Never be the Joker
For the Joker never wins
The weakest card oft seeks to guard
Its non-existant sins.

Its folly is in mockery
Because it's well protected
By all the laughs it got from halfs
Of love it ne'er detected.

It thought itself the King of Hearts,
But it couldn't find its Queen
And though the Jack may fail and lack
It did not find its truth obscene.

For many cards may tell their truths
And be beaten from the deck,
But the Joker speaks of lover freaks
He is the stormbeat wreck.

Never lie through jokes or jest
Always tell the truth to poker
For though its sides are mirrored lies
They're truer than the Joker.

Nirvana - a transcendent state in which there is neither
suffering, desire, nor sense of self, and the subject
is released from the effects of karma and the cycle of
death and rebirth. It represents the final goal of Buddhism.

My Buddhist Queen,
Will you take me to Nirvana?
Will you take me to that place?
That place where we’re unshackled from suffering?
Because right now, this is intolerable.

My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana
why does my heart feel so aloof
and its beats, spectral?
Why does my body suffer from rigamortis?
Why am i teary-eyed
and why did you nominate my pillows to do the ALS challenge?
Why is my room a catastrophy?
Why do my walls succumb to the savagery of my fists?
Why am I suffering?
Why do I desire?
Why is karma still existant?


My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana,
why do you occassionally take strolls down to hell holding my hand?
- d.b.d.

Photographs by Avedon

This was written in a friend's home in the Berkshire Mountains, on a Saturday morning, a few years ago.  Up early, I went exploring their bookshelves and found a book of Richard Avedon's photographs of average Americans out west.  Google "richard avedon photos of the american west" - then read the poem.  Please, for without seeing the faces, for this will make all the difference.  In the Berkshires, it is always chilly there, even in the summer sun.  This and other obscure references are better detailed in the notes.


Join my warmth and
my chill,
as the nine o'clock sun,
a 45 degree steeplechase
warms,
but still not
strong enough
to dispense
the lingering,
residual, remaindered,
breezy chill
of the prior eve,
that hides in,
emanates from,
the shadows
of the
deep wooded hillocks
of the
Berkshire Mountains.

Join my warmth
and my chill!

Upright jolted,
head kicked awake,
entranced and revolted,
excited and repelled,
emotive, yet, stilled.

For oh so casually,
this heroic city dweller,
brave and fearless
bookshelf explorer,
retrieves a book,
to find a new route
thru time and space
to the center of his brain.

Photographs by Avedon,
of my fellow Americans,
the Have Nots,
his "Havedons"
of the
American West.

These uncommon people
with whom I share
uncommonly little,
these drifters, the carneys,
the would-have-been cowboys,
busted blackjack dealers,
rattlesnake gut n' skinners,
coal and copper miners,
the hay truck drivers,
dirt so deep in
their pores ingrained,
colors and bloodies their souls,
browns their veins,
are the ones that
too oft,
go off first to
fight wars
in my name.

Photos untitled,
words unneeded.

In this far corner of our
shared contiguous space
called the
United States of America,
top of the line here
would be
insurance agents,
secretaries and maybe even,
the waitresses.

But their eyes,
oh their eyes!

Words I do not own
to fair share with you,
the clarifying gaze
of measured dignity and
immeasurable ache,
heritage pride,
heretical heartbreak,
that marks and unites
these disparate and dispirited
vessels of humankind.

Disjointed,
the noon suns finally,
raises my body temperature
browns my surface...

Yet, nothing eradicates
this ******* chill
in my soul
or calms my consternation,
as black and white
eyes discolor
my comfortable existence,
as I ponder
Avedon's words:

All photographs are accurate but none tell the truth

Pass over,
pass by,
The Evil Son at Passover
asks ever so sly,
what have they to do with me?

It is the Sabbath.
We luxuriate in our rest.
Rest is the greatest luxury

What is this Sabbath?
Heschel's cathedral -
existant both
in space and time,
and one enters
when and where
one can.

Do my distant,
(both in space and time)
American cousins
share my Sabbath?

Are they allowed
this luxury,
or is it endless exertion,
severity and deprivation,
all and every day
of their lives?

Constant risk every day.

Who cannot fail to see the
precipitousness of life
edged in the lines of their
hearts and minds?

Day to day hardens them
and teaches the
discipline of
severity unended.

Is the prudence of
self-forgetfulness,
their morning bitter pill
they must swallow
to carry on?

Among the resolutions
I need
to claim a
life fulfilled is this:

How to end this poem,
close this can of worms,
accidentally kicked open.

Will sunset end these
troubling questions
of which you have
your own,
more personal variations?
(what about the ...)

Perennials flower everywhere,
in Auschwitz,
along the Tigris,
even in Kabul and Somalia,
along the highways
that lead
to the mecca of
Las Vegas.

Perennials flower everywhere.

In warmth and cool,
in time and space,
they flower in my heart and
my brain and in
my prayerful tears.
flowing down my cheeks,
as I lay me down to sleep,
to dream these of
impoverished words

Havdalah^^ thoughts,
separations celebrated.

Distinctions noted,
even celebrated tween
holy and common,
light and dark,
Sabbath and
the six weekdays
of labor,
between sacred and secular
and
between me and
my American Brothers
of the American West.

I know
just one thing
to be true:

The Sabbath Cathedral is
open to all,
whatever day
you choose to
abide there

I await you,
my American cousins,
with wine and bread
and the
holy of holiest words
of comfort and sooth.

