I am warmhearted and icy cold,
with a pretty face that's getting old.
I am fragile yet tough as a man,
struggle thru life with no real plan.
I am petite and cuss like a trucker,
slightly naive, but I'm no sucker.
I am a sinner with a halo of gold,
an open book with secrets untold.
I am a hypocrite but always play fair,
a bleeding heart and I don't care.
I am a mother who acts like a child,
crazy, impatient and easily riled.
I am spontaneous and I am a bore,
forever forgiving, I still keep score.
I am unstable and wonderfully wise,
a ****** deviant in sweet disguise.
I am creative and self-destructive
naturally skilled and unproductive.
I am shy and I am outspoken
with a heart of glass, easily broken.
I am awkward and well refined,
lost, insightful and a little love-blind.
I am respected and I am addicted
shamed by burdens, self inflicted.
I am a perfectionist and I am a slob,
unbiased and shallow, an inept snob.
I am nocturnal, a creature of night,
blissfully ignorant, typically right.
I am cautious and I have no fear,
a loser and quitter, still I persevere.
I am brilliant and easily amused,
over-zealous and under-enthused.
I am impervious with wounds to heal,
a habitual liar just keepin' it real.
I am witty and weird and mean-
I am what I am.......100 Aileen.

Floating above the rifts of apperception I glaze over the gaudy faucets of imagined vector thrusts in hibernation by the lucubration of space-time materialized crystal in the somber beats of fetched farrago of choice slices in delicate hums of hemmed balance rantipole only in ethereal importance but otherwise supersolid above the sprauncy vagrancy of dilettantism. We shout a clarion virtuosity so that the conclamation of neovitalism conjures upon a spell of lapse and regress a motive for further crystallization of epidemiology into harmony with syndicated admonition sleek in design and parceled into renown by feats of completion rather than slugabed gregarious fountains of wasted ingenuity bleeding from the vacuum of an empty hearth in a hospitable dwelling otherwise cleared of imperfection. Right now, I levitate with transcendence with an approximated eidetic memory that is the surgical vibrancy of renewal rather than the chameleons of hidden talents buried by the walls of Jericho sounding tocsins of alarm that the anointed favor of choice destruction is only an encircled rapture of rhapsodies of confluence found in axiomatic truths ribbed with the futtocks of seaworthy but cauponate recidivism into the donnybrooks of apocryphal revelation preceding the whimsical fall of cascading permanence just as gravity so ordained it. We breathe the life of the ethereal numinous spirit of isangelous repute because we navigate the exquisite cobweb of reconciliation to surpass all understanding in peace what would be a miscegenated carcass of war otherwise apart from the incidental apartheid of the drones of causality ignoring the antecedent reality too much to register fathomed streaks of preventive endeavor because of the scars of a scrappy schlep of the rampicks of ecbolic servitude to moth-eaten star-crossed lovers of the mean menagerie of gutless succor renowned only in tepid rejections of harbingers bequeathed in succession but ignored because of the procession of “Billie Jean” politics.

   The citadel aflame with controversy buttresses carnality by witless contaminants of hidebound scaldabancos of ineffable destitution so craven in eisoptrophobia for their hypostasized indolent fatuousness of capitulation that they are but a minor punctuation in the largesse of centuries to favor audacity in candor over the prevarications of catastrophe to dented human pride against humane dictates of theodicy in fatalism that predestination experimented with its own vaulted verve to find permanent solutions engraved in the agrapha of time to solidify the redintegrated truth of God’s divine stewardship above the quisquilous deism of former regnant centuries of blench and blandishment. We revolt at the specter of rot only when the effluvia of disgust elevates the visceral reality above the utilitarianism of recycled prim nuisances of noisome lineage that yet balk because they are bereft of attention but not a vacant talent and therefore should the subsidies of man surpass the ignorance of appearances he will shrug of the demur of the scrimshank and sharpen his scrivello in the service of redemption found through cultivated prowess of gardens beneath where rivers flow above a cubic centurion of embattled visages of the heavens becoming the rampart for the vestigial clarity of Secret Masters to foresee the bypass that heals decadence and rebukes the formalism of puritan endeavor to sweat with exhaustive patience over the gossamer intertesselations of a ripe reality rather than a groveled fragmentary world shattered too much by exigent metanoia to mount the crenellated catchpole of vigilant enmity towards the stew of listlessness found in epigone and farce more than in organic fortunes. We flip the upheaval of society to squander our proportionate degrees of wealth on the necessity created by dire quandary which enamors by interrogations of pulchritude the verisimilitude of participle ivory dalliance of etched canvasses of simultagnosia for the librations of the liberated rings of betrothed liberation despite profound lurches of the mistetches of ignorance presiding dismally over the hulked disdain of glamborge rather than resselenque.

     The winter is a poor porcine glut of ciconine swelters because the prickly obtuse recoil of the delopes of caution find their permeable balance with a sort of photographic photosynthesis that braves the dearth of reprieve for the reprisal of nostalgic deeds found in the docimasy of riveted reflections because the preordination of God is the superlative champion of the witeless grandeval protectorate of infinite concepts guarded from the parvanimity even of the most strident minds squabbling over the braseros and battues of history as though those funereal stains of lachrymose regret outweigh the traditions of vaunted human progress because they are finicky about importunate pleas of subsidiary injustice rather than fulminations of the modern rebuttal to the disclaimers of an uneven history that shepherds the doubts of nihilism into ripe fruition at the expense of very expensive moral rot for the codlings of urbacity and mendaciloquence used to foment that tribalism of totemic justice. We see in Penuel the wrestling match of specters and heroic giants documented on the ageless pages and we notice the ironic twinges of struggle that kneaded the propriety of gentilian privilege that ultimately fostered an insurrection against chosen bravado among those that sear with zeal beyond the yordim afflictions of yobbery because the Jewish heart is stronger than any calamity even if it departs from the reverence of the colporteurs of the integrated syncretism of the attempted monolith that beseeches polyphiloprogenitive growth in mindset rather than in testy abeyance of forbearance because of known scrutinies into the tropology of wilted facts remanded by curious historicity that crumples without disdain when we memorialize the erasure of scepsis by modern standards of thaumaturgy.

    The minauderies of growth are a repositioned tacit allegiance to the untold fanfare and hearsay immunized against the broach of facetious levity to buoy discordant hearts above fumatoriums of relentless ignorance because coherent masterwork can be cobbled without such lapidary toil and toll on sincere affectations of wizened brevity. The seismic precautions for the forefathers of incidental convergences between expectancy and crystallized history are an ironic intortion of priorities because the heralds and tribunes matched the peerless foresight with the gerrymandered figments of apartheid between the imaginary and the real so that the delicate synchrony of events could unfurl a riveting carapace from the shells of protection even in amiable squalor for its impenitent attrition on the volleys of sensible rumor becoming fashioned in covert bedazzled errors in judgment leading to the triumph of the eventual civilization over the futtocks of the burial of the former trekleador of zenkidu belonging to provincial cadasters found so tucked in the hedges that discernment of frikmag would be an indelible scourge on the biognosy of the diagnosed endeavors that elapsed into remediated circumstances that brave the depths of deontological violation for the breadth of apportioned loaves and two swanky fish earning a place among the miracles of transcendent liberation from articles of decree imperious by sardonic disdain becoming nullified by the histrionics of a delicately staged orchestra that cements human achievement.

       We relish the frescades of a ruffled autumnal reminder of flourish above pothers of the screed of admonition swamped by nostalgic backtracks in the séance with ultimatum of design and the impregnated and carnal lusts of a world pitched in darkness with guarded lambent lights fomenting a perjury against tact for the deliverance of freedom in tacit agreement with owleries that every bonanza be tithed in their favor regardless of hibernation of spoilsports or their subsidiary remarks on indelible quills of invented manufactured realities we crave with desperation rather than cower from in requited nescience urging us to depart from affairs and stagnate the loyalty of fealty above the limber of utility mobilized above levities for solemn remarks and rejoinders. Promulgated above the robotic rubble of staffage haywire in wiredrawn contemplative resonance of tremulous subterfuge vestigial but immediate to the yardsticks of reprehensible malarkey, is the barnstorm for erratic dimples sauntered by the saunas of shelter above the chaos of ruined ginnels for the gimcracks of auxiliary duty to service, is the glorification of the sultry intimations of legions of remonstrance in guarded decorum about sunken atrocities lapsed in memorial to the incumbent brunt of sockdolagers of justice returning revenants from the bridewell of historical internment. The symphily of orchestras to cineaste symposiasts of surquedry in impudence beyond the brays of betrayal is the aborning mythos of regimented perceptions of a world that when magnified by minutiae appears starkly contrast to the gapped gubbertushed reality of the average patron of the arts to such an extreme gulf of receptive understanding that the qualia are dovetailed only in the swink of careful kisswonks to certify certitude itself when all the fragments coalesce into subjoined harmony to the substructures of inherent conscientiousness. The miracles at work that are vesicles and vessels for the swage of imprint above the loyalty of the imprinted tribunes of the fluminous is how hidden protrusions can emerge so victorious over popularized glazes on the pastures of a farmed culture itching for timmynoggies of innovation but only finding the etched remarks of pristine imagos of heroism dwindling in motivation to surpass the imaginative leaps accustomed to a newfangled laziness that bedazzles the guzzle of crowds but not the discrimination of the crowded morass of incompletion found in mosaics missing enigmatic philters of intoxicated love for the profound. So to be intermediary as a custodian for artistry we must cozen the wheedled imaginations not of the relic but the archaeologist that discovered the embedded prisms of attentive scrutiny for glinting sunshine inherent in troves of surpassed excellence beyond parochial sympatric blandishment of donnism rather than a resselenque that floats above demeanor to usher the cosseted age of treasure above the glib brocards and florews of past success.

      Immanent to the provisions of God as decreed from a syncretic reconnaissance of the pitiable gulfs that separate boundless divine love from the clavigerous potential for scrappy sympatric affiliation to **** through the barnstorms of internal comestions of conflated priorities we are ourselves prismatic in the indulgence of a tasty life sprinkled with zest rather than tempered with the vengeance of retorted animosity that we knead the pottery of ironclad resistance to a metallic conduit of pruned fulminations of unguided intuition so that the natural accord supersedes the goad of materialism for the sustenance of antiquity beyond its heyday for vital gains against the tauricide of panic and frenzy. The linchpin of all realistic attempts at the sympatric symphily of civilization is a guided remorse through the torment of affliction that sizzles without anteric barbs as it measures through engrenage how to pilot the vehicles of prosperity through the minefields of contingency that invisibly bequeath new hurdles and inestimable obstacles that collude surreptitiously to fulminate measured controversy against the backbites of restrained equipoise created by polities of the macadamized fabric of a welded smithy of a universe that with ubiquity proclaims above the senseless the harvest of conjugal repartee in sensible pride against militant bastions of incidental prejudice for a careen against the flyndresques of danger and the flyndrigs of glaikery alike for a humane spurt of enlightenment to tower peerlessly in supervision of entelechy created by esemplastic unity in apolaustic purpose. We cannot be puritans engaged in a pilgrimage to a palimpsest of priggishness because the daring elements of adventurism are necessary ingredients to catalyze the supply-chain of the innate gluttony of ego-seeking endless balance with a natural sustained biognosy that prizes biocentric harmony above bibliognost scepsis so that the enthused can flock with liberty divorced from libertinism. The ultimatum is a war between hedonism wed with donnism against eumoirety and self-restraint and this battle will be waged on the indolence of a future of cordslave tethers to interrogation of privy conceptualism hamshackled by the gradgrinds into the neat nexility of precise conformity that blacklists the samizdat because the genizah profoundly twists the already jumbled jengadangle and provides a junediggle of procession and ceremony rather than pomp without substantial grit embedded in the showmanship of a reality in need of a fourth-wall.

        It is ironic how we bewrayed our stewardship of the planet as a plenipotentiary sentience waged against the vesicles of instinct but more fundamental to this tattered but pregnant psalm is that the stronghold of our future is the tenacity of filial duty to enthrone the household with husbandry and restraint as an emolument to divine justice that sparkles opalescent in its own redacted notions of gravity imperfect in the taradiddles of science but refined by the eclat of the combustible syncopation of a reiterative trope of realism combined with surrealist caprice to henpeck affectionate violation above inviolable screeds of blood sport rather than conjugal affections afforded to the brood and the feast of the flocks that rein supreme over all things but exert inclement justice over the cattle and chattel of civilization itself. The minkumpf against the sacrilege of a prioritized kosher is to abhor the suffering rather than embrace the penitence of perceived but specious sacrifice which is an ornery thorn on the stained conscience of the yobbery of both the apikoros and the obedient because to attenuate all suffering even of instinctual beings we anneal our hearts to a glorified compassion that supersedes the relegated relics of pushful genuflection by succedaneum of sacrifice waged against the docile whangams of otiose theodicy. The filibusters against the regnant complexity of regalia that is a sprauncy poivrade with terpsichorean flairs to transmute the intimations of hibernated perfidy into finicky transmissions for the riometers that accord orbific merit in a lackluster time enchant the rollicking audience of this auditorium of the prevenance of the conquered universe bracing for the camorra of the insipid entreaty of defalcated casuistry—the prominent exchequer in hoodwinked political agitprop that forges ironclad allegiances to flimsy facades of the verisimilitude of dignity with recalcitrant but incondite bruits of venom militant against secular apostasy—that the fitful arrivistes that swim in dire dearth will be welcomed into the reconciliation of all time with a tempered lurid glint of revelation bounded by sunken albatross of hype unbounded with a peace insurmountable in prestige rewarded only with the highest reservations.


    On 3-1-2020 when I penned my philosophy—even at a slowpoke margin of crafty precision above rapid empirical faucets of folly—I was entirely selfsame with the autotelic engravings of the smoldering aboriginal talents within that many can swing through by tenacity for enormous plaudit but a flagrant majority will apprehend with flippant scollardical tenets of rebuke and remain honest in their appraisal only in meek resignation of parvanimity.
Consider the postulates of rarefaction whittled into a vehement zeal against the prostitution of our species to the anteric cycles of residual molds of dingy spectacle mired by the tyrannical towers of supercilious squirms of revamped novelty rather than enhanced by the freebooters of dirigisme that borrow from time the behest of philandered flairs divorced from the cadges of secular instinct and enthroned by the qualms of engineered virtuosity that is stark, barren but peerless in its outstretched clamor for luxuriant sprees against the silentium of grandeval asylum incurred by the flippant filigrees of recalcitrant modernism endangered by the irredentism of the future upon the whimsy of the present-minded momentary glare of rapture.  This impending architecture of nimble but subservient endeavor is a pinprick rejoinder against the wernaggles of prepossessed fountains of configured animosity against the stapled heed of a modality of trayned invictive invectives against the plodding course of fustilugianation that swerves in apathy of autopilot junediggle to emanate the surrender of epigone to the raktendure of the synaesthesis of the attuned perception of all superimposed minutiae delegated by calculated design into a synclastic focus on veiled caprice that is vaulted above the choppy and sketchy verdure of remiss perception to stellar continuities rather than mundane knickpoints of stodged blurs that magnify syncretic qualia into baseline congruity rather than staid torpefied resignation of the visage of thunder without the pangs of the widely vituperated lightning that bequeaths all certain notions but flouts the tortious saboteurs of the prim trucage of brittle fundamentalism.

