Hypothetical lust
Generated electrical impulses,
The very same that stirred your heart.

Pulse – stifled, still,
Cochlear arousal (still)
The same that heard "I love you"

Physically imprisoned,
We tremble from the pain
Yours in your mind, mine in my brain

An abstract gait
Surrounded by coils of binary and luminescence.
Suave, purple suits clasping to morphed skin.
Electrical vibes, transistors atomically sized.
Brain dives, the concept of thought diluted.

She can only wish it was palpable.

In a mirror mirage,
Static fumbles,
Repos the limelight.

Cyberpunk gen, neo-noir,
A relevant memento.
Deciphering the metaphysical is
Unattainable.
***** it all,
Maneuver the landscape.
Might as well enjoy the sights
In the nick of a quivering snap.

Ah Consuela! Invoking vast vistas for visions of green Spanish eyes,
I discern them again where she left me back then,
                 as we kissed when she parted, my friend.
Through those ruins I tread towards the footlights, now dead,
                 where I’ll muse as her shadows ascend.

                  .
                          .
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she teases the mirror with green Spanish eyes;
her serape entangles her brooches and bangles
                 like lace on the sorcerer’s looms,
and her cape of the night, she drapes tight to excite,
                 and her fan is embellished with plumes.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching as spectators savour her green Spanish eyes;
taming wild concertinas, the dark ballerina
                 performs on the music hall stage,
but she shies from the sound of ovation unbound
                 like a timorous bird in a cage.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she quickens the pit with her green Spanish eyes;
as the cymbals shake, clashing, the floodlights wake, flashing,
                 igniting the wild fireflies,
and the piccolo piper’s inviting the vipers
                 to coil neath the cold caldron skies.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching the shimmering shadows in green Spanish eyes
as I rise from my chair and proceed to the stair
                 with a hesitant sip of my wine.
Though she doesn’t deny me, she wanders right by me
                 with neither a look nor a sign.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she looks to the stage with her green Spanish eyes,
(for her senses scoff, scorning the biblical warning
                 of kisses of Judas that sting,
with her pierced ears defeating the echoes repeating)
                 and smiles at the magpie that sings.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching faint embers a’ stir in her green Spanish eyes,
for a soft spoken stranger enveloping danger
                 has captured the rhyme in the room
as he slips into sight through a crack in the night
                 midst the breath of her heavy perfume.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she gauges his guise through her green Spanish eyes
– from his gypsy-like mane, to his diamond stud cane,
                 to the raven engraved on his vest –
for a faraway form, a tempestuous storm,
                 lurks and heaves neath the cleav’e of her *******.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching the caravels cruising her green Spanish eyes;
with the castanets clacking like ancient masts cracking
                 he whips ’round his cloak with a ****
and without sacrificing, at mien so enticing,
                 she floats with her face facing his.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching the vertigo veiling her green Spanish eyes,
while the drumbeat pounds, droning, the rhythm sounds, moaning,
                 of jungles Jamaican entwined
in the valleys concealing the vineyards revealing
                 the vaults in the caves of her mind.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching life’s carnivals call to her green Spanish eyes,
and with paused palpitations the tom-tom temptations
                 come taunting her tremulous feet
with her toe tips a’ tingle while jute boxes jingle
                 for jesters that jive on the street.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she rides ocean tides in her green Spanish eyes,
and her silhouette’s travelling on ripples unravelling
                 and shaking the shipwracking shores,
as she strides from the light to the black cauldron night
                 through the candlelit cabaret doors.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she dances till dawn flashing green Spanish eyes,
with her movements adorning a trickle of morning
                 as sipped by the mouth of the moon,
while her tresses twirl, shaming the filaments flaming
                 that flow from the sun’s oval spoon.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she masks for a moment her green Spanish eyes.
Then the magpie that sings ceases preening her wings
                 and descends as a lean bird of prey –
as she flutters her ’lashes and laughs in broad splashes,
                 his narrowing eyes start to stray.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching fey carousels spin in her green Spanish eyes,
and the porcelain ponies and leprechaun cronies
                 race, reaching for gold and such things,
even being reminded that only the blinded
                 are fooled by the brass in the rings.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she shepherds the shadows with green Spanish eyes,
but as evening sinks, ebbing, the skyline climbs, webbing,
                 and weaves through the temples of stone,
while the nightingales sing of a kiss on the wing
                 in the depths of the dunes all alone.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching the music and magic in green Spanish eyes,
as she dances enchanted, while firmly implanted
                 in tugs of his turbulent arms,
till he cuts through the strings, tames the magpie that sings,
                 and seduces once more with his charms.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, the citadel steams in her green Spanish eyes,
but behind the dark curtain the savants seem certain
                 that nothing and no one exists,
and though vapours look vacant, the vagabond vagrants
                 remain within mythical mists.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching as lightning at midnight in green Spanish eyes
kindles cracks within crystals like flashes from pistols
                 residing inside of the gloom
as it hovers above us betraying a dove as
                 she flees from the fountain of doom.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, distilling despair in her green Spanish eyes,
and the bitterness stings like the snap of the strings
                 when a mystical  mandolin sighs
as the vampire shades **** the life from charades
                 neath the resinous residue skies.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she looks to the ledge with her green Spanish eyes,
for the terrace hangs high and she’s thinking to fly
                 and abandon fate’s merry-go-round.
At the edge I perceive her and rush to retrieve her –
                 she stumbles, falls far to the ground.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching the sparkles a’ spilling from green Spanish eyes.
As I peer from the railing, with evening exhaling,
                 I cry out a lover’s lament –
there she lies midst the crowd with her spirit unbowed,
                 but her body’s all broken and bent.

Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she beckons me hither with green Spanish eyes,
and I’m slightly amazed being snared in her gaze
                 and a’ swirl in a hurricane way,
but the seconds are slipping, my courage is dripping,
                 the moment is bleeding away.

Ah Consuela! I touch her - she weeps tender tears from her green Spanish eyes;
as the breezes cease blowing, her essence leaves, flowing,
                 in streams neath the ambient light,
and the droplets drip swarming, so silent, yet warming,
                 like rain in a midsummer night.

Ah Consuela! I hold her, am hushed by the hints in her green Spanish eyes,
while her whispers are breathing the breaths of the seething
                 electrical skeletal winds,
and the words paint the poems that rivers a’ slowin’
                 reveal where the waterfall ends.