I will wash your feet and
lay you down to
restful sleep
in the
Sabbath Cathedral
in my heart.

Together,
at last,
we will be joined,
in warmth and chill.



August 29, 2010
Lanesboro, Mass.

he's the colour of sunshine
the glitter he hates,
sparkling in his crinkling eyes

his laugh
is the colour of daisies in november,
teasing the troubled naiad into a state
of pure affection

his kiss
I imagine
is the colour of bliss,
like honey dripping from the lips of queens by the nile

his love,
however
is the colour of water
clear
non-existant.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz.
Ojalá mi cara fuese atardecer de cien días
y se perdiese como música en la marea.
Ojalá mis notas fuesen fuego
que corriese raudo por tus venas.
Ojalá se perfumasen en el aire
y  diesen sentido al amanecer del alba.
Ojalá fluyesen como el agua
suavemente rizando la rojez del cielo.
Ojalá fuesen contundentes como la roca
y cayesen a plomo junto a mi corazón muerto.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz.
Siempre cambiante, nunca la misma
subebajando en el horizonte.
Tierna y vibrante, siempre difusa
alzándose hacia el cielo con alas desplegadas.
Dulce y salada, externa e interna,
por ósmosis entrando por cada poro.
Pesada y rígida, sólida y pura
cercenando la realidad con su ser preciso.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
siendo lo que no es,
no siendo lo que es.
En cada instante de su espacio manifestándose
en cada punto de su tiempo existiendo.
Única e indivisible, aunque difícilmente alcanzable.
Verdadera mentira que perdura tras los siglos.
Satírica cual elefante boca arriba
dando a luz a lo que siempre ha sido nuestro.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz.
Saliendo hacia la luz verdadera
y tornando hacia la oscuridad traicionera.
Volando hacia arriba y en picado,
oteándose a si misma , eterna y cierta.
Creando un nuevo mundo igual a este,
igual de distinto que este a si mismo.
Imitando la certeza de lo incierto.
Pretendiendo con falsedades llegar al verso.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y fuese objeto de su ser
y fuese sujeto de su haber
y se realizase siempre que le dieses tiempo
y se realizase siempre en lo que siempre fue
y avanzase inmóvil hacia la verdad
y esperase impasible a la mentira.
Ojalá de cada error saliese un mérito,
una esperanza, una virtud siempre precisa.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
tornando el arte arcana en ente nuevo,
aunque sea falso.
En estúpidas epifanías tornando el acto
cual poeta escribiendo estos versos.
Ojalá repetir versos pasados en lenguas nuevas
y llamarse artista.
Mero comentarista y observador
de lo que precedió en tiempo y espacio.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
existiendo con sólo pensarlo
negando el pensamiento mismo,
lógica implacable mintiendo mi rostro,
contradicciones inapelables mintiendo mi ser.
Con precisión matemática ser mentira,
con la etereidad del arte ser verdad.
Ojalá como estafador maestro ante tu mirar
se hiciese música que disfrutar.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz,.
Ojalá mi cara no fuese jazz.
Ojalá no tener cara, ni nada.
Ojalá el solo pensarlo me dejase ciega,
sorda para la música de mi rostro.
Ojalá pasar por debajo de una escalera tirada
para no recibir buena suerte.
Ojalá austera o inexistente,
cual dios mirando tu filosofía vana.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y unificase tantas corrientes
como puede abarcar con sus brazos.
Ojalá pudiese tornar cierta la realidad
por el mero hecho de pensarla, pero no puedo,
pero mi rostro se muestra impasible
ante desdicha tal y sigue avanzando;
regla dorada entre uñas de marfil,
largos palillos para comer la realidad desvirtuada.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y revolucionase el mundo con su pensar
y desmontase heregías como ciertas.
Ojalá años más tarde siguiese su lucha
contra el infiel divino hasta su muerte,
y como la de un mono con barba
se tornase contra el padre de la ciencia moderna,
y le enseñase a pensar en sueños,
a soñar en vida, a soñar en muerte.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y se repitiese eternamente para mi suerte,
nunca cambiando, siempre presente.
Ojalá asesinase al padre de todo
y se adueñase de su lugar.
Ojalá existir antes de ser.
Ojalá rodar por la vida sin mirar a los lados,
destruyendo lo que tantas veces nos ha aplastado
y creando la belleza del arte, que es eterna.

//

I wish my face were jazz.
I wish my night were sunset of one hundred days
and it lost itself like music in the tides.
I wish my notes were fire
which ran swift in your veins.
I wish they would perfume itself in the air
and gave meaning to the morning's sunrise.
I wish they flowed like water
softly curling the sky's redness.
I wish they were sturdy like rock
and they plummeted next to my dead heart.

I wish my face were jazz.
Always changing, never the same.
updowning in the horizon.
Tender and vibrating, always diffuse
rising towards the sky with open wings.
Sweet and salty, extern and intern,
by osmosis entering through each pore.
Heavy and rigid, solid and pure
cutting through reality with its precise being.

I wish my face were jazz
being what it is not,
not being what it is.
In every instant of its space manifesting itself
in every point of its time existing.
One and indivisible, although hardly reachable.
True lie which endures beyond centuries.
Satiric like elefant on its head
giving birth to what always has been ours.

