"FALLINGS...FALLINGS...NO FALLINGS PLEASE!"


No sooner has she
mastered the art

of perambulation
than she  

discovers she
can run

and can
achieve this feat.

This she does
with a great glee.

For to run is
fun.

She runs from chair  
to table and back.

Steady...steady
as she goes.

She supremely
confident of her self.


But every now
and then she

sees her belief
waver.

Totters  too much
to the right.

Veers too much
to the left.

Could suffer
perhaps a mishap.

Somehow her voices
puts her back on track.

On an even keel.

"Fallings...fallings..
...no fallings please!"

Her words
her balance.

Then if she ever
feels herself go.

She shouts out
her mantra.

"Fallings...fallings
...no fallings please!"

She now a teenage
long legged blur

of speed showing
me a karate kick.

And somehow I
find I have become

an old man
uneasy on his pegs.

Climb the stair
gingerly step by step

with great trepidation
in case I trip.

A bruised  coccyx
a broken rib

have taught me
to beware the stair.

Ascend or descend
with exaggerated care.

And if I should oooooo
feel myself go


I call out
to my stumbling self

"Fallings...fallings
no fallings please!!!!"

I made you of breath
of shadows and sunbeams
of boundlessness
of folding out and in like wings
of fallings and risings
from the gravity of things
I am your leaves without
limbs or leaving
I am the circles and spirals
your body carves from air
your leaps toward heaven
when you most love the earth
I was before you and will be
after you, I am the center
and the circumference
I am within and without you
And I am your comforter
when the cold winds come in
I am the point on the line
I am brief and desirable
I eat oranges and watch
the Northward flight of geese
my being roars like oceans
I rock myself in the cradle
of self doubt and other emotions
I sometimes let take control
I rock the world like a baby
I kiss the air like my lover
here and here and there
I embrace you, World
I am your second Moon
that rose from the South
I am your eyes, your mouth
your star, your tree
and something else
I am sand, river, feather,
grass, moth, l am forever
yet lost and not found
and I am something else
and I always will be
something to someone else.

I wanted you to be the last thing on my mind
I wanted you to be the reason I close my eyes
But I can't sleep

And oh god I wanted to be your high
But everything I said it went unheard
And everything you saw with eyes straight blurred
Became our downfall

Cos you say I drink and I smoke and I talk too much
But I know you lied when you said that you just gotta go and save yourself

So hear me out
You know everybody talks girl
And it means nothing till you let it
But if you keep second guessing then theres only gonna be one end

But you can leave if you really want to
And you can run if you feel you have to
And I'll be fine if you ever ask me
I know its hard, but no one said its easy
Fallings easy
But theres only one way up

So I been thinking that I think too much
And I can't sleep but I can dream of us
And I've been seeing **** like horror cuts
Its burning down, I gotta drown this out
And you said you need me to let this go
Buts its who I am or am I just losing it
Cos you said jump and I went first but fallings always been my downfall

And you say I drink and I smoke and I talk too much
But I know you lied when you said that you just had enough and save yourself
So hear me out
You know everybody talks girl
And it means nothing till you let it
And if you keep second guessing then theres only gonna be one end

But you can leave if you really want to
And you can run if you feel you have to
And I can drink if I feel I have to
I know its hard, but I can't feel like I used to
Like I used to
Cos I used to defy gravity
Defy gravity
Goodbyes keep dragging me
Down
And I'm fighting gravity
Defying gravity
I tried but I keep falling
Cos fallings easy
But it only brings you down

1

Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,
Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle,
Out of the Ninth-month midnight,
Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child, leaving his bed, wander’d alone, bare-headed, barefoot,
Down from the shower’d halo,
Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and twisting as if they were alive,
Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,
From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,
From your memories, sad brother—from the fitful risings and fallings I heard,
From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and swollen as if with tears,
From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there in the transparent mist,
From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease,
From the myriad thence-arous’d words,
From the word stronger and more delicious than any,
From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,
As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,
Borne hither—ere all eludes me, hurriedly,
A man—yet by these tears a little boy again,
Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,
I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,
Taking all hints to use them—but swiftly leaping beyond them,
A reminiscence sing.

2

Once, Paumanok,
When the snows had melted—when the lilac-scent was in the air, and the Fifth-month grass was growing,
Up this sea-shore, in some briers,
Two guests from Alabama—two together,
And their nest, and four light-green eggs, spotted with brown,
And every day the he-bird, to and fro, near at hand,
And every day the she-bird, crouch’d on her nest, silent, with bright eyes,
And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never disturbing them,
Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating.

3

Shine! shine! shine!
Pour down your warmth, great Sun!
While we bask—we two together.

Two together!
Winds blow South, or winds blow North,
Day come white, or night come black,
Home, or rivers and mountains from home,
Singing all time, minding no time,
While we two keep together.