Ah Consuela! I’m fading in fires a’ flicker in green Spanish eyes,
as she plays back the past, she abandons and casts
                 away matters that no longer mend.
           .
                  .
And she reached out instead, as she lifted her head,
                 and we kissed as she parted, my friend.
           .
                  .
                          .
Ah Consuela! I’m tangled, entombed, trapped in tales of your green Spanish eyes,
in forsaken cantinas beyond the arenas
                 where night-time illusions once flowed,
for the ash neath my shoulder still throbs as it smoulders
                 some place near the end of the road.

This life, although startling in its brilliance,
remains confined to the electrical shadows
cast on the walls of our brains.

Do you ever feel…
no, no, no
not feel.
Well maybe feel...
or sense…
that everlasting something

sometimes off in the distance I can see…

I’d love to take my hands
and, like the meaty instruments they are, dance
sweet symphonies up and down
your body.
Your mysterious mountains I wish to see closer
to land my ***** machine
among majestic silver seas and
strange beautiful grass of green.

I would use my subtle touch to say
what I couldn’t any other way and
drag you down to the depths.

But things are not so simple
in life
as in our thoughts,
nor so rough
as our poor idiotic language.

Every hand, give me your hand.
I’ll talk to you, you wont understand.

These electrical shadows cry at the ultimate,
but our mere conception shames it.
Like the dream tigers we desperately try to craft
they continue to disintegrate
like the castles made of sands,
rocks piled on rocks
reaching for the stars.

The firmer the hold,
the quicker it slips away.
“Just try squeezing the truth from water,”
the angels sing to me in my sleep.

And it’s the love of dreams
which is so greedy for recognition
swiftly performed in the sight of all.

And it’s the waves I feel…
well maybe not feel.
And I wanna say “*******”
because I still love you.

I sense…
well maybe not sense…
And I feel
my soul being slit up as if by a razor.
frenzied but beautiful and
an awful ambiguity grinning over it all,
cackling out the Tao’s opening words,
lukewarm to the point of being
enigmatic,

“The truth that can be told, that is no eternal truth.”

I guess after the laughter, then comes the tears.

*******, Lao Tzu
and your ****** ancient wisdom.

Why you staring at my finger when I’m pointing at the moon?
I got nothing at all.
The center, unapproachable
forever.

You’re willing to die you coward
but not to live.

*Love life more than the meaning of it.

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Longing to abscond with time
Run away to breathe and live
Looking for truth beyond the horizon
Restless soul breaking free

This heart wants to settle
For it’s run an emotional gamut
Tattered, worn out like old shoes
Quietly ticking, limping along

Then, like electrical therapy
You ignited a spark deep inside
Blood flows with purpose
Deliberate beating with resilience

It keeps on running
For you

I think about my death.

The seed of life
is so
profuse,
and that
is
my demise.

I might live,
but I will die.

When I dream,
I dream
of Judy Greer.

She's been there
talking
about
love and *******
and death
and hurting.

So what can I say now,
when bulletholes
of lightning
people my dreams.

When a couple
shots of whiskey
have put me on the edge
of missing you
over memories.

I moan
and dream,
because dreaming
is a moan
for hope.

And being in for a bid,
is the same
as your lips
to
my
lips.

So I evade promises
and dribble
into traps
of
depression.

I've had this problem
for so long,
it seems inconsequential
that I might
wring my neck
by an electrical cord,
or by the chords
of your heart..

Because i miss you
and that
type
of
thing
never lets go
to much.

I stare at humans with an anchor in my hands.

I don't know if I should break
their noses,
or
tell them how it got there.

Don't hate me,
just be grateful;
that I told you I'm so sad
and worn out.

We had a mutual hate for society.
The government's rations were irrational.
The economy's money had no worth.
The people's morals were immoral.
The religious had lost their faith.

We were stuck
in this world,
with no way out.

Before we had met each other,
neither of us had believed in that four letter word.
The one that people made a big deal over.
It had no meaning to either of us,
considering we never really knew what it was.
It's absence in our lives lead us to believe it didn't exist.

Plus,
Love was a kryptonite.
Who would let their guard down to be with some other
corrupted human being?
Certainly not I.
And sure as hell not you.

But just as any other cliche stupid love story would go,
destiny brought us together.

At first we were unsure of each other.
I had this undeniable habit of observing you from across the room,
And I'm sure you thought of me as some weird girl in your business class.

We ended up talking, and becoming friends.
But being "friends" lead to skipping class to make out in some hidden part of the school,
sitting on your lap at football games,
and texting all the time using winky faces and hearts.

I didn't think it was possible
but I had fallen for you.
Hard.
The way a toddler falls the first time they ride a bike.
Or the way Humpty Dumpty fell from his wall.

There was no putting me back together.

Unfortunately, at the time I didn't know how you felt.
and neither did you.

An opportunity came to me in which I had to make a decision.
Put up a fight and stay or just go with the flow and leave.

I never thought I could change anything between our "friends with benefits" relationship
and this paradise had nothing left to offer me, so I left.

And I guess the saying
"you never know what you have until it's gone"
showed true for you because you noticed my absence.

Every time the teacher would call my name for attendance
you would respond
"she isnt here"

Six Months Later..

I went to visit for a few days.
I spent three of those days with you.
I had called you, told you I was in town.

When I saw you,
I was actually happy. Genuinely happy.
Which is saying a lot,
considering the rain cloud of depression that had been hanging over me for a while.

At first we were just like we used to be,
sarcastic ******* to each other.

In the middle of me ******* about something,
you grabbed my waist,
pulled me closer,
looked at me with those eyes of yours,
and kissed me.

I realized then how much I had missed you.
Your electrical touch,
the taste of your lips,
the intoxicating smell that radiated from your skin
of sweet vanilla and laundry detergent.

I couldn't stop the feelings I had for you
from coming back.
I loved and hated how weak you made me.

My knees would buckle,
threatening to give out from beneath me.
My chest would burn,
as though I had swallowed a million fireworks
and they were all going off at once.
And My heart.
I hated the way it ached to tell you that I loved you.

I had once believed the word was meaningless;
Just something people said to each other to shut the other person up.

But no.
It was much more than that.
And you pulled the true definition into my view.

Allowed it to take on different meanings,
gave me situations to connect it to,
and feelings to associate it with.

