I’ve tried to bury my friends
the way you‘ve buried yours.

But their skeleton limbs
unearth my amygdala

shoot through my catacomb skull
in a morbid hail of
bone and grey matter.

Beneath this demented firework display,
the ghouls jitterbug in their demon florals--

if only their hauntings
were as beautiful as their gowns.


Billie Eilish,
I’ve tried to bury my friends

but their remains
could not remain
buried.

My brain
bubbles and blisters
like witch’s brew

as I succumb to the hellfire
of regurgitated memory.


Billie Eilish,
I’ve tried to bury my friends

but they’ve stolen away my oxygen
to resurrect themselves.

I guess I am only what they
feed to me—
dirt.

Billie Eilish,
this trauma is a tomb
I cannot worm my way out of.

Billie Eilish,
my head has turned to stone.

Billie Eilish,
I’ve tried to bury my friends
but

they ended up
burying me instead.

I feel like Billie is HEAVILY inspired by MCR and Frank Iero.
Examples:

Stomachaches = Album by Frank Iero
Bellyache = Song by Billie Eilish

"I'm Not Okay" = Lyrics/Song by MCR
"I'm not okay" = Lyrics from the song 'Listen Before I Go' by Billie Eilish

"I'm Okay" = Lyrics from the song 'I'm Not Okay' by MCR
"I'm Okay" = Lyrics from 'You Should See Me In A Crown' by Billie Eilish

Six Feet Down Under = Song by Frank Iero
Six Feet Under = Song by Billie Eilish

Don't you think so too?

I Don't Love You- Song by MCR
I Love You- Song by Billie Eilish

All the good girls go to heaven-Lyrics from the song This Is How I Disappear by MCR

All The Good Girls Go To Hell- Song by Billie Eilish

⚠Trigger Warning; the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to suicide, self-harm, and eating disorders⚠
------------------------------------------------------­-------------
how do u know if ur having a nervous breakdown
-------------------------------------------------------­------------
signs of a nervous breakdown
-------------------------------------------------------­------------
can u be hospitalized for having a nervous breakdown
-------------------------------------------------------­------------
grounds for admission to a psychiatric ward
------------------------------------------------------------­-------
what's it like being admitted to a psychiatric ward
------------------------------------------------------------­-------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker suicide scene
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how do u know if ur having a panic attack
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
are panic attacks and anxiety attacks the same thing
-----------------------------------------------------------­--------
whats the difference between a panic attack and an anxiety attack
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
generalized anxiety disorder symptoms
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker suicide scene
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borderline personality disorder symptoms
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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why are my hands always cold
------------------------------------------------------------­-------
prozac side effects
---------------------------------------------------------­----------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
bipolar disorder symptoms
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------
seroquel side effects
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
does seroquel make you gain weight
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
how to refrain from eating
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
how to force yourself to throw up
--------------------------------------------------------------­-----
eating disorder symptoms
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------
binge eating disorder symptoms
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
bulimia symptoms
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
anorexia symptoms
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
insomnia
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
can you overdose on melatonin
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
how did sylvia plath **** herself
---------------------------------------------------------­----------
carbon monoxide poisoning
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
how many advils do I have to take to **** myself
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
major depressive disorder symptoms
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------
suicide warning signs
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
IS PATH WARM
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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tortured artist
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
why did vincent van gogh cut off his ear
-------------------------------------------------------------­------
virginia woolf suicide note
------------------------------------------------------------­-------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
songs about suicide
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
thirteen reasons why soundtrack
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
billie eilish lovely lyrics
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
why do I feel so empty
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
empty
-------------------------------------------------­------------------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
i wish i was dead

I wish my name was Ryan or chase and I had no hobbies or interests outside of smashing hoes and the gym.
I wish I could just eat Panera everyday and drink with my bros and go to Peru with my daddy's money. I wish I had all the connections and sure-set entrance into the firm
I wish I could meet some newage ***** named McKayla with a flower sleeve who listens to imagine dragons and Bobby eilish and have some kids. I wish she'd cheat on me with Kevin and take all my money and then divorce me and accuse me of **** and send me to prison where I get ***** too. I wish my sons grew up to be junkies and overdosed on fentanyl. I wish my country became some culturless ******* devoid of value and meaning and was a consumerist nightmare and I worked like a peon for a bleak future. I wish I knew how to make spaghetti. I'm a ******. I wish I was gay amd cared about Taylor swift or popular media. I wish I had a loaded gun so I could go to the gun range like a normal sane practioner of the second amendment. I wish I could be god and make rainbows. I will stop now. It's so boring
Lol lol lol lol lol