4

Till of a sudden,
May-be ****’d, unknown to her mate,
One forenoon the she-bird crouch’d not on the nest,
Nor return’d that afternoon, nor the next,
Nor ever appear’d again.

And thenceforward, all summer, in the sound of the sea,
And at night, under the full of the moon, in calmer weather,
Over the hoarse surging of the sea,
Or flitting from brier to brier by day,
I saw, I heard at intervals, the remaining one, the he-bird,
The solitary guest from Alabama.

5

Blow! blow! blow!
Blow up, sea-winds, along Paumanok’s shore!
I wait and I wait, till you blow my mate to me.

6

Yes, when the stars glisten’d,
All night long, on the prong of a moss-scallop’d stake,
Down, almost amid the slapping waves,
Sat the lone singer, wonderful, causing tears.

He call’d on his mate;
He pour’d forth the meanings which I, of all men, know.

Yes, my brother, I know;
The rest might not—but I have treasur’d every note;
For once, and more than once, dimly, down to the beach gliding,
Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with the shadows,
Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sights after their sorts,
The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing,
I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair,
Listen’d long and long.

Listen’d, to keep, to sing—now translating the notes,
Following you, my brother.

7

Soothe! soothe! soothe!
Close on its wave soothes the wave behind,
And again another behind, embracing and lapping, every one close,
But my love soothes not me, not me.

Low hangs the moon—it rose late;
O it is lagging—O I think it is heavy with love, with love.

O madly the sea pushes, pushes upon the land,
With love—with love.

O night! do I not see my love fluttering out there among the breakers?
What is that little black thing I see there in the white?

Loud! loud! loud!
Loud I call to you, my love!

High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves;
Surely you must know who is here, is here;
You must know who I am, my love.

Low-hanging moon!
What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow?
O it is the shape, the shape of my mate!
O moon, do not keep her from me any longer.

Land! land! O land!
Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me my mate back again, if you only would;
For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way I look.

O rising stars!
Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with some of you.

O throat! O trembling throat!
Sound clearer through the atmosphere!
Pierce the woods, the earth;
Somewhere listening to catch you, must be the one I want.

Shake out, carols!
Solitary here—the night’s carols!
Carols of lonesome love! Death’s carols!
Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon!
O, under that moon, where she droops almost down into the sea!
O reckless, despairing carols.

But soft! sink low;
Soft! let me just murmur;
And do you wait a moment, you husky-noised sea;
For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding to me,
So faint—I must be still, be still to listen;
But not altogether still, for then she might not come immediately to me.

Hither, my love!
Here I am! Here!
With this just-sustain’d note I announce myself to you;
This gentle call is for you, my love, for you.

Do not be decoy’d elsewhere!
That is the whistle of the wind—it is not my voice;
That is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray;
Those are the shadows of leaves.

O darkness! O in vain!
O I am very sick and sorrowful.

O brown halo in the sky, near the moon, drooping upon the sea!
O troubled reflection in the sea!
O throat! O throbbing heart!
O all—and I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night.

Yet I murmur, murmur on!
O murmurs—you yourselves make me continue to sing, I know not why.

O past! O life! O songs of joy!
In the air—in the woods—over fields;
Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved!
But my love no more, no more with me!
We two together no more.

8

The aria sinking;
All else continuing—the stars shining,
The winds blowing—the notes of the bird continuous echoing,
With angry moans the fierce old mother incessantly moaning,
On the sands of Paumanok’s shore, gray and rustling;
The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, drooping, the face of the sea almost touching;
The boy extatic—with his bare feet the waves, with his hair the atmosphere dallying,
The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last tumultuously bursting,
The aria’s meaning, the ears, the Soul, swiftly depositing,
The strange tears down the cheeks coursing,
The colloquy there—the trio—each uttering,
The undertone—the savage old mother, incessantly crying,
To the boy’s Soul’s questions sullenly timing—some drown’d secret hissing,
To the outsetting bard of love.

9

Demon or bird! (said the boy’s soul,)
Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it mostly to me?
For I, that was a child, my tongue’s use sleeping,
Now I have heard you,
Now in a moment I know what I am for—I awake,
And already a thousand singers—a thousand songs, clearer, louder and more sorrowful than yours,
A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within me,
Never to die.

O you singer, solitary, singing by yourself—projecting me;
O solitary me, listening—nevermore shall I cease perpetuating you;
Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations,
Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me,
Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what there, in the night,
By the sea, under the yellow and sagging moon,
The messenger there arous’d—the fire, the sweet hell within,
The unknown want, the destiny of me.