It's safe to say you taught me to love;
just as the world taught me to hate.

But your lesson had far more value than any other I'd had or would have.

Onward and Upward
Trending on mind-bending signals that send you on a trip to perfect love making
For the sake of awakening the inner child making a bad girl go wild
Letting her inner child out on her worst behavior
Save the Christian values for later
For now live in the moment of every lover’s dreams
Let your inhibitions roam free
Lets heat things up with rose pedals raining from the ceiling
On this cold crisp evening go see
What cupid has left you under the tree
Wrapped up in a bow
It’s time to let go and release the thing you’ve always been afraid of but wanted to be
Exalt intimate thoughts to heights beneath where the Holiest of Holies and great *** meet
Close your eyes
Follow each of my fingers on a ride
Each pushing electrical impulses pulsating until your body convulses and goes into a frenzy
Each one
Precludes the width and the tip of my tongue
And turnpikes all the way down until it touches the inner sides of your thighs then slides…
In and out
In and out of the walls of your gateway
Just point me in the direction of the pathway
The cove the place where I lay my suitcase and we make our case to fill the atmosphere
With rotating, rewinding, refilling
Our empty glasses with wine and no fear
A cycle of love making on relentless rotation being made...right here

Please reconnect your controller.
Give your attention back to me.
Reconnect your electrical current to my system.
Do not let these control systems capture you.
Your mind is decaying one half life at a time.
Half of your life can’t be mine.
Either I’m your electrical generator
Or you find your power elsewhere in the world.
You have to be fully charged for me,
To truly be connected to me and my word.
Can you half love?
Can you half trust?
Can you be half alive?
Dead to your flesh but alive in my spirit,
But through my spirit you are made whole.
Do you want temporary relievers or eternal forgiveness?
Let me tell you aleve will still leave you feeling the same hours later.
Believe and it shall come to pass
That the aftermath of your life was already determined in the past.
So weep not my children
For this present life is nothing compared to the future glory.

When my empty bed whispers
& my room smells primordial,
I am always open
to remedial training,
other ways to see the light,
to succumb to the fight.

It's times like these
when one considers
throwing in the towel,
letting your guard down
to get loose & open up
to new experiences,
electric ones.

there is a buzzing
     it's coming from the walls
the tiny electrical snaps and synapses
the mindhive that seethes
the radios and beeping pulses
we have reached the
singularity.

let’s split the seconds in two

break apart the bark of dead trees

and sail away like summer

like echoes

echoes

we’re back here again, no winebottles to hold us

the waves break on our skin

whispering about echoes of

the wind drops like grenade pins

paid for by palestinians

profits into our superpowers pocket

we’re echoes of endless

take one of those moments in a second

crush it up and breathe it in

just how rolled up notes showed you

hold this moment longer than you’re meant to

steal time from the gods

cos i want to look into your eyes one last time til tomorrow

i am a series of echoes of endless meaningless patterns

like pythagoras put a purpose on me

like a madman i’ll scream to anything that’ll hear me

the whole room sways to the beat of your breathes

the knowledge you cradle like life inside will never leave

it’ll warm you in moments of distress

you’ll feed it in moments of perfectness

sometimes the symbols aren’t right,

but you blurred the borders between me and love

letters and poems

dreams and stories

our thought patterns in sync like mushroom trips

i love you.

-

words

are infinite

like

the journey to here

the random chemical concotions

or just

preselected stories.

and pi to seven decimal places sounded with syllables sparks superstitious symbols

electrical impulses brief bits of data

it’s all down to disbelief in coincidence.

believing in confidence

patterns need a purpose

lose yourself in them

easier to avoid the pain that your brain knows to be true

that you’re part to blame

for the begging bin bags

the bombs and the poverty

the lifestyle of monotony

so i’ll keep saying it til i work out how to say it properly...

0.000001/=0

My head feels dull.
Not even “comfortably numb”.
No mood for rhyme
Yet must cast my soul
Back through time.

No.
No more rhyme.
Just cast my mind back.
Seek that spark.
Call out my Muse.
Be inspired.
Excited.
Yes.

Excitement shines
Like a billion suns.
The merest touch
Explodes
My every nerve.

Magical mysteries
Unveil themselves.
Brilliant, fluttering butterflies
Flash and flicker
Those rainbow colours and more.

Deep inspiration.
Adrenaline rush.
Electrical discharge.
Cascading sweat.

Thunder-drummed tornadoes.
Lightning storms.
Rose tinged dawns,
And silver-ghosted Moons.

Inspirational volcanoes
Of Muse-blown delight.
That’s how it was,
To be in Love.

In any type of pc, motherboard may be the key ingredient, that retains many crucial portions of the system and connections to many other peripheral devices. It provides a communicating highway. Each individual the main laptop or computer conveys to each other over the motherboard. The purpose of this mother board is usually produce a connection direct for all additional add-ons along with aspects of laptop method.

Small Past of System board
In the instances when laptop had been invented, it once were inbuilt your figure or simply a scenario by using sections connected through a backplane. This backplane made up a couple of slots interlocked by electrical wires. Once the arrival involving produced enterprise forums, the computer, study solely ram, random access memory, add-ons were being attached to this Printed circuit boards. As time passed by in the 70s plus Eighties, a growing number of degrees of parts started out having kept around the mother board caused by reasonable causes. In the Nineteen nineties, your motherboards grew to become capable of doing video,sound recording,web 2 . and visuals capabilities.

Breakdown of System board
Commonly your personal computer motherboard features micro-processor, primary ram along with vital factors, mounted on this. Other parts including training video plus noise remotes, outside storage area in addition to peripheral devices usually are linked with motherboards via plug-in charge cards. In the most recent motherboards, every one of these elements will be attached straight.

Mother board Chipset
Essentially the most crucial piece of motherboard will be chipset. Them settings your data movement throughout the details tour bus of your motherboard. Channelizing the info to the accurate ingredient would be the principal purpose of the actual chipset.

System board Factors
This system board includes ties for those pieces. Growth slot machine games regarding PCI,ISA,AGP,DIMM as well as exterior cable connections pertaining to serial as well as multiple locations,Universal serial bus slots,seem minute card,mouse and keyboard tend to be attached to them.