I wish my face were jazz.
Going out to the true light
and turning to the treacherous darkness.
Flying upwards and in a dive,
scanning itself, eternal and true.
Creating a new world equal to this,
equally as distinct as this to itself.
Imitating the certainty of the uncertain.
Trying with falseness to reach the verse.

I wish my face were jazz.
and it were object of its being
and it were subject of its having
and it came true always you gave it time
and it came true always in what it always was
and it moved fordward unmoving towards the truth
and it waited impasible the lie.
I wish of every error a merit would come out,
a hope, a virtue ever precise.

I wish my face were jazz
turning arcane art into a new being,
even if false.
Into stupid epiphanies turning the act
as a poet writing this verses.
I wish to repit old verses in new tongues
and to call myself an artist.
Mere commentator and observer
of what preceded it in time and space.

I wish my face were jazz.
Existing with only thinking of it,
negating thought itself,
implacable logic lying my visage,
unnappealable contradictions lying my being.
With mathematical precision being a lie,
with the ethereality of art being the truth.
I wish that like master con artist before your looking
it turned itself into music to enjoy.

I wish my face were jazz.
I wish my face weren't jazz.
I wish I didn't have a face, nor anything.
I wish only thinking of it made me blind,
deaf to the music of my visage.
I wish passing under a fallen ladder
to not receive good luck.
I wish austere or non-existant,
like god looking at your vane philosophy.

I wish my face were jazz,
and it unified so many streams
like it can embrace with its arms.
I wish I could turn reality true
with the mere act of thinking it, but I can't,
but my visage shows itself impassible
before such misfortune and continues onwards;
golden rule among ivory nails,
long chopsticks to eat the desvirtuated reality.

I wish my face were jazz
and it revolucionised the world with its thinking
and it disassembled heressies as true.
I wish years later its fight would continue
against the divine infidel until his death,
and like a bearded monkey's
it would turn itself against the father of modern science,
and it taught him to think in dreams,
to dream in life, to dream in death.

I wish my face were jazz
and it repited itself enternally to my fortune,
never changing, always present.
I wish it assassinated the father of everything
and took its place.
I wish existing before being.
I wish rolling through life without looking sideways,
destroying that which always has crushed us
and creating the beauty of art, which is timeless.

I saw a lady in the bazaar
with a melted face.  
Her nose was non-existant
like her lips.
One eye was brown,
the other glazed blue,
like a vulture eye.
A local told me
she was once beautiful,
a regular queen
who ******* her man,
the guy who threw the acid.

Total departure to our needs is the reckless stupidity of how we are becoming our own executioners.When looking down on mother earth from father sky they wonder as to what their siblings are dreaming of as they hurt and maim their own mother.
When will people who justify their greed ,instead of need realise that their greed will not even give them their very  basic requirements for being here!
Humanity,through some strange concept,has set itself up,knowingly,as the controller and destroyer of all that gives them their basic needs,"their mother and father".
Man in his greed has even tainted the rays of light which give us our birthright,LIFE,for without it we would not exist.
By an infinite membrame,or so greed presumes,lying between good and bad,we live or die,but greed has stretched and widened that belief to horrific depths in the name of need.How long before it SNAPS?!
The coolerof our mother and bearer of us is poisened and wasted every moment. The ever overexploiting ****-sapiens will not letgreed stop them,even in their mothers death cries.A huge propergater of everything,mother gries in pain as she starves and with her ,her siblings.
The sun now burns her soft skin and moisture does not stay to cool her as she sweats.How long must or can she endure this torture?
Would we do it to our human mothers?
A family tree of pain is her reward for nurturing us.Her womb dries as the moisture is ****** from her veins and poured on to her belly as she screams.The sun rips it from her no longer cool and loving but hard and fierce like a furnace.
Onwards greed trespasses into herpumping heart,her skin is poisened and erupting like puberty,but still man is unmoving in his attitude to himself.
She speaks to them everyday but they do not hear or sense in any way her agony.Oblivious to everthing greed rumbles on deaf to its very basic needs and requirements.
As she criesfor help,her breath encompases all as she resusitates all with her sibilation.Can you smell you mothers breath?Will this last vain hope of hers go unoticed as greed races against its now foul wind?
"YES" because greed has stunned even your basic senses.Yo do not see,you do not hear,you do not feel,you do not taste ,you do not smell,even your most common sense of all is wasted "SURVIVAL!"

Between the three elements lies another.Without any one of the three the other is non-existant.
Running headlong,greed does not even notice its own reflection,blinded by its own need!Our mother is wek,her milk is drying,her skin is wrinkling,her touch is burning,her sight is blined,her taste is foul,her breath is stifling and her hearing is fading,she is DYING.
Her umbilical cord is strangled as it dries up with the assassination of her soul.  Will her soul be heard after we have  vanished or will we awke from our sleep of arrogance and greed and realise that EVERYTHING is not worth NOTHING.

For when she dies her death throughs will mame and slaughter us even as we count-?

                                                                        

                                                                                  "OUR MONEY"

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Walk with me to my house of pain, and I promise you 'll remember my name. It's dark in there without space to yell, my mind has become a cycle of hell.

Thought after thought goes bad instantly, someone left me that way to teach you my existant-c.
To rip out the heart that feeds my pain would be the day there is nothing left to gain.
My window to wisdom would be wisest to leave unrevealed, my deepest dept to my hell it has there been sealed.
I can not see the day when I will unmask, the beasty life that put me in this cast, sent me to my hell on earth took my-all it is worth...... I can never go back.
Walk with me down memory lane, you wont remember me the same. I used to smile and hope for tomorrow, now my days are filled with a bitter sweet sorrow.
Candy was sweet, lemons were sour, life was ripe upon every hour. Today is the dawn of a new genehell, with death and hate the only thing to sell.
I am the master of all your who, what, when, and where, I am the master of pain because I was put there;
Put there to show what many forget, good and evil within are not co-existant.