S I D E      A
"already mine"         : us the duo
"us"                           : james bay
"broken things"        : clairity
"the night we met"   : lord huron
"delicate"                   : taylor swift
"life me up"               : mree

S I D E       B
"august"                                        : flipturn
"stupid"                                         : lizzy mcalpine
"i love you"                                   : billie eilish
"mirrorball"                                  : taylor swift
"through the dark"                      : alexi murdoch
"if you ever want to be in love"    : james bay

⚠Trigger Warning; the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to suicide and self-harm ⚠
----------------------
May 30th, 2018

These wayward breaths
lead me to
the Dead Sea.

"This is where you belong;"
whisper the spirits
of The Deep--
"this is where all
broken things
come to die."

The Dead Sea
is my bathtub-
ramshackle tiles,
contorted shower rod
bowing under the weight
of the fraying curtain.

The water sprints
in a scalding race
from the tap,
its gurgling clamour
veiling the sound
of Billie Eilish
playing on the speaker
(isn't it lovely all alone?)

I stare at the Exacto Knife
clutched between my
water-pruned fingertips.

And
the moment you pick
up a knife instead of a
shoddy razor blade
from a dollar store
pencil sharpener,
you know you've
hit rock bottom
(did you know
the Dead Sea is
the lowest
point on earth?;
have you ever experienced
the remarkable plummet
of that kind of low?)

I trace the patterns
of invisible
constellations
on the terrain of
my flesh;
at first,
I am too afraid  
to press down
but when I do--
my god,
when I do--
I draw blood
with the same artistry
borne from a
painter's hand,
each laceration
a brush stroke closer
to someplace beyond this
sadness.

⚠️Trigger Warning: The following poem contains subject matter pertaining to substance abuse⚠️
~


Dear Billie Eilish,


I wish I could make you proud


it's just


I DO


need a


Xanny


to feel better

life from the crossroads,
meeting a blood clot
already thickened from
running sweat, a stone's
throw from a ***** four
letter word: P-A-S-T

in another stream (one
wayward than my own)
i would be he, shivering
and possibly unrepentant,
emphatically gone too
far beyond anyone's
morals.

yet in another, i live out
the dreams of the father,
or 'sins' if pure honesty
had its say. what i wouldn't
give for a beautiful wife,
obedient children, a gold
standard like this stanza's
length; prosperous--

preposterous. in my own
uncharted stream, i would
live out troye's dream. free
on the inside, eons removed
from demi's 'sober'. what
choice does one have but
to make pop stars their
patron saints? maybe
mr. a-z has the answer?

scribes and stagehands,
satirists and spirits so
wishfully kindred, i smile
in solidarity. each line a
flame of pathos, each tap
a letter in loosening of
veins, like makeshift gifts
of a medium we inhabit.

to my girl, a lady-to-be
of such unwavering faith,
love someone even when
the party's over. keep
your billie eilish close by
like a bluebird in my heart;
highwayman to highwoman.

but most of all to Him,
patient with my inevitable
candidness just as he would
if my bargain held up. if we
were in love, I might just
learn to trust myself again.

if a little boy sitting alone in his room listening to billie eilish and painting whales can cut apart his life, so can you!

welcome to thoughtspace training. if everything went well first session, you should be starting to feel the headaches.

don’t worry, it’s normal. sometimes the headache might laugh or whisper. that is also normal.

if you close your eyes, you can find your headache a name
and maybe, if you want more headaches around
you can give yourself more later

but of course, before you know anything about what you’re getting into, let’s cover the basics

your headaches will talk
and yes of course you can tell them your secrets
headaches are an equal replacement for therapy

now that you’re distant and cut off from your emotions, it would be nice to introduce that

headaches have feelings
like people
but smaller

and you can feel those feelings when they are not yours

like when you’re sitting in the back of geography and you cry
because there is a dog on the whiteboard

maybe you don’t know why. maybe you feel like you do know why but you don’t know what why is and maybe all this feeling makes you tired.

but don’t worry

the headache will give you social confidence
it will run down the stairs to ask out your crush
and then it will run away
and then you will have no friends

but you will be impulsive and funny
so who needs other people anyways

Hey - call me back when you get this
Or when you've got a minute
We really need to talk
Wait - you know what
Maybe just forget it
'Cause by the time you get this
Your number might be blocked

Look - now I know, we could've done it better
But we can't change the weather
When the weather's come and gone
Books don't make sense if you read 'em backwards
You'll single out the wrong words

"It's not you, it's me" and all that other *******
You know that's *******
Don'tcha', babe?

