.oh sure, just pass the mortgage payments, i might pay, when i pay off whatever life i lived, and the life i didn't... and some third-party-whatever... oh yeah... just fax me the existentialist details... overloaded with pop Darwinism for the simple answer of a complex question / mode of being... yeah... such the mode of being... give me the mean of non-being... the **** life once was, but became reduced to an epitaph... and only if, if! i am rich enough to afford a gravestone.

don't worry...
if we're just clausit instances
of humanity,
the whole closure chapter...
just wait for the Holocaust
survivors to die with the deniers...
and then you can come
after us...
i'm all up and arms for
en masse euthanasia schemes...
****... let's bypass
the ponces and cowboys...
i'm ready...
   so...
..........................................
tick tock tick tock
tick tock..........................
           missing *****?
****... they castrated you before
they gave you authority
to **** me ethically?!
the *******!
          idiots don't even understand
the whole...
   altar, sacrifice of water mammals...
a beached whale is not
a beached whale...
******* can't even allow
a whale to commit suicide...
even whales ingest a Kamikaze
mentality...
whales don't beach...
but what is the poor ******
going to do...
jump off a bridge?!
   i'm not buying it...
who needs to be saved,
if they can't even be considered
redeemable?!
how can you, "save" someone,
when you cannot provide
redemption for them?
the non-redemption clause:
can't redeem them,
subsequently can't save them...
all you're doing is
prolonging their suffering,
elevating the suffering through
the elevation of failure
in the failure of ending
the suffering...
  so... no one spotted that
the beached whales...
as mammals...
were attempting to commit suicide?
beached whales are whales suicides...
no one saw that?
it wasn't an eye-sore
staring back?
the suicide has already a conundrum
before him...
the lack of suspense,
or rather, the element of surprise...
at least homicide involves
a rush of adrenaline...
       adrenaline... surprise...
     suicide avenue...
     brave people...
                    brave because there is
no suspense of surprise...
absolutely no adrenaline...
          the aspect of consciousness,
the contradictory "choice"...
that contradicts the "choice" of
encountering esse per se,
  or qua vivo...
          i'm not about to solve
this noumenon...
i can't solve it,
because the noumenon of suicide
is already a phenomenon of
a million counter arguments
worth justification...
      but a beached whale?
a whale is a marine mammal...
a beached whale...
what is it? usually a young male...
don't you find it odd...
aren't dolphins intelligent?
aren't whales intelligent?
      so something stupid...
  couldn't exactly elborate the concept
of suicide... could it?
perhaps a stampede...
but surely not a suicide...
         god?
sure... intelligent animals came up
with with god...
but the same intelligent animals came
up with the paradoxical
contradiction, of suicide...
whales...
            beached whales?
you think they were stupid enough
to become, "beached"?
they were in the act of committing
to suicide...
and you were stupid enough
to make attempts at "saving" them...
whatever god is, within the focus of ideal...
suicide is, what god isn't,
within the basis of the inevitability of, will...
we're mortal!

Dear Kailey,

This needs to be my last letter to you
And I don't even want you to read it
This is just for me and my own health
For so long I let other people
Dictate what was right and wrong
Especially with my own opinions and thoughts
Because I didn't trust my perspective
And I should not have permitted that
From you or from anyone
Ironically
The time that drives me mad
Occurred in one of our last conversations
Where I acknowledged the fact that
I might have still had feelings for you
But I didn't want anything like that from you
I just wanted to be open and honest
Yet you took it as me being cocky
And tried to take a jab at me
"I like how you assume I'd want to get back with you"
Which would've been an honest misunderstanding
If just two weeks earlier
You hadn't been trying to **** me
And then cover that with claims that
You still had feelings for me
And because I didn't trust myself
And because you assumed I was being shady
I must have been right?
So I created many different reasonings
That fit both my actions and your perception
But, here's the only truth
I did not want anything from you
We had talked about being friends
Ethically I wanted to explain myself
I wouldn't want to start a friendship
If you didn't know what I was feeling
But you believed what you wanted
Then decided to ghost me from there

Little did you know
I had immediately deleted your number
So about a month later
When you texted me out of nowhere
I only knew it was you because
After all the years I know half of your number
But it's not like you wanted to talk
In a way that friends do
No, you most likely were feeling
Either lonely as ****
Or you weren't getting enough attention
And you suddenly remembered I exist
Because you always thought I was a safe bet
The person who would always be there
Except that's an abusive expectation
Unconditional positive regard
That's a therapy technique
It's not made for relationships
Or human connections
So when you consistently use me
While your boyfriend is in the hospital
Or he's in a rough place and can't
***** you the way you want
When you text me after so much silence
Expecting me to even respond at all
And honestly I didn't want to

Initially I planned to ignore the message
Or just delete it
But why would I give you the power
To create your own narrative for my behavior?
So you can text me again in a few days
As if I was just busy and forgot to respond
Because I'm always here right?
Absolutely not
Not anymore
I'm done with your dramatic ****
With your inconsistencies and
Your using of me as an object of
Comfort and safety
I deserve better than that
And since you don't respect me
Enough to give me that consideration
Then I'll do it myself

And just in case you think I'll regret it
Or change my mind some day
Keep in mind that your grossly passive response
(A singular "oh"
To my assertive request not to talk to me again)
Immediately reinforced my decision
To put myself first
Because I love myself now
And I deserve much better than that
And I owe you
Nothing.

Ten minutes is all Sabyasachi Mukherjee has. “Can you keep the interview short,” I’m asked, as the announcement of his participation in the finale of Lakme Fashion Week’s upcoming Winter Festive show is made. Is ten minutes enough to recap the 14-year journey of this master of colour, cut and construction, I wonder. But I realised that Sabyasachi in rapid-fire mode can make ten minutes seem like twenty! Excerpts:

What is it about LFW that made you return?

It’s here that I first made a mark as a designer. I’m familiar with the format, and know the people. It is like a homecoming. The good thing about LFW is that everything is taken care of – from building the set to inviting people. So I have the freedom to focus on the clothes. It is like putting together a complete show, but doing only half the work!

Finales are a challenge – given the expectations of people in the fraternity, profiles of attendees and the intangible themes created by Lakme for interpretation into garments…

Well, it’s not at all difficult for me. This is my fifth finale at LFW. Once the make-up and hair are set, it is easy to imagine the look and what the girls must wear. I’m way too senior to worry about pre-show stress. My biggest pressure comes from whether I will like what I create. Beyond that, even the critics’ reaction doesn’t really concern me.

Will this line too be about Indian-ness?

Whether I do Western, Eastern or a combination, I always use Indian handcrafts, and all my clothes are handmade. Traditional textiles, block prints, weaves and embroidery are a constant in my collections. The theme being “Illuminate”, this line is about red-carpet clothes with a strong shimmer quotient.

Sunday was National Handloom Day. Considering our diverse range of homespun textiles, do you think everyday must be celebrated as handloom day in India?

Absolutely. It is mandatory at my stores. My staff wears only handloom saris or kurtas made of hand-woven fabric. My Instagram hashtag says ‘Wearing handloom everyday.’

Social media plays a significant role in promoting tradition. Smriti Irani’s ‘I wear handloom’ campaign on Twitter and the 100 Saree Pact are recent examples. Isn’t it time designers too found new ways to promote heritage?