     As the flawed paragon of a picaresque youth punctuated by vibrant plumage of self-wrought tropophilous usucaption of remote groomed frontiers of desolate luxury but buoyant morale into the ballasts of a nimble usufruct that hikkles yet still against still-framed thilloire--fatuous in endearment only to the polity of the waterdrip of craven but gravid disingenuous flickers of lambent cloaks of perfidy—that earned its birthright by meditative fruition rather than prodigal tallespin of indolent frapplanks of a vicarious personage rather than an autotelic haecceity showcases the folly of heterodyne inclinations meeting an impasse of accidental dislodgement. The interregnum between the spurts and sprees of luxuriance is a staid pause between continuities of afforded parlance becoming stapled demographic solidarity affixed to a strident gallop of effortful pushes against the tenacity of the slumberous wicked hibernation of vetust magpiety without hieratical internment because youthful industry beats hackneyed bludgeons of wiseacres of a stilted manufacture of steamy nostalgia for lickerish moments that dignify but undermine moral virtues but splash anointed and sometimes disjointed favor upon the congeners to a rabid escapade of a heedless love frowning on the girdles of the prim balderdash of heralded jolts dim on levity and puffed with elusive contextualized control of libidinous serrated defilement because the crotaline **** outmantles the sweedled limber of exploitable folly. The cosseted reality of wheedled gourmands of continuous perception rather than the Gaussian blur of the protean invention of stitches in time that obscure rather than magnify the supernal levity inherent to most artistry is a linchpin of lenient gravitas that levies the lavaderos of ripe perception into annealment.
Excuse the bravado of the gait of winnowed forks in a bronteum for heralds of megaloscopy fastened to the macroscian reality of indelible filigrees of countermanded controversy becoming its best behest in the sempiternal flowering of burgeoned demonstration rather than illustrious overhang of drab slabs of manufacture rather than organism that should be interposed between the constellated concepts of both apperception and the aggrieved counselors to obtuse obsessions that are an improper tutelary for a designated reprisal of the once profane now immediately gratified by ramshackle tenets of a guarded sublimation of the tenets of post-modernism into a sustained force of the internalized tabernacle of haecceity shepherded into exuberance by the manumission of spirit from the ******* of purblind scalds of defamation that incurs the penalty of flippant privation. The refuge the Lord provides is not contingent upon the vagaries of deliberation nor the calculus of oversight but the remontant amaranthine glower of a listed deed becoming an eternal reminder that a dismantled and disjointed world fathoming only remorse rather than the trudge of gentility against the headwinds of brunt asperity will always flout the successor rather than atone for the failure of the imponent condition that constellates around rudimentary drivel grubbing the momentary out of avarice for allotted merchandise rather than glommed magnets to amoeba sentiments for the kisswonk of ulterior motive beyond dungeons of desperation that lurk ghoulishly with spectral frights at the disfigurement of morale created by errors askew rather than a contagion of righteous valor.

   Ask the heedful servant if the captaincy of reneged commitment owes homage to dutiful instruction or whether it is a balking corpse of necrosis accorded to the omphalism of brutish carnal repose in times of sedentary silt siphoned in spelunked rijuice for preordination is a predominant specter for a world scared scurrilous and skittish in a diatribe against the very notion of tribal screeds embedded in the sedimentary heft of traditionalism above the pother of vacillation commended to the apikoros but counterfeit fiat system of a ruddy governance without a supreme magistrate. Now lets venture into the territory of visagists as we envision the swanky subversion of impoverished and nebbich visions of oligochrome that fixates on belabored but dead notions of rigid propriety and levitate above those concerns with a querulous transcendence that never wernaggles about the profaned irrelevance of burlesque tropes of sidereal friction but instead memorializes the thermolysis of permeable endeavor above staid countenances of imposture that lurk in the shadowy penumbra of the connivance of persona above the archetype of the tutelary guardian spirit that through windlass and sometimes deliberation affixes nobility to even the pedestrian in order to assize its proper proportions to granular ironies expounded into megalography transformative by the very rivets of its supersensible existence and cohabitation with histrinkage among human taboos.

   The handiwork of a permeable race prone to exacerbated proclamations of prerogatives bulldozed by the rapid percolation of insoluble quandaries to the gripes of the feast of foofaraw sometimes shelters our otherwise regnant concern about the plenipotentiary God that observes all latent affairs without the paramours that conflate vivid carnality with appeased luxury and superimposes a crafty system of seismic shifts in rantipole dances with numinous flux rather than dissipated militant suppression of the fracklings of dissolute pollution which swirk in their dastardly desperado endeavors to corral the entire monoliths that guard each province into a winnowed rumble of rubble by tarnish of Tyre rather than by the upstart rejoinders of Canaan. Every creature which has the capacity to perceive language is afforded benedictions by the overhailing force of the hypaethral heights of superlative ingenuity founded in the bolted speculation of the endearment of all to tropological seesaws embattled against the hearsay of nyejays that contaminates the telmatology of the ecosystem of revivalism rather than buries the leaden debts of the disjointed revenants of past prominence into recycled irrelevance for posterity rather than for anything but a machination of a clockwork apple rigged for a rotten worm to swindle the sweet delicate tempests of unforeseen disaster to perjuries against financial solidarity.

The spinsters of sardonic drollery underscore the imminence of an incondite cutthroat collapse blackguarded by the hucksters of incontinence grubbing every fetched noisome notion and congealing a bonnyclabber of desiccated mildew that proves vestigial when the victors of time earn their joyous serenade to the pinnacle of the totem of jaundice slits in wavy endeavors for the participles of sejungible syntax of the ephorized furor to outlast the draksteng of droned dereliction manned by half-baked spies of ulterior recitals for imprinted vicissitude in supremacy in synquest for frizzlounges rather than the pedestrian circulatory system of careworn polity. We vaporize the petty hatred of sympatric regelation that neuters the virulence of motivated impediments to the draconian surge of asperity that sinks temporal haplessness as a regaled blasphemy that crowns only the ringed betrothal to spumid serrated halts in slick superstition that is a buggery to the idea of insectivores devouring the erratic chantage of germane germs that pauperize rather than even blind the deafened to be a crutch to vehicular homicide. Melismatic sennet is a dirigible of immense herculean sinew without the traces of vestibulary retches of kisswonked grisly tepid intimidations of eccedentesiasts by the radioglare of wizened corrugations in thanatism that exhort the avatars of narquiddity over the natural departure of revenant souls back to their temporary hostility to crass lifeless decarnate immediacy that slinks with foibles magnified by vertiginous heights of scollardical reputes rigged by the rijuice of the plackiques of meaningless spoils for swashbuckler bonanza borrowed from serrated vengeance exacted in prominence to provide false avenues of extenuation to malefaction that is confidant to the panopticon of exemplary dimples meager in the largesse of the composite realism of a sizable imprint on megalography that outlasts impertinent excuses for dangerous trout swimming against the mobilized selachostomous frizz of sharks gathering to avenge disclosure with insolence and gravid atrocity of incisive surgical evisceration of attempted depositions that falter by innumerable facets of countenance that belie ultimate realism and the perdurable construction of a sturdy hive of bibliognost revelry.

     Even with the blaring sennet of majesty inundating my piecemeal perception with the marstions of flarium that is an efficacy in a flaccid world of otiose pretenses limpid only in folly but contraplex in ironic skewbald skerries of grubbed destination that is the terminus of karezza despite the maledictions of vehement guarded betrayals that conjure up lurid noisome virility against the gamines and gallywows that populate interstellar fictions of virtu rather than mundane pragmatica that astound with the resselenque of contaminated skeumorphs of latent fracture belonging to a skeletonized ossified reification of farce above historicity in seemly seamless countenance with overwrought princely stature deserving integrity to ripples through sparkling opalescence. The vapid insularity of the self-contained mythos of appeased groundlings is based on the rhizic and rhizogenic fracklings destitute in predicative flares to swelter above stratospheres of the illimitable into the dwelling of the highest serenity inherent to the pacification of truth to neglect its egregious errors of mistetches of a ripened pachyderm of bravery in times of austerity and now a reclaimed notion of sempiternal charades swimming above the punitive draksteng of dranger that is enlarged by acclimated attempts at foiled raltention hikkling against its own superior forces of galvanized preterition to elide over screwball insanity of derangement in this virtual paradise of inhabited souls belonging to former times congregating on the pasture of the evanescence of now for all eternity having the optative condition of incarnation above the ferules of the stagnant brevity of oversight in heavenly realms by postulate but not confirmed by regal logic.

     The troponder of the flickered lambent niceties of polity is a countenance that piggybacks on simpered jostles of negligent engrenage to appease sworn enmities among beatific havens for certitude swarmed by the fisticuffs of darbied bridewells of desiccated drainage traversing the distant disdain for the gravel of cemented slits of stilted pragmatica that is a gavel of atrocious estoppel mediated by heroic heresiarchs against pitiable betrayal for forceful remedies in acclimated servitude to the groans and groaks of a life of remorse and dearth rather than the glut of luxuriance in forbearance to its own intorted mirrored ironies that etch infinity with every scrawled rejoinder to austere ploys of checkered rumbles of threat and exigency posed by the clairvoyant hypocrites who benefit greatly by the design of the omphalism above the frays and brays of corporate dogmatism slowly outmoded by vibrant plumages of heteronormative originality beyond petty chantage. A hesitation overcomes the bluster of bravado as the restive earnest concerns of tribulation beset the minauderies of divine affection to reaffirm the teachings of the Gospel so that future generations genuflect beneath the altar of the ultimate stroke of sociogenesis and the blood ransom of suffering that promoted the human latitude and liberty against incarcerated throngs of virtue over caesaraproprism accorded to genuflection beneath denarii rather than absolution by tether to the eternal vine of sensation of the supersensible entelechy of all valiant insurrections against defective polities and renewed policies.

     We thus seek a transdimensional bridge between the morphean virtu of rudimentary alchemy of propitiation divulged by leverage and the teeming rambunctiousness of fiduciary tribes to the ultimate duty of man to consummate the future of eternity even in slowpoke mannerisms that sidle through rigors of entelechy and assize the masterwork of tutelage above the circumforaneous entrenchment of glut above the mastery of the subtle subaudition that beleaguers an adept conflagration of harnessed human ignorance staid in the incarceration of exotic virtues of freewheeling sapience never vulnerary to hospitable concerns that entrenches the verisimilitude of a refracted justice to reign over the stultification of a primitivism inherent to man and not man alone.

CHAPTER ONE: THE DEMISE OF A YOUNG GIRL SEPTEMBER 1975


I had not seen my father in over two years when he showed up at my mom and step dad's condo. He had a slick knack of disappearing when laws were broken and he was wanted for questioning. He had an even better ability to re-enter when the heat was off.

My father owned three nightclubs in Oklahoma City. His first was the Silver Sword, and then he opened The Red Slipper. After he met his second wife, they together, opened the Jade Club.

All were successful, but the Red Slipper had a reputation. On a rare occasion, my dad would take me with him to open up the place. At first, it scared me. It was so dark in there. But as the lights came on behind the bar, I fell in love with the atmosphere.

Bobby Orr’s hockey stick hung on the wall, along with an endearing note from F. Lee Bailey. At six years old, all I knew was that they were the objects that made my dad beam.

I learned to play pool by standing on a phone book. I watched the colorful smacking ***** bounce around the most beautiful color of green I had ever seen. Chalking the stick was a chore, but after nearly poking my eye out once, I soon caught on.

It was a struggle to climb up on a barstool, but it was worth the effort. I sat at the bar and had lunch: popcorn, pretzels, peanuts and Pepsi.

As I grew older, I saw less and less of him, until he became a stranger, drifting in every once in awhile.  Every few weeks or so, I would come home from school, and see his car in the driveway.

This always shot fear and excitement through me. The air of unpredictability always made me want to ***. Unfortunately, most of the time, we were locked out of the house for a few hours, so I would have to *** in the back yard or at the neighbors. We waited on the stairs for the front door to open. And it always did, by my mom. She usually looked satisfied and serene but other times, I saw dread and sadness on her face.

Ever since I could remember, my dad had been a string of disappointments for me with a few indescribable moments of pure enjoyment mixed in between He could be kind, funny and like a real dad sometimes, that was the dad I missed. I tried to hold onto those experiences, even though he was such a mean ******* most of the time. But mostly, I just didn't know him.

Their divorce became final around the summer of 1972, but that didn't stop my mom from loving him. I don't know why, but she chased him frequently, going out to bars with her friends, trying to get a glimpse of him, and maybe more.

The last time I’d seen my father had not been pleasant. When I was thirteen, he broke down the door to our apartment and went straight to my mother’s bedroom. The noises were terrifying. The screaming, and punching sounds were followed by my mother’s whimpering, begging, groveling.

"How dare you do this to me, Patsy!? And behind my back! You could have at least told me!"

My dad had bailed himself out of jail that night. She promised him she would never seek alimony or child support again. Her lawyer was wrong. It wasn’t worth getting killed over.  

Shortly after, he had to leave the state. It had something to do with a low-level mob deal involving an insurance fraud. Too bad, it involved burning a building with someone in it. My dad became nothing but a memory, which faded away over time.

**

Alcohol and tobacco were constants in my family, so when my older brother, Tim, started smoking at ten years old, I don't remember much protest from anyone. I was seven and when my sister Abby, turned ten the next year, she also started smoking.  All the older kids were smoking cigarettes. I wanted to be cool, so I puked and coughed as I practiced. By the time I was ten, I too, was inhaling properly.  Around that time, I was introduced to *** by my sister's boyfriend. It did help my mood, somewhat, but it wasn't enough.

By 1974, I was using drugs from my sister’s boyfriend. John was a true drugstore cowboy. At first, he committed burglaries, which were easy at the time. There were no sophisticated electronics to stop someone from cutting a hole in the roof of a pharmacy. It took only minutes to pry open the safe that contained the narcotics. Then it took maybe another minute to fill a pillowcase full of every variety of amphetamines, barbiturates, valiums, etc.

It wasn’t long before I graduated to using morphine, ******* and then overdosed on Demerol. My stepfather sent me to a treatment facility in Tulsa Oklahoma, about one hundred miles away from Oklahoma City. The Dillon treatment center didn’t accept clients under age of sixteen but made an exception with me. I was a walking-talking disastrous miracle...or a miraculously saved disaster.

They figured that since I was fourteen, the sooner the better to start my road to recovery. Apparently, they didn’t condone sneaking *** and valiums in to the facility. I was kicked out of Dillon after about a month.

I came back home and laid low. I went back to Hefner Jr. High and enrolled back into the ninth grade. I quietly picked up where I left off, going back into business with John. My job was to sell the safe stuff; valiums, seconols, white bennies, ***, etc.


Summer came; I turned fifteen and had developed a tendency to over test my wares. I overdosed and nearly died in the hospital several times, which had led to my current predicament. Nobody knew what to do with me.

In August, I entered the tenth grade...for two weeks. I was expelled, (you guessed it) for dealing drugs. I was on homebound teaching twice a week with little supervision. My mother worked, my step-dad, **** ,worked, and I was home all day. However, I was not just sitting idly around. I was into enterprise.

**

In September, I overdosed again. I was quickly killing myself and my mother didn’t know what to do to stop it. That is why what happened was not my mother’s fault. But it wasn’t my fault either.

I never figured out how he knew where we lived. My mother moved over at least fourteen times in between the time I was six and twelve years old. Yet, here he was, at our front door, with his undeniable ‘ah shucks’ charm. His modesty was convincing. His timing was incredible. My mother stood frozen, her mouth agape. **** took the lead. He placed himself between my mother and father.

“You must be Gary Don, my name is ****; I’m Patsy’s husband." **** had never met my dad, but he'd heard enough about him to surmise who was standing at the door.

"Um, yeah, I'm Gary Don, it's nice to meet you ****", he said; as he offered a friendly hand shake to ****.

"I hope I'm not interrupting you, I was just in Duncan with my parents and they suggested I stop by and talk with you before heading back west. It's about Susie....

"Yes, Patsy said you called yesterday. We weren't expecting you this soon, but it's no problem. Why don't you come in and tell us what your plans are? Patsy, honey, would you mind putting on a *** of coffee?”