-Billie Eilish
Party Favor

I.
"howl"
florence + the machine

II.
"mine forever"
lord huron

III.
"embody me"
novo armor

IV.
"carry you"
novo armor

V.
"the 30th"
billie eilish

tore my shirt to stop u bleedin
but nothing ever stops u leavin
-BILLIE EILISH

By: Cedric McClester

A rap debate is
One thing - Ye
To decapitate is
Another (let’s say)
If I were Pete Davidson
I would run for cover
Cos I think he’s up against
A *****-whipped brother

It’s one thing to
Be hating - Ye
It’s another to be
Insinuating (Say)
You wanna ****
The guy your ex-wife’s dating?
Is that something we should be
Readily anticipating?

Your moves have all
Been childish
You’re coming off
Very Billie Eilish
For a man of your talent
That’s not very stylish
And it ain’t gonna get you
Any mileage

It’s obvious that
You’re hurting
Of that the world
Can be certain
So how do you show it
By flirting?
Better take your bow
Kim’s lowered the curtain







Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2022.  All rights reserved.

hmm... come to think of it, is dyslexia a truly unique
phenomenon bound to the English language,
or could it be stretched toward the French tongue?
i don't know... but i've never heard of a dyslexic ******:
i have heard of a ****** with terrible orthography skills...

well i do speak a barbaric language, there is a clarity of
letters and syllables where i come from,
there's none of that sort of *******
that: is written THOUGHT but is said:
F... FOUT... that seems about right...
              it must be a French "thing"... maybe that's
why i never learned it... that phonetic dissonance
of writing one thing then speaking another...

sure, very barbaric of me for clarifying what's
written and what's being said...
French is bad, English is also bad...
German just compounds their words
to make them appear chemistry dictionaries...
maybe why English still retains the Pomeranian
aesthetic of compounded words,
akin to hydrochloric acid... oh! wait wait!
where's the hyphen?! ****! where's the hyphen?!
why isn't it hydro-chloric acid?!
Oxford, wake up... please do, when you do:
let me know...

oh but i'm writing this without expecting any change...
the people, so far, can, simply, *******...
i don't actually mind... all these "objections" are
for my own personal amusement...
i like minding these things without actually worrying
about them to the point of changing them...
like... i'm not going to read anything concerning
English thought... philosophy, etc.
beside Newton & Hume... no, not even Locke...
i don't know why... perhaps the roads are the best
in Europe... perhaps the English are a people that are
the most practical and don't necessarily have to think...
let them speak: ******* love to speak...
but thinking is not really their hard-on point
of concern...

the English are a practical people...
but it infuriates me... Charles Dickens... what orthography?
you're not using diacritical markers?!
that's just a nicer word: a misnomer of calling
a spelling mistake a: spelling mistake!
******... Charlie: yo! ******!
you have, your having paranormal, your metaphysics...
you don't have ORTHOGRAPHY if you don't don't
have diacritical markers...
for example, can you hide an H within the word:
SHARP? can you? let me help you out...
       ŠARP... see that?
see how i hid an already surd of a letter that's H?
ask a Heb... Hebrew... one arm of the tetragrammaton
is a surd: vowel receiver... the other hand
is the basis for the definite article and laughter: ha ha! ha!

but like i already commented to someone before:
living in England among English girls...
****** this that number and so many... none of them English...
well then... they must prefer their anti-racist preferences
of Pakistani men that might groom them...
Pontius Pilate pose... what?!
my hands are tied...
free will, no?!
                        and all i ever wanted was to be loved by
a woman... given the current climate...
can i get a cat instead?!
i'm not going for android ****-buddies...
down to the brothel... once every half a year...
or whenever i feel like it...
when, i, feel, like, it...
not when she's expecting me to be turned on...