Key pad & Computer mouse button Connectors
Many occupation key board locations linked to the motherboard. A couple of most frequently employed plug sorts are usually DIN and AT. At present smaller Noise PS/2types with band are generally swapping ST kinds of band. PS/2 model sockets could be utilized on From types simply using a air compressor. Universal serial bus fittings also are located in several Desktops.

Concurrent Interface
Multiple locations are utilized simply by photo printers. On multiple slot, various wiring can be used carrying details information. Any 20 flag feminine DB plug is utilized within concurrent slot. Motherboards straight help parallel plug-ins via immediate link or dongle.

Cpu
The actual ingredient can also be often known as Pc. The item settings most businesses that happen to be conducted in a very computer system. CPUs are just massive scale incorporated tour in block small packages with various relating pins. Central processing unit consists of generally 2 pieces,specifically Maths Plausible Product(ALU) and Control Component(CU). ALU executes math as well as realistic surgical procedures in addition to CU brings information via memory space in addition to carry out these folks.

Browse
Hardware or Universal serial bus is definitely an field regular association pertaining to Personal computer. The velocity of Hardware 3.2, up to date standard involving Hardware, is definitely Five Gbits/second.

Standard Suggestions Production System- Study Merely Storage(BIOS ROM)
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You planted galaxies inside me when we met
and now they're pouring out of my mouth,
stretching their curled limbs skyward from
the abyss of my stomach; they travel
up and up across the expanse between us
and down your throat like some sort of
invisible (and magnetic) parasite.

One:
Brown eyes remind me of Chernobyl,
                        but on you,
I see the Wilson Park Ice Skating Rink where
my mother first taught me to skate.  I see my
tiny hands wrapped around my first dog, Kelly, and
the Beluga Whales at the Shedd Aquarium
in 1999.  There’s a six foot deep hole between us
that makes me wonder if cataracs eclipse your
perception of me like they do for everyone else—
I wonder if you worry about
teetering over the edge
                                          like
                                                   I do.
Two:
If I’ve learned anything from math class it’s that
a negative times a negative equals a positive so
I guess it’s a good thing when it comes to you and I, because
how else would two equally bashful people ever work
together in harmony?  But then what about science—
positives and negatives attract, so I must
be the latter of the two in this electrical charge
         electrical attraction
         sparks fly
         fires rise
other cliched forms of saying that I just like
when your hands are on my hips and your
lips are on my neck and somewhere
in the back of my mind, I hope to God
that this new age romance is not all for naught.

Three:
I met the devil when I kissed your lips.
God was pushed out when the space between us
shrunk and shrunk until there was not enough
room for air nor biblical commandments nor morality nor logic.
We fell together, tumbling over the clouds like the
awkward first steps of a child, unsure and panicked;
our clipped wings, like birds in captivity, did nothing to
prevent us from ripping the pages of His thick book
and mixing and matching His words—
“burn[ing] with passion,” “two shall become one flesh—”
we folded them into fortune tellers.

Four:
When you first told me that you thought I was beautiful,
I did not believe you.  You looked so unsure of yourself—eyes
downcast, bottom lip tucked between your teeth—that I thought,
“How can this this wide-eyed boy think that he can
spot constellations that the Greeks and the Egyptians overlooked?”
Then I realized that the words that spewed from your
blood stained lips were stars of your own creation.  Somehow
you compressed and fused your perception of me with
interstellar matter and birthed a new stencil in the sky.  You
created a cynosure of me.  You look at me like you’re
gazing at Polaris, a perfect doll like Helen or Marilyn;
something I am not.
But I like it.

Five:
We make up Sirius, the Dog Star—
you, the primary, and I, the companion, we are
the brightest in the heavens.  Canis Major would
be nothing without us.  Circling one another in a far,
spread out pace, we take our time in dissecting
one another’s intentions.  You are my horoscope and
I am your zodiac sign; both born in the year of the pig
we display the raw, open wounds of altruism to one another.
I wonder when you look in the mirror,
if the reflection that you see is that of the Milky Way;
the barred spiral that contains
our solar system
our planet
my
      home.

If being with you would mean spewing galaxies
from my lips for the rest of my days, I would
gladly regurgitate a whole new universe
just to hold your hand.

Vibrations of steel block engines have been lulling me to sleep lately
Eyelids swaying up and down like the back and forth of seaweed on the ocean floor
I count yellow dashed lines like others count sheep
Feeling my consciousness slip away, I’m drowsy, I’m dreaming
I dream of a golden city
A golden bay along golden grass rooted in golden soil
Golden streets with golden stop lights
Golden cars parked in golden parking buildings
Gold Telephone towers powered by gold electrical cables
I begin noticing something strange about this city, as it shone so brightly with a golden sun setting as the city’s own back drop.
There were no inhabitants.
No pigeons.
No stray cats.
No dogs scavenging for spare scraps on starving stomachs
Business Men in suits are found littering streets all around the globe. These streets lay barren
Little girls playing hopscotch and jump-rope gone as if the city misplaced them all.
My stomach dropping as I drop to my knees
Panic attacks bring back memories of family and friends
The beautiful faces of girls I once loved, and ones I may never be able to
Questioning if reality was the dream
I am alone in a wonderful Jungle
It’s not easy to be alone in a City of Gold

He walks outside to watch as veins of electrical light sizzle in the night sky.
The rain strikes against the pavement. The water on the road slides by.
The man stands tall, his shoulder aching from his previous operation.
He looks at the blank, dark mauve sky with a frown on his face from the whole situation.
His wife sits in the kitchen, crossword in hand and letting the news play like white noise around her.
Their children, all in bed; all of them unaware of the storm parading outside or of one another.
Three out of the four are asleep while one records these events, sleep stinging her eyes.
She should sleep for her dreams take her away from the darkened skies.
But for now she will be hypnotized by the veins of light illuminating her night.
She'll watch the light pour through her window until her eyelids are too dreary for her to keep sight.
So goodnight, goodnight, goodnight

How can we not feel Adam’s pain
See the features of this creature
Tortured by people’s disdain
And not weep at his wretched state

Frankenstein’s creation
From his strange life equation
Electrical innovation
In that once marvelous now dead age

How can we not feel Adam’s pain
The child with no real name
Only a borrowed nomenclature
To define his human inhumane nature

Torches and Preachers calling for his head
Love denied never finding peace
This so called beast could rip us to shreds
Tear our flesh asunder and squash our heads