SDPope

(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 17, 2015)

A vague and random stimulus (often an image or sound) is perceived as significant, e.g., seeing images of animals or faced in clouds, the man on the moon, and hearing non-existant hidden messages on records played in reverse.

Mysticism is felt in the heart muscle, rustles
where no feelings truly exist. What exists
of the dead voice hollering on the recording? Ordering
the apparition’s dances under the light beam. What seems
like God is deep in the conspiracy, the marvelous irony
of mirage. Brain eats signs; feet seek sense, pearl innocence.
The ghost is the illusionist, an enthusiast
who will never reveal his true forming mist. What exists?
But in the center of the sit-and-spin, you sit within
the vault of kaleidoscope pointers, confusing spoilers.
When you cannot stand you will understand
the significance of the word shaper…who waivers.

My head spins, twirling in colors of essential essanance
the barrries fall onto
floors non existant ground
and simple pleasures
of conversational munch

are triply seductive

the nature that has been robbed will be returned
the love that has been lost will be found
the trees that are cut will grow

and the souls that are condemened will be freed

but it must freeze

what lies at the core of fools
tell me ,
if you could be so kind?

kindred spirits of the philosophical type
who have seen the darkness and fight the flowers fall ,

the tree of universes shakes
and breathes a sigh

all the wind orginated from this spot
eminating out of the simple
simple stop  ,

cat calls - forest walls

honest bums
sit
no place like home they say
i say no place called home

no place other than home
as it walks with me
side by side
unto the power places
chakras glow and merger
connotations
******

but the defenition is flexiable

determine the point ,
touch the joints
heat the fall
and ***** it all

you only have this time around its all we've ever had.

who is it
that defines the love in our lives
but parent hood figures made out of wood frozn in time and we watch at the spirals unwind
and the lemons
are zingy and the mint is fresh
and i sleep on a bears bed
baby bear , mother too - wolves out alone standiing o howl at the mooon
and awoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
we've come so far
on the riptide of loves handslide
handshake
discovering for oursleves what we deem humanities race
and what we deem fools and tounges
and what we deem to be the runner out run
who comes first in a race
who comes fist before the fired gun
who sits and the hollow has come.

Frustrated
Butchering my nails
Counting the split-ends in my hair
Pulling them apart
One-strand-at-a-time
Staring at every scar on my body
Pulling the skin off my wounds
Bemused in exhilerating agony
There has to be an end to this madness
Put some sugar and wait for a house fly
Cover it with your hand
Feel it crawl and buzz, under your skin
Feel it shouting for mercy
Does it tingle, tingle enough, stop, then tingle again
You think it has reached your epitome of frustration
Did that make you feel better about yourself
Stare into space, make sure it is pitch dark
Wait for an epiphany
Tick-tock tick-tock
Take a vase and throw it at the wall-clock
Tick-tock tick-tock
That is the flaw with time travel
Time doesn’t stop
Your presence in the past where you don’t belong will not lead to your present and in turn to the past
Bottom line, you cannot **** with time
Every second you spent frustrated for the lack of time
That every second pointed its finger at you and gave out an evil grin
Can you feel it crawling under your epidermis
Go sit under a tree, with pigeons, those fluffy grey nothings
Let them **** on you, your hair, your branded shirt
When you stink enough pull the trigger, bang!
Watch its neck as it satiates the black and white canvas with red
Does it inspire you
You are lost and struggling and lonely, and frustrated without a thought, that counts
You are probing for purpose you may abhor
Your non-existant muse died as a fetus
You are now limit infinity tending to zero.

You shouldn’t have done that.
Told me you loved me when I was distracted.
I was caught up in another’s web of lies.
I was holding on to something that didn’t exist.

I had to push you away.
And now you’re gone.
You’ve got a girl now, that’s cool I guess.
Whatever makes you happy — does she?
I shouldn’t have told you it was over,
But you shouldn’t have done that.
Will you ever love me again?

You’ll take her to Spain.
Heard it rains a lot there.
It could have been us on that plane.
Every memory we’ll never have makes me so angry.
But you shouldn’t have done that.
You said you’d marry me, remember?

Maybe you were just lonely,
When you said all those things.
Maybe I’m a fool for thinking
Something could have ever happened.
But it’s too late now either way.
You’ve moved on because I made you.
I was loyal to some other non-existant fantasy.
But you shouldn’t have done that.
You shouldn’t have done that.

Often times I think of you.
I shouldn't care but I miss you.
Through every good and bad thing, I fear.
I could never forget you.
And I wonder what will become of us.
Because we are just like strangers now.
But you shouldn't have done that.