This unfroze my mother and she scurried to the kitchen. I was still in shock at seeing my dad’s face. I retreated to the staircase, but poked my head around and caught him glance at me. I flew up to the landing. I could easily escape up the rest of the stairs to my bedroom.
I was small enough to remain hidden on the landing, and heard the conversation between my mother, my dad and ****. **** was the classiest, most even-tempered adult I had ever encountered. I wished I could stop hurting him and my mother.  

My mother sat down two cups of coffee on the dining room table where my dad and **** sat. As she retreated a few steps back into the kitchen, **** politely probed my dad. My dad had the right answer for every question.

He swore he was a completely different person. He had changed. He had no hard feelings, instead he was back to help. He was remorseful for being an absent father and he wanted to make things right. He was back for a reason. He had heard that I was in trouble with drugs and school and he felt guilty for that. He had the answer to my problems. He was so convincing, so….humble, almost shy.

As I listened, I began freaking out with fear and excitement. I always wanted my dad. The last time I tried to live with him, it didn’t work out; he sent me back to my mother’s after a month. Now my dad wanted me! He wanted to save me, take care of me!

He lived by himself now. He was the manager of The Palace Restaurant/Hotel in the little town of Raton, New Mexico. It was a refurbished hotel, built over a century ago The ground floor was an elegant bar and restaurant. He was making very good money, he paid no rent and he had an extra room for me.

With a population of 6000, it was not a place to continue a lucrative drug business. Also, he would enroll me into the little high school and I could get my diploma. I could work in the restaurant in the evenings where he would keep his eye on me. Then, there was the horse. He would buy me a horse. And on and on and on.

The logic and sincerity of his argument was convincing. So there it was. An hour later, my bags were packed. I was going to live with my father in New Mexico.

That’s how in September 1975, my father whisked me away from my home in Oklahoma City, under the guise of saving me from my own demise. I was stolen and held captive in Raton, New Mexico for what seemed like forever.

My dog, Baron was coming with me, I refused to go anywhere without him. He was a tiny black and tan Dachshund. I got him free when I was fourteen, when I got back from Tulsa. To me, he was priceless. He was my best friend. He couldn’t have weighed more than ten pounds, but his heart was huge.

I talked to him about everything and he consoled me by nodding, and licking me on the cheek non-stop…or he would admonish me through his expressions and demeanor. I had lived with Dachshunds since I was seven, so understood their language pretty well. Baron understood humans better. We developed a rare communication that worked well for both of us.
Herman, our older dachshund had greeted my dad cordially. Baron couldn’t figure this out, he expressed his apprehension. He looked at me and conveyed,

“Well, if Herman isn’t worried, I guess it’ll be Okay, right? Right, Susan?”

I was sorry I didn’t have an honest answer. I did my best to settle him.

“Sure, this’ll be fun, a whole new adventure!”

As we drove West, toward the Texas panhandle, Baron kept the conversation going by his curious interest expressed by wide eyes and attentive ears. My dad amazed him with his knowledge of history, geography, geology, astronomy, world geo-politics, weather, music on the radio, literature, mechanics, religion and countless other topics. I knew he was faking his fascination with my dad. He knew he was doing me a favor.

There was not a dead moment in the air. An occasional “really?” expressed by me was enough to keep my dad’s mouth running. I was thankful for that. It kept my attention away from my jangle of emotions. As we drove through the night, I was conflicted, scared, excited, happy and worried. I didn’t know where I was going, or who was driving me there.

My dad’s jovial demeanor comforted me. He made The Palace sound like the perfect place for his little princess.

When we arrived, it was late, after 10pm., Baron was exhausted. I stood on the corner and looked up. I gulped. The three-story building was like an old gothic castle. It was a huge rectangle with the front corner cut back with a fifth wall about ten feet wide. This provided the entrance with two giant oak doors. Baron was less than enthused by its foreboding appearance. I had to agree.

Dad ignored my hesitation. “Come on, you’re going to love this place!”

He pulled open one of the oak doors, which had to weigh at least five hundred pounds. I was hesitant, but thirsty. Baron’s squirming had started to annoy me. I went forward filled with adrenalin.

The initial entrance was a small round foyer with a domed ceiling of cut glass. It was about six feet round. As I stared up at the beautiful little pieces of color, I heard my dad chuckle.

“See? I told you, there’s no place like this!”

Then I saw the true entry to the bar, a set of small bat winged doors that swung back and forth. He pulled one of the doors back, beckoning me forward. He looked down at me with a tender expression.

“Welcome home, honey, this is home now.”

As we entered the bar, I was dumbstruck. Baron was not. I stepped back in time, to 1896, into The Palace Hotel.

The bar took up half of the first floor of the hotel. It was the most captivating centerpiece of the establishment. The mirror behind the bar was the longest continuous piece of reflection glass in all the states, the brochure proclaimed. A brass foot rail extended the length of the long cherry oak bar A few feet behind was a waist high railing just like the saloons in old John Wayne movies.

The carpet was a deep royal red interlaced with black swirly patterns. Bright golden paper covered the walls. It was smooth and shiny with raised curly designs made out of felt or maybe even velour. God, I just wanted to reach over and run my fingers across it!  

The wall opposite the bar had windows that were quizzically narrow and impossibly tall. Lush maroon velvet drapes adorned them, parted in the center to provide a view of the quaint town just beyond the sidewalk.

I looked up at the ornate ceiling, which seemed a mile above me. It was covered with tiles of little angels that all looked the same, yet different. The angels danced across the entire ceiling until it curved and met the wall. I got dizzy looking at them.

“You can’t find ceiling tiles like that anywhere! My dad grinned. “They’re covered in pure gold leaf!”

I didn’t know what pure gold leaf was, but the word ‘gold’ impressed me very much.

He introduced me to the staff. I l blushed when he said; “This is Susie, my favorite little girl!” I had never heard that before. The whole crew greeted me warmly, all smiles and friendliness.  

I always paid attention when Baron got nervous but I chose to ignore him. I jostled him in my arms. My stern look at him stopped his squiggling, but his look back conveyed that I was clueless.

I, however thought, Okay, I have died and gone to Heaven! I was enchanted. My fascination with this magical setting made me feel happy; I was in the neatest place I had ever seen. I’m going to love it here!

On the first night, my dad led me around the ground floor. The restaurant was as elegant as the bar. To the rear of the restaurant, there was a large commercial kitchen. Off the rear of the kitchen, he showed, me a short hallway to the back exit. To the right, a huge staircase led to the two upper floors of dilapidated hotel rooms. A manager’s apartment had been converted from several hotel rooms connected together on the second floor, just above the entrance to the hotel.

We ended up back in the bar and sat at a table for two. Crystal, the head bartender stayed on for a little while longer after the rest of the staff were allowed to go home.

Sitting at the table, he ordered Harvey’s Bristol Cream Sherry. I had never had Cream Sherry before, but it tasted like candy with nuts and I had no problem going through numerous rounds in a very short time. I was hungry but I was too nervous to eat.

Baron, however, was ravenous. My dad fed him little pieces filet mignon and French bread with real butter. He played cute for my dad, sitting up and begging. He jumped up, putting his paws on my dad’s leg, wagging his tail like crazy.

I was a little befuddled until I caught his sideways glance that said, “I do not like this guy, but I gotta eat, I’m starving. You’re the one falling into his into his trap, not me.”

Ouch. “Baron, sometimes I wish you would shut the hell up.”

After having his fill, he settled into a wary sleep on top of my feet. I never worried about losing Baron. Where I went, he went, period.

I wasn’t aware when the bartender left. The bottle was on the table before I knew it; he kept my glass full. I was five feet tall and weighed 106 pounds. I had a lethal level of alcohol pulsing threw my entire body…and I had my daddy.

I was in a haze. Actually, it was more of a daze than a haze. My vision was

CHAPTER ONE: THE DEMISE OF A YOUNG GIRL SEPTEMBER 1975


I had not seen my father in over two years when he showed up at my mom and step dad's condo. He had a slick knack of disappearing when laws were broken and he was wanted for questioning. He had an even better ability to re-enter when the heat was off.

My father owned three nightclubs in Oklahoma City. His first was the Silver Sword, and then he opened The Red Slipper. After he met his second wife, they together, opened the Jade Club.

All were successful, but the Red Slipper had a reputation. On a rare occasion, my dad would take me with him to open up the place. At first, it scared me. It was so dark in there. But as the lights came on behind the bar, I fell in love with the atmosphere.

Bobby Orr’s hockey stick hung on the wall, along with an endearing note from F. Lee Bailey. At six years old, all I knew was that they were the objects that made my dad beam.

I learned to play pool by standing on a phone book. I watched the colorful smacking ***** bounce around the most beautiful color of green I had ever seen. Chalking the stick was a chore, but after nearly poking my eye out once, I soon caught on.

It was a struggle to climb up on a barstool, but it was worth the effort. I sat at the bar and had lunch: popcorn, pretzels, peanuts and Pepsi.

As I grew older, I saw less and less of him, until he became a stranger, drifting in every once in awhile.  Every few weeks or so, I would come home from school, and see his car in the driveway.

This always shot fear and excitement through me. The air of unpredictability always made me want to ***. Unfortunately, most of the time, we were locked out of the house for a few hours, so I would have to *** in the back yard or at the neighbors. We waited on the stairs for the front door to open. And it always did, by my mom. She usually looked satisfied and serene but other times, I saw dread and sadness on her face.

Ever since I could remember, my dad had been a string of disappointments for me with a few indescribable moments of pure enjoyment mixed in between He could be kind, funny and like a real dad sometimes, that was the dad I missed. I tried to hold onto those experiences, even though he was such a mean ******* most of the time. But mostly, I just didn't know him.

Their divorce became final around the summer of 1972, but that didn't stop my mom from loving him. I don't know why, but she chased him frequently, going out to bars with her friends, trying to get a glimpse of him, and maybe more.

The last time I’d seen my father had not been pleasant. When I was thirteen, he broke down the door to our apartment and went straight to my mother’s bedroom. The noises were terrifying. The screaming, and punching sounds were followed by my mother’s whimpering, begging, groveling.

"How dare you do this to me, Patsy!? And behind my back! You could have at least told me!"

My dad had bailed himself out of jail that night. She promised him she would never seek alimony or child support again. Her lawyer was wrong. It wasn’t worth getting killed over.  

Shortly after, he had to leave the state. It had something to do with a low-level mob deal involving an insurance fraud. Too bad, it involved burning a building with someone in it. My dad became nothing but a memory, which faded away over time.

**

Alcohol and tobacco were constants in my family, so when my older brother, Tim, started smoking at ten years old, I don't remember much protest from anyone. I was seven and when my sister Abby, turned ten the next year, she also started smoking.  All the older kids were smoking cigarettes. I wanted to be cool, so I puked and coughed as I practiced. By the time I was ten, I too, was inhaling properly.  Around that time, I was introduced to *** by my sister's boyfriend. It did help my mood, somewhat, but it wasn't enough.

By 1974, I was using drugs from my sister’s boyfriend. John was a true drugstore cowboy. At first, he committed burglaries, which were easy at the time. There were no sophisticated electronics to stop someone from cutting a hole in the roof of a pharmacy. It took only minutes to pry open the safe that contained the narcotics. Then it took maybe another minute to fill a pillowcase full of every variety of amphetamines, barbiturates, valiums, etc.

It wasn’t long before I graduated to using morphine, ******* and then overdosed on Demerol. My stepfather sent me to a treatment facility in Tulsa Oklahoma, about one hundred miles away from Oklahoma City. The Dillon treatment center didn’t accept clients under age of sixteen but made an exception with me. I was a walking-talking disastrous miracle...or a miraculously saved disaster.

They figured that since I was fourteen, the sooner the better to start my road to recovery. Apparently, they didn’t condone sneaking *** and valiums in to the facility. I was kicked out of Dillon after about a month.

I came back home and laid low. I went back to Hefner Jr. High and enrolled back into the ninth grade. I quietly picked up where I left off, going back into business with John. My job was to sell the safe stuff; valiums, seconols, white bennies, ***, etc.


Summer came; I turned fifteen and had developed a tendency to over test my wares. I overdosed and nearly died in the hospital several times, which had led to my current predicament. Nobody knew what to do with me.

In August, I entered the tenth grade...for two weeks. I was expelled, (you guessed it) for dealing drugs. I was on homebound teaching twice a week with little supervision. My mother worked, my step-dad, **** ,worked, and I was home all day. However, I was not just sitting idly around. I was into enterprise.

**

In September, I overdosed again. I was quickly killing myself and my mother didn’t know what to do to stop it. That is why what happened was not my mother’s fault. But it wasn’t my fault either.

I never figured out how he knew where we lived. My mother moved over at least fourteen times in between the time I was six and twelve years old. Yet, here he was, at our front door, with his undeniable ‘ah shucks’ charm. His modesty was convincing. His timing was incredible. My mother stood frozen, her mouth agape. **** took the lead. He placed himself between my mother and father.

“You must be Gary Don, my name is ****; I’m Patsy’s husband." **** had never met my dad, but he'd heard enough about him to surmise who was standing at the door.

"Um, yeah, I'm Gary Don, it's nice to meet you ****", he said; as he offered a friendly hand shake to ****.

"I hope I'm not interrupting you, I was just in Duncan with my parents and they suggested I stop by and talk with you before heading back west. It's about Susie....

"Yes, Patsy said you called yesterday. We weren't expecting you this soon, but it's no problem. Why don't you come in and tell us what your plans are? Patsy, honey, would you mind putting on a *** of coffee?”

This unfroze my mother and she scurried to the kitchen. I was still in shock at seeing my dad’s face. I retreated to the staircase, but poked my head around and caught him glance at me. I flew up to the landing. I could easily escape up the rest of the stairs to my bedroom.
I was small enough to remain hidden on the landing, and heard the conversation between my mother, my dad and ****. **** was the classiest, most even-tempered adult I had ever encountered. I wished I could stop hurting him and my mother.  

My mother sat down two cups of coffee on the dining room table where my dad and **** sat. As she retreated a few steps back into the kitchen, **** politely probed my dad. My dad had the right answer for every question.

He swore he was a completely different person. He had changed. He had no hard feelings, instead he was back to help. He was remorseful for being an absent father and he wanted to make things right. He was back for a reason. He had heard that I was in trouble with drugs and school and he felt guilty for that. He had the answer to my problems. He was so convincing, so….humble, almost shy.

As I listened, I began freaking out with fear and excitement. I always wanted my dad. The last time I tried to live with him, it didn’t work out; he sent me back to my mother’s after a month. Now my dad wanted me! He wanted to save me, take care of me!

He lived by himself now. He was the manager of The Palace Restaurant/Hotel in the little town of Raton, New Mexico. It was a refurbished hotel, built over a century ago The ground floor was an elegant bar and restaurant. He was making very good money, he paid no rent and he had an extra room for me.

With a population of 6000, it was not a place to continue a lucrative drug business. Also, he would enroll me into the little high school and I could get my diploma. I could work in the restaurant in the evenings where he would keep his eye on me. Then, there was the horse. He would buy me a horse. And on and on and on.

The logic and sincerity of his argument was convincing. So there it was. An hour later, my bags were packed. I was going to live with my father in New Mexico.

That’s how in September 1975, my father whisked me away from my home in Oklahoma City, under the guise of saving me from my own demise. I was stolen and held captive in Raton, New Mexico for what seemed like forever.

My dog, Baron was coming with me, I refused to go anywhere without him. He was a tiny black and tan Dachshund. I got him free when I was fourteen, when I got back from Tulsa. To me, he was priceless. He was my best friend. He couldn’t have weighed more than ten pounds, but his heart was huge.