But when he speaks racked with life’s pain
A horridly embellished mirror of my own
My defenses break opening the floodgate
And the monster makes me cry

Crackling criss-crossing blue in mind. It scissors down the lanes through the pipes and tubes and little dividers. Electrical mind numbing beauty. Veins-bursting in excited anticipation. Convulsions and scenic skittering routes. Into the Nexus! Here simmers what we are thinking and believing. Our mind's eye focuses and drips into the pool until completion. Psionic figures dance flicker through life existence. Pulse-width fluctuations. Tiny menagerie of our Will. Scribbling through dusted panes of time interface. All afire with ourselves once we have discovered ourselves. Nano-tech emotions. Hope fear anger mercy curiosity buzzing swarms of grey goo jibbering and bubbling in an artificial mind-****. What is all this allusion? Nothing complicated. Speculation on future times where sensual technological biological singularity is paramount. In my room where the clocks are taped over and the sun is dark and dim. Through the windows I see myself. The boxes on the floor emanate simple clickings with melodies intertwined casually. I myself appear redundant. I have done this and so have others. To discuss oneself is worthless unless you become convinced you are another entity gazing back across the room. I feel I am being watched. I become cautious as he may have noticed. Tingling weightlessness tickles in waves in both heads. The Jazz Classic appears. Old dark men and women in hazy environments. Organic supposition or cold observation? Both hold importance so let us appreciate it all. The cello quivers and hums with vibration. Fingers callused and riveted like the age-old corn field bother still strings. A child hums to just myself. What does he want? I never asked him for an audience. Yet he freely gives it to me. Now he multiplies. Or she? Children confuse and cause one to be apprehensive. Nothing and silence. Silence in movement. Cease my visual stimulation for a couple seconds each. The child is back. What does he speak? Pray inside the rubble? Heal in this place? In disgrace? I do not know. His octaves are meshing together. Whining and thrumming with strange alterations. Some madmen tweaks my ears. Maybe he knows the child? I'm not sure. Let us continue on. The flute is the child. Old cello, you have stopped? These musings mean nothing. I would look upon them in a year and think nothing of it. Yet it feels as if this time is important. Da Vinci knocks on the door. Not as if I wanted to talk to it. Wouldn't mind I suppose. He is gone. We talked but I do not remember the conversation. Perhaps we've all talked but we just don't remember our conversations. That's ridiculous though. Then anything is possible. We could have flown to the moon on scarlet weasels outfitted with the latest nano-pores that secreted pure liquid indulgence. And we did because I just imagined we might have. However, I don't remember actually doing it. Just what I thought it might have been like. How frustrating. My thoughts are the same as all others who write out their thoughts when under the influence of yourself. It always seems like some thing is scuttling near my feet or under the nightstand; just out of view. Strange. I would be afraid. No reason to fear that which doesn't bother me. No reason to fear much of anything. That's been said before. Why are we so often concerned with saying that which has been said before? Cliche? auump-ump auump-ump auump-ump little thumping noise in my ears. That vibration is calming. Every night I am awake. Every day I seem asleep. I do not like it but I do not care yet I allow it to be what it will. Vision defaults to out of focus. My eyes always cross if I cease trying to control them. People are strange. Animals are strange. Same thing I guess. Someone will find that clever. Someone will find it cliche. This someone won't care. ****** fantasy permeates day to day. More entertaining than living a fantasy though. ***. Not that entertaining. Perhaps no one knows how to do it properly anymore. Maybe we never did. Maybe some people are just disenchanted with it. When I'm by myself, I never have any ****** desire. When around others, I generally think of it out of curiosity: what would it be like to please the person in front of me? The only enjoyment I've had with *** would consist of pleasing another or observing another ****. The human body is intriguing. Definitely. I really do think so. Sometimes I look at my own. Not out of appreciation really. Just the fact that I have body allows me to investigate it and understand it more. Pain is merely a stage one can get past, so I suppose I injure myself sometimes to see how I react. It's like I need to check I'm still working properly. I can't tell when I'm tired. I feel something, but when I ask myself if I'm tired, I murmur back, "I don't know." Maybe that is why I stay up till early mornings? I wanted to add again that the human body is beautiful and unappealing all in the same space. Perhaps the unattractiveness and softness and strangeness produces attraction. A negative and a negative equals a positive. Three negatives likes to fluctuate. In my mind at least. I may ask another to remove their clothing and whatnot during those intimate moments. Eh, never quite feel like having *** though. I like the emotions and sensuality of just looking at someone. They usually want to physically play around with each other. I think I enjoy fighting more. One day I'll leave everyone except I'll reminisce on those I enjoyed meeting. Maybe come back and visit? I would like to ride something quickly through an empty desert. Find my own food and water. Create shelter. Think by myself. My room is the smallest desert I have and the biggest. I have more in my head but I only occupy one at a time. I suppose I like I do like things like all others. I mean, materials can be nice. If I impart meaning on to an object it gains importance. I see it vital to also say that if it were to be lost, then I wouldn't mind and I would obtain something else or nothing at all.The constitution. Just mentioned by some woman in my room. Or in my ears would be more correct. Constitutional Rights. I honestly don't see the need for them. I was criticized for burbling that once. We should not need a constitution. We should be able to do what we like to do without fear or concern. Unless natural fear and concern appears. Now that may confuse a bit. Right to bear arms. I shouldn't have to be told or allowed to massive bear arms if I feel the need to have them. Big hairy bear arms. Curious little mishap. Freudian slip as Johnny said once? Danger Danger. Anyway, Right to bare arms. I shouldn't have to be told, as I look back,  go back and throw in that comma after told, that I'm allowed to bare arms and defend myself. I'll just do it if the need arises. Freedom of speech. That already has many issues these days. However, there shouldn't have been a need to tell people they have freedom of speech. Speech should have been freely allowed and never oppressed in  the first place. Theme? We have erred so much in the past and I would think sometimes we ignore that and just try make little cosmetic fixes by saying it's okay. Another point. Hold that: side discomfort. I sometimes feel like a little spider or creature is crawling or skittering on my leg under the covers or I'll change the music to Galaxy 2 Galaxy 90's hi-tec jazz there we go. Done! Now back! Or I forget what I said about the spiders. Another point: what? ******, curse damnable ****. Can't recollect what it was I was connecting together. Something that tied in to deceiving people into things are okay. I could go on about consumerism and all that jazz. Instead I'm listening to some techno-jazz whatever-decided-to-call-it. Hyphenated phrases are fun when I decide they are appropriate. English and grammar in such can be cool but at the same time I want to say **** it and stay proper. Do both. Acknowledge how to write and speak "correctly," but as long as someone understands what you are trying to say, then why correct more? Someone large doesn't like the fact I make a lot of noise in the morning. I stole some speakers and subwoofer from the room next to me as I was going to say Austin.  They are on the floor and whichever large person lives below me is probably annoyed or was. I don't spend any of my actual time despising them, but I'll easily say I despise them when someone asks. Otherwise it isn't worth wasting time on. Perhaps the vibration quivers downstairs and shakes them silently. The greate beast is perturbed and sneaky vibrations cause electro-annoyance! Her pulsewidth as I understand it must be like a super-saw as I think it. Silence. Some woman said it's just a feeling. HEA not sure what why I put that sounds like a garageband song. Switched to Inspiration! That is what I did this night. Finally start writing and making things again. Even though I never did and always did. My head sometimes hurts from thinking. Never truly though. Gotta say those things to keep the conversation going. That is really the only reason I say anything. To keep the conversation going. Otherwise I'd just watch people and be just fine. Just yelled "bahh," out loud (didn't sound the comma) because I felt the need or the want. Same. Wrong keys erased. sdas=a====dddddddddd Sorry. Oh well. Oh My. How the time flies goodbye. Going nowhere. Could write more but I felt the slight flicker of wanting to stop. So I do. What an ending. Now I'm only typing to continue the conversation with myself. Just thought ******* sounds good melody. Do as I sayt way to go good job. STOPSDMFA

