious conjecture esteemed by rattled martexts aspiring for fraternal solidarity with the ****** esteem masquerading as the auctioned flivver that the merchandise of fluminous optimism cannot be an effusive blanch of blarney bolstered by bumptious bromides of brunt blackmail but rather the artform of subterfuge needs the insidious and invidious traction of creepy Thriller subtlety to garner the vapid traction of immobilized discontent foster to malcontent rarely abridged by even the most polite courtesy of diplomacy because of inherently insatiable demand that it skulks in undetected quarters flexing in the shadowy penumbra of transparent crackjaw enigma becoming an obvious blister or a gabble of raw jaundice sweltering into thermolysis by the eventual convergence rather than the improbable divergence of fissile time beckoning its own flashy revolution while denaturing the very presence of delusion as a herald more of the authenticity of animadversion rather than the sclerotic carapace of ragged asphyxiation in the aplomb whisper entombed forever by milquetoast inefficacy in hypersensitivity rather than a flourished malfeasance of a predatory grip upon seizure among catatonic graves of incontinence braving tribulation for crucibles of the most prosodemic surgeries of the furtive froward recalcitrance of deliberation in ignominy that enables that transmogrified skyscraper of Titanic lies to become a sunken vessel of harbored prestige lost on penultimate dice rather than winning pokerish villiany. Essentially the jeer of Morel Under a Disco is a winning brandished authority to chug the capers of inscrutable difference in blandishment imposture to cavort with an elegant plot twist that enthralls abiding decay to revert into a primordial confidence of livelihood to deter the frogmarch of time into the despairing quagmires of a livid balkanization of a simultagnosia of ageotropic monoideism fomented on fervor that leads to the paralysis of privacy and the expedited furor of moribund depraved proclivity so that the offset of morale and rationale can outfit civilization to brave the tempests of cordial divisions cemented by courtesy in order to safeguard against the yeggs of paranoia seeking ultimately the craven caper of disillusioned subconsciously felt retraction of indelible deeds into evaporated constructs that vanish too quickly to spawn the vigor of a cadged and utilitarian expanse of reiterative generativity that sustains the spanned sapience of primordial alacrity to ensure that brevity in outlook becomes longevity in subsistence because without a logical positivism grounded in unshakable tenets of God the demoralization of the vast majority is ensured and entombed in aimless squalor that leads to sheepish temerity compounded by wistful latency in regretful regression rather than a spandex bluster of a bravado of obesity to weather the persnickety wednongues of perdurable badges of instinctual shame slandered into prima facie denatured transmogrified cultures seeking cosmogony out of ordinary bricolage because the eventful triage of the nimble eludes parochial sight while the vastly capable outfox and outpace with such frenetic verve that they fasten against accident and transcend against heterochrony in ridicule that the unseasonable but seminal sauce flavors better the partially indentured optimism of a curated matriotism better than it serves the obviously interminable cycle of listless demiurges of malcontent that fuel conflagration rather than reformation to their own remorseful peril. Thereby, it is obviously concluded that to micromanage a society you must exert the capacity of a selective magnetism obviously predicated on demassified capacities for oaths of gratitude to endear and endure in the humane heart for the majority that sway few but encounter many that they find proper scruple grounded on axiomatic God to sustain not a lifeless priggish inclination but a bounded felicity that is not a carapace of an indigenous and insidious decadence to the extent pursuits of happiness swelter among the marginalized majority bereaved in powerless squalor slave to temptation not to derelict fascination but to provide aim to aimlessness and predicate their worldviews not on Racial Identity Theory which postulates too many counterintuitive pessimisms that are essentially neutered fustilug predicates of a world that requires such drastic seismic reforms in societal dynamics that the earthquake capable of such a realignment would exceed a 10.5 on the Richter scale which is 32x more powerful than the biggest earthquake in recorded history that would be so catastrophic in its implicit implication of the pretense that the consummation of the theory achieves the traction necessary to jostle every crowd into alignment that the collateral damage would endanger the very integrity and vitality of the Republic itself while exerting a tremendous existential dread of radical permutation that enables many travesties that abnegate the prerogatives of a privileged society in search of a facetiously engineered impossible utopia that could only be achieved by a dictatorial authoritarianism working in concert with benumbed sloganeering to engineer pessimism and malcontent rather than nurture the fair-natured optimism of a society that flourishes because it assumes naturally that the universe conspires in the favor of prosperity. If any hint of casuistry is evident in these postulates I wouldn’t be surprised but for rhetorical sanctity it is necessary for a nation bereaved of national icons not to despise the captive imagination of tyrannical transparency but grow from the liberating and partially liberal parable of a life maximized in limber for romantic enthralled growth that heralds with due consideration the paragons of time with reverence rather than soundbyte enslavement of parochial interminable twinges of a newborn and widely shared collective guilt of a decisively antinomian and pessimistic view on the evolution of human societies beyond catchy kitsch verve nexilities of bravado mutilating thirsts for inclusive mandates that are Boa Constrictors prowling with serpentine vitriol to vastly over-represent extreme fringes to dissuade nuclear families in an overt ploy of depopulation because the truer pathway to liberation is one that feeds the hot hand in the casino and bets that the winners will always win by deregulating their ability to bet large sums because of a transcendent supersolid mastery of time that the march and demarche of a boundless prosperity gouged by the fair demands of egalitarianism enables the card counter to achieve such a decisive advantage that his indentured socially coerced eleemosynary inclination to feed the flock endures throughout all epochs because of the necessary and incumbent scruples of God-fearing men to distribute their winnings won by cheating time to conquer time itself.