that ship has sailed and the last time i heard:
it's sinking...
mein gott, these supposed alpha male **** boys...
you know how hierarchies work on the ape level...
right... on the human level a woman will walk
up to me and tell me: can you please take care of
"Andrew": he seems to be wandering off...
i don't need to earn an x amount of money to keep in
mind: we're here to prevent another Hillsborough
incident, aren't we? i usually receive glum looks
looks that read: i'm just here to get paid
i have no duty to uphold... well **** me...
alpha male... this Greek alphabet soup that became
doubly exemplified with the Covid delta...
omicron... what ******* letter are we on
in the hierarchy of men?
what letter are the women on?

             the way i see it: ensure everyone is included...
esp. the ******: fringe-bracket...
i'm not even a ******* supervisor but i'm asked
to be mindful of other people...
what the **** do we do, except, for the best part...
loiter? pretend that we're doing something...
8th February... Fulham FC vs. Millwall...
i'm gagging to be pitted against the Millwall fans...
i want to show my teeth and rolls my eyes back
to show nothing but the whiteness of my sclera...
hopes are high: expectations are low...]

NO, **** FOR  FREE?
NO! YOU IDIOT FUCKINBG...
WANKERs! *******..
****** CRAB CRAB SCRATCHERS...
alpha male **** boys... does *** have to be on
my mind so-much-so-frequently than is expected?
do i have to harbour this fluorescent
insomniac libido, do i have to play along
to the gimmick of a Duracell bunny?!
come, on! i've checked out modern ****...
it has gone so bad that i'm actually looking up
vintage 1970s Italian ****...
i don't watch the modern stuff... it's ugly... it's perverse...
once upon a time there was a feeling
of art around performing *** for an audience...
these days... ugh... all that gagging all that slobbering,
spit... *** has become: truly... unappealing...
what i do with prostitutes looks and sounds better
than the **** i sometimes encounter
then subsequently quickly turn off: because, it's,
a ******* TURN OFF...
the more liberated people became the ******* ***
they tend to perform...
and i implore my readers to transfer having
read some Marquis de Sade...
but this stuff... if women want to be ****** like they're
being ******... with no pseudo-Tantra escapades...
no... i'm not doing that...
give me a Turkish prostitutes that is still the only
woman in the vicinity who knows a little
about setting boundaries and i'll take that...

*******, once upon a time... had an allure...
these days it's just block-a-chop
see you at the butchers' market...
let's chop up some pork 'ops...
   it's ******* disgusting... no wonder i don't want
to watch it...

imagine getting your kicks off listening to
portrait of m.r boogie - christopher young -
from the movie sinister... imagine yourself being good...
seeking out... an archetypical role of / for evil,
because... the current state of affairs of "evil":
is... somewhat mediocre... tame...
tame by the comparison associated to the mid-20th century
Germans, or the isolated instances of Wankee
individualism stressed by that glorious bunch
of psychopaths...
    
modern *******... for, ****'s, sake...
i have to dig out old Italian ****** to get a thrill
of how ******* doesn't have to be all about
a teenage girl with down's syndrome slobbering
and crying out her mascara... or that everything
that's heterosexual is **** related...
can i please just ******* on my bicycle,
feel the cold wind, feel the cold?
can i please just do that?!
******* so old it sort of reminds you
of a period of cinema best associated with Singing in the Rain...
when the talkies first came in, the jazz singer
and what not... i sometimes watch *******
so old that they have "dubbing": voice-actors that
compliment the *** workers since
the *** workers have terrible sounding
onomatopoeias when they ******?!
that's how far back i'll go, because this modern crap...

sure... i do have a fetish for...
gloryhole bukkakke thrills: Robespierre would have been
so proud... less decapitated heads...
more de-membered phalluses...
squirting out yoghurt juice... anonymously...
i can't say i'm even into the lesbian ****...
modern ****... alias of too much blah blah...
mommy this, daddy that...
there is just a massive undercurrent of ****** running
through it... i feel sick...
talk during *** is already bad...
i was tested at work concerning this...
the women i work with asked me whether it was...
ahem... "polite" to refer to someone as "daddy" during
***... you're ******* kidding me,
was my reply... not the exact words but,
ergo implied... who talks during ***?

you want a slobbering ****** at the end of your
popsicle... drooling spit, gagging... crying mascara tears from
the ******* or do you want something sensual?
this modern crap is... i'd rather watch a horror movie...
at least seeing makeshift conjuring of a monster
would give me more... erm...
"whereabouts"? but people, do this ****, to themselves...
no one forced them to do this...
they do this of their own accord...
i'm happy that i'm not earning the sort of money
that might associated with being tempted by
gynocentric broads...