Yes. As more and more Western brands enter the market, our designers must first establish an identity of their own. The Zaras of the world are bringing active prêt into the country, so it is important for us to revive the market for Indian clothes. Reinventing tradition and rethinking marketing strategies are critical at this point.

Has the hustle of today’s business taken fun away from fashion? How do you strike a balance between creative expression and commercial viability?

Oh, that’s very simple. I set my own rules. For instance, this year, I had too much on my calendar. I didn’t do ramp shows, I only had a showing on Instagram. Established designers must create new templates that suit their creativity instead of allowing the market to set the pace for them. Because, at the end of the day, only if you have the time and space for creative expression, can you create beautiful clothes that determine the durability of your brand.

If you were to spell out two major problems faced by the fashion world, what would they be?

Lack of originality. Lack of self-belief.

Fashion has evolved into a glamorous industry, and today, many youngsters want to be part of it. But most of what we see on the ramp and in the retail space are risk-free repetitions.

Well, for designers to evolve, the market has to evolve. But the mood is changing. There are designers who are willing to push boundaries and clients who are ready to experiment. Facebook, Pinterest and Instagram are changing the way people see and respond to fashion. The horizons are widening. This is a wonderful time for young designers to launch their labels and sustain their inventiveness.

Very few Indian designers have taken the effort to document fashion. What about you?

Yes, I will at some point in time get down to writing about my brand. But for that, I will first have to find the right publisher!

Many corporate players are keen on collaborating with designers.

I receive so many proposals for collaborations that I refuse one every day! I am collaborating with Asian Paints, Forever Mark and Christian Louboutin. Another huge one is coming up – but I will not be able to speak about it at the moment.

Do seasons really matter any more in the world of fashion?

Global warming is making designers understand the importance of season-defying clothing. And people too, I feel, don't shop for seasons any more. They just want beautiful clothes.

Can you update us on your forays into jewellery design and interiors?

I have collaborated with Hyderabad’s Kishandas & Company to create some iconic pieces that are hugely popular — and of course, plagiarised! I have a line coming up for Forever Mark. As for interiors, I wanted to design homes, but people did not seem to have enough confidence in me! (laughs) So I ended up doing up my own stores. I have also done up the Cinema Suite for the Taj in London. Celebrities who have stayed in the hotel have appreciated it. A significant collaboration in interiors is happening in October.

Your suggestions to keep traditions going…

People need to be educated about handmade textiles and crafts. A time will come when China will lose out to India because as people become aware, they will only want to support products that are ethically sourced and foster craft communities. Surprisingly, the new millennials are in favour of luxury that is completely handmade. I see that as a positive sign.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses

Winston Churchill Defies the Nazis

#Intersectionality come together
#As one we are cliché strong privileged
#Patriarchy ethically sourced all options
#Are on the table chilling effect quagmire

#Teutons behaving badly doomsday clock
#Transgressive sustainable Guccifer
#Renewable change the gender binary
#Wiretapped microinequity

#Unity in diversity is strength
#Build bridges not borders no fascists here

                          And let The People say “#Meme”

only today i felt this strange fear from boredom, i don't expect housewives to feel it, although i'm certain they do, brain-draining watching some Jurassic adaptation where man's imagination really did a runner - not into the fantastical but into the absurd - like in science fiction, did a runner, completely off the mark given chemists making shampoos and toothpastes and fertilisers... ethically-free science fiction - but this housebound fear from boredom, greater than a fear of death it seized me and rattled me, i had to go out to buy a few beers; just like it happens to really rich people, they make their homes into micro-units of what's out there, in society, a swimming pool when there's a communal one elsewhere, a massive library of unread books, when there are plenty of those elsewhere, home cinema, snooker table... it's the entire spectrum of social pastimes condensed into a single household... anyway, i got hot and bothered, i'm starting to think it was not a fear of boredom, but what to do with the piri-piri chicken i was marinating: tomato puree, 1tbsp balsamic vinegar, half a large lemon squeezed, 1sp sugar, 1tsp paprika, 1/2 tsp cajun pepper, 14g of parsley, mint, oil, 2 chillies, 2 tsp of garlic puree, salt to taste - whisked in a food processor; ~1kg of chicken - because i thought whether i should shove the chicken marinate in an oven bag and cook it for a while, or whether to take the chicken out from the marinate and place it on a baking tray... ****!

poems and book reviews these days, nothing more,
get someone else to do the legwork -
a thoroughly modern malaise -
social anthropology - titled *tribe -
the pros and cons of modern life and our
search for tribal mythology -
the 8x more chance of depression and
other mental deviations in wealthier
societies than poorer ones -
once it was called adventure, now
it's called tourism - after a while you sort
of get bored of the naked ego
and the clothing range your thought
provides you - unless you keep thinking
out the same thing, over and over again,
dressed like Armani, all black, nothing else -
odd, isn't it? they're playing the cat game,
cat wakes up, same ****, different cover,
well, the same cover - same fur - can't
change - the paradox or parody of
the fashion industry, i.e. that the designers
wear the same thing over and over again
and insist people require a spring collection,
the latest autumn trend.... parody.
so back to this piri-piri chicken      n'ah, not really,
i was thinking about what we already did,
this anti-tribalism, to have given ourselves
the opportunity to experience the least
amount of pain, the anaesthetic, sleep inducing
on the butcher's table more or less -
but we also created another anaesthetic,
this anaesthetic is not so subtle - it concerns beauty -
ever see it? ever walk into Tate Modern and
think about Raphael or Michelangelo?
you could tell me i'm overly nostalgic -
but what i see in plain sight is an anaesthetic in place,
against beauty, esp. in architecture -
who'd think of building a new Coliseum or
a St. Paul's - the Tate Modern (as you might
or might not know) is inside a power station,
big massive chimney - would have worked
better in the Battersea (Pink Floyd's Animals
album sleeve), but then St. Paul's is right opposite
and what a staggering dichotomy it is -
i'm sure that's what you call an anaesthetic in art,
the sort of art you have to get or not get
because, frankly, admiring a tin-can of tomato soup
even by Warhol's standards isn't exactly appetising -
i know, conveyor belt necessity and all, once
artists painted on commission for some duke or
duchess, or king to be adorning lavish palaces,
but as according to Walter Benjamin - the work
of art in the age of mechanical reproduction -
some could once claim the original to be worth
a stupendous amount of dosh, but with the above
mentioned essay, the original is worth diddly-squat,
because there is no actual original these days,
because artists don't necessarily have to invest
in raw materials - and the copying process is 100%
perfect, what with photocopying and all...
but **** me over once more, how am i going
to cook this piri-piri chicken?
the few beers took the problem off my hands,
i ended up marinating the chicken in a bag
but then shoved it into a baking tray
an covered with aluminium foil, forty odd
minutes and the chicken was tender - ~5 minutes
without the aluminium foil covering while
the oven was switched off and the temperature
was descending - the carbs? couscous -
alt. North African semolina - and extra cucumber
in tzatziki - a few hours later and i'm a little
buddha not thinking an ounce or a continent's worth
of suggestion... one of those rare albums
salmonella dub's  inside the dub plates,
i'm a real provincial with this album,
tumble **** here, tumble **** there,
never settling for a ****-garden -
i told you i'm just borrowing the language, in fact,
given my alcoholic and status as vermin among
the bulldog rigid British (Londoners can have
their little gay pride parade, whatever, they
better give me up for surgery to a veterinarian than
a human doctor, after all, i'm all ******* gerbil from
now on in, it doesn't take enough pacifists to turn
my attitude into a Neo-**** and bulldozer the Union
Jack into a shallow grave, i don't expect the Caribbeans
and the Pakistanis to usher words of: it's how it is,
a rite of passage, **** your cumin and your ****,
battle of Britain, who among the R.A.F. flew and spat fire?
us) i'm more Apache in a bigger zoo than the one in
Reagents Park, i'm in a conservation zoone -
i'm Aboriginal - shaman of the fire water -
i'll be as ******* ridiculous as i want - go chant
you little kirtan get together mantras going,
i'm sure you'll *****-fight-those-pigeons dead without
a single coo being ushered in - and your little yoga stints
asking questions about the flexibility of the skeleton
not pulverised by scientific eyes for a schematic and
a schooling rubric to domino up the cranium with mandible,
ulna and radius etc. -
but at least i know what sort of country i live in,
and what country is wandering into political apology that's
too late, in ratio 27:1, soon to be Turkey + the Yugoslavian
gape, Albanian and Macedonia by 2020 -
>30:1 - great Welsh ratio that is, oh ****, wait, Scotland too?
i never thought about it coming - there's my 2 cents
on the topic, and that England is becoming more American
by the day? that's good? really?! i thought the
aim of England was to inspire America rather than
vice versa... what a ****-storm these few days ended
up being; ol' McDonald didn't have a farm, but
had the slogan - *i'm lovin' it!