Guilt

The worst feeling in the world.
It slowly eats away at my mind
Until that’s all I have left.
The guilt.

The hardest part about
dealing with it is I know
it’s something I’ve caused.
The difference between
feeling and being.

It’s my fault.
I could have prevented it.
But it’s too late now.
All that’s left are what ifs.

What if I would’ve thought before I said that?
What if I let you make your own decision?
What if I wasn’t here?
What if I would’ve answered that phone call?
What if I really do have a choice?

I wouldn’t have hurt so many people.
You wouldn’t be filled with guilt.
You wouldn’t want to die.
I would’ve been able to say goodbye.
Maybe I caused all of this.

I can't fool myself.
Not again.
It's all true.
Every part of it.
I need to man up
and face my jury.

On the counts of
being an *******
being too domineering
being a mistake and a reminder
being selfish
and being what you never wanted me to be

I'm guilty.

from under the iron curtain... not quite though:
in a study of the form of: immediacy...
a spare 30 years (circa)...
    from under the iron curtain thrown
under: the silicon curtain...

                 what science fiction ambitions:
what new worlds: new species of interest?
          concerning some "here"... and
                                obviously some "there"...
glued together, by -
                        the already mentioned study
of the form of: immediacy -
            i.e. more broadly known as the word
being...
          more broadly known as the word:
                                                           being...
for what is... and in that: the suspicious
utterance of "what" in conjunction with: is...

but it's hardly a book burning...
        i once cited a myself in transit...
        i once cited my self:
                            in the reflective sence...
not compounded in the reflexive immediacy
of myself... that...
    writing is not an invitation to speak...
it is an extension of thinking -
            i too have... had... avenues closed off...
for a while...
        as long as the substance is tame...
         but writing was never an invitation
to speak... it was always an extension of thought...
i privy the wanting ****** to entertain
his or her: caged tongue...
to labour with insane dignity to...
have that freedom of breath:
   without a single word being uttered:
   a feast for the eyes...

    of freedom of speech though:
  is... speeking freely... an invitation to... think?
what "book burning"?
             video-mash-up and a ******
variation of "*****": misnomer alley...
           no rigid lexicon for a... stalemate...
some grand unmoveable object of the tongue
to lick...
   to write is to extend thinking:
it is never to script someone...
   however... to speak doesn't invite me to
think... i would be too gullible for that
to be true... too forcefed a bulimic "rhetoric" /
and question to tow...

i have yet to find that speaking freely
allowed a chiral complexity of thinking freely...
as a reply... antonym...
     book burning: audio book... burning?
for the privacy of the eyes...
less this... feeding of echo... and more... echo...
speaking freely is not an invitation
to think freely...
                     i hope writing has
enshrined this facet of distinction...
                    it's such: oh such a "minor" technicality...

but i've used this phrase before...
from under the iron curtain we came...
and enjoyed the remains of the free world...
for a circa of 30 years...
                from under the iron curtain ******
under... the silicon curtain...
                  