I guess triggers are a real thing.
Causing people to remember sheer pain.
It's hard not knowing.
Letting it all in.
Succombing to
Overcoming.
I breathe closer
To clarity.
If only
If only
My heart would stop beating.
If only my chest would stop aching.
If only the tape would stop replaying.
Decaying in a life coffin.
Six feet down.
Still I wear a crown
Of rust.
Picking up the pieces.
Brushing off the dust.
Inching towards the gratification of a name.
Nothings the same.
Ever since that day.
Forcefully taken away.
Gone.
Gone.
In a ******* whirlwind.
A tornado of feelings.
I don't ******* fit in.
I'm a rare breed
You'll never ******* know me.
Emotions exist to people who feel
And I don't feel a ******* thing.

here a sleight prayer to the gods of precipitation
for the garrulous little swallows in the agave
decorating like trifling bits of finery
whilst the sky waves and waves come crashing..

thanks be to the gun metal of gray
a cheery wave to the non existant horizon
hooray,for the cooled southerly breezes
while day cries our scorched and when

yesterday but the day before and now now..
the collection of sighed the changes so
say cool and the sweet perfumes..
the relieving rain rains down..

exclamation

What do you write to the saddest girl in the world?
Do you write about the beauty in the moon
The way its reflection
Stains the waves white?

Do you write about the way the rain
Falls on the surface
Of the water
And how it looks from underneath
Dancing with the oxygen
You exhale


Do you write about the wind
Tearing
Caressing
Green
Red
Brown
Yellow
Non- existant leaves?

Do you tell her
About your cheeks stinging
When the sky is grey
And how it feels to have drizzle
Falling across your closed eyes?

Do you tell her about the little boys
Who pick flowers
Just to see her smile
Or the girls who spend minutes
Writing her name?

What do you tell the saddest girl in the world?

Do you tell her
That everything is infinite
Or that it is necessary
For all things great
To end?

Do you tell her
About the flowers
You see
And the smiles
You can no longer count

Or do you tell her about the flowers
That lose their petals when she
Forgets their beauty
And the people who fade away
When all she sees
Is grey
Grey
Grey
Emptiness

Do you tell her
When you miss her smile
Or do you kiss the tears
Off her cheeks
And dance with her
Slowly
Across the bed
With rumpled sheets
And lines
And lines
Of sunlight

Do you tell her
That you love her
Without her sadness
(God, I hope you do)
But with it too

Or will you
Never tell her
The way she never tells you
And will you keep
The receipt
That she had written
About never telling the person you love
The most

How much you love them.

I crave peace
security....
and i get annoyed....
i feel not understood
...my mind is so ******* overwhelmed
...but projects not ****
its so mother *******
afraid of who knows ******* what
...i sit here like a ******* doll
with my Mom yelling in my ear
as insecurity
those annoying *** voices...
continue to say your nothing
your nothing because your not good enough
...for this person
he wont think your hot
your not good enough
....i think you should be more like this ****** up person
...all it does is degrade me
...tell me im nothing
.....tell me im something according to society
...then ******* deceit me
its like what am i...
who am i
what have i become
....what do i truly value
...who the **** am i
...im a wreck
a ******* train crash
dead...
and its like
i crave identity and security so much
im willing to find it in a matter of seconds
...its like i have no sense of patience in that field
its like ive been sad
...crying internally
totally hiding it
....insecure with myself
angry
...but in denial
completely in denial
about my entire existence
its like i dont want to admit to the person that i am
...my mind craves more
it doesnt crave real
its a ******* ***** i tell a ******* bith
a real pai in the ***
im tired of giving a **** about what others think about me
im tired of giving a **** about anything
im tired of being so annoyed and in denial about myself
its like i want to ******* scream
its like im trapped
trapped
and i feel obligated to stay trapped
..because im me
and because society and ppl
and like im not one to like to make others feel bad
....but like im so tired
its a ******* pain
making each and every day a task
...to mask the real me
and try and build this facade
impress evry ******* person i meet
...like its such a ******* task
every ******* day
for the past years
..its fustrating
i look at miley and demi and avril
then i look at me....
and i know that security and complete you...is possible
but its like...
who wants to sit sad
be ******* sad for a day, for weeks, for months
even years
like...
not me
im so tired and sick
and im done tryig to be what everyone else wants
....im done scrolling down my feed
and only seeing wrong
seeing wrong in me
and opportunities to change me
im tired of the negativity
and i refuse to live a day i jealousy, or in envy of some white, blonde *****
...i refuse
i refuse
...but also i fear
meaning i have no faith
my faith is in my mind
its coming out through my mouth
but its not their
its non existant
it wants to be their so ******* badly
but its not
its like i want to command my heart to believe
...but thats not possible
i cant command myself to die can i....
i mean.....

So, I remember,
I remember, nothing,
But oh, lord, non existant,
do I dream of everything,
And I have to come to grips,
That she still haunts me,
That's she keeps my **** soft,
Late at night,
When all I want to do is,
Cry and *******,
And she's watching Dexter with another man,
And her life is yet great,
And My life is yet still a sham,
Oh, love, cursed though you be,
I crave you desperately,
It's funny because all you've done is ruin me,
Put me on my own,
Solo, and wrecked,
The crash and the burn the *** and the low,
Without any chance of rising,
Oh, yes, that is how I feel,
And if she saw this,
Would she be sad,
No, she'd just laugh,
For all I've ever been is a joke,
and the comedian is me,
Listen further I'll tell you sweetly as I puke,
Oh, not so discreetly,
But the tears won't come and so I won't hide em,
My love, my dear,
My sweet manda moo bear,
I was once found, now lost again,
Coming to grips with my innate fears,
Though nothing helps,
No gloves are enough,
To understand I am alone in this world.
The fault, the failures my own,
Broken, like the song that just won't play right,
Like the ***** that just wont feel tight,
Pulling out because it is too much for you,
And you call yourself a man?
NO!
No! Failuremore, evermore,
This reality a perspective,
You dream on your own,
While you lose your own mind,
And no one much cares,
Hell, why do I even write,
Write to further my alone,
Loneliness, yes it becomes a state of mind,
A loss of self, A conciousness of lost,
And you cant be, what you were meant to be,
Can you see,
I am coming to grips,
With sadness and insanity,
Forgive me.
But length is not long for me,
In this poor world.