O give me the clew! (it lurks in the night here somewhere;)
O if I am to have so much, let me have more!
O a word! O what is my destination? (I fear it is henceforth chaos;)
O how joys, dreads, convolutions, human shapes, and all shapes, spring as from graves around me!
O phantoms! you cover all the land and all the sea!
O I cannot see in the dimness whether you smile or frown upon me;
O vapor, a look, a word! O well-beloved!
O you dear women’s and men’s phantoms!

A word then, (for I will conquer it,)
The word final, superior to all,
Subtle, sent up—what is it?—I listen;
Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea-waves?
Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands?

10

Whereto answering, the sea,
Delaying not, hurrying not,
Whisper’d me through the night, and very plainly before day-break,
Lisp’d to me the low and delicious word DEATH;
And again Death—ever Death, Death, Death,
Hissing melodious, neither like the bird, nor like my arous’d child’s heart,
But edging near, as privately for me, rustling at my feet,
Creeping thence steadily up to my ears, and laving me softly all over,
Death, Death, Death, Death, Death.

Which I do not forget,
But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother,
That he sang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok’s gray beach,
With the thousand responsive songs, at random,
My own songs, awaked from that hour;
And with them the key, the word up from the waves,
The word of the sweetest song, and all songs,
That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my feet,
The sea whisper’d me.

The lack of emotion
in raindrops' fallings
should there be a laughter?
is there a pride
in being the last
to leave the cloud?

the sensation of the wires hanging loose from your headphones gently brushing up with the blonde hairs on your neck like little hairthin whispers- spiders crawling on you throat

leaflets
blankets


fleece summercamp sweatshirt

the a/c rumbling

crisp fallings
hatchlings
seeds
wax paper tracings-rubbings of leaves

downstairs
  pageling

Peaks that are needed
for the valleys.
If there are peaks
There are valleys.

There is no use of
forgetting the fallings
in the heights of life.
It is very important
each steps
to whom he mounted
the peaks of success.

Fallings out and shooting stars
ragged unseen battlescars
Your love was an illusion
unaffected by my desperate
attempts at profusion
Given to bouts of sensitivity
my tender loving could not
turn you on to me
and you grew cold to my touch
unfeeling and sold for a ****
I could have loved you hard
I guess that's just hard luck

When the magistry has ended, /
The echoes of repose begin to resound; /
Although there is, there has been a great wanderer in me, /
The beckoning has not ceased, /
Nor has my heart been claimed in abeyance. /

A story, one with risings & fallings, /
One with an unfalteringly great divide, /
Has bestowed a parcel from on high; /
The Winds, The Earth, The Ocean, The Sun, The Moon, /
They are the pulse of this Grand Tapestry. /

When we are enraptured, /
By ensorcelled irides /
We become; /
Sometimes being enamored /
Means our journey is re-willed; /
Moreover, we see the world with Brand New Eyes. /

Allowing every experience, to re-modulate my thoughts & feelings /
I realized uncertainty was not a barrier, /
Rather, it was my nexus to transcendence. /
Having a time & space in which to reflect, retrospect, & introspect was an aegis, /
Now real & authentic happiness is no longer distant /
And faith is near. /

hiding behind the
dark makeup.
blinded by lies.
never showing who
you truly are.
pain attacks.
icy eyes close.
fallings.
nothing but the
darkness of sleep.
deep, dream free sleep.
the light burns.
makeup smeared
down your face.
blood at your sides.
pain attacked.
unconsciousness.
you’re alive.
fourteen hours
have passed.
as well as a bottle
of Xanax and
a pathetic razor.
he’s telling you
this it is not
your time to go.
stop hiding
behind your pain.
open your
heart and let
the world see you.
forget the pills.
forget the blood.
love yourself.

The world was our leisure
and somehow we escaped
the starvation of
losing ourselves
in boxes.
  Riding through the risings
and fallings of hills.
Blue Skies where we floated
with our heads held up
by strings.
Your eyes stealing glances
at my eyes as you lit your pipe
and drove with your feet,
and thin white clouds
streamed across your ears.
Myriads
of deep colors
and multi-talented
maneuvers.

You were an Angel.
Earth toned,
through the sun roof
and the blue grass
that your eyes danced over.
It was brilliance--
and it burnt my mind
and spilt my soul,
as you churned it
through these
lifeless windows.
I wanted to stay here,
out in these rolling hills
forever, where we rolled
with dispersing waves
of radiance, and
cadences  of new moons.
Sometimes,
I'd walk along the dirt
flowing streets into town
stopping to tell all the farmers
how you were out there
making time stop.

what she said about
all her loves and
the fountain of sleep
the spring of thirst
have just showed me
this resonant truth
like an oracle
I am still trapped
in this echo: that
I am as mad as
I've always been
maybe even worse
cause now I can see
the stars and the voids
in plain daylight
and I want to say
with all my waters
with all my earths
with all my deaths
with all my fallings
into the sky

Frida said
come what may
I wonder if she feared
the bloodflood

fickle fallings fail i see
as i within the veil should be
lo, lowly it does call to me
enticing ever melancholy

The prettiest of things have a wash of black
there is a beauty in the dark
shadows favor your lining
fallings have left their mark
for her skin is light, soft and sweet
but wrists, hips and shins
hold pigments of brown
though none is tainted as her heart

Stars belt in orbit
should I stand too fast,
so I sit back down,
enjoy astrophysical  
apperception's fancy flight.