/ / / / / interlude... of a soft-core existential nature:

  well the absolute joy of... shaving...
i perhaps did that once...
concerning as most would have called it:
on the face of a late-teen and early 20s colt...
***-fluff...

       as one had to... since the hairs resembled
the crop of cranium...
and weren't stiff enough: ***** enough...
for the guillotine of all ******* drops...
to form a beard...

   oh i had ambitions! i had ambitions
like you've never seen!
to add to a full crown of hair... allowed
to grow long enough and gear up for...
a 14 year old girl's wet-dream in school
of a french braid...
          i had such ambitions for a beard
so long... so long... it would...
tease the length of the whole torso...
from chin down and down to...
the bellybutton!
    in a thick iraqi braid...
       i wasn't so lucky on the face as i was
on the 'ed...
     bets are in... chances of me...
going bald?
   chances of me... having hair on my...
stomach region... my chest...
and patches of my back?
         bets are on... the horses are funny...
sorta running... mildly giggling and
playing: goof... shimmering...
the size of their teeth... as big as their *******
hoofs!

my idea of a haircut?
                      grow it to about bearable...
a comb to the left... a cut on the side...
to comb (hand brush) to the sides...
  and then... cut it down to a bare minimum...
not a skinhead...
   my head isn't best shaped for a king skin...
as one girl told me in high school...
i don't have the...
    well formed pariental / occipital coupling...
one of these bones is diminished in:
curves...
   i curious observation...
i guess that's called an invitation to:
pressure...
        a side-project of the occipital bone
being less protruding...
                          a schlawic shorta shin-diggy-oh...
girl spoke like a confirmed:
proselyte of the soul...
                       of language i can confirm...
it didn't matter it was...
a roman catholic school... in england...
some... confirmation... bias?
then i'd have a confirmation name
to boot with my two already given and a surf-name
surprise!
but i'm still: e = mc...
                     a horrid acronym...
                         eschlert = matthias ck-on-rad...
oh... god! yes!
i love the sound of my own voice so much...
i'm a gifted orator... frequently...
at... some ****-poor party revival
once a year... at... Nuremberg...
    yeah... i love my voice so much...
    i've ejected it from imitation thinking:
internal "monologue" and "air"...
i like it so much: i like it most when
it shuts the **** up...

itchy fingers and pervert eyes...
and domineering eyes...
the kind of eyes that... see...
your and you're...
       the apostrophe and the A like a halo...
hovering above: giggling...
infantile joys...
   never to be revised... but such...
pitiable domineering affairs...
no wonder i never advanced into
the realm of b.d.s.m. of adult joys and
advanced cinematic arena hard-ons:
        
  this one time i can don a hugo boss...
adventure... im grau oder schwarz     (ц)...
                                             (ш)...

all the other letters are kosher...
     but that dream... of a beard... as long...
as the king's hair...
gone... in an instact...
it takes about a month...
  before... everything return to: shabby...
the unkept beard... the irritating moustasche...
and then...
a miracle of having sat at a turkish barber's
with my eyes closed: as one does...
before a mirror... when someone is being
invasive...
      and feeling each and every snippet...
i should have taken
a before & after of my... "vlad the impaler"
deeds with every contort: matter...
a sense of making a rhombus into a sq.
or a sq. into a rhombus...
     oh... hair is easy... cut to a minimum...
a month passes... some jelly is used
in the last 3 weeks of extension...
and then... back to canvas (a) exhibit (0)...

       no point asked for a barber...
the man can cook, the man can bake...
the man has enough fudge muscle to shift
2 tonnes of soil in under 4 hours...
enough leg for 14sqm of experimental golf green
addition to a garden...
otherwise littered with patch-works of
gravel and project: drainage... another tonne
of shingles and pebbles...

    couple that with... a keen insight into...
the barber project... and arrivederci
                                migliore "tenuta"
    correttezza / bellezza: "mississippi"...
          cappoh: cchinno...
                           marble... cake...
                      gas-tap: top-off: shh!
                                      it's a lean...
              a leen in a lean in a: gwan-pazzio!
sounds sounds... suoni! su'oni!
                                      sounds sounds...
there is a morbid sense of meaning... but...
it's all lost to the interlude!

                 there is nothing more gratifying...
than being able to curate your own beard...
and find the sort of cranium crop top
to count the months in a year...
                       never working from:
                                       pelzkopf...
a dream of... roman brush... mochicans...
dipped in... woad blue / purple... / / / / /              

in the democracy of poets...
        in the republic of philosophers...
it has always been like so...
that philosophers dictated a republic...
that the poets... would have to...
somehow... dictate... a democracy...

i have in my possession...
a very strange book... "strange" that it is...
or was part...
of a 20th century curriculum...
a standard of pedagogy from 1967...
   O-level standards...
             we were taught latin: once...
cicero was a go to... beginning
with latin grammar...
first came latin grammar...
then... anglo-saxon shrapnel: "grammar"...
evne the term...