Welcome,

Ladies and Gentlemen,
I'm preaching a lesson,
And the merest mention,
Might cause social tension.

We live in an age of,
New things, super computing,
Mood rings, school shootings,
Fast Commuting, Mass Polluting

If you've got a question,
You should try and ask it,
Try and draw attention to,
Oceans full of grime and plastic.

Drastic measures are needed,
Why can't they see it?
We poison the earth,
And then try to seed it.

You might choke from the smoke,
Everyday Beijing breathing,
Our enemy is cloaked,
But free eyes see him.

Squeezing the last drops,
From the planet won't work because
Before the last's tree's chopped,
We have to plant with love.

Now who are these men,
With the Greatest greed?
Depriving people with a pen,
Of their basic needs.

The proceeds of their misdeeds,
Flow back to the system,
The corporate creed,
Profits off human divisions.

Listen by this time,
We've all had enough of it,
The mind control message,
Still tells me, "I'm loving it!'

Our generation is facing
Annihilation in our age
But the politicians on stage
Fight about the minimum wage.

Debate over free-speech,
Is finished we won it,
We won't get arrested and beat,
This isn't a G-8 summit.

Don't sell your life to the Company,
For a car and a home,
Claim your right to be a somebody,
Your life is your own.

I find it sad and pathetic,
People are attracted magnetically,
Or genetically to create,
Something we can't see.

A father in threes,
Behaving apologetically
and ethically correctly,
Directly see the universe's apathy.

People always have faith,
Governments will save us,
But at a suitable date,
won't hesitate to invade us.

Everybody's cynical,
About the media.
Remaining uncritical,
Of internet encyclopedias.

Obedience Blind,
Is worth less than nothing.
Read, think, search, find,
Catch the fake world bluffing.

There is a solution,
You can break their control,
You heart starts the revolution,
Save your soul.

the first step to letting go is learning to exist. i admittedly, still have not completely let go. no one ever said you had to demonstrate your knowledge, although i'm working at it. when you were there, roadmaps became love letters, the songs you wrote were preludes, flight schedules became the dreams i never spoke about, no one i was close to knew you. as far as they all know, you were a figment of my imagination, and the act of knowing you itself became a test in what i could hold onto by the skins of my soft teeth even once you'd disappeared, once your friends all buried you, and you stopped writing love songs. special occasions no longer sound like your voice. the test was, could i exist without you?

i have written this a thousand times in my head. erased and arranged memories so as not to spoil us. tried to press you into the backs of my eyes like the flowers in the pages of her notebook. and a few weeks back, i stood at the very top of a rope swing, and when i jumped, i stared straight into the churning water all the way down, because all i wanted was to look at you. but this is not a story of getting the things we want so easily. this is not a story of holding your hand, or sleeping in and having late breakfast. this is the paradox of something so strong, that could be so fragile. something that is so raw the universe could only erode it. that love could exist, and disappear so quickly, and i still want to know why no one ever taught you to swim when you were young.

i am on the train. i see a picture of you. "rest in peace" it said. at first i didn't understand. i had talked to you just yesterday. then i do. the sickening sound of your voicemail on repeat. the way you used to call every night, and tonight at seven there is just a silent cell phone sitting in my lap. i think about your baby pictures. the mother and sister you sometimes talk about. the guitars collecting light layers of dust in your empty new apartment. i wonder how they got your kayak back to shore, when you didn't come up for air, and the swing became still over the foaming water. that kayak was as empty as i am. without you, that is very.

they make plans for your funeral, everything is beautiful. everything is in order for you. i get off the train at the wrong stop and run all the way to ami's house, trying to breathe. i am painfully aware of what drowning feels like. i am as transient as us; my existence is a freak accident, circumstantial evidence with a shaky conclusion, two people who can never explain the nature of their affiliation. kierkegaard believed in taking an ethically existing approach, over a cognitive subject. that all single entities can be reduced to singular universal rules. he believed that even when we didn't do it purposefully, cognitive thought forced us into patterns of universal rules. existence is a song we play on repeat, a feeling on loop in our stomachs because a couple of words sucker punched you in the head and you still don't know why. why, is the answer and the downfall. i think what kierkegaard meant is, some things are simply unexplainable, and some things explain themselves, and our very beings switch between these two rules, baffling us, because we are creatures of ethical existence and cognitive thought; we base our actions on human-established concepts of right and wrong, refer to ourselves as "I", live in the present, and yet we also have the capacity to shape ourselves in the future tense. our ability to understand lies in whether we choose to resist or flow with universal patterns as we become part of them in our ethical existence. learning to exist is nothing more than playing chess with a higher power and allowing it to take your king when you're backed into a corner, even if the queen has to play the rest of the game alone. The game has been flipped. Learn to play even when your world turns inside out. you know the queen is your ace, your you, and she has amazing potential. you were not just some figment of my imagination that convinced me to sleep at night. i am so sure of that now.

her eyes are bluest in the bathroom
in early afternoon on the west side of the building
(but you probably knew that)

those are the lights, there
and there are lions in the lights and their gold circles
are halved and the gold circles
beneath her eyes are halved
and there are lions in her eyes, too
except in the bathroom, on the west side, in the early afternoon

it has always been something but not this
always there but not so big
her eyes are bluest in the bathroom
where you wouldn’t think to follow her

you tell the story and it is
happily-ever-after, goodnight
(day is so much better still)
she’s unready still

always unready to run with lions and so she tames them
in her eyes, and in the lights (it is ethically challenging)
and the gold half-circles
are bigger

and so is that other thing
always there
always unready

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TO­ SMILE BECAUSE EVERYONE ELSE DOES :) IS:

- An act of anarchy, especially if you don't have any teeth :D

- Because all beings are blessed Bees
  
- Certain sign of cretenism or genuine Charm

- Denominative sense of digestion is Disturbing

- Ethically wrong Endeavor

- Fascinating and freeking fabulous if you intend to F. . .  