Time is non existant
The world around me shuts down
I transfer myself wholeheartedly
Into a fantastical adventure
For I am no longer myself
I am the protagonist
Sleep, I need not
But answers, well..
Answers I need to live

I still find it amazing that with a wave of a finger,
a few strokes and a simple idea,
I can create something.
It's not new to me, I've been creating since I was three.

Drawing, writing, building, breathing, planning, hoping, creating. Repeat.

But there's always been this suppressing force,
telling me no, I can't, I'm not supposed to.
From the teachers who told me I shouldn't
paint my parents blue and my brothers green,
or that history is not important.
By others who have treaded just a step on the path
and turned back, and said that I could never get farther.
By even my friends and family telling me I had to go to school,
get a degree and be content working a 9-to-5.

But I'm here to tell you that all of this has fear written all over.

It's something the human condition has created to hide behind.
the fear to face failure, the fear to accept differences, the fear to put effort for a better version of self. We had developed fear to survive.

But who do we fear today? Who do we have to survive from today with fear?

Like Roosevelt's words "the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.
Nameless. Unreasoning. Unjustified terror." Non-existant.

I'd like to remind you that we are creators, not consumers.
They say we were created in his image, in all his intelligence and light.
Although I don't practice a certain common religion,  the following quote reminds me of the infinite possibilities viable in this life.
God formed man from the dust and gave him life by sharing His own breath.
Don't lose that breath, don't gather dust.
Shake the dust. Enjoy that first morning breath every day.
Because you are alive and a beautiful creator.
The architect is the constant gardener.

Have you ever held so much of something that causes the things you wish not to see in those you love?

Have you ever held a pain that isn't even yours in some cases?

have you ever held on to it so that it doesn't slip and take out such a beautiful tragedy of those you love?

That if you slipped and allowed just an ounce of this pure and refined substance to hit the open air that it would be instantly absorbed into the psyche and physical bodies of all those around you , thus causing them to convulse in agony and gut wrenching pain?

Have you ever felt this could be even close to how you have felt before?

As if once they get the tiniest taste of their own creations and manipulations results, they would fall, so far and hard they would not see the way out of such dire deeds and sad and abusive ways and pains of the causes and causation's, the outcomes of the thrusted busted, go away's, leave me be's, the I don't care about you's, you are a fool's, you are stupid, stop annoying me's, oh here watch this one, they will break , so laugh as loud at them as you can's? can you see what I am saying?  in short all the truly horrible things we all , including me, myself and I, do, when we hurt, are confused, or some how, loose our way in this confounded maze we seem to find ourselves lost in.

Is it enough to allow them to taste the fruit of their leaves of the trees they planted on our mother womb as our father feeds them lovingly, knowing these seeds are wrong?

is it enough? would describing it be enough to cause the pin to be realized if only an imaginary trend of a friends busting the illusion for a crafted grafted second, in hopes to say, stop and look, we are all dieing if we continue this way...... but so many of us, carry these pains like a badge of **** honor, like we are singlehandedly saving the very souls of those whom we don't even know, at times, that is... when the pain and isolation isn't too much to bare, and we don't end up lashing out and creating sorry *** little seeds of trees we then drop along our mothers womb as father lovingly tends to mothers needs, as if we are johnny apple seed in the garden of plenty and abundance all like where is my coffee!!!!????? like i have been a time or two?

Would it be enough for me to change, much less you? maybe, seems we are all stuck on a revolving Russian roulette of, "you first jack, then we will see if my *** antiees up all in..." for we all seem to be in this oh so, silly Mexican stand off as illustrated by Marshall Mathers in the "*******" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wHi-IjsilSw