asyndenton... definition?
               this is the absence of conjunctions
between co-ordinate clauses, phrases,
     or "words"... the precise connection
              being inferred from the order of words
and the general sense....

      cicero's "modus operandi" of style...
      -que / et or....         and / and...
              or? speedy gonzales:
   que: what / and...

                   this the "copulative" sense of...
"missing" in-and-between...
                          nouns, adjectives, verbs...
   "words"... synonym pirrouete peacock fest
of grammar "technicality"...
        a "word" for a philologist
                    is a "thing" for a philosopher...

i will not... equip myself with...
what latin grammar i might have...
learned... to have studied such a book...
and its zenith of the year 1967... in a catholic school...
at least a catholic school said:
perhaps - "perhaps" insinuated back then...
latin grammar first...
christian dogma... second!

                adversarities: conjunctions:
                     sed, autem, vero...
example?
                   no example... contrasting clauses...

what of the conjunction: qua - i.e. as being?
or quo?
              privy: quid pro quo...
and one wonders...
the notion of "ego": had to became...
elaborated... isolated...
     given the asyndenton(s) of descartes...
i.e. (ego) cogito ergo (ego) sum...
well then! so much free room and reins!
to isolate the supposed "abstract" he-oi!oi!oink!
"says" so!

we pretend to move forward within cicero's
confines... back in 1967... this was standard
pedagogy!
latin grammar... what am i working with:
said the plastic surgeon to
the jack nicholson joker in that: Dt: fat...
Boatman: a tool a crude scalpel
of grafitti...               ahoy! ahoy! spare island!
Fwyday! vitch iz Velsh! i say!
oi oi!     hell-oooooooooooh!

             almost a sanskrit word...
so it must be!
    hendiadys and the asyndenton...
         the first... in sanskrit...
      please...
                हएनदऌअदईस
           ­       HENDIADYS...
that's as far as i will ever get...
no amount of diacritical marker excavations
will keep track of this:
experiment B'ah-Bel...
              yes... a drying up on the first
conjunction: the natives still speak:
Bay-Bel...
            B'ah-Bel'...

  the pashtun language... afghan women...
landay... something beside the ebb
of the strict skeleton of syllable
count of of a haiku...
or... i'm still token best **** in town
when it comes to:
misnomer: freely open noun usage...

the use of the pronoun IS
implies... there's no pronoun associate
worth a gender neutrality...
          IS is a pronoun...
              how can... IT... also a pronoun...
be... made... double neutral:
when "it" is already facing a neutrality
focus of quiz?

       an abstract noun... though?
to a cicero... an abstract noun...
with... hindsight... would be...
a... microscope...
   an adjective prefix...
   and a bypass of nouns into the verb...
prefix dear verb...
when will that suffix become
a noun and not a doubling of a verb?
of what? of scope!

     to denote an act rather than engage
in it!
          ******* scissor sisters grammar
of the modern age...
they should have taught me latin grammar
than given me
abortion conundrums to begin with:
failure! best kept secret!
aged 16... would make the vatican
proud!
      it's not that i own a baseball cap
that i can flirt with a "noah"
of n.e.w.s. with...
              it's not that...
so much for education...
in 1967 a catholic school would do...
the nun's project proud...
2004? what nun?!

                solitudo erat ea quam voluerasmus...
there was just that seclusion we had wanted...

an "antecedent" noun...
                    i much prefer an "antecedent" verb...
a variation of hammering...
or ******* in "fixes"...
   when there was once...
a turmoil of the jist of knee-armed...
and then... electric: sorrow-sowing of...
the nearby: "fix"...

          this language is best be forgotten...
the otherwise fictive rigour of teaching...
barbarians... a quick-and-easy...
acquisition of... latin: my dear... sir...
because... the english are the afghani sort...
first served: first come... though... last
to topple... anything... worth remembering
a past with 'em: therein!

i call sir! my immediacy...
funny thing... calling "my" in a borrowed...
body... which you... also... cling to...
with a tongue of transcendence...
and... a body's worth of an anchor:
and so! in reverse!
this body of no transcendence!
the old empire...
and this... jailor quizz...
the "asyndenton" of the hebrew...
in... how niqab is your...
                                             niqqud?!
ah!
               שׁ (š)... translated:
                             szkoda: shame...

and שׂ (ś)...       ślizg: slide...

that the hebrews... kept the ancient latin...
play on an asyndenton...
but kept it: vowel primo-intact...
   beside... a mere play on conjunction words...

i giggle... what have i to add?
beside a... ha ha?!