i'm free... i don't need a validation mechanism...
having enough *** is not a social status...
i frequent the brothels whenever i feel like it...
if having *** implores me to think that
i am living a completed life... seriously?!
   how much VIAGARA are you popping?!
how do you deal with the expectations...
i consider the concept of the Greek alphabet soup
according to... brotherhood...
these part "alpha" **** boys know ****...
can you be part of a group, including the ****** males...
can you keep them accommodated?!
no one is stepping out of line,
someone is in control: even though they are
hierarchically below some supposed said: "supervisor":
some senile ***-whip?
yes? no?!              well then...
are you talking with everyone on the ground...
everyone o.k.? it's all Indiana Jones happy for all?
yes?! no?!

alpha buck ****-boy deluxe...
if ******* women was my sole modus operandi...
why would i custard my head thinking about
Newton?!
that's all there is? *******... erm... would be nonces...
existence... can, be, orientated... around...
the... non-existence, of, women, should, such, demands...
be, made, necessary!
you know what it takes?
just look at an old woman...
a woman you could never, possibly,
be attracted to...

she most probably has her "****" sorted...
time, the balancing aspect of all things...
why the Greeks never associated some demigod
to time: perhaps they had... but i'm just too lazy to know of him,
her... it...
i do have a concept... the rich thinking that
they own everything...
there is a Hadean Debt...
you, do, know, that... this life is on loan?
right?! and the resources you're using...
you, didn't... generate, yourself?
so you do know, there's a Hadean Dept?!
the debt owned to Hades?
you do, know that, no?

you didn't create the coal...
you didn't create the atoms, nor the wind...
people have become as sloppy governing people
as they have become...
having... unaesthetic ***!
what am i even writing?
        bet keep this within the confines of having
written too much, i'd appreciate it immensely
that people do not reach this rambling episode...
of course i'm not going to delete it...
but it's hardly anything worse than tabloid journalism...
sure, i sometimes turn on the ramble-mode...
how would you feel...
being 35 and unloved?
           there would be some venom in your words...
Teutonic monk song can only get you
this far, after a while a sleeping beast comes
to the fore... wounded, proud -
i can see old age and it's not a pretty picture:
i'll sooner do off with myself than reach that
rubric... there's no competition when it comes to old
age... i'm not sticking around...
i've already located the crux points on my body
where the arteries are... a sharp stab of the knife...
in my right armpit... just above the right side
above the collar bone... i'll bleed out...
unless... drinking takes me sooner...
**** this *******...
    i'm done with playing nice: although i'll still
play the nice... but not being loved by a woman...
take me! mother, sea!
take me! in a storm!
               take me, the night! let me marry death!
fickle peasant girls that might subsequently
require a plumber...
in my age gap that's all that's left...
single mothers... who were the fathers?!
if there was... ha ha... one... i'd be surprised...
worthless alcoholics... maybe i should have taken
the approach i took to my maine *****...
two of them... i once found a hot **** in my bed...
o.k. changed the sheets... beat both of them:
who done it?! who done this loaf of scrappy peanuts
in my bed? meow! both received a beating...
second time... caught in the middle of the act...
ah... you little *******... you're going to ****
where you're later going to sleep?!
smack... smack... later washed him,
wrapped him up in a towel and mummified him...
"mummified": tied a bathrobe really tight around him
with clips... sat him on a table in the garden
while hanging up the washing...
maybe i should have slapped a woman once or twice...
maybe then they might have stayed...
i feel ill thinking that this might have been
the correct modus operandi...
even though i smacked my cats about for *******
in my bed... who's in my bed, right now?
the two cats i smacked about for ******* in my bed...
well... one of them did... now we're pals...
i sit on the windowsill, he sits on the windowsill...
we greet each other with a head-****...

it's sad, though... to keep a woman one might have
to resort to mild violence... slap her a little...
oh **** me, no... no...
   i'd rather be a monk...
i don't do well around fickle creatures...
you're either part of a legion, a cohort... or you're a *******
rebellious outlier that can be duly ignored
and disregarded...