- Gorgeous as Geometry

- Hot on Hotties

- Imature and implies lack of Integrity

- Jibberish

- Keen rediscovering so many Keens or Kens
    
- Lovely on Lovely ones (once)

- Magnificent Mimicry

- Negating the jokers(or your own) inteligence / numb is Numb

- Onthological urge to survive among jungle beasts - fangs are
   quintessential urban asset. .or. . Smile-The-Power-Wilder-Open      

- Pertinent in Parliament

- Quiet resistance behind a cold minded rebellions league - quitting in few minutes  kicking some mthf harassing ****** pervert - to hard Quiver

- Real lovely strenght to feel and see each other happy  

- Stupid on jokes = Joke Stupid  

- Tactics to climb up the social ledder or/end further down the Thongs

- U can't admit you didn't get it; u2

- Violation of virtues as (in vino) Veritas

- Wonderful! To see people happy is healthy, positive and Wise!  

- X times better than being in low energy

- You love your beloved and you are loved by your beloved love

- Zooming at the ' zoo' of human behaviour -
    Amusing as Zorro-Art-Is-MusssssssssseumZ

there is never an afterthought looking
at society as a whole but, in times of
discontent; we look disdain in the eyes
as it dulls humanities open-mindedness,
aghast

yet, we find clemency to overlook abominate
behavior in our fellow humans fore... the storm
will pass in the face of sullen words that may
darken our path; it behooves ethically to consider
their trials and tribulations in life as they unmask;
revealing their torment to mind and soul, giving
thought to their utterances and actions seeking
forgiveness, falling to their knees in repentance

dare we ask of their dilemma or do they shutter
in the wake of humanities wrath; shall we re-consider,
silently ingesting; fact or fiction in a society of closed
minds, refusing to shed their armor, their protection
from the few in the masses with no afterthought,
no understanding as a mind clashes with thoughts
of self-destruction; finding no justification

thinking God has abandoned them to face irrational
minds and behavior; not realizing He's right by their
side walking in their shoes; carrying them through
their burdens, trying to open up their eyes mind and
soul to see hope at salvations door , fore, they have
not been forsaken...the minds a terrible thing to waste
on societies triviality

How many times and on how many screens has JFK been assassinated? she asks a few minutes into the commute.

Someone has said that to me before, I say.

And I notice, now for the first time, even she is a rerun or a ghost
or an unfortunate reminder of the one who came before her,
from the artfully mismatched polish on her toenails to the way her wrists wrap around each other as she talks her quiet talk, her fingertips balancing her iPhone, which streams Jackie Then Kennedy scrambling toward the back of the Cadillac. Its the Zapruder footage in slow motion and somehow in HD, and she touches the thumbs up icon when the footage comes to a close.

Across from me sits a dead man. I'm sure of it—his death. He lounges in himself, his belly fat imperialistic in its expanse, moving beyond beltline and claiming a space all its own on the torn, blue cushioned seat. The dead man looks a bit like Marlon Brando, post-Tango in Paris, when the depression set in and with it the weight, but like Brando, there's still a cool magic in the deep lines of the dead man's forehead, something forlorn and knowing in the drag of his eyelids.

It's here that I remember I'm a writer. And moments like these, I'm supposed to render in belabored yet fragmented ways.

That's ego, she says, not looking up from her phone.

What's that? I say.

The way you pigeonhole me. Rerun, ghost, et cetera, she says. Maybe I've made love to a sad man like you before. Maybe you're a trigger for me. Maybe I know everyone you're going to be, everything you're going to say.  Like I was going to tell you these pants, these pants are lenin pants and I got them from Bali. And I didn't say it because I already knew your response.

Are they ethically made? we say smugly and simultaneously.

And the subway car does that screeching sound you hear in movies and the tunnels outside do that motion blur you see in movies and I try to kiss her but she says that uh-uh cowboy line you know from movies.

Brando had affairs, I say.

Kennedy had affairs, she says.

Have you ever had an affair?

It was exhausting, she says, the performance required. All the effort in your vocal affectations, those terrible 3 p.m. lunches, the pet names, your obligatory passion and one-liners, the secrecy for the sake of secrecy, the purchase and disposal of lingerie. If I could get the time back—

I'd spend it alone with a glass of red wine and a good book, we say.

How would I like to be loved?
It is a very difficult question
Because, though I appear, at first glance
To be "The Guy Next Door"
The reality, I assure you, is entirely different
Firstly, every individual is different
Secondly, I am autistic
And finally
There is so much about me
That you will get to know
Only if you are a good friend of mine

How would I like to be loved?
Well, let me tell you
Love is not all about candlelight dinners
Nor is it about *** in the bedroom
It is about being there for each other
No matter what
If I truly love someone
I would be ready to go to jail for her
Of course, not if it is for something ethically wrong
But you get the idea

How would I like to be loved?
If you have seen the Tamil movie "Thiruchitrambalam"
Then you would understand
If I were to say
That I want someone to love me
The way Nithya Menen loved Dhanush
In that amazing movie

How would I like to be loved?
If you've seen me at my worst
One of those days
When I am in one of my rages
And keep shouting and breaking things
Or I lose my focus at work
Due to all my insecurities
Rearing their ugly heads
Or I simply drown myself in my thoughts
Refusing to come out of my bed
Or I cry like a child
Drowning myself in a tidal wave of self-pity
And you still love me the same
As you did when I was at my best
Then it is indeed true love
Enough said

How would I like to be loved?
When I hear one of Harris Jayaraj's romantic melodies
And can instantly relate to it
I know that I am in love
And that love is real, not reel

How would I like to be loved?
If you ask me how was my day
And I go on and on
Droning about the technicalities of my work
Or cribbing about various issues
Such as candidates, clients or my boss
And you never tire of listening to me
Then I know you are truly in love
Also, if I keep asking you how was your day
Every single day after work
And you never once tire of answering such a mundane question
If that is not true love
I don't know what is!
And on that note
It's time to wrap up this little monologue
And return to hard reality

I - remain numb to the prosecutor
Laws of attraction but no morals still remain cuter
I rebuke ya,
With ideas of positive retribution
you living in someone else's shadow?
F$&k; a life sentence
That's a self inflicted execution
Here's my two cents
Cause the cost of life is much more
Pockets so rich
But ethically they so poor
Give em all you got
They turn around and want more
This method of life that killed what we living for
It's dead wrong
Lyrically I'm blessed with a mind that plays so finesse
Don't give a f$&k; about the critics when the words come off the chest
We tryna impress who?
Every person that we see?
I guess it's me, tryna be
Everything that they need
A brother, a son, future father, friend and inspiration
Tell em to focus but I constantly lose my concentration
Slowly awaiting
The dollar bills and fast life
If the Devil were human probably have to take my first life
Or do a deal
Addiction got me for real
I know life's a ***** and I'm loving the way that she feels

Yeah,

Unsure cause my instincts haven't been tested
Well, I've been tested
Passing notes filled with a subliminal message
And no questions
Far from tryna reach the answer
That line probably went over ya head in that very last stanza
Cops yelling put ya hands up
walking alone with ***** curls
Never had heat on me, just vibin out in this cold world
Just wanna speak a lil and explain what my mind constantly grinds
Broken hearted women who looking for any love to find
Mean hearted men who smile back to pretend
This war on love is to ongoing and will probably never end
All issues with those who I had a problem with I now amend
Life is too short to forever hold the hate in
Word to my pen
I'll write more and more again
Cause it's bound to reach one soul
Open at least one eye of a friend
We all die but know not everyone lives
That simple concept should be a sure privilege.