Cause this silly little thing, is ME, and it is You, yet, am I holding you correctly, by saying ***** it, its me and not you? or is this **** thing on backwards and in roman numerals? cause situation is all jacked up, from the floor up if we fail to see that , I and others who are pain eaters, or, what ever you choose to call us, for we are all full, just look about you, and see all the love is flowing but some of the most daring and beautiful ones are slowy fading, falling, wasting away cause we are too **** pridful to say, **** this not today, I will not hold your ****, this is your **** you take and feel it, I am rather in the clear and am shorting myself the love I truly need to breath, but, I am such a freak and a lover of you all, that I ****** this crap back up denying you the ability to even grab your **** from me, and I horde it hide it and die in it faithfully, for I said I would and my word means everything. but, Now I find so many begging me to release it, let it be, let it go and even if fools fall the **** over dead from the shock of the shame and pain they have graced us all with but we have not had to bare, do go dropping like flies, then that is okay, as I stand shocked, appalled and *******, cause we are to save them all **** it. yeah... says who, son? is all I hear any more. says who son? who said they could make it to such a place of pleasure, leisure, construct, invention, visionary, oh, my how we are to truly shine , shine, be and play? who told you this anyway? and I stand silent, speechless, and rather dumbfounded in my lack of afraid. for they are right. ****, it,, they are right, again.. for to be able to truly and finaly bew able to grasp, grokk, totally and truly rock this truth of movement and this transmogrification of station and situtations where we oh so are to truly play and live like life truly exists, we must let go and let bare the being that was, is, and wont be there. yet here i am, still stuck in a silence of judgement pending, standing in a hall, holding up the line cause I refuse to let go of this which is holding me from the true garden and my possible real soul mate, whom ever they maybe, all because I am so affraid of feeling the lose of even the hated, and hatful of thee, ?.. and why? why are so many of those bauetigul people like me, doing this very thing? so many of us became sin eaters simply out of need, and we eat the sins of others, and eneded up, sinning ourselves, simply to deal with the burdon of the pain... what , in the world were we thinking? , well, we were thinking, what a shame, and we were thinking, why do we not know how to help or deal with all this over whelming pain, why atre we burdoned so? and why must , i let go of the only think I have ever known, eating this sin, that became my identity and my reason to be, and now you ask, me to strip myself of me, of this child laid bare for all the world to see, as I fall apart, is that what it is you wish to see? for this is what will happen when I no longer bare the sin of you and you and you, for mine have been forgiven from what I understand for laying no blame upon no man for the sin I consumed of man, and I am not alone in this endeavour or relieaf, that is if I can muster the foolish courage to let it go, and watch as you all, fall, fall, fall, of your own pains, but I say this, as I have said before, as  child I said it and thousands of times in my life, you do not have to fall so far, just except what ypou have caused and bare it and do the equal and truly triple the opposite and love, see, for me to take such a chance, such a leap of faith and risk, my falling by my creations of feeling watching you fall from your own pains, in turn causing me to fall the same, , but I say, you do not, for if as I said I do this, and risk, then you do the same and love again, as you did before you remembered how to hurt..... before you learned how to hurt inside, before you realized, you die each time the pain lives inside... for you were never a sin eater, but I can and am telling you how to digest your sins, so you don't fall, so far and possibly fail and well, bye.. you must bare you harm and except it as real and them manifest the loving and caring truth that nullifies the harm and corrosive acridness and become, alkaline a base , so base your love in truth and harmony, and resonate out of the hate and misery, for, I do understand what it is I must do, but it all truly, like I said a thousand times, depends on you, and yes there is a possibility that you could bring me to my death by focusing on never getting out, but lets not kid each other son, I will not be loosing, and why risk the guarantee of you never being with the life of us, only so you can attempt to bring me or others down? for it makes no sense, and is not of the flow and growing of life and is not abundant, so, swallow all the fear and doubt, that pain and acid that you spit out, and except it for it is the reality you created and we sin eaters swallowed and held so as to limit your harm, and many of us, did this from birth and never truly knew what we did wrong to end up with such a work load if you get my drift. but my soul is clear, on this, and wqell, I must start laying this down, and by doing so, I need not grace you with a sound or a jot or tittle, but the facts that you may or may not find life get a little different, but This is not for me to say, for it is simply close and time for me to let it all go and look for the truth as my ownn naked frozen child deep inside shivers , but, I know this, no matter the loss, no matter the cost, no matter the choices that will be chossen due to tempral placement and how limited the view is from where we are, that I will be okay, and most of my people are already across, in fact, I think I am one of the few still stupidly here, begging and causeing such a scene, but, I suppose they are right, "if you have not chossen your own ways, by now, then what makes you think anyone should wait for you to realize there is no tomorrow once we move forward.. and well, I hope to wake and each time I wake, love be closer and closer to me and this horror and this lies deciet and hate, be a none existant, reality, for me, or anyone else ready to make that change. and you still can, but, um, if time is running out on the elect, then um, maybe time is running out on you and me so, we better get this thing going, and make a stand , a choice, and eat out own **** and swaet out love and all things worth growing and knowing. for the information is a seed that is the key, if you know, then it is time to unload, that seed so it can be a tree, for spring has sprung and we are about to be leaving and blooming some **** fine leaves, and flower, ohh, so, unless you are the dead and decayed bark that we are about to shed, litterally, then it is time to become a blossom, and swallow your own deeds and devulge the information that setts so many others free, you will be saving lives, and the livfe you save might just freaking be your own. no I mean this jack. and, I love you, but I can not keep holding this, for most of it is not mine, and I soon hope to be resigned from the possition of rather high ranking in the sin eating department, "Jesus is number one there, and I am not in the tier, but you can beat me, so swallow you sin and push out the freedom and love, the truth that sets the rest of the tree free from this infestation cause we wont **** the tree, but we continue like this and the tree of life we wont see either, for we will fall away and away to never be again, make your choice, cause I have Purple Hearts to Bloom baby, and blue and white stripes on my flower, for I am a full purple blue moon, , hope to see you there, and if you hurt son, sorry, but it is time, so, take my advice and swallow and shed and do deeds that save lives and loves.  Yes I know I am slow, ven my mother said so, in the scanned images, see, poems, though he is"slow?"  yeah, thanks ma.. lol, smile, I hope I see here , she, finally free of all the harm done her and forgiven, for I forgave her long long ago, I love and respect my mother, for she gave me these bones of gold, and at 14 she did better than many, with such a prize package like me.
Candlebox-Far Behind
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4QL0L9fgbg

combustion
reaction
you're the chemistry
of my life

before you
I never thought
I'd ever become
a wife

a mrs. of whom
I never did know
my mr. was non-existant
like a cell without chromosomes

this science has me baffled
your logic has me stuck
I used to be so infallible
but now my life is luck

chance
circumstance
do I take the reigns?
am I ******?

but I'm contented
because it's you
and you'll always be enough.