esp. with the modern ****... i don't watch it...
i have to sieve through and find the classical
1970s Italian ****... when *** was a joy
and not an endurance test for gagging *******...
no... just... no...
            even with prostitutes i do my best
to be tender... this current bollocking works ill on
the eyes... right... so a Billie Eilish tells you that she's sick
of modern ****...
i'm a "nobody" and i can tell you the same...
so much heterosexual *** orientating itself around
****...
can't i just poke an oyster?!

then again: do i have to always be *****? do i need
a libido insomnia on top of an actual insomnia?!
what am i, a ******* Duracell bunny?!
jiggy-jiggy-jog-on-constant-hard-on-androidd?!
maybe the "alpha male" **** boys can play that role...
solipsistic vectors of this world: egoists...
make sure they get pampered first...
but try to get as many normal people and weirdos
on your side to satisfy a service...
      of sure... those **** boys will be right up there
in authoritative roles trying to make everyone inclusive:
never demeaning the presence of creature less than they...
yeah...

          they'll be up there... alpha male **** boys...
pistons... clogs in a vaginal machine...
   not much to go around being an artist,
or a plumber, let the dust settle... until it can be governed
by a next whirlwind.

You're a short, ugly, unattractive man?
You don't deserve a girlfriend.
You don't deserve respect.
You don't deserve anything.

So why don't you just crawl off somewhere and die?
I don't want to have to look at you.

So spake Her Royal Highness Billie Eilish.

Let me set the scene.
I'm lying in bed, tissue box in close reach, trying to remember
what it was like to not be sick.

Switching between scribbling
in my diary and expressing
my thoughts and feelings in the margins of my new favourite book, trying
to write down and capture
every new understanding, new perspective,
all before I forget.
     And become the person I do not want to be, again.

I'm in a state of reflection and growth.
I'm in a constant battle with the idea of perfection.
I can now understand that self-awareness comes with the grave consequence
of self-realization.

Will I achieve self-actualization?
What does that look like?
Is it possible?
Am I worthy? After everything I've witnessed, thought, felt, and done.
Who determines that worth? Is it me, you, them, or him?

So, Billie Eilish's "No Time to Die"
and Lana Del Rey's "Young & Beautiful" loop
in the background, making everything that much more profound.

I zone out - thinking about the reality of having an old, tortured
yet romantic soul
in an era filled with superficiality.

I regain focus - thinking about my longing for summer,
a desire created from its association with love. See, once October hits I hibernate looking for comfort in a mate.
A mate who happens to be a good talker
but understands me.
Because that's all I have the energy for
until it's summer again.
See, in the summer I can love again.
Love him. Love life.
Love myself.
As I typed 'myself' I repeatedly misspelled it,
as if it couldn't be true.

Writing this I fill up on self doubt
wondering if I will ever gain the courage
to share myself with them
Completely.
I get frustrated,
thinking about how to tell my truth
in a lighthearted manner.

Again, my mind goes to summer
spending time with my family and friends
and finally swimming in the salt water again.
I have always been such a show-off
About how good I was at treading water
my whole life.
I grew up a quick sprint to the water
during a few points of my life.
And now I constantly long
for those destinations and many more.
Destinations where I'm a sprint away from treading water again.    
     Cause otherwise I'm drowning.

Simultaneously identifying with the character drowning and the character making the waves.
What are we all really drowning in?
In self-doubt?
   Guilt?
     Shame?    
                       Loneliness?

I apologize,                                         (sometimes)
sometimes when the unanswered questions
begin to form,
it's hard to snap back into reality.
The reality that the cruel history of our world
repeats itself,
wearing a new facade
each slimmer!
and shinier! then the next.
I play my part in the charade
just like everybody else.

Will I continue to neglect myself to do so?
When I'm meant to be healing.
Will I achieve this seemingly artificial idea of peace with oneself?
When I do nothing but criticize myself.  
Will I ever forgive myself for the
person I used to be?
Put her on the shelf next to the little girl with
enough sparkle in her eye
to make even Toronto feel bright?

Well, I'll just lie here
fantasizing?
       Romanticizing?
                     Idealizing?
Until that day comes.

Be kind,
Evangeline.