I...Cross my eyes and dot my tees
Becoming the man I chose to be
The pressure of life got me stumbling
But I continue to move my feet...

And chase diamonds in the rough....(echoes out)

Every true crime documentary resides in me.
Binge used to be tied to drinking. The language, I think,
is evolving, and I walk the black part of town at
night on a double dare from a lady poet whose
lexical purview lies somewhere between her
**** and the moon. I'm a beacon of fairness,
fair trade coffee stains my teeth, my lenin pants
imported from Bali are ethically made, and I speak
in a respectable and thoughtful half whisper
like the women of the QVC.
I return to the loft free of gunshot wounds
and love my lady poet thin and love my lady poet
tall and she says confusion is the only sustainable
state of being and I say I can agree with that and
she says she's been thinking about transitioning
and I say into more responsibility at work? and she
says haha no. Into a man.
And three weeks later I watch her read a poem
entitled "Traffic My **** Transgender *** to Heaven,"
she goes home with one, two, three Sylvia Plath lookalikes,
and I get swabbed at the doctors and I get prescribed
a moderate dose of Effexor and I speak in high school
Spanish to my office crush — she's from Venezuela, I think.
Power. Control. Stockings, I tell her, I have a thing for stockings
and pink cotton socks. One more drink and I'll hit my
groove. Chill. Power. Control. Put on that soul song I like.
Didn't I do it, baby?

Sing a song of slick men
Pocket full of lies.
Four and twenty fat cats
Terribly unwise.
When the truth was spoken
They don’t even try.
They’re immune to reason
And they get all the pie.

Sing a song of no sense
And how they persevere
How they get elected
Year after year
Still they have no scruples;
Ethically impure,
They still win out in the polls.
Why is still unclear.

We should build a big fence
And lock them all inside.
Then impound their fortunes
Wherever they hide.
Let them see for sure how
Crooks we can’t abide.
See if they can stand each other
Living side by side.

Sing a song of statesmanship
Nearly gone extinct
Senators and gangsters
Not so distinct.
The rich still had their millions
We lost the kitchen sink.
Brought us all to near defeat
And pushed us near the brink.

figure it out idiom
to be could idiot be
or not quite be so sprite
ethically epic athlete to be
coming up one at a time
please line up London
tower clowned stop
peek left or right ask
what bus cut the chicken head
like scissors sent cat head twirling
mad crossing the street did not make it
on came bus wheel tire sliced fair and clear
head came whirling down the drain trough
rolling on the road tire marked body lay shat
guts squirting out the skunk bottom
boomp bop boomp bop ghost
plop onk badonk gongho groink
lancelot tower giant sprinting fads
when city occupants are bad spanking
vacant pranksters free running a mockery
football gangs sprout ******* up stixs
men in parliament yard brummagem a ****
front line straight to the palace chute toilet
bombing up crap opulence rosebud flushed
bowels snake bit buns stunning out on fire

A *** DEAL MADE ME NOT 01-23-10
Moral Conundrums

Dilemma Number 1:

If you won a million dollars and were told that you could give it all away to the needs of others or you could keep it all to yourself, what would you do?

My Honest Answer:

I’d keep it and sneak it back around from my profitable endeavors. So yes I would keep it, only to further my ability to give back more than a million. Seriously. If I thought I didn’t have the ability to do that, given the chance, then I’d rather quickly fade away and give it all to the Humane Society.

A happy medium, ethically, would be all of the above, or I think I would be happy dying trying!

Dilemma Number 2:  

You pull off the interstate and wait for a green light. You are turning left, so you must wait. It is raining, hard. It’s 55 degree’s, unusual for Florida. The woman outside your window is over seventy, and toothless, wet as a tired sewer rat. But she is not a rat. She is or was or could have been someone’s mother.

She certainly was someone’s daughter, but that doesn’t really matter much, never has, and never will sometimes, always. Out of ten there will always be one sometimes or no-times child. There will always be those with and without. There will always be that “have more or less” mentality based on sentiments of the basest of humanity.  

I have a dollar…until next week. One dollar. Until next week. I have some food and some cigarette butts. I have an adequate amount of liquor…to make it to next week.

None of this really penetrates my brain. I want to feel the cold rain falling on my hand as I wish her the best and silently express my gratitude to God.

In some sort of way, be it the way which is chosen and taken by me… and everyone else. I must stop thinking like this!

I alone can make a difference, I will make a difference; right here, right now! I feel it in my gut, my brain, the burning turmoil inside my soul!

I turn off the exit going east on I-192. My tires were fine moments ago. Now one blows. I skid to a stop in front of a gas station. My hand is out; I need a little change to call for some help. My dollar is gone, but I’m not.

.slipknot's (sic) "vs."
  stone sour's get inside...

don't know,
sunglasses in the night,
beginning with a crescendo...

i'm pweetty sure that these
pro-life hags...
ever be presumed schizoid,
spending time with
fellow psychopaths
at some outskirt
London allotment...

     with a bunch of:
pick up, take elswhere,
    put down,
watch "it" dribble...
then expose itself
showing off a ******* *****...
and then,
a dave rubin,
finds it weird,
making an interview
with a pro-life advocate...
    well at least the mad
are not brain dead...
compared to these:
'here, by the grace of god',
wonders of the world.

sure thing, chief.

this, this...
pro-life advocate,
is going to suddenly turn around,
and play the priestly role,
of not being
the cabbage-kid caretaker?
really?
you know...
   when i was digging out
these potatoes,
i've seen more humanity,
when sheep were being
herded,
i've seen more humanity
when, even in their "claustrophobic"
setting laid eggs...
what i came across what:
wish you were in aushwitz
readied **** nurses...
about to shoot in
the back of the head
with these vegetable worth
of humanity...
    
        **** me, if they asked:
i would have brought an axe...
and this, pro-life chick,
so deluded from her experience
of the cabbage-patch kids,
well, sure as **** she won't be taking
care of these deviances,
will she?
                         it's somehow "life"
once the ***** passes the *******
"criteria",
    prior to? dead-tadpole...
something that would
resemble frog mating...

  people would rather prefer
petting three-legged dogs,
than any physical / mental
abnormality of humans...
   they would rather...
feel less of the "love"...
  and...
             squint at the spring blush
of a tomatoe...
         because people,
tell trimmed,
perfect nails...
expect others, to be "human"
when caring for the outliers,
like my grandmother said,
talking to an outlier
neighbour...
     so how do you feel...
with a heavily disabled child,
needing to express
his only ****** capacity,
you putting on the ****,
him jerking off...

while your healthy one
is roaming the rooftops,
readying himself to jump?!
i'm suicidal...
              claustro-**** or what?
like yahweh wasn't the purge,
the god of the purge,
against moloch?
    or beelzebub
                       or belial?

honestly, people who are pro-life,
don't even stratify in my screetch
at watching pro-life to its fullest
extent...