****** a

Guess I'll read this little conundrum I wrote up. Stop writing ******. Stop EDITING

Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel  

Lying spirits. Those are real you know. You know? Don't you?

Mad is ill defined, dis-ease, decease, desistere, eh? You Roman?
You serve a mad man you know.
And the Roman said,'I serve the empire, a' and he stopped…

Might right be virtuous and power called might
be not-right,
like hands, chirality? Right and not.

Shame, we should not know that.

Perhaps the vector was the chirality connection.
Hers was upgraded.
So when the shame bomb hit, it was him,
not her, who blew it?
He did that?
Yeh, I see how now,
It's the hypo-thalish, estrogen receptor steward system.
Who named that ****** thing?

No, left-right brain variablity was designed
to counter the estrogen-tester if it went mal.
This is the Left HIS Branch, a resistor,
it changed the way breath gets to that "It is,
good" receptor complex just inside
the ventricles
where the first sparks releaze
the ozone reaction.
The reaction to that lost loving feeling,
That was the shame bomb.
The action taken to a switch burned out
in a rush of knowledge of good and evil beyond
the heart's experience with expansion.
The opposite seems to have happened in the wombedman,
he comprehends hope is a new treasure.
Hope. Who coulda seen that coming?

A witness.
Some mind saw that happen and it was never washed into the sea of forgetfulness, so

Wow.

Like in the mountains, that ozone,
first breath feeling, that's great!
No, like that first free hit. That's it. You will pay…

Like, this first reaction is not "That's wonder-filled",
but it's
"that was not deep enough,
not good enough,
too shallow,
faked it".

On every breath the man takes,
a voice in his head is saying,
"not good enough, keep
trying/dying/breathe/harder.
Sweat it all.
Shame on you."
Shame.
That was the trick.
Make him think he is not related to God,
on any level?
Make him think he does not have a knower
in good working order,
save for that tiny electrical glitch in the
official HIS bundle builder gene. That's nothing,
Who told him she was naked?
That's evil.
What he knew was good, what he believed was evil.

How did it work out?

Okeh. It took several millennia longer
than first estimates.
Starts out kinda dun'dat, don't it?
Things get brighter near the end.
According to the legend I learned.

Knowing liars lie does not make every man a liar, I think,
Only the ones who say they do not
lie have no truth in them,
if they can truly believe that.

It's a chapter, a colloquy of consciousness grounding out.

The story is told,
this is the way men were built, original specs,
able to do anything they agreed to do.
But their hearts had been corrupted because
the whole heart building system in Adam
was dis - turbed, mixed up with that sweet deceit.
If it weren't for mitichondria the sifting needed,
could have taken forever.

By Noah's first beard, the gene pool was so turbid, no one could see the bottom.

Living water flowing from men's bellies,
ta, lemme say,
that be some evolvin' involvin' some
a priori
somethin' or anotha.
Ax that wombedman at the well, what the hell?

There, here, is a whole story about ****** and the seeds of all the myths that point so straight
to Jesus as they red-shift into historical
mysteriums twisted and warped by time and chance tyrannies.
Holiness hierarchical hegemony funds
that sprang from Eve's first hope,
have no hope at all for
cowards and fools and fraidy cats.

Heroes, those compound interest, all things are possible,
except
God can't lie, or die, or fail.

Is living heroic, no. We choose to live.
Life favors life.
That's easy.
All things are possible with life,
as a whole.
Very complex plots and schemes and schemas and media
and magi-level tech
this is working, you know.
We agree. Who could make us enemies?

Still, any plan men made was clear in the minds of all the planners
and the builders and the men they used as tools to
multiply the strength of the ideas that possessed them.
They built cities that way.
By agreeing together to do it. Gobekli Tepi?
You know, what was that ? A
thousand years of CCC park bench building and trail
marking benignly buried with never a mark of destruction?
They, the men planners and builders and laborers, right after the Ice pulled back from the Caucusus
or the Levant lifted up, 12,000 years ago, or so,
somebody builds this place called Gobekli Tepi
about a morning walk, a Sabbath Day's Journey, from
Terah's Local god shoppe in Urfa
the Turks are said to say..

----
Original specs, reset, it's all software.
We can cipher this out,
if we keep our heads
while others about us are losing theirs.

Men with the new softer hearts can do that, they can,
when they put their heads together,
they can make anything happen.
Knowledge is increasing, as we know it.

Nothin''s done in darkness that shan't be made known.

That's no threat.
Never was.
It's a promise. Like, the meek inherit the earth.