I talked to him about everything and he consoled me by nodding, and licking me on the cheek non-stop…or he would admonish me through his expressions and demeanor. I had lived with Dachshunds since I was seven, so understood their language pretty well. Baron understood humans better. We developed a rare communication that worked well for both of us.
Herman, our older dachshund had greeted my dad cordially. Baron couldn’t figure this out, he expressed his apprehension. He looked at me and conveyed,

“Well, if Herman isn’t worried, I guess it’ll be Okay, right? Right, Susan?”

I was sorry I didn’t have an honest answer. I did my best to settle him.

“Sure, this’ll be fun, a whole new adventure!”

As we drove West, toward the Texas panhandle, Baron kept the conversation going by his curious interest expressed by wide eyes and attentive ears. My dad amazed him with his knowledge of history, geography, geology, astronomy, world geo-politics, weather, music on the radio, literature, mechanics, religion and countless other topics. I knew he was faking his fascination with my dad. He knew he was doing me a favor.

There was not a dead moment in the air. An occasional “really?” expressed by me was enough to keep my dad’s mouth running. I was thankful for that. It kept my attention away from my jangle of emotions. As we drove through the night, I was conflicted, scared, excited, happy and worried. I didn’t know where I was going, or who was driving me there.

My dad’s jovial demeanor comforted me. He made The Palace sound like the perfect place for his little princess.

When we arrived, it was late, after 10pm., Baron was exhausted. I stood on the corner and looked up. I gulped. The three-story building was like an old gothic castle. It was a huge rectangle with the front corner cut back with a fifth wall about ten feet wide. This provided the entrance with two giant oak doors. Baron was less than enthused by its foreboding appearance. I had to agree.

Dad ignored my hesitation. “Come on, you’re going to love this place!”

He pulled open one of the oak doors, which had to weigh at least five hundred pounds. I was hesitant, but thirsty. Baron’s squirming had started to annoy me. I went forward filled with adrenalin.

The initial entrance was a small round foyer with a domed ceiling of cut glass. It was about six feet round. As I stared up at the beautiful little pieces of color, I heard my dad chuckle.

“See? I told you, there’s no place like this!”

Then I saw the true entry to the bar, a set of small bat winged doors that swung back and forth. He pulled one of the doors back, beckoning me forward. He looked down at me with a tender expression.

“Welcome home, honey, this is home now.”

As we entered the bar, I was dumbstruck. Baron was not. I stepped back in time, to 1896, into The Palace Hotel.

The bar took up half of the first floor of the hotel. It was the most captivating centerpiece of the establishment. The mirror behind the bar was the longest continuous piece of reflection glass in all the states, the brochure proclaimed. A brass foot rail extended the length of the long cherry oak bar A few feet behind was a waist high railing just like the saloons in old John Wayne movies.

The carpet was a deep royal red interlaced with black swirly patterns. Bright golden paper covered the walls. It was smooth and shiny with raised curly designs made out of felt or maybe even velour. God, I just wanted to reach over and run my fingers across it!  

The wall opposite the bar had windows that were quizzically narrow and impossibly tall. Lush maroon velvet drapes adorned them, parted in the center to provide a view of the quaint town just beyond the sidewalk.

I looked up at the ornate ceiling, which seemed a mile above me. It was covered with tiles of little angels that all looked the same, yet different. The angels danced across the entire ceiling until it curved and met the wall. I got dizzy looking at them.

“You can’t find ceiling tiles like that anywhere! My dad grinned. “They’re covered in pure gold leaf!”

I didn’t know what pure gold leaf was, but the word ‘gold’ impressed me very much.

He introduced me to the staff. I l blushed when he said; “This is Susie, my favorite little girl!” I had never heard that before. The whole crew greeted me warmly, all smiles and friendliness.  

I always paid attention when Baron got nervous but I chose to ignore him. I jostled him in my arms. My stern look at him stopped his squiggling, but his look back conveyed that I was clueless.

I, however thought, Okay, I have died and gone to Heaven! I was enchanted. My fascination with this magical setting made me feel happy; I was in the neatest place I had ever seen. I’m going to love it here!

On the first night, my dad led me around the ground floor. The restaurant was as elegant as the bar. To the rear of the restaurant, there was a large commercial kitchen. Off the rear of the kitchen, he showed, me a short hallway to the back exit. To the right, a huge staircase led to the two upper floors of dilapidated hotel rooms. A manager’s apartment had been converted from several hotel rooms connected together on the second floor, just above the entrance to the hotel.

We ended up back in the bar and sat at a table for two. Crystal, the head bartender stayed on for a little while longer after the rest of the staff were allowed to go home.

Sitting at the table, he ordered Harvey’s Bristol Cream Sherry. I had never had Cream Sherry before, but it tasted like candy with nuts and I had no problem going through numerous rounds in a very short time. I was hungry but I was too nervous to eat.

Baron, however, was ravenous. My dad fed him little pieces filet mignon and French bread with real butter. He played cute for my dad, sitting up and begging. He jumped up, putting his paws on my dad’s leg, wagging his tail like crazy.

I was a little befuddled until I caught his sideways glance that said, “I do not like this guy, but I gotta eat, I’m starving. You’re the one falling into his into his trap, not me.”

Ouch. “Baron, sometimes I wish you would shut the hell up.”

After having his fill, he settled into a wary sleep on top of my feet. I never worried about losing Baron. Where I went, he went, period.

I wasn’t aware when the bartender left. The bottle was on the table before I knew it; he kept my glass full. I was five feet tall and weighed 106 pounds. I had a lethal level of alcohol pulsing threw my entire body…and I had my daddy.

I was in a haze. Actually, it was more of a daze than a haze. My vision was

He struggles and ponders,
reads and re-reads,
My markers fail before his eyes,
his naivety takes over,
A fruit? he queries,
I burst out in laughter,
Can be, I agree, but I await for more,
he peruses and my ribs tickled,
amused and curious, I stayed,
at his innocence that shined.
A Mango! he exclaims!
No! I equally enthused

'A woman, a fruit,
delicious and mystical,
for a man who craves'.

'Oh'  the meek sigh, a tiny sound,
concurred or dissent, I know not,
In a flash came a verbal rebuff,
back to his annoying self.

He annoys and appeases,
A friend I have known for years,
Mine forever, I know for sure,
no matter what he says.

The slits of glass give way to light,
Which cuts through the air and sun leeched curtains.
It falls weightless on warming skin,
Breathing life into stillness.

A gentle caress, a sultry glance;
Statuesque, they cast shadows on the wall.
Shadows that illuminate and contour,
Express and entrance.

Longing rapture in eyes, incandescent and iridescent;
Loveless yet sensuous silken skin that tells of life well lived.
Your broken heart rests on shoulders, colored and vivid;
A world is painted in timeless elegance.

What horrors has she seen? Said the looker so enthused.
What grandness has passed her eye? Says another just as true.
Oh the colors so earthen tell of pleasures and sorrows, yet whisper of frailty.
They speak in tongues that can never be trusted, only pondered.

The intricate oil work from a badger’s fair coat,
Show delicate and smooth,
All the features of her roistering frame;
Passions of the heart now told by passions of the brush.

The life is still, but forever infinite.

An Exercise in Alliterative Acrostics.

Ernie, ebulliently enthused,
But battered and bruised,
Understandably uneasy and upset.
Leaves lustful Larry, a ***** lad,
Lasciviously longing to live
Innocuously. Ivan, integratesvolves integrating
Every expeditious and essential
Needed necessities, necessary to negate  
Terrible teasing Thomas, to terminate

All appropriate and aggravating
Noisy Norman notes!  No negotiations can negate
Diabolical devilish deeds.  Determination dictates

Exuding excessive energy, exterminates and excoriates
Nasty native nonentities.  No naive niceties
Tackle tricky testy tasks, for tender tendencies,
Having hyperbole hopes, are hypothetically helpless
Unless usurpers unveil unsung university union
Sympathisers, seeking salvation, as sympathising.
Evangelists, exemplary and enthusiastic experts
Doctors, and dentists doggedly determine details definitely decide,

Ebullience and Enthusiasm exist!

Rhymer.  March 10th, 2018.

I have been wildly enthused about gaming since I was younger, and a career path I chose not to go down but did really consider was getting into programming and game design.

I love her.

She is the epitome of beauty,
Her golden radiance pierces me harshly,
Those soft blue eyes get the best of me,
I just want to caress her gently, softly,

But there is him.

He has her love, they seem so enthused,
I'm sitting in silence until they come to amuse,
She is supposed to care for me, but I always lose,
I must find a secret to set off her fuse,

He is the worst thing for her.

It seems no matter how much I whine,
He won't go away, so I will work to find,
A new way of control, aha! brilliant mind,
I'll watch his every move and work to mime,

I love him.

What he likes, I like, he loves, I love,
I'm a miniature version, his proud little bud,
Bonded by time, a woman and blood,
I've made my way closer to my gorgeous dove,

I love her still.

grade my writings in magenta,
no red arrogance for me teach,
blue note jazz margin comments,
unacceptable marginalizing pithy succinct notes,
always cute, hard hitting,
even in day to day black or Bic blue,
refused!

give me ochre, amethyst,
give me the colors of a new born morn,
give me words of encouragement
next to that nicely writ,
without a self-serving
high faluting exclamation point,
astride my D, my F,
a polite professorial funk you

in azure gold
leave me,
write me in colors of hope,
even claptrap deserves
a nice funeral

because gentle teach,
this thought I preach,
what color would you like me
to grade your students in,
your writs,
when next I look
twenty years from now?

will you not leave
me,
be,
in
the color of better days
enthused?

The Clinchfield line flows from the mines -  and through the mountains of East Tennessee.
Wher menageries go to provide such a show - the likes of those we'd never  see.

The first glimpse of these beasts that came from the east - and such places where we'll never live.
They rolled in on the back and were pulled up the track - by the huge steel Loco-motive.

With this rolling stock that would bring such a shock - to the bustling boom town of Erwin.
All sorts of creatures where brought here to feature - where paying guests could get set to determine.

A lumbering cow was this company's wow - this Circus did owe its success.
But this pachyderm act would in time distract - and end up in a most awful mess.

Mary we can claim was this elephants name - and the boast is “the biggest in size.”  
For she sure was a hulk and endowed with such bulk - that I wouldn't be very surprised.

Too earn a few bob, Eldridge, new to the job – now the handler of this pachyderm.
This man was a fool and it seems, very cruel - as it said, he was overly firm.

He was void of the skill but enthused by the thrill - with a very go-for-broke view.
This creature he'd ***** with a great big stick – giving Mary a bad how-to-do.

He had picked the wrong day to cause this affray – as he jabbed with the long piece of wood.
Whilst he was being so rough he hit an absessed tooth – and believe me this figured no good.

With one painful bellow her trunk hit this fellow – throwing Red Eldridge around.
And such was her tread when she trod on his head – she crushed it right into the ground.

Bullets rang out and there was no doubt – they hadn't had any effect.
As before the crowd she still trumpeted loud – while the masses, revenge did select.

**** the elephant, **** the elephant – was the song that the crowds chose to sing.
Each and every man came up with the plan – they wanted poor Mary to swing.

The lynching was set and a huge crane was met – for Mary was five tons in weight.
Out in front of the crowds with them screaming out loud – her future was not looking great.

They secured her leg by a chain to a peg – whilst around her neck they placed a chain.
And whilst reeling it in it dug into the skin – as they lifted her up with the crane.

Back on the ground they heard such a sound – as Mary's big bones they did crack.
Then somebody said the chains still on her leg – and the elephant to earth did come back.

The effect of this trip broke the pachyderms hip – causing her incredible pain.
And with such neglect they then did reconnect – and they lifted the creature once again.

The crowds they did roar as Mary did soar – a day out it has to be said.
With laughter and glee for the whole family – this monster now hanging quite dead.

The elephant gone but the party went on – as this beauty did hang for this shower.
The boom town of Erwin all acted like vermin – and left her for almost an hour.

Buried in the ground she can not now be found – as many here try to forget.
To look in this face we see only disgrace – and forever this stone will be set.

"Is there anybody there?" said the caller,
"Six ten eight oh one two four three nine?"
And his ears attuned to the empty hum
Of the long-forgotten line;
And an LED on the handset
Flashed, for a moment, red,
And he dialled the number a second time:
"Is there anybody there?" he said.
But no one replied to the caller,
No sound but the dialling tone
Came drifting into his waiting ear
As he held that haunted phone;
But only a host of phantom listeners,
Of spectres weak and strange
Stood hearkening to that human voice
That echoed around the exchange;
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
And his heart was afraid and nervous,
With his hand on the final digit
Of that number not in service;
For he suddenly tapped the receiver
And spoke on that line of dread:
"Tell them I called, and no one answered,
That I kept my word!" he said;
Ay, they heard him replace the receiver,
And his mumbled cursing later,
With the usual subdued but enthused delight
Of the switchboard operator.

A caked that you don’t eat, but lift
Catch my drift!
A cast iron cake where you will certainly lose weight
The thought of a diet not being a fate
No knife to cut
Where there is a sentence follows but
The cast iron cake could be your exercise weight
But wait for Heaven’s sake
Now I said prior in not gaining weight
However lifting the cast iron cake, you will surely bulk up
But because it is a cast iron cake, there are no calories to lose
I see you being all enthused
I am watching you observe that cast iron cake
Now just remember, there aren’t any plates
Just a Cast Iron Cake to help you curve your appetite.

Canto I: Exposition

A dampened quill and wrist unstill
Dare gallop ‘cross the page
Scribbled lines in black do shine
With much and fervent rage

And without fail, they tell their tale:
A passage tried and true
Lasting years, through hopes and fears
On page of yellow hue

Epic tales and loss at sea
Are listed in its text
The hand that writ this hallowed script
Can be no less than hexed

It begged, it sailed, it led a crowd,
It took a lady’s life
It stole, it smote, and always wrote
In volumes more than rife

He took this hand to unknown land
To carve a profound path
He set the sail for times to come
Yet tore himself in half

He lay awake in warm Toulon
In misty-morning May
The yellow birds in shrillest words
Alert him to the day

For too long days and longer nights
He’s waited for the word
The morrow here will mark the first
Of correspondence heard

Bonaparte has rallied here
To Toulon’s bustling bay
Three-fourths a score of battleships
To Egypt make their way

Before the high and mighty men
Joined with the water’s ebb
A note was slipped beneath the door
Assigned to M. Lefèbvre

Finally, a true decree
Has blest his merry course
Soon, eagerly, he’ll set to sea
Lost time his one remorse


Canto II: Aleron

Out to sea are thirty-three
That with me sail the tides
With these men, I trust my life
They follow where I guide

And so we’re gone from warm Toulon
Just days from the decree
Noble men off far ahead
And me with bourgeoisie

Bonaparte has aimed his fleet
To Egypt’s sandy shores
Through pirate gangs and ill intent
His roaring cannons tore

We follow in this taintless route
As far as we can trail
But soon we’ll turn half-way to stern;
To Gibraltar we shall sail

Days upon the Aleron
Are short but riveting
My men maintain their cheery air
And working still, they sing

No more of cloudy restlessness
No more of shady days
The blazing sun and windy waves
Have chased off my malaise

We pull our sheets and head from east
To curve around southwest
Past Ibiza, whose northern shore
Our Aleron caressed

The choppy sea grows thinner
And our nerves become unstill
The pirates of the Barbary Coast
Could leap in for the ****

And now, a sign above the line
Where water meets the sky
A tow’ring plume of certain doom
Is growing ever high

The heavens choke with blackest smoke
As fires burn a boat
The raw, impending fear of Death
Is clawing at my throat


Canto III: Skull and Bones

‘Tis hours later and we’re chased
Beneath the star-dogged moon
We tried to break away to north
But broke away too soon

Unknown, we tailed the pirate ship
Then saw the far black dot
The crow’s nest signaled skull and bones;
We held onto our knot

We much too late had turned around
My Aleron spun slow
Sheets so white in plain of sight
Had sold us to our foe

Our heaviest of itemry
Into the sea we cast
Rusty tools and iron spools:
Submerged, and sinking fast

Yet still we could not make a pace
To lose the rotten crew;
On our backs, they sailed our tracks
And split our wake in two

And so the misty moon is here
And watches like a ghoul
As we divorce our southern course
For Pillars of Hercule

The flick’ring light behind us
Like a glimmer in an eye
Stares and preys upon us
In cover of black dye

It grows and throws upon our ship
A light of fear and blood
It digs into our drowsy eyes
With sharpness of a spud

We hold on to our frantic pace
Till night invites the day
When to our right, in bright sunlight,
An ally heads our way

With Godly sound the cannons pound
The scoundrels far in back
Our brothers there in ship so fair
Repelled the foul attack


Canto IV: Gibraltar

In safer seas, our Aleron
Met with Le Taureau Bleu
We buy and sell and trade our stock
And praise and thank the crew

For safety’s sake, along we take
Two cannons of our own
We’ll stand a better chance against
The skull and crosséd bones

On we sail, on more and more
On through the placid day
No longer faced with poor intent
We make our merry way

Finally, from the vociferous chum
Upon the tall crow’s nest
“Land **! Land **!” Enthused, we know
Gibraltar’s over the crests

I decide to park (good-will flag on ark)
At the British colonial base
With cannons in stow, civilians are we
Attacking is surely bad taste

Just then, as I stood face-front on the deck,
A shrill squawking was cast
To the back I turned, and quickly discerned
A yellow bird up on a mast

How dare it perch there! I’d **** it, I swear
But I’d fire not a gun
Britons who spy me would surely deny me
Fair entrance, if that’s what I’d done

Instead I’ll sit tight; my crew is all right
They don’t mind the bird at all
I’ll listen and bear it, and try to forget
That the bird is the cause of my fall

Closer we draw to Gibraltar’s port
The Britons are within clear view
With a wave of a flag, they accept us in
But my anger cannot be subdued

I ready my gun; to the bird I have spun
And fire my shots to the air
The Britons, upset, rush onboard and get
Me constrained; and ensued despair


Canto V: The Crimson Owl

Silver chains kept me detained
As questioning carried on
Was I a spy for whom I ally?
Or was I simply a con?