All my veins
Lead to my heart

Everything happens
Because of my heart

Without blood
My heart wouldn't pump

Without purpose
My heart wouldn't beat

My heart is the reason I'm alive
Without it I'm non-existant

You're the reason that I exist
You're the reason my heart beats
Without you I'm non-existant

Dear Sir,

I'm really sorry. For everything. I'm sorry for not talking to you anymore. That was really immature of me. I'm sorry for not taking your dreams into account, and for being selfish. I'm sorry for making everything about this non-existant relationship all about me and not about you. But then again... it's always about you. Everything. It always has been since the day we met and I turned you down and played foolish hard-to-get. But I wasn't playing. I just really am not easy to get. If you should feel proud of anything, it should be the fact that you had me. And I was always yours to grab, in any sense of the word. I'm just really sorry that you had to be the one to get me. I'm sure it was easy, because I'm not easy.

I'm sorry. For everything,
Love Ma'am

Dear Ma'am,

You shouldn't be sorry. Nothing was your fault. If anybody should be sorry, it should be me. I'm sorry for leaving. And I'm sorry that I did that to you. When you say you're hard-to-get, you really aren't kidding. I had to ******* bear my soul just to get you to look me in the eyes. I never regret being the one for you. In fact, I don't ever regret anything I do, because it's a waste of time. But if I was to ever regret anything, it would be making you feel sad all the time. I'm a selfish human being and I know that, but that doesn't mean that you weren't important to me. I would never want to ruin our friendship. I just didn't have a choice. Sorry.

-Sir

Dear Sir,

I feel really bad and stupid when I say that, because it reminds me of that cheesy movie, "Dear John", and you are the farthest thing from cheesy, and I feel like our life and our story means so much more than that. I don't really have anything else to say to you. I just know that I don't want us to not be friends anymore, because you are my best friend. But I also can't talk to you without thinking about you in ways I shouldn't. When I think about you in those ways it just makes me really sad and I know that I won't be able to move on if I think about you in those ways. I don't want to die alone. But without you I'm so alone. I don't know what to do.

Love Ma'am

Ma'am,

Tell me what to do and I'll do it.

-Sir

Strapped to the outside of a rocket ship with nothing in the way.
I took off, and I just kept going. Reaching a height higher than heaven.
Nothing to orient myself. No time. No space. No self. Nothing but darkness stretching out all around me.
A roar of a million voices trying to scream over eachother resonates through my head.
I then came into orbit. Everything begun to crystalize.
No longer was I confounded to the restrictions of flesh. By birth and by death. I was out of my shell. Out of my world.

Complex geometrical patterns formed around me. Beating. Breathing. Moving. Almost like they were alive.
I had no way to process this. It was all so perfoundly alien. This was not my world. "Where the **** am I?" I thought
Terror possesses me. I feel like I am going to **** myself. Then all of a sudden these beings of indescribable features surround me, telling me to relax. "Relax now. Take it in. Settle down."
They told me they were my guides. They were going to show me around.

They gave me the tour of this universe, "Look at this! Look at that!" they said excitedly, showing me worlds that I can not explain, yet they seemed to reflect me.

I suddenly lost them. Where has my tour group gone?!
Suddenly these entites besieged me. Giving off negative energy. Holy ****! Jesters with tight pants and bell hats. Giving me the finger. They were so mischevious. Surrounding. Laughing. Jumping inside of me. ****** my soul. Is this what hell feels like?!

The darkness begins to clear, as a large face of a shimmering blue woman, with flaming white hair blowing in a non-existant wind, comes into view. Her face has so much dimension, with thousands of other faces upon her own. A snake tongue escapes through her lips, wrapping around me, pulling me into her mouth. I am flung into a space that is pure white, and a warm tingling sensation fills me.
This is what heaven feels like. This is my home. I think I found god.
I have never felt so much love. I have never felt so alive.

I then opened my eyes, trying to process my surroundings. I was in my home. On the couch. Sitting in front of the tv. My friend Jason was sitting next to me. He asked me what did I see. I leaped off of the couch, screaming "It is all a simulation!" I pulled my shirt off, swinging it around like Daniel from the bible. I tried to throw myself down the stairs, but was stopped when Jason tackled me. He held me in a chokehold, and while this was happening I exclaimed:

"On earth I am just a monkey,
but out there I am so much more.
I am not just a speck on a spinning ball.
I am more than the skin I wear,
More than the title I bear.
There is so much out there.
This world is not real.
What is real is me."

When I finally calmed down, Jason asked me how I was doing.
I looked up at him and I said "I am a work in process."

if I ever considered myself a good actress
you put me to shame
your facade is undeniably more complex
weaving in and out of the lies you so horribly tell
I can't believe you even know of your own intentions
and while this is terribly blunt
there are more to these words I write
hidden meanings you would never bother to decipher
because my being is non-existant in your mind
knowing this, I'd rather be a nuisance
then at least I'd be in your brain
too bad you refuse to believe in our memories
can you even remember looking into my eyes?
it's doubtful; you're insincere
quit taking every gift for granted
your consideration is only intended for your grudges
your character shows through this play of yours
your charecter disgusts me
yet I'm attached
I'll look for the source and try to pry away
I make no promises of success
you destroy me