             cabbage-patch kids are far
from even hearing the arugment,
you have remnants of auschwitz nurses
herding them,
  i've see more tenderness
associated with herding sheep,
than what these people endure,
   and i call them "people"....
sure, the shape is there,
until the tongue and freelance
genitals come out with
a speech best associated with
onomatopoeia...

        it's always "pro-life"...
once you've made your argument,
and then did the Pontius Pilate
token of reply...
                    always the responsibility
of the argument,
but never, the responsibility
of the care...
              nice...

i've seen them, pretending to eat,
drool, strapped to what
euthanasia would have done
much simpler, ethically...
            you'd guess a *******
tapeworm would have more
existential focus to continue...

because... it's... not... supposed...
to... be... fun... or... easy...
              mind you, they're not kids...
30+ and almost brain-dead,
i've honestly seen humans
herd sheep with more humanity
than these, "people"...

           that's the "glorifying" aspect
of humanity,
it abhors abnormality,
i've been taught the lesson...
****** tatoos
over chernobyll birth marks
and subsequent scars...
   mediocre: rules!

              pro-life my *******
just became fused with a chilli-esque
rash...
        i wonder how it would fare,
if i just kept shooting blanks...
and women were shooting
out fertility,
   waiting for my shots of void...
would i "feel" less like
just doing a pol *** genocide
into a tissue...
more like: ******... better own that...

next thing you know,
you'll be placing your mortage
on a single roulette spin...

        i'm not laughing...
i know how the dichotomy of man
contra the inverted ontology
of nature prescribes relief
when subjected to the outliers...
it kills them off...

but these, petted,
prettied...
nail varnish....
   primmed hair...
       you think these arguments,
from these kind of people,
will solve the "problem"
of the cabbage-patch kids?
   ask me a different question...
like i said,
i've seen dogs treated with more
dignity to these half-brain-dead
outliers...
              and look how close
i'm standing on the ledge...

               hello england...
             hello the fwee wowld.

hey, i’m not the one getting my morality faked by tourism, or faking being polish because i found the location of the maldives to be east of las vegas... but i guess the roulette does care for the choir you’ll echo when the echo is necessary, and the bagel will suddenl say through it’s fake bun-button: those holocaut jews were really in ownership of british passports... we are representative of their martyrdom... i guess one could claim a denial of poland some other way... denying poland  the holocaust because the jews suddenly became mr. polanksi jr. could be accepted... but then i democratically veto a disrespect of the bagel... end of! well dough dough, aren’t we all wooed into sinking england by due course affiliating a secure future.*

no wonder in the ***** of death and you in paradise hinge on taking  me back to take a g.c.s.e. lesson in history! evens oddly the odds. how  about we revise geography? no? ah.. oh well... we can learn something  new of a palestianian polity in your agenda in a year or two; oh don’t worry... no new mozart will convert you or give you trouble to say the least; please please... we can hibernate the russians into death in order to make the americans fully aware... we can do that... and roll one of those grand cigars for the 51st star we’ve all been waiting for, ha ha. oh ****... you’re right... freedom of speech... securing the nazis retired in argentina was a falkland right that got england engaged.*

oh but you didn’t provide me with a safety
of being ethically proud, or being nationally proud...
instead you told me to be globally proud...
and what’s that? the laughter surrounding copernicus?!
no one laughed at the mongols...
but everyone could laugh and execute galilieo...
where does that leave me... in a society of *****?!
if it doesn’t... do i look like a ****? oh but i do look like a ****...
you laugh at ******... i guess i am a ******* **** after all:
totenkopf zu die ende;
but you pride it so much... it’s called teen mom tv...
even though it broadcasts on a channel that should have music on it!

Love of it is
the ROOT of all
Evil,
Yet there is no
way,
we can do without
it,
beggars & rich
old & young
men & women
all go in search of it.
Some spill or shed
blood for it,
others loose their
MORALS & dignity
for it.
Our societies are
Ethically corrupted
by it.
Minds are filled with
Hideous thoughts on
how to acquire it.
It has created unaltruist
world,
Source of it's power
still remains CRYPT.
Both of us are blinded
by its hocus-pocus
and HISTRIONIC
manner,
we've lost our sense
of NOUS and
fell in love with papers
and COINS.

This doodling Yankee (boot noah dandy)
doth newt lack chutzpah,
tries to finagle Fitbit fitting figurative footwear,
that ideally Fitzhugh
like custom made glove snugly,
terrifically, unequivocally matching,
thence handily solving Finger hut issue,
when or if arctic blasts cold
doggedly enveloped Gaea,
whence  humans analogously held hostage
linkedin among fellow Earthlings freezing,
frost bitten, gangrenous hominids
scurrying haphazardly searching vainly
from shelter ring sky (with mother's little helper)
each primate scrambling

(as unrepentant, recalcitrant outlier)
once (what seems millenniums ago) livingsocial
jackknifed habitat fractured,
essentially damning Crispr bungled ambition
grist for raconteur spewing sought aide
telling tales amidst the mill by  Ponderosa Pine
drawing a crowd of curious onlookers,
who forewent idling away time structured existence,
thus, nary a clock watcher weathering whims
as mother nature doth channel
capriciously, felicitously,

and indubitably stripped away
bow ring pastime asper watching paint dry
now tis each man, woman and child to
(seeketh dale and hill) to duff fend themselves
whereat mortality will steal immoral majority linkedin
encapsulated, housed, kindled
within luxurious faux existence
capitalistic dreams engendered existence fleeced
devoid of featherbed,

indeed mollycoddled memories
yanked wherein current rank and file
endowing superlative creature comforts
reduce wretched survivors
scant band of bare naked ladies
beastie boys, foo fighters espying counting crows
ready to buzzfeed toe kin **** sapiens

bereft, expunged, faux invincibility kickstarting
learning basic survival skills
forced to rescind twenty first century trappings
shifting paradigm sans primacy
pitting dishabille helpless imps against pearl jam killers
who do not shrink from ethically principled,

but give full reign to selfish callous deleterious foibles,
gruesome harmful indiscretions
sprouting with mushroom rhizome rapidity
ousting the  omnipresently
(well nigh since time immemorial
virtues cultivated, futilely integrated, lending oomph
residentially, scientifically tendering ubiquitous DNA
foisting gabled, heralded, instilled,

justified kneaded love thy neighbor motto
lyft ting in one fell swoop delicately
embroidered, finely graven, heavenly ideals
no more patent leather shoes reflecting up
nor doodling Yankee staking claim to fame
via feathered cap made of macaroni
thus such jingoistic, holistic,
fabric ripped retroactively
ramping atavistic simian base,
thus leveling the playing field.

I think on what is true and just and honourable
I think on what is pure and lovely and admirable
I consider what is excellent and what is praiseworthy
and I praise our God who is unmistakably
the creator of all of these and more -  

I think on what is true
I think of God’s voice, his true promise,
his true plumbline, directing the eye down
to the centre, a reliable reference,
an alignment to righteousness.
I see the weight, suspended
and I wait as it finds the true vertical axis
pointing to the centre of gravity
as if that was its true purpose all along
- not to gravitate us down, but to re-direct us
to a true line upon which we can centre ourselves.

I think on what is true.

I think on what is honourable, noble.
I think of honour lists and of inherited nobility,
I think of integrity, living up to the responsibility
of my privilege and authority
and of using it responsibly, with generosity,
recognising opportunities to live
nobly, dependably
ethically, reliably,
faithful to the One who entrusted me
with so much extraordinary bounty.