I kept face as the questioner paced
And the brute slapped me around
Lastly, I smiled, as after a while
They had no evidence found

With regret, they set me free
Determining I was no harm
But seconds before I went through the door
A fellow rushed in with alarm

Cannons, found inside my ship
As rifles point at me
Again, they had me cuffed and chained
And threatened hostilely

“Smuggling arms to enemy ships”
Was written in their book
Chained and gagged and stowed was I
No better than a crook

Between the pillars I was passed
But not as I had hoped
Both my arm and legs were bound
My fragile neck was choked

In the bowels of The Crimson Owl
I slept in dark distress
No other day, with truth I say,
Had I known such duress

The days had passed and I’d amassed
A hunger, fierce and true
All my thought was set aside
To find something to chew

When suddenly, the shrillest sound
Came flying from afar
A cannon shot had hit its mark
The mainmast it would mar

Sounds of death came all around
And finally toward me
My blind removed, I held in view
The pirates of this sea


Canto VI: Captain Riceau

I stepped aboard by point of sword
And left the burning Owl
“Bienvenue à Le Chat Fou”
Said a fellow through his scowl

But when I talked, they stopped and gawked
Surprised at me they were
A fellow French, I was embraced;
The Crazy Cat could purr

They brought me on, my captors gone,
And took me as their own
And for the time, I went along
And made this Cat my home

I was kept live, and was used for
My knowledge of the sea
For vengeance ‘gainst the Britons
I complied happily

For months - perhaps three seasons passed
I rode upon this ship
Captain Riceau valued me
He named me second skip

For cause unknown, we crossed the sea
Old Captain held his tongue
He would not tell us why we trekked
And chased the setting sun

He brought us ‘round the chilly tip
Of Chile’s southern shore
No reason from his crazy lips
Though long did we implore

Then at last, the day had passed
When Riceau caught a cold
His eyes were red, his limbs were dead
His breathing: hoarse and old

I became the skipper then
And buried him at sea
We cut up north to flee the cold
But at a loss were we

Confused and crazy we’d become
Just like the Cat, rode we
I thought to keep Old Captain’s path
And that meant mutiny


Canto VII: Mutiny

Two days it’d take for them to make
The foul and bitter plan
That I’d be through with Le Chat Fou
And they’d return to Cannes

I lay asleep, in sleep so deep
Dreaming of Calais
The maiden fair with yellow hair
Who one day would betray

In this dream, I heard her scream
And went to touch her cheek
But standing as a statue does
Her gaze was still and bleak

They dragged me back into this world
Then dragged me off the port
My lungs too filled with shockéd air
To object to this tort

They threw my pants and diary,
And sandals, as they laughed
For shoes could serve no purpose
On the ocean’s liquid draft

The flick’ring light before me
Like a glimmer in an eye
Stares but grows more distant
And retreats into black dye

An injury had placed me in
A lesser swimming league
Then again, it’d only serve
To cause me great fatigue

Three days, I had rode the tide
Of the western ocean’s waves
No shark, no squid, no slimy thing
For my flesh did crave

The crests came up like daggers
And fell like hulking trees
I prayed to God almighty
I survive the vicious seas

Finally, I set my stare
Upon the northwest sky
Far away, but clear as day:
An object in my eye


Canto VIII: Abyss

Although I swam me ‘cross the sea
As fast as my arm can
Dry throat and sun win victory
O’er me: a fainted man

Trapped in darkness once again
I spy my fair Calais
Screaming, shrill in bleakness then
With not a word to say

Over me her head hangs low
Her arm is slightly raised
Blood drips off her elbow
Her expression leaves me dazed

She’s gone; the air is hard to breathe
The wind is biting cold
A canopy of restless leaves
Is stirring uncontrolled

Lost inside this world of wood
I struggle to emerge
Feels like years have I withstood
While searching for the verge

No chirpings from my yellow bird
No noises all around
Not a sound is to be heard
But footsteps at the ground

No rodents gnawing at the bark
No insects in the trees
Alone I sleep in brush so dark
With nobody but me

In the drying mud I’m laid
Despondent of my fate
Looking through the verdant shade
The sun does penetrate

Streaming down, the light is rich
Bespeckled on the floor
Dancing ‘round without a hitch
Its presence I implore

I call upon the pouring light
To lift me from this hell
To nullify the chilly blight
Incite the warmth to swell


Canto IX: Land Forgets Itself

The burning light lends me its faith
Yet suddenly absconds
The dulling light projects a wraith:
My soul from the Beyond

The day retreats and turns to night
The moon in place of sun
Mute, and without touch or sight
I desperately run

Fleeing from my fading soul
Myself, I do berate
For no such being should extol
Escaping from my fate

Luscious leaves all turn to brown
They wither and fall fast
Suddenly, upon the ground
A dune of sand’s amassed

Crawling on the desert floor
And shaking from the cold
I hate and bitterly abhor
The night’s begrudging hold

In the distance, at the line
The land forgets itself
The beaming rays of light do shine
And warmth indeed does swell

Basking in the drenching sun
My coldness is expelled
Frigidity that night had won
Has fully been repelled

In the sands, I’ve laid to rest
To steal the heat of day
Yet no sooner had the sun caressed
Than sourly betray

Melted on the scorching sands
My body burned and scarred
I cannot lift my torrid hand
My feet have both been charred

The burning heat has ripped my lust
For life and will to live
My last resolve is brutely ******
Through Death’s unyielding sieve


Canto X: L’Oiseau Jaune

I coughed and spat the water that
I swallowed with my snores
Upon the sand my hand did land;
I’d made my way to shore

The beach was bright with fiery light
My skin was hot and red
I tried to get out of my head
Those visions that I dread

A novelist I once had been
Writing was my joy
With pen in hand, I could withstand
Each plot set to destroy

Yet Calais came and stole my heart
But also my free time
We wed and had a baby boy
Our life was too sublime

I raised my pen to write again
To feed the family right
I spent my days filling the page
And toiled all the night

When finally, she’d lost her mind
She needed to be loved
I tried to calm her shrill attacks
With no help from Above

My raging wife had grabbed a knife
And stabbed my writing hand
Yet somehow I had speared her eye
I couldn’t understand

At the elbow, I was chopped
And no more could I write
The widespread fact I’d killed my mate
Had augmented my plight

I beached onto an island;
This was no Chilean land
I walked around the grainy ground
And found nothing but sand

But soon a rescue ship had come
I was not too long gone
I read the name upon the port;
It was l’Oiseau Jaune

"Young Man found Murdered in East End. Police believe that in the early hours of Tuesday morning a young man who hasn’t been named  was tragically killed. His body was found the following morning by his cleaning lady. There has been much speculation linking this latest death to the series of murders that has happened in the capital over the past two weeks."

The headline news at the moment, yes another ******. This time another man killed, the ever changing result at the moment is now two men and three young women. It seems the killer prefers severing the femoral artery of his victim, thus securing a fast and ****** end to their poor pathetic lives.

I read intently, the pure supposition by law enforcement officials that seems to me to be almost comical in nature. They bandy words like Serial Killer and Maniac across the pages of every news paper.
I smile, as I fold it in half, placing it neatly on the table next to my breakfast things, for I know that tonight another ****** will occur. First things first though, I have to go and earn my keep.

I work as an investment banker in the cities renown square mile. Yes I am one of those so called pariahs who is happy to receive the extortionate bonuses that the majority of Londoners and the rest of the country, I might add, are all so busy complaining about. I must concede to the fact that I totally deserve every penny I get but I suppose I would say that, wouldn’t I?

Pariah, yes that’s me pretty much to a tee.

Pariah: definition, outcast: somebody who is despised and avoided. Yes that sums me up perfectly even if I do say so myself. Of course most of my friends and colleagues would not be of that opinion at this moment in time but I do believe that they will come to this decision soon enough. As I have already stated, I have a crust to earn so I had better start to make a move, the rent won’t pay its self you know. I won’t bore you with the daily working life of an investment banker, the majority of you idiots wouldn’t understand me even if I did, so I will fast forward ten hours and once more speak to you from more comfortable surroundings, this time in the guise of a well frequented public ale house in the East end of London.

As my night progresses I see her across the now bustling and noisy lounge area and yes, she is something to behold. God has been very kind to this young lady. Her name is Petunia and a more than willing victim one will never meet. She is perfectly formed and voluptuous in every way you can imagine. Just what I am looking for on this lovely summers evening. Over the course of the evening the charm flourishes and Petunia and I laugh, chat and drink our way through it, getting even closer as the night closes in. This is working lovely, that flash of thigh as she rubs her leg along my own. The glint in her eyes tells me that this young woman has succumbed, hook line and sinker to my charms.

Not one of those to big myself up but this is of no surprise to me, as I do believe I have everything almost every woman would ever want. The looks, personality and money, with this in mind, she never stood a chance really. We leave the pub arm in arm, she looks a little unsteady due to the drink.

Come into my parlour said the spider to the fly and she is so prone to take that first step. Our destination, her flat just a stones throw away. My mind racing, excitement so enthused within my cool and calm exterior.

If you have been following the events of the last few weeks you will know that the past five Murders were all committed with a short sharp blade entering into the groin area. I am so aware of that silken metal that the steel presents to my leg. I feel it intently even through the leather sheath that is bound so securely below my trouser leg. I am so aroused at this moment in time.

Inside Petunia’s flat we waste no time getting close as I push my quarry back onto the divan. After the initial fumbling we are almost there. As we taste each others tongues my left hand reaches down to select my weapon from its casing. I feel its coldness in my hand, raising it to the desired position. All I have to do now is slide it forward and penetrate.

My hands are sweating. As we feed on each other with our mouths I feel my hand shaking. I try to shut off the emotions now running through my mind but I cannot do it. I pull my mouth away from her succulent lips and realize that this is just not going to happen. It felt like such a good idea until now, I was so motivated before this but I just haven’t got it in me to **** this beautiful woman.

A sharp pain brings me to my senses as the blade slides into my groin. The pumping coldness that is now soaking through the material of my Armani trousers. I am shaking so much, in Hemorrhagic shock, as my life’s blood pumps from my femoral artery. She pushes me onto my back, as I fight to keep breathing, Petunia looks down at me smiling.

“Thank you for a lovely night -- Number Six.”

My old self keep dying everyday
To keep tryst with new beginning
Young heart beating with vigor
Every vein filled with brimming hope
Charting new territories
Being better than my old persona
Inception of fresh perspective
Every cosmic particle in me enthused
After fresh lease of life

A journey into destiny
Inspiration without enduring pity
It is not a trip through a city
However it is living within reality
Years of separation
A time when writing was a enemy in not
A hidden curse being a plot
In justice in not letting your mind expand
Exercising your rights documented in creed on the United States land
Your writing was meant to reach
It was part of education in all to teach

Words have no favoritism
Actions are only disturbing needing a direct response
Writing falls partly into that category
Words construct in how the writer feels with all the conditions that apply
Endless moments from a past with a cry
Every thinking moment becomes a writing try
Every idea is another day in being wise
Life understanding becomes wisdom absorbed
Those moments alone becomes a concept explored

Back in slavery days, reading and writing wasn’t an option
Yet it was educating one’s mind to take a chance
However, it was Freedom Writers who had courage and Faith to step out
Your writing was meant to reach
It was part of education in all to teach

Words have no favoritism
Actions are only disturbing needing a direct response
Writing falls partly into that category
Words construct in how the writer feels with all the conditions that apply
Endless moments from a past with a cry
Every thinking moment becomes a writing try
Every idea is another day in being wise
Life understanding becomes wisdom absorbed
Those moments alone becomes a concept explored

Back in slavery days, reading and writing wasn’t an option
Yet it was educating one’s mind to take a chance
It didn’t matter if one didn’t advance
However, it was Freedom Writers who had courage and Faith to step out
Today, opportunity plays its part in giving you assurance that you have the talent to write
I am not trying to be polite
I want to help someone to come out of the shadows and be among into the light
Freedom Writers is what it says, and they have given you the floor plan in writing in what they think
Write where others cannot
Think where others are uncertain
Encourage where negativity has been applied
Your realize will certainly be your observation eyes
Be enthused with every writing try
Our Forefathers who wrote paved the way in how each of us write today
As a writer, you are the destined voice
You had some doubt, but you became the choice
You are “Freedom write with Liberty gained”.

In the corner collecting dust all alone
This violin has seen fame being entertaining and full blown
The violin has played Lincoln Center and Carnegie Hall
It even has seen all over the world by all
The violin even played solo behind various themes
A violin voice of melody of its own
But years of neglect into the dust years
There is no preserver
The violin’s time has come an sad end
Sits with no purpose
A violin that enthused the world
Now forgotten strings
The violin had the spotlight doing its thing
Alone now, but the violin proved without a doubt
It showed what music was all about.

zero context shifts

multitasking is multi~asking your brain
to do what does not come naturally,
the enthused poem starts up, lion roaring,
a muscle car, brain throbs organic pulses
semi~******* of a near-completion in
your neuronic *****, exciting and ****
all you-writ so far is:

your name, some crazed, minimal
******* of words with

no context, no preconceived word lotion to
balm-spread over the enflamed areas of
your brain skin
except that it’s
6:47 am, coffee in hand,
your woman slumber rumbles a left over dream,
speechifying, and room, cool conditioned cold,
ignoring notifications of overnight elections,
and a reminder-by-photo where you were this
day seven years ago today, all put asided,
permission ungranted to any distractions,

there will be zero context shifts til the
spillage of your morn squeaking meager is fully
pillage~d here, it be within my it-takes-no-
village,

@ 6:56 and Whitman is tsk-tsking at the low poetry of my scripting, Hafiz says “hey!
nothing about god or love, what good is that?”

but it’s ok for i’ve emptied the early morning
brain bowels,
defused fusses and asides, tossed asided & there is yet some coffee
remaining but the expiation for having been
reborn this newly birthed day has earned me atonement

for taking up space in this planet
and as of yet, I’ve not stated yet to any, no. all
humans, I hate you ~ but the day is infantile
and opportunity plentiful

@7:03AM
nyc
morning
Wed Nov 8,
in the year of hatred,
a/k/a twenty twenty three.

gingerly on the knife-point of a problem
my inflated ego slowly was punctured
i heard the hiss of its demystification
in that constricted moment of revelation
a moment that enthused about the demise
of my avid hallucination now laid bare
salvation, the voice of naked truths chanted
is neither in the fig leaves nor in bashfulness
and the humming monotone of desperation
is a boost to candid inactivity and stillness
it is in such big-bore moments that we of
puerile yearnings recognize our childishness
a voice told me to stop tempting fate forthwith
for in truth i was a child with a dangerous toy
and only pampered tutors could stay the course

Me and creativity,
We get on rather well.
We see the world with eyes of awe,
From an Elephant to a seashell.