John O’Sullivan was an electrical engineer for Consolidated Edison for Forty years. He drove himself and his staff hard, and took pride in the smooth operation of his substation on the lower East side of Manhattan.  When a man like John, who proudly self-identified as a type “A” personality, decides to take a break it so often proves to be a serious if not fatal mistake.

In the summer of 2007, my cousin John took his wife, Margaret, on a rare vacation out of the country to the sun swept beaches of Aruba.  While a beach vacation was perfect for Margaret, who loved nothing better than to lounge in the sun reading her book, it was a form of physical and mental torture for her husband.  He grew restless lying beside her in the hot midwinter sun as his pasty white skin turned a robust red despite his constant application of sunscreen.

I will never be sure what precipitated John’s near fatal stroke on that vacation trip. It may have been a combination of too much alcohol and too much sun. It is even possible that he had mixed up his daily medications.  All I know is that when my cousin was air lifted to a State side hospital, he was suffering the consequences of a severe brain damaging event.

When I saw John in the hospital, I could see that he had lost most of the use of the right side of his body and that he was going to be wheelchair bound for the rest of his life. While he certainly recognized me and tried to smile and communicate as best he could with gestures and a wave of his hand he had lost nearly all his power of speech.

My college educated, urbane sophisticated cousin’s vocabulary was very much diminished by the cerebral accident and now consisted of one word: “Bang”. He made the most of his one word personal dictionary. He could, by variation in tone and inflection, make his one word sound like a greeting, a farewell, a warning, a curse or a need for intention.

The word “bang” could express a terrible wellspring of frustration.  John had spent most of his life in a position of command, first as a Marine noncom,, then as the chief Engineer who ran the substation that powered the lower part of Manhattan. Words, to him, were as vital as eyes were to an artist, ears to an artist or taste buds to a gourmoo.

Locked inside my cousin was the person we had formerly known. He was not like an Alzheimer’s victim whose mind had staged a gradual retreat from his body. Rather, I am convinced, he was being held prisoner within the folds of his damaged Parietal lobe.

From the first, there has been no question that he would never set foot in his old offices on E 14th Street again.  There could be no grand retirement party, just a quiet filing of his papers and the first payments from his retirement plan.  These were sufficient, along with his other investments, to provide him and his wife with a modest, comfortable retirement.  If not for the crash that swept the stock market in 2008, his stocks would have been sufficient to permit a healthy cousin John and his wife to tour the world. Now, in the shadow of the great recession, his remaining capital paid for the home health aides and medications that maintained his precarious existence.

Margaret passed on late in 2011, a problem with her heart, the attending physician said. I saw Cousin John at her wake, the chief mourner unable to express his grief.  I took his good hand and expressed my fellow feeling for his loss. My poor words of condolence were inadequate but he gave my hand a gentle squeeze and whispered “bang” which told me he understood. It was a gentle voice from somewhere out on the edge of sadness.

With Margaret gone, the primary responsibility for John’s care was taken over by his daughter Megan and her husband.  The family sold off the big old house in Yorkville and John moved in with Megan’s family in Pelham.  There his pension and savings paid for 24/7 nursing care and a physical therapist. It must have been a source of humiliation for this proud man, a Marine veteran of  the 26th Marine Battalion  who had  fought at Khe Sanh, to be laid upon a table and have his limbs moved by others to maintain their muscle tone in vain attempts  to retrain his surviving brain.

I last saw my cousin at the Fourth of July family picnic.  He had good color and displayed a healthy appetite. He really enjoyed the fireworks display on the East River. He said “Bang” repeatedly, with all the enthusiasm of a young child.

I got the sad news about John the day after Hurricane Sandy struck the New York area.  My cousin Megan was understandably upset and was blaming herself for allowing her father to watch the news on T.V.  He had become visibly agitated when Eyewitness news showed the Con Edison plant of E14th Street exploding and the lower half of Manhattan plunging into darkness. Megan said that Dad screamed “BANG” in a tortured voice, then slumped back into his chair and was gone.

I never did get to the services for Cousin John.  My own house was without power and heat and the gas in my tank was too dangerously low to risk the trip in those days immediately following the storm. I still think of my late cousin often, and when I do I toss a bootless prayer for him into the winds of Eternity. The substation on E. 14th has been repaired; The damaged homes ripped down or rebuilt and the reminders of the storm grow fewer and fewer like the surface of the sea grown calm in the wake of the storm.

Thought catalyzed by stimulus.

A change in electrical impulses which burst and branch from outstretched, pink-tipped fingers.
Signal which travels thousands of multifaceted miles that curl and weave amongst themselves as highways of
Impulse.
Nerves act as roads that facilitate reaction.

Conception born from vibrations, undulating and deepened waves.

Concept begot from color gradients.
Cones, rods, and darkness absorb light into their small oblivion.
Each detecting.
Reflection and refraction of pure white—
Energy

Electrical signals, as firecrackers, flicker and ignite a flame within the mind,
The cytoplasmic, grey mass.
A paradoxical recognition of self.  
Beings of electrical processes and mechanics.

The subconscious acts as a blueprint in its seemingly endless convoluting of chemical coding.

Consciousness spirals out to the depths within what is unknown,
A place with no agenda and no aspiration.
Until the mind recoils back to the comforting space which encompasses the forefront of one’s faintly
Surfacing thoughts.

There is nothing in the intricate design of the eye that tells us how we are able not only to see the world, but to look back upon it.
Is there a magical element yet unknown, somewhere deep in the vitreous humor, or hidden within the optic nerve that burns with the purpose to seek out beauty in the world?
To capture it in our gaze, to own it for a rich moment or two.
Is there some electrical impulse within this blinking vessel
that projects our delight upon the object of our affection?
We know we love, and yet how can this be so? It does not exist anywhere in our anatomy.
We know that we would risk everything for that enduring answer, seen radiating from another's eyes,
and yet, how can we grasp it and hold it tight, this invisible thread?