I think on what is honourable.

I think on what is just and right
I think about the courage to live fully in the light,
to stand up for what we know to be the right
to admit to ourselves when we don’t get it right
to give heart-felt apology, to find a way to re-unite,

to fight injustice alongside those who can’t
to go the extra mile when our heads say don’t.
Not doing what they’d do to you
if the tables were turned,
but doing what you’d have them do
if the circumstances were reversed

and when the right of it still isn’t clear
to wait and figure it out, take the longer route
rather than the obvious, shorter cut
and if, even then, you can’t be sure
err on the side of the generous cut
because we know that the Cross wasn’t fair
but it was right and it was just just.

I think on what is right.

I think on what is pure
I think about the sudden clarity of a cold mountain stream
bubbling up from its spring,
running through and digging down irrespective of obstacles
flowing over all rocky hurdles
with pure, unadulterated intent
to get at last to the sea
where its creator intended it to be.

I think on what is pure.

I think on what is lovely
I think of the surface-beauty that catches my eye
but then of the beauty that only shows itself in the depths
- in patience, in the willingness
to put ill-feeling to rest
and to embrace forgiveness
and thereby release a smile that meets
that generous high-beauty in full gratefulness.

I think on what is lovely.

I think on what is admirable, commendable
and of good reputation, and I think how
how God views me is more important
than the admiration offered by others.
I think that what is commendable
is in the eye of the beholder
and that my beholder sees the heart
and so I entrust my reputation to the One who sees better.

I think on what is admirable.

I think on what is excellent
and I think past Bill and Ted to something
of diamond quality,
of designed symmetry,
of clarity, of weight

or perhaps of a line in a poem or a song,
something that takes away my breath.
- But then I see the sun through trees,
shining on breakfasting friends
and on my laughter

and I think that this is truly God’s most excellent.

I think on what is praiseworthy
I think of the ovation given to a practiced orchestra
and pitch perfect soloists
and then I think
of a five-year-old niece
mastering her first recorder
and getting to that tricky last line of
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
and I think, for our God,
this effort, this success is by far
most praiseworthy.

We think on what is true and just and honourable
we think on what is pure and lovely and admirable
we consider what is excellent and what is praiseworthy
and we praise our God who is unmistakably
the creator of all of these and more -  

and I think that perhaps we too
are a little lovely and that we too
are partially admirable
and I think perhaps we too
are not a little praiseworthy

and so when I think on these things,
I think on you,
on us,
and I praise our God all the more.

Think on these things.

keep barking

what,
   mongrel?!

never to a chemist**

what, suddenly there is
no notion of a cognitive
mongrel, i.e. a bilingual breed
of man?

      i found that people
complained about having
a mixed-ethnic rooting,
never was the case translated into
the cognitive element of
vocab...

    you are allowed an ethno-allowance
"stipend" and be left off
the hook if your mother was
white, but your daddy was black,
but then it comes to
possessing two languages,
good luck Buck!

         akin to psychiatric disorders...
the pills don't work!
tell that to a chemist:
the **** was i doing all this time,
so running, cardiovascular
oxygen to the brain will solve
all the problems?

the last thing you want a chemist to hear
is: the only medicine is exercise...
i'm not saying it's perfect,
but to suggest that all pill taking
is bad makes the study of
chemistry: pointless...
might as well be studying
arachnophobia!
  if i actually did make it into
the profession i'd be as much hated as
a police officer...
  chemistry: bad...
make sure you wash your teeth with
cow dung extract,
and perfume yourself with
freshly plucked daffodils then!

    jobs retain a tinge of absolutism
because relativism doesn't exist between them,
the only relativism shared is
the relativistic fact that such jobs
exists, and can exist because
they are coexisting...
a bus driver coexists with
a cabbie because: e.g. e.g. i.e. a mechanical
means of travel...
                   psychiatry undermines
the benevolence of a chemist,
        by over-simplifying
the case-study of a cardiovascular trainer...
the **** is the point
running a treadmill without
generating energy?

               you can't suddenly explain
to a chemist:
your pill aren't worth popping!
well, that's one way of saying
the currently exploration
of the impotence of antibiotics...
    that worked...
                
              but what's the point of telling
a chemist to suddenly "dig the groove"
of divorcing himself from
synthesising synthetic mimics?
       - and instead analysing analytical
precursors?
                          
        a chemist is not going to suddenly
rephrase his quest
to agree to:
          a futility his own work -
      culminating in an effective
plagiarism of nature isolated...
    but then popularising biology
and physics reduces chemistry as
  being the Quasimodo of science,
a hunch-back ugly-face of endeavour...
a science crucified in terms
of modern ethic...
                
               once the only adventurous
branch of science,
   now the most ethically conducted
patron of rigour...
            it has truly become nothing
short of a farce...
          something worth being ridiculous,
but not inclined to be subject
of ridicule.

on saturday morning we grace around recycled rustic tables, lowering our heads over gluten free brown toast topped with gently scrambled free range eggs, adding soya milk to decaffeinated, ethically sourced coffee, self contained in guilt free reusable cups -

and still we fret.

sparkle of light, human being
this appears to be our sharing
inventing terms like cartoonofobia
and abortion tourism
endlessly debating about the sense
of everything and eventually
having to conclude that
everything is senseless
here where corporations profile
themselves as being ethically correct
as if another alternative should exist
and we should praise them for it
here we are but wandering a bit
shoreless in the alliance of shadows
human being, grow into a fire
to consume all ignorance
and please, for a change
give yourself a long harsh glance

Wonthelimar brought Spinalonga up to the regency of Kalydon, with whom Theus was waiting for him, it was easy to spot Wonthelimar when he emerged, crossing from Lasithi near the town of Psicro. In the Dikti mountains, constituting the cordilleran fringe, he had to cross extended by the east of the island of Crete in the peripheral unit, and by the west by the peripheral unit of Heraklion. They continued on through the broken inner cavern outlets of Wonthelimar, and his entourage until they were on the west straight and across the surface that would join Plaka and Kalydon. The tornadoes were felt as they collided in the thousand isobars, here voices of an infant who was protected by some ibexes on Mount Dicte could be heard, the goddess Rea could be seen as she looked at them calmly when she had her son in Amalthea's nursery, near another complex on Mount Ida, at elevation 1500. They headed by land through Heraklion, before definitively setting off along the dictates of the Dicte, crossing the low peaks of Ida, being able to notice that Infante Zeus had already cracked one of the antlers of some Amalthea ibex, crashing into the Cornucopia with its rays. Further away, towards the mid-***** of the Ida, quarzian lightning bolts are seen that were deployed with explosive devices, with apparent paradoxes that were looming anthropomorphic linked to the logic of self-contradiction. Wonthelimar notices and was warned by Vlad who pointed out with his hand that he was a special being who knew how to disguise himself with the magins of lightning, leaving only his premise hidden in the corner of innocence, for those who do not warn multinational or being from the mountains that he would go out alone to walk away from his lair blessed by the ferocity of the fulminations. Being only appearances until the esoteric image of a sleepy being that walked sleepwalking materialized, with books that burned around him, reading all the languages ​​of the world when uttering them. Without a doubt it was Epimenides, managing to be distinguished by the Kyrios, who were the wise masters!