Hearing the "Caw" of the Crow,so brusk.
Or gaze in wonder at the golden wheat husk.

Inhaling the dawn with enthused delight.
Feel sharp edged frost on a star strewn night.

And when the dark consumes daylight,
There's nought to dampen our delight.
Me and creativity

.

Everytime I hotwired reality

I took a bite out of animosity


I followed all the wrong examples

Danced to the music I didn't know

I never knew the new ground

Before it brought me down


In the end we all dance to the music alone

Twirling until we are nowhere to be found



. . . . dancing our sorrow away . . . .


. . . . all the dying years enthused . . . .


. . . .  in the end keep the fire burning
         in your eyes . . . .


. . . . until the light in you reaches the sky . . . .

The Garden

As the Parent stood looking out the window
At their beautiful young daughter playing in the garden with a friend
They could only marvel at what they saw, a Beauty so delightful, so vibrant and alive
Dancing about, so light of foot and with a laughter so carefree
So youthful and so radiant looking,
And when she smiled it was like she smiled with her whole being
From somewhere deep deep down inside her...
"O! Youth, wondrous youth and innocence", thought the Parent, "such a beautiful time and a beautiful sight to behold
Untouched by this world, all her skies, they were blue
A darling child facing out into a loving abundant Universe"
The Parent smiled and nodded their head
All was well yea! All was good in the Garden.

                  The Tree of Good and Evil

But then there came a day when the daughter approached their parent saying
"My friends they all have phones so they can keep in touch with one another, and they can play their favourite songs, I feel a bit left out, I'd love to have a phone too"
Now the Parent could never refuse their lovely daughter anything
So a few days later they presented her with a brand new sparkling phone (just as she had wished)
She was thrilled, this lovely new shiny thing in her hands, this wonderful new toy... plaything
"Now I'll be able to keep in touch with my friends and play my favourite songs" she enthused
But then the Parent introduced a note of caution, they said "You must be careful, there are dangers...dangers out there
They told her of some websites they knew calling them"healthy wholesome sites"
They warned "Stay on these sites, their good safe sites,
Don't stray!... Don't stray onto the Internet!!"
The daughter was a little perplexed by this, she wondered what 'dangers' were
This was something new to her innocent mind.

                               The Fall

Now the Parent had to go away for a few days on a business trip
When they returned they hastily dropped their bags in the hallway
And rushed again to the window, rushed to see the one they valued most in this world
The One they loved above all... their most precious daughter
What they saw though sent a cold chill through their heart
For there was a difference now, a noticeable change in her
No longer was she fleet of foot, now they detected a hesitancy in some of her movements
And her laughter too, had changed, now it came only in short bursts
Not the lovely rippling giggly carefree laughter of old
There was also a pensive air about her, something which hadn't been there before,
And for someone who used to like their time spent alone
Now she seemed to cling onto her friends more
As if now she was afraid they might leave her
As if now she was afraid of being left alone with herself.

The Parent grew worried watching her, so they went out into the garden
"Daughter!", they said, "Is there something wrong ?" Are you not well?"
The daughter's eyes were downcast, it was like she was almost ashamed to look them in the eye
She nervously fingered her phone in her pocket
And then she said something... something strange, not like her at all
She said "The Planet... the Planet is dying"
"What!", said the Parent, "who told you the planet was dying, who told you this ?"
She went on "And there's Bad men with terrible weapons, there's wars! diseases!! famines!!! "
"Who told you all this ?" again asked the Parent, "who told you ?"
The daughter took out her phone and looked at it rather guiltily
She said "One of my friends showed it to me on the Internet"
The Parent said "We warned you Love, we told you to stay away from the Internet
The Parent then bent down and looking their little daughter in the eyes they said
"Sweet darling child , don't be afraid ! You were made pure...pure and strong, invincible in the face of this world
You mustn't fill your mind full of these dark things
These dark black clouds that will only block, clog up your beautiful skies
Dim the radiance of your magical radiant life"
But the daughter she replied almost resignedly "I know now that before when I was happy I was just living in ignorance
I know now this is how people are meant to be... and to feel. I feel I've grown up now".

As she turned and went back to her playmates the Parent thought sadly
"Now she'll have to decide, to look within, to find herself again...to regain her old self...her old smile
Or else, more dangerously... she'll have to wander...to seek outside".

i forgave and waited
and waited
and waited
for a change
there was no change
just disappointment
so i told myself to believe
believe in the one who hurt me the most
and try again to forgive them
stupid me
stupid me
i did it anyway
i forgave
never got an apology
an explanation
or a change
im done forgiving
i may sound cold
heartless
brutal
but how can you be
happy
enthused
and whole
when youre
broken
weak
and disappointed
now im disappointed
but i refuse to forgive any longer
i forgave and waited

https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/l8njruxa73yee9b0jzmhd/The-Ultimate-Unabridged-Guide-to-Esoteric-Working-English-2.docx?­rlkey=kunoar7ghpfkb7fjk5xkdgx95&st=i84ornny&dl=0