Leah Rost

The heat of those moments spent in passion reveal my true emotion
as the wispy little hairs of your skin raise to my touch;
flushed lips part before gently meeting mine and radiating heat
that flows through my body and thaws the cold hands you always complain about,
every second new sensations bombard the grey matter in my head confusing and pleasing the neurons that fire in pace with my breath
until I’ve closed my eyes and let myself drift from under your touch
because your eyes are blue and I open mine wishing to see his coffee brown irises searching my body for every ounce of emotion I wouldn’t dare speak out loud and
I’m begging to stop thinking of him when I’m with you but my memory refuses to block out the nights I spent warm under his thick, strong arms and domineering hands.

She doesn't pay compliments, nor does she pay rent.
She comes and goes freely, just as she pleases and generally doesn't clean up after herself. But she raised a good man, and for that I can't be too harsh.

She isn't very social, nor does she like to be touched, or hugged.
She is extremely homophobic and against same-*** marriage, although she's had 4 failed marriages. She thinks it's okay to marry a man half her age to make him legal to work for her, but not okay for two people who love each other with the same anatomy to do the same. But she raised a good man, and for that I can't be too harsh.

She lost her job a few years back, she lost her house about a year ago. She went to nursing school although she should've been retired, and she bought a $500 dog although she was broke. But she and I get along okay. Due to her domineering personality, I have to usually stay inside myself and not speak my mind to avoid stupid conflicts between a modern-age woman and a woman who wished she'd have been a small-town housewife.

She took her son to find a ring for me, and although I know she's against marriage, she must see some of what he sees. I pride myself in being tolerant and I think that goes a long way with us. So much has changed in the six years since we first met, and I know she, more than both of us wished she had had it turn out much differently. I guess she probably has to swallow a lot of what little pride she has left. She is probably more uncomfortable than I've ever been.

She is a hard-headed, impossibly independent, civil-issue intolerant and socially deficient 62-year-old Woman who leaves her dishes lying about and who has several times let my indoor-only cat out. But she raised a good man, and for that I can't be too harsh and must always be in her debt.

The end.

I'm not afraid of the dark--
I'm afraid of the light,
that stealthy insight that looms overhead and slowly
envelopes my mind:
equal parts consolation and condemnation
of the decisions I've made and the dreams I've deferred
until tomorrow,
always tomorrow.

I can't sleep till midnight
because my mind insists on activity;
my whole being validated by three lines,
or three words,
whatever I write I become; I see.

What would you say
if I told you I count to twenty,
three times in a row after I hit snooze five times,
that I lie in bed, ruminating my failures
and the impending day,
resolute and domineering,
like an aged, hardened war general
who refuses to answer to, "I will not, sir;
I cannot do that, even for you,
or my country...sweet land of tyranny."

I think I find some meaning
and solace
in the minutes that beckon to morning
and hold fast to inevitable recycling of failure come freedom--
for, we are no longer chained by our fears when we forget
perfection.

I'll never reach that star;
I have no ladder that steep,
or hands that far reach,
outstretching past my own soiled skin--

tears that bleed.

I walk on fire, my spirit is the beam.
This confidence that’s on my skin, I can’t take off.
It’s glowing and giving off shimmer, even in the dark.
I didn’t ask to be seen. Only needed to be heard.
My voice is dry, no flicker, no flare.
Domineering my way through the flood of still flesh, just to be the tongue of volume.
Refusing to subscribe to the code of this noxious world.
I am not the cure to worriment,
I AM THE THE RESTORATIVE FOR MY OWN ANIMA.

*© 2014 Rhea Nadia

I
Your friends here think you have it all:
and on a secret-sometimes
(mornings when the wind is
blowing the perfect amount
of sea-spun and menthol crush-)
you might agree.

You’re smart; if domineering,
and funny; if a bit cruel.
You throw your body against doors,
announcing yourself to whole
buildings with small heaves and breathy hellos;
always dumbly surprised by the hollowed out fiber
of your upper arms but refusing to acknowledge
the irony that in the months since your muscles
quit feasting on themselves
you have only grown weaker.

These friends let you talk.
You talk and talk.
They marvel at the stampede of your
stories; unnerved by the way your voice digs
into the room like a charging foal and
spins dust rising across the tabletop.
With struck lids and no warning
they blink stinging eyes clean
while stacking your bolting, blocky words
straight to the ceiling,
a reverse game of jenga.
You don’t make sense,
Alone you built a tower of babble.