Where, in the gray matter and electrical streams and storms of our mind, lies our imagination?
A game of telephone from neuron to neuron sends the fleeting thought
that behind our closet door there may be another world,
where a nautilus is king, and great whales swim the cosmos, feeding on the tails of comets.
But only for a moment do we think, perhaps it is so.
Until we open the solid door, and what we believe,
because we must,
shows us the simple fact of a tidy linen closet.
We believe it, because we must.
For there is nothing in our marvelous jellyfish of a brain that tells us that the world can be
anything
and everything
we want it to be.  
And with that, the World, and all the other worlds
here, there, and in between,
smile at us,
the fleeting shimmer of light in an endless sea.

a beast
bitterly binding
the broken books
of the benevolence
that be-seats
the thrones of thieves
a binary botulism baby
survived by
the lowest common denominator
lord of may be
the calamity shaker
shaking limbs from trees
he made me
who am i
to be enshrined by
the designs in which
he heaves the storms away
leaves the drones in decay
as of yesterday
in an electrical parfait
of symbiotic energy
******* tempting me
in its tether
as embryonic entities
shutter the flow
to the effects
that no one knows
of the development and growth
of self
and the foes he oppose
as was imposed upon
by force of will
exposed and deloused
of the shrill
cockiness instilled
in his build
aroused
in the post stillness
of his kills
he is i
and i am thrilled
to lower the shields
leveling out the playing field
and yielding
to the technical terminology
of my basic demonologies
of my ****** up philosophies
cloning the technologies
you infuse into the spirituality
of your broken dichotomy
just let me know
how that goes
as corrosive winds blow
through the boroughs
of your haunts
i can almost feel
the taunts
as i hear the boots clomp
turn to stomping through the door
enacting your unholy chores
in that which bares no reward
the price is blood
the cost is love
in which i cannot afford
unfurled upon the hoard
in torn intellect
abhorred in the twirls
of a de-cored vortex
inter-sexed
and robbed of originality
in the result of cultural finality
empty
in a sea of dreams
our heads blown apart
is only the start
as it seems
ill be whispering
from afar
by dark
yet to embark
from under the rage of my darkening heart
but if i hiss cyphers into your charts
ill become safer than the cause
as i shall get the sympathy
of the claws
across my character
in the jaws of the barrier
to non existence
its even scarier
than the persistence
of ignorant citizens
with hard-ons
and night vision
down-loadable intuition
with the precision of the averages
unlocked savages
in the ravages
of synthetic bliss
1.1 happiness
projected in eyelids
emptiness
defectors of the world
gotta free them
beat them
if you have to
defeat them in the bathroom with a knife
rip their chips of deceit
show them life
clip their legs in retreat
until they secrete
the evil from their throats
binary bohemia
pooling into a despondent
pool of blasphemy
drained happily
from the heads of greed
only when willing
to commit to killing
can we fix the dream
and control the lean
of modernized thinking
chromatically depleting
as our chromosomes are shrinking
not one inkling
nor notion
of the ocean sinking
before the rise
and in all that you bitterly despise
forgotten
as the world is washed
before your eyes
yet to realize
the compliance of failed tries
a crashed system of self told lies
yet ...
i still spy the better days
i can smell them in range
estranged
surprised
i muffle the cries
of demise
in reprise
of a new name
a fresh start
summarized
in the surmise
of restraint
the faint
whisper
delivering from here
the elixir of life's experiences
cryptically laid upon the sentences
of my ethereal commencements
the beautiful lessons
entrenched in the blemishes
the scars of the heart
impart
on you
the virtues
of the tried and true
blood sweat and tears
in the blurbs
of yesteryear
obtuse
it be my will
to instill
in you
the
jaded
truth
love yourself
and i shall
love you
too

The makers make
Everything
From everything
Hands into the void
Shaping matter
Parsing out particles
Passing electrical
Synapses to deduce
And reduce
Experience
To the simplest rules
Then changing the laws
Of science
Not god
But humanity
Making meaning
From the chaos
Imposing order
Through logic
The saving grace
Of this human race

Reality a vine
cut short as it grew
tangents of grapes
each fell a direction its own

revelations of faces
in alternate places
cross stretches of spaces
like speed of light races

time travel acquired
time line expired
time itself, tired
time, into minds, wired

like electrical current
like electrical impulse
like instinctual whims
like sensual sins

Human Trafficking
This one thing evolved
Such a badly that
31.6 billion dollars
Of trade is happening
In the world per annum
Mostly women and
Some young girls
They were harassed
Sexually, sometimes forced
To marry someone or making them
Slaves and more that I cannot
Explain them in words
Because knowing about it
I became dumb
They are tortured and given electrical
Shocks if they refuse their offer
Many are affected with ***
They offer a job by telling about
The packages and the accommodation
And finally when they are in their traps
They will show their evil faces and
Torture them

Met her up in the club
Drinking her pineapple schnapps
I took a chance,
asked her for a dance, she said yes
So I said take my hand
from the moment we met
I just knew we would connect
Felt the sparks fly 
between you and I
She gives me that electrical feel
Shocked to the heart 
The blood rush starts 
One taste of her strawberry kiss
From her red cherry coloured lips
To the sweet caress from her fingertips 
It had me feeling like this,

I love every little thing about you
I love every little thing that you do
(You know it)
I want your loving
Yeah baby it's true (You know it)
I can't get you off of my mind girl
(You know it, you know it)

Come and get on it
I want it (You know that I do)
Your bubble gum tongue
Your passion, your love
The connection we feel (So surreal)
Come on get on
We want it, I see that you do
(I know your feeling it to) Girl

It's the way that we sweat
In the passion, in ***
Out of breath
By the end
Fall asleep in your bed
Her head on my chest
You know that feeling
It's the best,

I love every little thing about you
I love every little thing that you do
(You know it)
I want your loving
Yeah baby it's true (You know it)
I can't get you off of my mind girl
(You know it, you know it)

Come and get on it
I want it (You know that I do)
Your bubble gum tongue
Your passion, your love
The connection we feel (So surreal)
Come on get on it
We want it, I see that you do
(I know your feeling it to) Girl

She likes it when,
I run my fingers through her hair
I see your feeling the attraction we share
Yeah we both feel it there
I can feel your body heat on mine
Yeah you know that's something I like
You know you got the look girl
You know you got me hooked girl
You know we got it good girl
Couldn't have made it any better
If I threw a wishing stone
Into a wishing well
She knows we got it good and,

I love every little thing about you
I love every little thing that you do
(You know it)
I want your loving
Yeah baby it's true (You know it)
I can't get you off of my mind girl
(You know it, you know it)

Come and get on it
I want it (You know that I do)
Your bubble gum tongue
Your passion, your love
The connection we feel (So surreal)
Come on get on it
We want it, I see that you do
(I know your feeling it to) Girl

©2019 Written By Benji James