- lingo-princess -

tries to rhyme...
too rhyming:
no better use.      502 bad gateway bypass.

it's very logical...
the Japanese approach, to say, something like
the following:
it begins with an ideogram for bird 鳥 (トリ)
                              TO-RI
an archetypical noun-idea complex
but then... follows down into pure sounds...
the Katakana syllables:
カラス (KA-RA-SU) -
i imagine it's the same with other animals...
yep... just checked the category: dog...
and then Alsatian...
            Bukowski wrote this melancholic poem
about bird watching...
me... i like to watch birds as well...
esp. pigeons, urban pigeons and woodland pigeons:
those that are much fatter...
and appearing cleaner...
   but when i watch them... it's the same story...
i'm a ****** of their almost constant courtship
failures... i've never seen one male have
success with the female...
     there's something to learn from that...
stiff: prickly virgins i'm guessing...
                     fun's currently the issue...
       a backlog of the fun previous generations
had from being sexually liberated has sort of stalled
us: also having fun...
   a blatant shift in the Victorian direction...
mind you... if women want the full package these days...
a guy with his own apartment...
sure... and if i had a wife and kids... or if i was
a single father... i just might swing being put on
a list for council accommodation...
fat chance of that: ever happening...
       it's like people on a diet of ready-made food...
if there's no effort in making it...
why bother eating it?
          whatever happened to that free-spiritedness
for celebrated with nostalgia for the 1960s?
gone... fizzled out... died a very strange death...
attempts to celebrate it again with
modern technology and hook-up applications...
yawn... please: up-front...
       i don't want fakery of emotional attachment...
barnackle hearts... clingy...
                no... but looking at these pigeons...
all their recurrent failures...
in my vicinity? how many guys are still living
at home? with the dreaded western concept
of ****** men... with their parents...
      ooh... scary... Ed Gein just around the corner...
with the coroner...
a different reality... to my best estimate...
there's me... there's Joseph next door...
the guy next to my left, Nigerian... and his sister
is also living at home... two doors down...
Sim... and his sister... opposite the street this other
guy... and a few doors down... the case is the same...
because what's the alternative?
sharing a house with flatmates -
would it turn out like from Friends episode?! magically?!
because... those flatmates wouldn't be jealous
if you brought a **** home?!
pigeons get rejected all the time...
but... i see a crow...
             hmm... that's another matter...
   on the continent esp. in central Europe crows
are more sociable... they actually flock...
you can sometimes spot clouds of them that if...
properly arranged... could overcome the sun...
but in England, this mythical land...
once... i'll give you that one...
i saw crows congregate for a meeting of sorts
in a tree... once...
   but the rest of the time?
they usually fly in pairs...
   Huginn and Muninn
                (ᚻᚢᚷᛁᚾᚾ und ᛗᚢᚾᛁᚾᚾ)...
and if they're not flying in pairs... and there's only one...
then it's usually Huginn... the will...
memory... ha ha... sort of forgot to come
along... ****** off somewhere...
had a spontaneous spell of amnesia...
that crow was always going to be unpredictable...
like my memory... it's selective:
i never remember what i want...
i remember what i must...
it must be that pedagogy erosion of rubrics
of alphabet and arithmetic...
  and biological facts that... really don't brighten
the day when you're stuck doing menial
physical labour... seems like... educations
ends up being a waste of time for most...
but... i've never seen crows attempting mating...
pigeons... all the ****** time...
they make it so ****** obvious that they want
to get it on... but crows....
when do they do it? in the night?
otherwise... they look pretty content with
being intrigued... even with boredom...
if birds could yawn... a crow would be like:
what the **** was that?!
  and he'd remain in a pensive pose imitating
a relieved Atlas...
but there must be a slot in me within
the confines of Darwinism - after all...
Darwinism is going rampant in the dating game...
once: the awe of the natural world...
now... the murky world of human affairs...
i'm sort of bored with Darwinism...
   probably because man is on some variation
of autopilot... there are strict ontological parameters
in place... and... you're expected to
not go beyond these: to not transgress them...
seems rather, boring...
too many loops to jump through to get
to a status that might allow you to exercise certain
freedoms...
            who ever said that high quality ***
exists in the upper-echelons of society...
            a year ago it was Madonna...
a month ago it was Rihanna...
                a week ago it was Dua Lipa...
a day ago it was either Mabel or Billie Eilish...
rotation: on rotation: roll on roll off...
                         girls are really on rotation...
the tyranny of youth the tyranny of beauty...
at 35... i've finally sorted out something...
oh: blessed hours of being alone...
well: "alone": this Maine **** is a real clingy
bloodhound sort of a cat, sort of a dog...
why even think you can get the best ***
with as much money as you can muster?
look at me... i'm not bothered...
i like well worn leather...
   i like beauty that resembles something mandible...
ugh... frigid... tight-knit ****** bodies...
inexperienced... almost... ******* alongside
a necrophilia advocate...
        how many? i, either... lost count...
or... i forgot to count...
  but a poet is not a musician in a rock band...
and it's not the right time to boast like
Bukowski might have boasted... just after world war II...
with so many widows and girls who lost their
boyfriends in the events that took place...
always sloppy seconds...
   Mr. Crab-Second-Slurp...
                    ****... i was about to write: Slurb...
**** me... buy a car... and then what?
pay insurance?! pay road tax...
so you own a ride... but you still have to pay up
to owning it? and all that maintenance...
i buy a bicycle... i pay for...
the maintenance that is my own right...
of ownership... tubes and tyres if they get flat...
oil for the chain... what insurance?!
what road tax?!
             could a bicycle leave... ***-holes in the road?
it's refreshing having this monetary ******
in place...
you always know... when not to overspend...
it's very character building to be "cheap":
cheap... well... not being flamboyant with spending...
only yesterday i met myself with a revelation
that only arrived today when i weighed myself...
a few hills up and down between Chigwell Row
and Havering-atte-Bower...
dropped from 102.1kg to... 99.1kg...
   in one session... three ******* kilograms dropped
in 2 hours worth of cycling...
       i'm going to take it easy today...
lift more weights... do more push-ups...
ugh.... this springtime phlegm is getting to me...
i abhor waking up and harking it out;
hold up... hold up...
a glitch... in terms of seasons in Japanese...
why is Spring... not in ideogram?
all the other seasons are in ideogram form...
but... Spring... isn't?