II
In class you learn to speak like it’s the first time;
you chew on diphthongs and expel plosive consonants.
You pitch crude phrases high across the room
and discover the implications of each single breath.

In trucks and diners you learn to love like it’s the first time;
you kiss with your eyes closed and let fingers wander.
Your hands have a habit of tangling into his and you throw
your head back when you laugh,
(your palms are sweating
but you’re dauntless in this twilight-
go ahead; bare your throat.)
When he suddenly; fiercely,
lifts your body off the ground and into his
you no longer apologize for the weight of it.
You’re pretending to have made peace with gravity.

III
You’re the girl who seems to exist as an anecdote.
You are bits and pieces of a weird,
rambling journey assembled into a crinkle-*****
Raggedy-anne body who has giggled in a thousand accents
and crushed a million cigarettes butts
into the earth between a handful of
state lines and boot soles.

You’ve become an idea that people like;
a girl who is endlessly creating and curetting,
exploring and groping bits of everything across
years and maps and daydreams.
Her resume impresses-
she has no roots.

And you too like the idea of her-
She walks lightly and smiles.
She marvels and hums,
she is quick downplay
her own electricity.

She’s all short dresses and motorcycle boots.
She tumbles into splits down the hallway,
she’s long hair flowing behind a gush of
dark humor and kind words.
She feels it all and deeply
but the way she lays with hurt
isn’t sticky or scalding,
She simmers quietly. She ***** in her cheeks
and gnaws at her fingernails; grinning.

IV
She is an enigma;
the salty girl, eyes raw, with the pocketful of poems.
She's the girl who takes her dark days and catalogues
them into sepia stanzas. She soaks them in
hindsight and hangs them up to dry
along a string of Christmas-light-twinkling
words and confessions. She watches closely
as they develop into something she can begin
to understand. She waits expectantly
as they bloom into a blurry portrait
of who she might really be.

Because the girl you’re left with when the
people who like you so much have gone home
and your poetry has receded from the homepage
of publications to dusty archives-
this girl isn’t so definite.

V
You vaguely know her.
You haved walked together. You sometimes nap inside her.
She likes to wear your face.
You’re working up the courage to introduce yourself.
You don’t mind knowing this girl, she’s fine. She’s trying.
and maybe one day you’ll start to let other people know her too.
I mean, we’re all just trying.

if i promised you the future
would be there when we arrived
would you walk with me
every leap will be a stride
to conquer
divide
we have to decapitate the domineering minority
separate the fools from their money
then instigate a global technological democracy
where every human is connected
directly represented
every choice debated and agreed
on civic days pride dictated
taking part is part of taking
what can be provided
by our trying to be
a true planetary society

Fearless, ambitious,
honest, complex-
my armored man
tattered and distressed.
Used, displaced-
yet not to
underestimate.
Domineering but tame,
my being he stimulates.
Beauty exceeded
only by pain,
memories depicted
left their stain.
Quick to give,
slow to take-
bigger the heart,
the harder it breaks.
Pretty eyed,
pirate smile;
pessimist at times-
all the while
filled with hope,
love to tend,
my armored man
quick to defend.
Holds his own,
never retreats-
witnessed more pain
than a child should see.
Still he stands,
my armored man,
stronger than you
could even conceive.
Harboring light,
my blues retrieve-
for this armored man
believed in me.

We all know who we are...
You always, (hopefully) love yourself
even if you don't like the reflection staring back at you

Curious to hear what friends, family and
acquaintances see
when they look or think of me
a psychological poll was given

The ones that knew me best
were not afraid of the test

My younger brother said:
Hardworking - honest - not afraid to try
anything - friendly - motivator - I do what
I say - finish what I start

Best friend I met years back: Loyal friend

Sister, from another mother, added: Heart
in the right place - Incredible artist - feel strongly
about my territory - will fight to the end; to protect
what is mine (at any cost) - driven - innovative -
care-free

My baby girl, was happy to report: loving -
giving - fearless - creative - caring - strong-minded -
secretive - smart - beautiful - funny - ambitious -
sweet

My really great friend from my homeland: love to
be in charge - domineering - don't like or take bull-**** -
kind (but don't let people use it against me) - don't
let people take me for granted - firm (with the opposite ***) -
always want to move onward in life - feisty - at times,
miserable -

Couldn't stop laughing out loud
feels good, to see and hear their reflections of me

That's me alright!
My head, didn't swell
I know who I am

Underneath all these layers
I'm only human
protecting my golden heart
creating a niche in this Universe

To leave an impression -
of Me