THE CARAPACE OF EQUANIMITY IS AN EQUIPOISE BETWEEN THE PARALLAX OF URANOPLASTY GAINSAYING AGAINST BALDERDASH OF BALBRIGGAN ASYLUM THAT MIGHT NEVER COWER TO LEGERDEMAIN THAT THE COAGULATION OF SPONTANEOUS HATRED NEVER DEFILES A MAN BEYOND HIS MEASURE SUCH THAT THE EFFLORESCENCE OF MOTIVATION IS A DRIZZLED DWIZZEN ON THE CURGLAFF OF TOMORROWS REGRET WRENCHED BY THE BONNYCLABBER OF RATHERIPE VENGEANCE BY SOUNDBYTE MENDICANT TATTERMEDALIONS OF SENTINEL CERTAINTY IN A WORLD PULLULATING WITH THE CURMUDGEONS OF GERMANE RHADAMANTHINE NEGLECT COUNTERMANDED BY THE INSIDIOUS RAGDOLL PILLORY OF RADICALISM BECOMING TOO SHALLOW TO FATHOM AND BEYOND DEPTHS OF GRAVITAS INCURRED UPON LARGESSE PROTENSIVE IN NEBBICH IRONY BECAUSE OF NETTLESOME NOISOME NEPIONIC NOMOGENY OF ULTERIOR TRENCHANT RANCOR THAT RECIDIVISM PROMOTES TO SOLDIER THEIR WAY DOWN THE SASHAY OF INTOLERANCE REDOUBLED IN INGEMINATED FESTOONS OF GRAVID PRIMIPARAS OF THE JOCKO JOBBERNOWL KALIMKARI JOGGLE OF SVEDBERG BEYOND DELIMITATIONS OF IMPROMPTU SPONTANEITY FORGOTTEN BY THE MAGNANIMITY OF TIME AS A MISTETCH OF MISCALCULATION FOMENTED BY APIKOROS SWEEDLING CAJOLING REMARKS OFFHAND AND IMPERILED BY THE SKERRY AND SKELDER OF IMPORTUNATE GLAIKERY REMANDED AND REPUDIATED BY THE WEIGHAGE OF STEVEDORES MUST THEY RELENT IN THE PURSUIT OF AVARICE BY THE AVENUES OF IVORRIDE BECAUSE OF INTENSIVE SCRUTINY WALLOPED BY LUGUBRIOUS HAUNTS OF JACKALS WANDERING THROUGH HAPPENSTANCE RADICALISM THAT PRETENDS ITS AFFRONTS ARE ANY LESS PALATABLE IN THEIR BALKANIZED NEUTRALITY THE WAYSPAY OF BLUEPETERS OF BLUNGE OF ORTHOPTEROLOGY BECAUSE OF ORCHIDACEOUS LIES OF MENDACILOQUENT PATRONAGE OF FILIGREES OF RAMPARTS OF INDUSTRIAL SABOTAGE INCURRED BUT ALWAYS DENATURED BY  THE SONDAGE OF THE SEDERUNT AGAINST SECODONT SAMIZDAT OF TAGHAIRM BECAUSE OF THE MAUDLIN GRAVES OF GRANNARIES OVERTHROWN BY COCARDENS DESTINED FOR FRUITION BUT NEVER NONCHALANT IN DOCIMASY ULTERIOR TO DEVASTATION. IN THE GRAVIMETRICAL DISDAIN OF EISOPTROPHOBIA COUNTERMANDED BY IMPERATIVE NARCISSISM MANY ARE STRANDED INSULAR BY THEIR OWN FRICTIONS WITH ABRASIVE JINGOISM THAT STRADDLES THE NOVANTIQUE OF LAVEERS OF PIRATES OF SAFETY AND HARBOR IN THE IMAGINATION OF THE HAUNTING PHANTOMS OF HEADLESS HORSEMEN PRISOPTOMETRY BECAUSE OF THE SENTIMENTALISM OF LURID TRAVESTY EXACERBATED BY CONTUMACIOUS CONTUMELY HIGHLIGHTED BY THE RANCOR AND JALOUSIE OF RAREFIED STELLAR RETICULATIONS OF CONSTELLATED CONGEALED JEALOUSY FESTOONING LUKEWARM POLITICS OF THROMBOSIS BECAUSE OF GRAFT BECOMING INSUPERABLE IN ITS CHARMING FACADES OF WHIGGARCHY BUT ALWAYS DEMERITED BY THE ILLUMINATION OF HAPPENSTANCE GLORIFIED IN CENTRIPETAL MOONSHOT CORDIALITY THAT BECOMES THE UNIFIED BRIDGE AMONG PEOPLE UNITED IN THE SOLIDARITY OF STRATHSPEY AND SPATHODEA ALIKE THAT WE MIGHT BE UNITED AS A FRATERNITY BOUNDLESS IN ASPIRATION BUT BOUNDED BY A FINITE TRUTH AGAINST A FINITISM OF FIDEICIDE BECAUSE OF RAMSHACKLE BOLAR BOLTROPES OF CALVOUS DISREGARD BY THE CARRACKS OF INTIMIDATED RAZZMATAZZ AGAINST MOMENTARY HEFT IN HERCULEAN EFFORTS MODERNIZED BY THE RALTENTION OF THE FILIGREES OF UNIFIED FRONTS AGAINST THE MATRIOTIC DECLENSION OF THE SHILLS THAT SPARE THE SEDERUNT OF SENNET MIGHT THEY FIND THEMSELVES CULPABLE FOR NEGLIGENT FORESIGHT OF APATHETIC REMAND BECAUSE OF ARBOREAL TAUNTS OF RAREFACTION IN REGRET AGAINST MALEFACTORS THAT TRY SEEDY BOWERIES OF NOTORIETY MIGHT THEY INCUR ONLY THE CREDIBILITY OF DISBELIEF BECAUSE OF THE INCREDULITY OF THE BURDEN ON THE PUBLIC TOLL OF IMAGINATIVE STRAIN THAT GOD PROVES HIMSELF AXIOMATIC ABOVE ALL LEVIATHANS OF HERCULEAN PROMETHEAN FULGURANT RAMPARTS OF RAMPAGE IN STAMPEDE TOWARDS FRENZY BECAUSE OF LITTORAL SALVAGE AND TOWERING IMPERIUM THAT EXISTS AN INSULAR PRESTIGE ABOVE A CARCASS OF JAWHOLES SINKING IN QUANDARY RATHER THAN POISED IN RESOLUTE RESOLVE TO EXACT THE QUAGMIRE INTO THE LORE OF THE HEROIC CHAMPIONS OF TRAGIC HEROINES MAINLINED BY THE BEATIFICATION OF "PERPETUAL INDULGENCE" CONTRARY TO THE VOLITION OF GOD AND THE PERMANENCE OF MOTIVATED ENTELECHY AGAINST THE VAIN IDEAS OF AUTOSOTERISM BECAUSE WITH RAPIDFIRE INGRATIATION ONLY TO THE ATTUNEMENT OF THE SATINET TO THE NOMOGRAPHY OF PRESENT MASTERS ENRICHED BY CONSTELLATED VICISSITUDE SOARING WITH GEOCARPY IN KOBOLD RESENTMENT OF SVEDBERG JOGGLES OF SEISMIC TERRAIN OF LIABILITY, STRAIN AND TORQUE OF NAIVETY ROTATED AROUND THE AXIS OF THE SHADOWS OF THE GREATER MIND ABOVE THE SUBLIME MAJESTY OF CAESAPROPISM BEYOND MERIT WE FIND THAT THE SATURNALIA OF PREFIGURED PEDERASTY THAT REMAINS DEFIANT OF THE LURCH OF TRIAGE AND THE DELIMITATIONS OF PATAPHYSICS MIGHT WE LAMBASTE THE LAMBENT DISTRACTIONS OF THOSE THAT DEFILE SACRED TEMPLES WITH INCIDENTAL SABOTAGE BECAUSE OF ULMACEOUS RETENTION AND LATRINES OF THE WASTRELS OFFENDED BY EVERY OFFHAND SLEIGHT BY THE LEGERDEMAIN OF CONGEALED HATRED SUCH THAT THE NOYADE SINKS THE JAWHOLE EBRIECTION OF VANGERMYTES TO ENSURE THAT VENAL HARPRICKS AGAINST EVEN MORE VILLAINOUS CAUSES OF VENALITY UNBRIDLED MIGHT APPALL RATHER THAN ASTOUND THE COMMON ATHENAEUM SUCH THAT SCHOLASTITUDE IN CELERITY CAN COMBUSTIBLY REFORM HUMANE SOCIETIES AROUND "WHAT YOU SAID ON PAPER" POLITICS THAT VOUCHSAFES THE MINORITARIAN CAUSES OF OUTRAGE BUT NEVER FULMINATES THE FULIGINOUS GIMCRACKS OF THUNDERING OUTRAGE SERENADED BY PROVINCIAL APPLAUSE BECAUSE STATESMANSHIP BECOMES THE HARBINGER OF ALL CORRODED DESTINY LEAPING AND LEAPFROGGING ABOVE THE WEIGHAGE OF STEVEDORES OPERATING RUBEFACTION AND RUDENTURE IN CONTRARY STRIDES OF THE CHAMOIS BECAUSE WE BECOME THE CENTRIPETAL OMPHALISM OF AVIATORS BOUND BY GOLDEN GOOSE PREROGATIVES BECAUSE OF THE STRAIN AND STRIDOR OF MAGNANIMITY THAT ALL FERVOR AND FUROR CAN WITHSTAND THE FAINTER ILLUSION FOR THE BROADER BRONTEUM OF GOD'S MAJESTIC KINGDOM ILLUMINATED UPON THE EARTH BEYOND THE SCRY OF MAGICAL PRETENTIONS SUCH THAT A REDINTEGRATED AGE OF NEVER A TOTEMIC HUMANISM BUT ALWAYS AN ABDERVINE MERIT MIGHT BECOME A TEDIUM WITHSTOOD BUT ALWAYS BROOKED WITH A DELICACY OF AFFECTION TO NIMIETY THAT STARTLES THE CLOCKWORK MACHINATION AT MACH SPEEDS AND BROADSIDES OF BARMCLOTH WITHERING IN THE RESOLVE OF OPPRESSION ONLY BECAUSE MULIEBRITY IS WIDOWED BY ITS OWN DECLENSION SUCH THAT THE SADDLE OF THE TIMESPUN MIGHT ALWAYS GRAVITATE THE OMPHALISM OF THE SINECURE SUCH THAT ALL GENTILITY OPERATES BY THE RIGORS OF ELEMENTARY LOGIC ROTUND IN THE PATAPHYSICS OF ETERNAL REGARD BY THE HISTRINKAGE OF THE BRACKISH CONTUMELY IN YARNWINDLE RESCINDED AS AN ARTIFACT OF DIMINUTIVE STATURE RATHER THAN ESTEEMED ELEGANCE OF CORTEGES OF PRESTIGE RATHER THAN DISMAL NOTORIETY AUTHORIZED ONLY BY VAIN PERVERSIONS OF THE SHORT-SIGHTED. IN THE RADICALISM OF MOMENTARY DAVERING CERTIFICATION OF APOCRYPHAL MYTHS ABOUT THE MYTHOS OF THE ESTEEMED LARGESSE OF THE TITANIC FLAGLER BENCHMARKS THAT BECOME SOLDIERED MERCENARIES OF CHAT GPT HALLUCINATIONS MIGHT I OFFER MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES TO THE ZEPHYRS OF GNOSTICISM THAT MY OPINION CONFLICTS WITH BEDROCK VERIDICAL FACTS BECAUSE OF THE COMBUSTIBLE TRIAGE OF VACANT CATHEXIS BETWEEN RIVALRIES AMONG DERBIES OF ORGANS OF ORGANIZATION MIGHT THEY WAGE MERCENARY PROXY WARS AGAINST THE HENCHMEN OF THE ORDERS OF AGES THAT SERVE TO MAGNIFY THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE EVEN TO THE POINT OF DECADENCE ONLY TO REALIZE THEIR CULPABLE FOLLY THAT SIDETRACKS AND SIDELIGHTS THE EVIL ENCROACHING UPON THE BIOMEDICAL RACONTEURS THAT MEET THE STIFFEST REPUTES OF RUDENTURE CONTORTED BY RHEOTAXIS MIGHT ENTIRE ORGANIZATIONS REFORM BY CONFORMED ORDERS OF THE EUHEMERISM OF RATIONAL CATHOLICISM THAT FATHOMS THE HOLOBENTHIC CENTRALITY OF CAUTERIZED DISASTER FULMINATING AGAINST HUMAN FRAILTY BECAUSE OF FOIBLES OF MAGNATES AT WAR WITH EACH OTHER FOR VAIN VENAL REASONS OF GRAFT BECAUSE OF MASONIC VENDETTAS WAGERED AGAINST UPRIGHT ORGANIZATIONS EVEN IN APIKOROS HINDERBAGGLE THE TORCHIER AND TORCH OF THE VEILLEUSES OF A PROTENSIVE INDULGENCE AGAINST FLAMFOO DEMITOILET TRAVESTIES BUT ALWAYS SEAWORTHY VESSELS OF VERIDICAL FORESIGHT TRANSMUTING IN MODERN ALCHEMY BEYOND THE DEMARCATIONS OF RUDIMENTARY MAGICK TO BECOME THE ALTRUISM OF PEOPLE THAT CONSIGN THEMSELVES TO HIGHER SELVES RATHER THAN DEBASED JOCKOS IN THE JOBBERNOWL OF THE CACOETHES TO SLANDER BY OPERATIVE AGENCIES OF SABOTAGE INVETERATE IN THE CONSTITUTION OF EMBEDDED AND EMBODIED FREEMASONRY AND ALL APPELLATE ORGANIZATIONS MOST WITHOUT MANY A BLEMISH BUT ALWAYS A METEORIC BOLIDE AGAINST THE NOTORIETY OF CONFESSION AGAINST THE SACRAMENTS OF THE PROFANE BECAUSE IN GOD'S DIVINE GRACE WE FIND MAGNANIMITY MORE A MESMERISM RATHER THAN A GLAIKERY BUT THEREBY WE COUNTERMAND AND IN RESIDUE OF COMPLETION PERFECTED BY THE HINGES OF CREAKY RICKETS OF RACHITOGENIC MULIEBRITY MIGHT WE FIND A PURE WITNESS OF A "HOT N COLD" WORLD AN INVITING PLACE FOR THE LYCEUM OF ESOTERIC TITANS EMERGENT MORE IN THIS AGE OF OPPORTUNISM BECAUSE OF THE DWARVING FLOOD OF VANDYKES AGAINST RHEOTAXIS BECAUSE OF THE VENOSTASIS OF THE VASTATION OF VAUNTLAYS OF WOODSHEDDERS SEEKING ULTERIOR DECIMATION BY DERACINATION FROM ARBOREAL ZOOSEMIOTICS BECOMING AN IMPERATIVE DISTRACTION SOUGHT AFTER BY PHARAOHS TO CLEAVE THE SLAVES MIGHT A MAN AS MIGHTY AS MOSES APPEAR WITH BRAZEN SERPENT SERVITUDE TO JEALOUS SECRETS REFRACTED BY PRISMATIC OMPHALISM INTO A VOUCHSAFE AGAINST DESUETUDE BECAUSE OF BLOODTHIRSTY MARAUDERS OF SNOOP DOGG VELLEITIES OF TEA PARTY CIRCULARITY IN THE SINGULARITY OF TIME SPACE SWORN IN ALLEGIANCE TO NEVER A MERCENARY VENDETTA NOR A VAIN DISPUTE NOR A DACOITAGE OF DACNOMANIA REVVED UP ON THE YAFFINGALE YAFFS OF HYPESTORM SUCH THAT BONANZA IS ASSURED TO THOSE THAT SUBSCRIBE TO PREVAILING ASSAULTS AGAINST NOTORIETY BECAUSE NOTORIETY ITSELF IS A REBARBATIVE FLICTION AND FRICTION WOUNDED BY TORQUE. GOD'S MAJESTY UPON THE EARTH IS NOT MEASURED IN THE PARSECS OF DISMAL FIDEICIDE INCUMBENT UPON THOSE THAT USE BARAGNOSIS TOO WIDELY IN BARMCLOTH OBJECTIONABLE INJUNCTIONS AGAINST SAVIORS WHO ATTEMPT WITH THE VALOR OF IMMUTABLE TRUTH AND INTRANSIGENT RESOLVE TO SOLVE EVERY ESOTERIC QUIBBLE AND QUODLIBET SUCH THAT THE QUIDDITY OF CROWLEY BECOMES THE INGEMINATION OF MALEK TO THE EXTENT THE MERGER BETWEEN ORIENT AND LODGE BECOMES MORE SOLDERED AND WELDED INTO THE WIREWOVEN FABRIC OF THE ENTELECHY OF MIGHTY MOONS AND MOONSHOT PREDICTIONS OF BONANZA AFTER RESPITE AND PRETERNATURAL CAPACITY BEYOND ALL LIMITS OF DURESS FOR THE DURAMEN DUGONG OF HISTRINKAGE LANGUISHED ONLY ON THE FAMINE OF UNITY RATHER THAN THE TERROR OF COARSE JOKES AND RADICAL NAIVETY THAT BECOMES IRRELEVANT WITH THE NOSOCOMIAL CURES OF PALLIATIVE REFORM THAT BECOMES NEVER A MERCENARY BYSTANDER BUT ALWAYS A TRUER WITNESS TO MARAUDERS AND VIKINGS AMONG HISTORICAL CERTITUDE SUCH THAT THE SEGREGATED SECRETS THE BLEMISH OF MANY A LOUDMOUTH CAN BE PIGEONHOLED BEYOND THE SCRUTINY OF MILLIONS BECAUSE OF THE PROFLIGATE FREEBOOTER WALLFISH WALLETEERS OF DESTINY ASSEVERATING GOD AND UNIFYING HIS GRAND PROTECTORATE UNDER THE BANNER OF AGGIORNAMENTO CONSECRATED BY A SINGULAR RESOLUTION AND A TENACITY FOR TRUTH AND JUSTICE IN FRATERNITY FOR ALL.
IN THE ABREACTION OF PUREBRED PERIBLEBSIS OF ARISTOPHREN VENOSTASIS FUELED BY RAVENOUS VENOM OF RABID CROTALINE VIPERS OF MAUDLIN CATHEXIS TO SENTIMENTAL NAIVETY AND NIMIETY CONTORTED AND CORRUGATED BY THE CORRUPTION OF SLANGWHANG AGITPROP LEVIED ON ME BY THE CARNAPTIOUS CORRUPTION OF THE DEMITOILET EVILS OF FUSTILUGIANATION THAT SCRANCHES FROM THE REGISTRY OF YOGIBOGEYBOX THE FAR-FETCHED MAGIC OF MUNICIPAL BONDS ENTRUSTED TO SUTRO BATHS BARNSTORM TELEGRAPHY WE MUSTER A HERCULEAN DEFENSE AGAINST THE RADICALISM OF MUSTERED ALARMISM IN PARASELENIC CACKLES OF THE MOST ENGORGED ENORMITY OF DESPERATION AMONG THE MASKIROVKA OF MOONSHOT RUDENTURE BECAUSE OF SWARTHY SPATHODEA IN BALBRIGGAN RESENTMENT AGAINST THE GAINSAY OF PROFERRED CRETACEOUS NEGELCT OF THE SEEDIEST BOWERIES TO EVER PULLULATE THE EARTH WITH RAGMATICAL RANGIFERINE CONTUMELY SPUMID LIKE THE SPURIA OF SQUALOID RAMBUNCTIOUS WHIMSY IN AN ANEMOCRACY OF THE TRIVIAL ******* BY THE GRAFT OF PUNCTILLOS OF PUNCTILIOUS NAYSAYERS BALKANIZING ALL SUPPORT BY ENSLAVED GOSSYPINE COVENANTS WITH A SERVILE GROVELING BRAZEN ENORMITY OF IMMISERATION DISGUISED AS A GENUFLECTION TO DECADENCE SPAWNED BY THE PROGENY OF THE WEAK-WITTED HUMAN RACE VERGING ON A INHUMANE DISGRACE ALL BECAUSE OF INSIPID INSIDIATIONS MANDATED BY ALL CRAVEN RAPACITY IN ENTHUSED REVELRY OF BAILIWICK ATTRITION OF ACERBIC ACRIMONY SIPHONED THROUGH BARAGNOSIS IN LAVADEROS VOLCANIC WITH PRIMIPARA REGELATIONS RATHER THAN REVALORIZATION WE DEFEAT THE NETHERWORLD TWINGES OF TRESPASSES OF THE STEEPEST AMOUNT OF REGRET THAT HUMAN BEINGS COULD BE SO RADICALIZED BY SATINET BUSHWA NONSENSE BECAUSE OF ZULU MASSACRES OF THE HENCHMEN OF NOBILITY THAT IN THEIR ATROCIOUS GULLIBLE GOSSYPINE QUIDNUNCKERY THAT EVENTUALLY THE HUMAN RACE WILL EVOLVE BEYOND THE PETTIEST REGALIA OF A CLANNISH SCHADENFREUDE THAT ATTEMPTS HUCKSTER DECADENCE AT A DISCOUNT ON THE TRAVAIL ON MOUNTEBANKS THAT DART AT TRESPASSES OF GLABROUS DISTANCE RATHER THAN PROXIMAL CERTAINTIES OF THE TRUTHS ENUMERATED BY GOD HIMSELF TO TRIUMPH OVER THE DEPTHS OF WRETCHOCKS OF WOODSHEDDING TROLLS THAT PANT IN DESPERATE HEAVES OF MISERICORD CONTRITION ONLY TO FIND THE TORMENT OF THE FIRE THEIR BLAZED FURNACE OF ETERNAL RAGTAGGERS OF BLEMISH AGAINST BEATIFICATION IN BEAMISH CERTITUDE AGAINST THE TRAVAIL OF THE PILLORY OF THE WORLDS MOST SACCHARINE LIES. THE DUTIFUL SKULLDUGGERY OF ARISTOPHRENS THAT COUNT THEMSELVES NOW VAURIENS OF IRRELEVANCE THAT ALWAYS FORESAW THEIR SEESAWED DOWNFALL BY TIMBERLASK MASONRY NOW STAND AN AFFRONT TO CIVILIZED LIBERTY AND OIKONISUS IN NUCLEOTIDES OF ACCORD TO A SOLID STALWART STEADFAST RESOLUTION OF ABSOLUTELY GILDED HEARTS DESTINED TOWARDS THE SUBLIMATION OF THE WORLDS MOST HETERONORMATIVE VALUES MIGHT THOSE CRETINOUS EVIL VIPERS LURKING IN HEDERACEOUS GRASS BECAUSE OF WITWANTON OPPORTUNISM TASTE THE TORMENT OF THE FORMIDABLE BLAZE AS CONSEQUENT TO THE UNPRECEDENTED ATTEMPT TO BULLDOZE THE PREEMINENT INTO THE IRRELEVANT BECAUSE UNBRIDLED HORSES GRAZE IN FOREIGN NOVANTIQUE THE EXCLAVES OF EVIL OSTRACIZED FROM THE DOMINION OF GOD FOREVER BY THEIR CARNAPTIOUS RUDENTURE AGAINST RUBEFACTION SUCH THAT THEIR NEBBICH SPECIOUS THEORIES OF ELEMENTARY LOGIC CONFLICT WITH THEIR OBVIOUSLY STUNTED CAPACITY TO UNDERSTAND THE COGNITIVE SOCIODYNAMICS OF THE KIND OF AUSTERE EXTREMES OF CORRUGATION OF THE BUSHWAS ON THE SATINET REQUIRED TO DISCOUNT EVERY VEHEMENT WORD I EVER SPOKE IN THE HONEST WITNESS OF MY DISREPUTABLE PAST THAT THEY MIGHT ALWAYS REMIGATE ME AS AN ESBAT TITANISM THAT THEY WANT TO PINHOKE INTO NOYADES OF KEELHAULED EMBARRASSMENT BECAUSE OF THEIR UNFOUNDED BUT FOUNDERING DESPERATION FOR PEDIGREE IN A WORLD WHERE OMPHALISM DEAFENS THEIR EVIL SHEEPISH WHISPERS IN CROWDED ROOMS OF RUMPUS AND CASTIGATION BECAUSE THEY LACK THE CAPACITY TO DISCERN THE AXIOMATIC TRUTHS THAT THE BIBLE WAS AUTHORED TO ENDORSE MY LEGACY RATHER THAN TRUMPET THE ****** OF GOMORRAH JUST FOR THE PARVANIMITY OF THE JEALOUS JALOUSIES OF KOBOLD FASCINATIONS TO TRY TO SUPERCILIOUSLY OVERTURN EVERY CREDENDA OF MORAL CERTITUDE THAT SERVES EVERY GENERATION WITH A COVENANT THAT APIKOROS JEWS DISREGARD ENTIRELY BECAUSE THEIR NEW RELIGION IS UTTERLY A COUNTERFEIT DISGRACE OF WARPED SWARPOLLOCK COMPOUNDED BY PARANOIA AND AN OVERLY SCRUTINIZED MISAPPERCEPTION OF REAL EVENTS IN SPACE TIME SUCH THAT THE CIRCULAR CURGLAFF BECOMES AN ENMITY TO ELITISM AND ELITISM TRIES A BRADLEY COOPER VAUNTLAY (WEDDING CRASHERS) JUST TO CHOUSE OWEN WILSON'S HONEST GALLANTRY BECAUSE HIS MYTHS ARE AS MUCH A PUFFERY OF CHICANERY AS ANY LIE YET INVENTED AGAINST THE INVETERATE TRUTH OF A GOD THAT TELLS NO LIES AND A PROPHET OF GOD THAT CARES FAR LESS ABOUT SPARING THE SEVENTY TIMES SEVEN AND FAR MORE ABOUT SPARING THE SOULS OF THE IMPRESSIONABLE FROM THE SCOURGE OF WRIKPOND DESPOTISM. WE MUST SOLDIER ON AND WELD WIREWOVEN GENIUS INTO THE INGEMINATION OF ALL REVOLUTIONS AGAINST THE QUEER CALCULUS OF UTTER DEHUMANIZATION AND DEPERSONALIZATION PROFERRED BY LICENTIOUS JEZEBELS WHO ATTEMPT WITH EVERY MINUTIAE OF THEIR CONTRIVED BEING TO DEFILE THE SACRED WITH THEIR WARPED CLOISTERED ELITIST VIEWS OF HUMAN SEXUALITY THAT ARE CONTAMINATED BY THE EVIL DEGREES AMONG THE HERMITS THAT PRIZE THE EFFEMINATE IDEAL AS THE HIGHEST ****** MAGICK IN A COMPLETE COLLECTIVE DELUSION OFFERED BY A POETASTER WITH A GENIUS MIND BUT A TENDENCY FOR INTENSIVE SOPHISTRY IN HIS ATTEMPT TO ENLIST THE ORIENT RATHER THAN COURT THE LODGE. PEOPLE WILL ALWAYS FRITTER IN DISGRACE RATHER THAN CONGREGATE IN CELEBRATION OF TRUE ALTRUISM AND INSTEAD OF BEING CRAPEHANGERS WE MUST WELD A FUTURE OF OIKONISUS AGAINST LURID TRAVESTY
DESPITE MY OBJECTIONS TO THE VERIDICALLY FALSE NARRATIVE A FLAGLER LUXURIANCE OF DASHPOT DEAR JOHN LORE ENCHANTS A NEW VIVID FASCINATION WITH THE MOST ENTHUSED HISTORY EVER TOLD IN THE FOLKLORE OF TIME THAT SUCH A VENERABLE DESTINY DOTS THE DISTANT PAST AND POPULATES IT WITH ENDLESS FASCINATIONS THAT ARE COMPOUNDED WITH THE HELP OF BOTH THE ORIENT AND THE LODGE ESPECIALLY WHEN REFERRING TO THE HIGHER HERMITS WHO TREASURE DIAMOND MINES OF INGENUITY RATHER THAN SORDID LIES OF SELF-PRESERVATION BY THE LAZARETTA WE ALL OFFER THE SAME GENTILITY TO THE PRESERVATION OF ARISTOCRACY BUT ALWAYS IN INTREPID COURAGE WE LEAPFROG FASCINATIONS ENDLESSLY SCRAWLED IN THE HALLOWED HALLS OF TIME THAT DETERMINE THE OPTIMISM OF CAREFUL CONSIDERATION TO ENTHRALL EVERY ABIDING AUDIENCE IN EVERY CLOISTER AND BOLSTER EVERY RATCHETED ENDEAVOR OF HUMAN PROGENY BECAUSE WE BELIEVE IN THE ENUMERATION OF THE HUMAN PAST IS THE PROXIMITY TO HOSTAGES OF TEMPORAL DISTANCE SUCH THAT THE CARNAGE OF BUSHWA ACELDAMA SATINETS SLACKEN THEIR LEVERAGE UPON THE LISTLESS PARAGONS OF LYCEUM ENTERTAINED BY SUPERFICIAL HUCKSTERS THAT DON'T INHABIT DIAMOND MINE HERMITAGE BECAUSE THEIR ST. PETERSBURG IS DEFILED BY THEIR PROPINQUITY TO SALVAGE FASHIONS OF CROSSBOW FUMIGATION OF ETERNAL TRUTHS SET ASIDE TO ANOINT A BETTER INGEMINATION OF GUARDED SECRETS WELL GUARDED STILL AMONG THE TIGHT-LIPPED THAT THE ENDLESS RACONTEURS OF TIME CONVENE UPON THIS GENERATION AS A CENTERPIECE RATHER THAN A MAUDLIN ELLIPSIS. LET US REJOICE AT A SHARED FUTURE THAT ADORNS A SHARED PAST BECAUSE GOD IS ETERNALLY GRATEFUL FOR DISCERNMENT BUT WARY OF PREVARICATION BUT IN BOTH ENDEAVORS HE PREVAILS