p.s. find the rest, here:
https://allpoetry.com/poem/16435789-%E6%98%A5-%E5%A4%8F-%E7%A7%8B-%E5%86%AC-by-Matthew-Conra­d.

I swear I’m not angry, believe it or not  
It’s just my face
God knows what you’re thinking as you watch me mope around your place
Looking dazed and confused
You could say I’ve been sleepwalking
With a self-deprecating mind set I often find myself destined to lose
It turns out
I was wasting my time wishing for things I thought I loved
Whilst knowing all along they would never be enough to satisfy me wholeheartedly
There’s no doubt that now’s the time to take my leave
I can no longer wait for the “perfect opportunity” if it means I’m existing in total obscurity
The roads I’m leaving behind are darker than the ones that are yet to come
Although those streets will be warped in memories
It won’t distract me from what’s waiting under the stifling heat of a midday sun
Far from those grey leaden skies that burdened me for so long
What was once my home turf quickly became a total disaster
Infiltrated with cruel hearts with ‘go nowhere’ attitudes
Swarming around my head incessantly like awkward fits of laughter
From the classic school yard bully who’s ruined another poor child’s day
But in truth
They’re only programmed to act in a petulant way
Because they’ve been ignored all their life and not taught how to be nice
It might sound basic and dumb to some who fail to see how two wrongs don’t make a right
The kind of individual who carries on as they please in a pandemic
Refusing to see the contradiction in their acts of irrational desperation
Only acknowledging death statistics once they’re highlighted by Billie Eilish
Or any celebrity who looks a little bit stylish
Because evidently that’s the only requirement to be taken seriously
Scientists, doctors, and politicians are just collateral damage to the cause
In fairness, who’s going to take much notice
Of the middle-aged white man in a suit and tie
Telling you you’re all going to die if you carry on as you are
When the leader of the free world’s more interested in taken shots at environmentalists
And banning 'Tik Tok' for “security reasons”
Than unprovoked gun crime and the entire state of California going up in flames for no good reason…
According to him that is
Yet again another act of pure stupidity fuels a government decision
The confusion resonates like a prophesy in any religion
Take your pick, it’s all nonsense to me
Leading to communal diversity and total irrelevancy
From the major issues we’re facing today that aren’t being addressed
Let’s get real, this is one big ******* mess  
When the easy option of ignoring issues of such significance because it might cost popularity in an election contest is taken
In the blind hope the pain is fleeting, and in the long run all will be forgotten
But life simply doesn’t work out that way
Even if there’s always one exception to the rule
I don’t think it’ll be you