Here he announced the way to spot and distinguish himself with the Kyrios, who denied him when he was hiding behind the rays, but it was undoubtedly because it was stipulated that he lived in the cavern of the Ida and the Dicte, when he had to go with sandboxes. towards lower Crete, where he sometimes had to descend, only if authorized by Zeus. The Kyrios distinguished him because Paul of Tarsus had mentioned to them about his abilities and behaviors of some Cretans. Wonthelimar ran up to him defying some lightning that protected him, and hugged him, he resisted but Epimenides finally told him some phrases of his epistles in his immediate ears of Ibex, making it clear that the false statements ended up sunk in the Aegean by ingesting lightning that they took all the fictions towards the deep sea, where all logic does not knowingly false. The plot would become an essay on the democracy of knowing and witnessing, with the logic that got out of phase with politics with this stratagem, which converged on the true appearance of politics without democracy, as good of satisfaction of the humanity that emerged in the *****. of this same. This the succulent Athenian affirmation was based on Aristotle and Plato, this interweaving will lie in the administration of Spinalonga when it was ceased from the regency of the Ottomans and the religious orthodox who lived there, only leaving the Manes Apsidas with the open cells of Eden of darkness, pointing at influential reflections. Wonthelimar asserted that the Pergamon frieze was in contention with the democracy of Pericles, to rebuild an Athens overwhelmed by the Persians. From this boundary and political device arises the analogy or parody of a sunken homeland, to re-emerge as a globalized metropolis, as a social phenomenon that had to administer what its fellow man should do ethically if not made by the ghostly waste of abandonment; in this case, the Manes Apsidas incubated. Thus, for centuries and centuries, the good was represented more distant from the autarkic bureaucratic center, creating the distant spaces until the jurisdiction of Syracuse, Megara, and finally, the most emblematic one that is Spinalonga, characterized by prototypical oligarchic and democratic regimes, crowded with military ordinances that are divided into a total imperative and individualized democratic need of progeniture, on a dark and abandoned military island, inhabited by a grotesque theater of tragedy, then at the expense of a fortuitous anti-democratic ***** colony in the labor of the Manes Apsidas, who remained as the only promoters of a microcontinent to liberate.

Time....

Time is the overseer of all things. It sees man plan their dreams, envisions building kingdoms of triumph and success; it imagines a legendary tale of demonstrable headlines and broken promises of prosperity and hope...

Time sees man destroy the moral fabric of existence they proclaim just and righteous in every way.

I wish that word called TIME would hang itself on the very noose that enslaved my mentality ascertaining the how instead of the why....

Debt surrounds me, pain harvested off her character THAT is profound indeed...

Yet I fly towards that beacon of hope, hope that raises the awareness of the disparity that TIME did to me...

Enslaved by spite.....incompetent by love, and disestablished from the civilization that shackled my free thoughts and aspirations to be what I view into the future they call TV....

Time cant rectify the pain and the cause of suffering it conceived, but rather...insight the pained and unjust about the antique methods of a travesty,

perverse in the feeling that ethically cant be...

The sandbox remains the memory of unity and love we once had, constructing castles and dreams that made us glad...

Glad that time didn't execute the CAUSE nor the EFFECT that criticizes legends and overlooks acts...Fore with these thoughts, my mind is swinging like an ax..

Chopping down the very truth that few lenses neglect to see,
ascertaining the very thing that IS......ME...

Yet I digress from the vanity and selfish proclaims that TIME can or cannot see,

Because it is TIME that adjusts the lens that anyone chooses to be....

Ignited by seconds, decimated by minutes,
the hours daze by,
so the weak falls monthly to a quarter of understanding, respectfully semi or bi...

and STILL I yearn for the centuries to amass a millennia I never dreamed of being...

Waking up like this is always key,
yet the morality remains locked inside the tapestry of emotion so smooth, its tranquility...

How long can TIME hold out from destiny?

Moby **** couldn't reveal THAT being lost at sea...

oh I see...

So I'll cease...

if a film fails to
pass the Bechdel Test
will you have the gaul to point it out

when your job forces you
to choose between paying rent
and lying to sell an ethically bankrupt
overly-priced yearly membership to your
not-so-friendly-neighborhood-bookstore
will you stand by conviction and walk alone

when your students ask
why you detest authority
will you tell it to them straight
explain that you estimate people
are at their best when they question
everyone and everything standing in their way

at any rate
no matter what
regardless of the cost
will you speak the truth
even when your voice shakes

It's a downer to express the largest-scale tragedy of my lifetime

over and over again.

I've combed through 10,014 medical malpractice reports of young people who had been strong and without complication up until receiving the one-eyed technocratic snake bite that supposedly has nothing to do with their suspicious deaths,

I've gone through 25,117 autopsy reports (not every report: I scanned bunches of 250 reports in 10 groups of 25 reports or 25 groups of 10 reports at a time for very specific details, though I've read some of the reports 5 or more times) of elderly people who had survived world wars, epidemics, pandemics, and many outbreak and spikes, only to succumb within 72 hours of receiving whichever junk SGT inoculations that have nothing to do with their untimely deaths—

that occurred in North America
over a 2 week period.

I'm not supposed to talk about it.

I'm not supposed to express anything
other than expressions of agreement
that Delta variants and the unvaccinated
are killing the vaccinated

or express nothing at all.

I'm not supposed to express that I know the ingredients, and the processes involved to source ingredients, on chemical, molecular, cellular levels; that I know the MSDS and LCSS documentation, and patents, involved.

But, I do express it, just as I did again above.

When someone claims that their significant other didn't die from the shot that they had received within 24 hrs of dying,
I'm supposed to agree with the cheap, disloyal, dumbed-down, brainwashed, bootlicking, unscientific, pseudo-intellectual, spineless coward

who is hurting from losing a loved one.

I'm sorry.

I'm not supposed to express that we've known since 1991 that the synthetic chemical digitized mRNA, that isn't really mRNA, causes the host to spin-off variants of multi-drug-resistant and multi-vaccine-resistant super microorganisms—subtype variants of virions and bacteria that are often variants of variants of variants.

I'm supposed to stay zipped-up
or—encourage!—offer support
and congratulations to people
who are suiciding and committing
****** and euthanasia

without proper informed consent.

Be positive about it. Smile. Nod.

Have it be whatever you want it to be.
Use mockingbird skills to make it real— abracadabra!—it's en vogue, all the rage
to parrot percentages of efficacy,
to virtue signal over standing with
trillion $ industries and special interest
against Earth and humanity.
Insert cash money and mirages
into the soul-******* jukebox, baby.

Rage With The Machine.
Rage For The Machine.

Yesterday's false-positive
is today's false-negative.

Thomson Reuters will fact check you
into a cancer case to vindicate delusions, stubbornness, and negative pride.

I'm not supposed to express that within the principles and disciplines of medical ethics and the Hippocratic Oath, it's ethically corrupt and illegal to use political and emotional coercion, especially while simultaneously dangling fear over the intended target, to enforce/push any drug treatment, regardless of situation.

I'm supposed to use dope and *****
and a movie
to switch tracks
from my passionate obsession.

I watched a movie that included
a medical health scam to entrap the people
in a fashion similar to when the Germans believed that they were receiving vaccines
that helped to defend against typhus.

If we ever find ourselves in opposite sides
and positions as we are currently,
please offer proper informed consent
to the people.