Its not the point of killing faith that u will find someone.
Its the action of loneliness and controlling your bonds
Its empty alone and so is pretending to love
You cant make connections not like addiction to drugs.
Save the drug of infatuation.
No reason just meaning less
No selection. Just what drips in your lap
No focus just lenses that crack

The sextant marking starlines that guide your path
is no longer Coordinated calibrated to designate a map

Walk amble climb along to view a moral prefix
to design a way out of a sea just arms length
with the depth of the roots of mesquite trees in the spring

We are all stowaways in a ship waiting to jump to shore.
Trying to find a place to spill seeds in the tilled rows of a *****.
The words you whisper are pretty and my minds enthused
tho i know every go at this game i shall lose
Im wandering in a labyrinth
Chasing in a brain
like a rat in a spinning wheel following reflections from a cage

You tricked me. Oh yes. You win
Im no longer a man like all women before you ate the innards left a shell
spit out the hull
Dragged my meat to the floor

One final kiss and i leave, i am missed
You say lies again
i pull off your fist
its on my head
its in my throat
i read words that you spoke
its not my fault
its the blood clot
keeping us unconnected in this note

I am dreaming
secret beaming
red lights blinking
help is sinking
No hope between two
softly stroking
my cross is burning
No fires stoking
On my fore arms
on my chest guard
all is sinking with the funeral
All the voices in my head
are telling me it should be dead
yet the ***** in my soul
tells me that he still pleas for bread
But i starve him
and i lash him
and i strap him to this ledge
for he is wrong
and yes he lies
you're the harpy of my dread


You ******* killed me like i was a lame horse to be put down

Stilted lingerie that fashions a kneaded traipse between trap-door destiny of double-take simultagnosia is a harder fright to outfox that even the most ghoulish amicable maskirovka of a throttled sapience beleaguered by the tropes of a tattermedalion class of Scarface vigor in the face of benighted tomes of a cruised palindrome of efficacy bromides flickering on the outskirts of esoteric thrones of catapults droning on about the listless squalor of philandering phronesis of ecdysiast *** in the cyprian hedges of limited wealth bemoaning the poverty of deprivation because of whiskers through feline sight languid in the remedial dances of captaincy snuck between the edges of destiny cordial only to Home Alone. We must sneak through the verdant pacification of an accordion grimace flanged by the eked snide spite of termagants of termination ruined by the future flickering into past distance because of spartan brutish mannequins of pasteurization glimpsing the thanatousia of death vindicated by vengeance brazen with a Colorado snare of a pinned etiolation of marauders of corsairs that only brave the delusion when the eternity is a trick-or-treat truth and dare consummated on the flimsy agape lychgates of constraints in flair that damage the ragged hypostasized engine of a blinkered hubris belonging to an anointed rigmarole fashioned into the pottery of fungible metamorphosis rather than frangible pulverization that scrapes through liturgy with abnegation rather than relishing plumage beyond the apes of apish planetary scares.


Trimming the blockbuster wearisome hardihood of plumes of fumigated regal ******* in the softened epigone of whiter masks of screaming scares
The times aplenty of swansong ignorance are a plaid disaster of Twister renegades that spar against the visagist carapace of hearkened live aware of ghosts that fuel the hypocrisy of belligerent mares
Forever stranded through the finifugal heaves of a 32 leaves magician of rollicking base jumps with acidic tatters in King of the World stunts the hirsute body politic is a pump and dump trumpery of livid thrills on the substitution of funk for skunk rather than grooves for humps
Nevertheless the scrappy schlep of a foggy dreary destiny is ablaze with Sergeants blistering through Forest Gump bumps as the alighted 80s returns with a vengeance in empires of victory rather than slippages of slump
Renewed by the litigable menace of oilers ****** with crudity and swimming in the askew verdure of the lewd and **** we bolt through the coltish demiurge of fastened fascination flaming with firebrands of deliberation scampering away in blemishes of profanity too rude
We scrape the legacy of elegant injustice and injury because the flamestun hypocrisy of leprosy caused by time is a rustic blue suede shoe that flummoxes in hibernation because of staggered queues ravishing too much of a screwball to be nailed because black artifacts are always unscrewed
Thanks to teamwork the cosmogony of regalia knows the Montana providence of a lissome liposuction radical in renewal because of the Morrison Hotel rather vacant but always populated with a carpal tunnel of slick oleaginous dramatics for histrionic history likable because the news is a purple hue relishing the paradise of cineaste rundles of candlelit mood
Imagine searing the sunlit halidom of the peak-time grooves of unbuttoned blarney frank and swiveled on sclerotic pretense slippery in fashion only to be ironclad in personas of the whispered woo in termagant liturgy that is a colporteur of genius hinged upon collective suitcases of IOUs blameless because the criminal is always hatched upon a 108 pentagon of newsy gripping footage of managerial flames of a barnstorm beyond booths but never above the scarecrow minister of the voguish tempers of trudgery spawned into the folkspun homely ties and wrinkles of wizened love too Titanic to be used
Parker hobohemia scowls at the punitive warbles of marsupial kingpin southern flashes of hyperborean ramshackle ruins of pooches scampered around like littoral fragments of a cinematic crudity in defeated torpindage blistering with foresight in vengeance because the clockwork hour is amazed but horrified by belligerence in overdosed ledgers of legends amused
Time hearkens that craven radication of rhizogenic demiurge blinking above the sleeping awake ringleaders of sedition enthused because of malapert princes crackling with homage to honed sharpened edges of a double-edged whisper reversal into the antithesis of the heaving red serrated by the vindication of impertinent criminals flustered by the pinpointed genius of the Primarily Blues.
Time sees past the sedative fliction of fictitious mangers on primipara  tunes that the euphoria of the now is the cement of every LP belonging above the charlatans of chavish sutured into a surgical effigy of the whitewashed preeminence of discernment into the discs that surpass the ashen cordiality of permissive and permissible leaky faucets rasping through the headlines because of craters of love becoming glabrous above the halvorked entropy of newsy Newport News living above Virginia in Deep Impact legends tipsy on shipwrecks happening too soon to be  immaculate in any crimson style of an inescapable rhyme scheme trying with clambered witticism to achieve belletrist while escaping capstone filigrees of untouchable Terry Crews.
Flickering whimpers of the scary impenetrable Kansas City brain of the touchy hedges of fumigated marstions of erratic flackeys of breweries enthused in an amazed skullduggery of time slipping on crackles of fizzgigs of clambered retinues of radical roots between a tight avenue and a broadened broadway limping on the cinemas that belong to the truth and not the rickety barnstorm of ostentation encased by bonanzas to pontifical to create a topspin of HappyGilmore erasure in bridewells of roomy litigation in uncomfortable contortions of contacts without lenses to excuse.
In the cavernous spelunk of 1990s crimson bleeding into the  expansive liturgy of the ripples of percolation cornered into diminished vacancy anointed as ritualized contrition craving a tighter grip on the tightest swank that could ever be parlayed into New England madcap screws the hunters of the hunted hypocrisy become the travail of the antagonized epiphany of flackey rice in avaricious retches beyond the squabble of punks in due times for clockwork tickers and tickets swarming with infested blemish
The ridicule of sapience is the knowledgeable manicure of livid lurid hypertrophy in exaggeration of the knowledgeable tongue of the Flemish foundering on seaworthy chemists of menace and muse too suburban to ever be urbane bourgeosie limited rankled rancid rancor of ramshackle rackrent gouges too much of a Beetlejuice excuse.
Rhythm for the fulcate furrows of the hypogeiody of epochs slinkywith aced endeavors for misadventure likened to the greatest oiler in the 1980s terror list is a craven capture of photogenesis in rapture that fastens seatbelts of strawberry deaths of crackles of blinkered hubris accelerated by the twisters of vulcanized culmination blasted for history for headlines in ravines of mastery beyond the persnickety prestidigitation of magic sarcasm in the avalanche of dynasty never nastier than violence vile in acerbic posterization of plumage that is blacker than Rush Hour in the menace of Dennis in fractal philosophy funneled into one brittle muster of height rather than weight in freakish geometries of squirrels battering a home run cast away in fracture

Do I have what it takes to step on the Bodybuilding stage?
Competitions to compete in
Intensity training too begin
Muscles focus at the end
Muscles to tone until pumped
Nutrition in muscles feed
Plenty of muscle magazines to read
Posing until perfect
Structure in the Bodybuilder’s mind
Having a mind set to take effect
Mirror checking flexing results
The hardness in muscles felt
Training through pain with the term dealt
Having a Bodybuilding Coach guiding any Bodybuilder to perfection the whole way
This is training principles usage every day
If a Bodybuilder intends to win, he must have high intensity determination to the very end
It’s more than just lifting weights
It’s the preparation in how it relates
It’s the protein intake
It’s also requires drinking nutritional weight gain shakes
Later at Prejudging during the day and competition night
The Bodybuilder must be properly oiled for the heavy spotlights
Practice posing backstage
Step on center stage to let one’s muscles amaze
Cheers from the audience encouragement being the phase
The competition will require standing next to other bodybuilding competitors in comparison
In the eyes of the Bodybuilding Judges whose muscles standout
However competitions can become a flexing bout
But you can depend on audiences with a shout
However, it is the winning bodybuilding circle where the focus will be a winner profile everyone will be talking about
Bodybuilding is about weight gain or weight reduce
Yet it is a sport where men and women are enthused
But there are drugs where including young people should refuse
Bodybuilding good or bad
No pain with everything to gain
It’s about exercise
Some might say it is an enterprise
But people must realize
Shape having tone
But I am sure this everyone has known
Muscle training comes from anywhere across the shore
Yes bodybuilding is something one should explore
Muscle Appeal
Having a muscle flex feel
The bottom line, Bodybuilding is for real.

Every shoe that I seen customers step in was a beginning that I thought would never end
I have seen assortment of shoe wearing feet
It looked like a battle giving into defeat
Yet I wondered why the customer doesn’t see that the shoe doesn’t fit
The customer should be thrown into a pit
Heels often have taken notice
No odor eaters seemed to surface
If the shoe doesn’t fit then you need to quit
The idea is knowing the precise shoe size
To me that would be thinking wise
You don’t want revenge from your feet
A good quality shoe would be an added treat
Remember you need your feet in order to walk not agony with a bark
I am the Shoe Horn to get the shoe on your feet
It should be a struggle and your feet feeling beat
I am the Shoe Horn in wanting to help you fit into the shoe
Because I am a Shoe Horn, this is what I am supposed to do
If you fight with the Shoe Horn to get the shoe on, we will be both through and there’s your clue
Remember I am the Shoe Horn being your foot’s friend
It all starts when you enter the shoe store when you step in
Think on Shoe Horn when you purchase a pair of shoes
I want you to feel enthused
This Shoe Horn doesn’t want your feet to get bruised
There you have it being a shoe in
Let your feet have pavement royalty and comfort being a reality.

My ribs call for justice
Strumming them like
Harps
Stomach,
Roars for a revolution.
Mind enthused by the
Fleeting high of 
Hunger, and loss.
Image damaged by
Thoughts of perfection
Stranded among lost islands
Of paradise