Make my wishes upon
fallings off, this one,
that one, the other.
I wish it all away,
this pill, that pill,
the other. The spills,
the spells, the other tells
of declining lucky stars
intermittent with
shooting gratitude  
for love given and taken,
laughs giggled and shaken,
and discovery of
Pluto's big heart.

Hope still, is in course.

Run, fall and get up but Portraits are not pictured.
All things placed with movements of fingers look down at toes only to wonder ;
Of questions that seam through groves leaving worms and dirt in friendly shoes.
It's no begging or request but no eyes lift up to appreciate.

Thy garden is thine own with no fragrances throned.
It's not what thine does but is not what is done as others do.
It is to be different but expectations don't differ.
As thy ought to be cheese that be easy to slice as well rot.  

No truth to be seen in close proximity but a fake city in all it's vanity.
Positions and steps with words profound Every inch and move is as a hound;
To be cured of fallings and errors bred.

For each move in thine thought endings are to be fed
As Portraits belong to sequestered sets.

Okay did this, twice, so next time I know, its ok.
Principle thing, not a best contention,
not a we gotta save reality rehash, BTDT they say
-we came in search of the initial once…

and stories started sprouting, we were
in a fluent truth seeker attracting attention,
inadvertently kenning a certain point.
First  
only first thing ever in time, before time, once…

Lead us away from fools who lead to war…
lead us into
thought pearls, after the memorized prayer,
from my child mind kept alive, laughing,
yet the blame and shame for silence
is thouroughly roughed up
with penitent repetitions,
rote remutterings
mostly never thought through, with why
or how, 'm I supposed to know we have… you know

"Our Father"
Pater Noster, where might a tribal lad learn
the sacred knowledge needed to discern
good from evil, or right from wrong?
Each bit discerned
is not the same each time
in every way shape and form
discerned usefullness or uselessness,
from  symbolic halls of justice polished floors
leading to for profit prisons, good folk need,
all the social planners forsee guards made
from sons of same **** who'd be good guards,
generally good for something, and useless
otherwise, make fine maintenance staff,
keep the bar scenes looking local,
make us all think that's real life,
one bit per hour, on an eight bit dollar.
---------- steady, aim from a prone pose…

The soldier of the hidden pain, sups
his secret vow,
to be of one mind
in matters of the heart, tied
with all minds granted sapien status,
from birth
into a covenant
of traditional rights
and wrongs, complete
with corrective lenses,
close your eyes. Dare. Imagine.
--------------
As it is in heaven.
Which is where the spirit known to Jesus as God,
by all the Torah names authorized in public discourse, is, that is,
lives… being
as a man thinks in his heart, so is he
He Lives… within my heart, operatically
thinking BG, joke noise, top forty '68,
the falsetto
in toto repento, ayiiiiiee started a joke…

and where all our will is of no consequence,
in the course of human events, we live
and learn, if ever is a moment, now is when we notice.

Look out any window,
ask if you see more than your TV?

No, contest, tv wins. So somebody knows,
no need for me to be involved beyond this point.

------------
Simplicity enough, peace
in serene acknowledgement,
the sorting algorithms shake
and shuffle all our potential nextifity.

It is only you and me, we comprise
the agreeing parts that make up our mind.
We've made no compromise.
{in case you misread our intentions}
prize each instant outside a door.

We live after the traditional teachers, tell us
all of the teachers now are teaching old news.

Spells sufficient to alter an individuated soul's
course through the grown up world as it was
undermined
by a boom
of kids my age, all made immune to many plagues, as no babes before in history,
our reasoning capability, altered
by mandated universal literacy.

Followed with machine graded
achievement testing annually,
sorting kind with kind, readers
with readers, learners with learned,

let me explain the process,
for this once
you survive
a war with nuclear weapons, you're smart
now
you got tempted, by the flesh, far from home,
guilt of the altar boy be upon you, and also
on thee, amen, amenable to reconscription,
rescript, attention deficit, sit it out,
from on high, from outer space…
certain, formed selves,
former selves as well.
Makers up of minds and pluralities of merest
wishes, whatifery a practiced specialty,
wait for free,
pay attention to see the demo. That'd be….
easy if you see your part and play it well.

No and yes.
Thing not thing, nothing, a word, a thing
this one thing, this thought held in this word,
each word eventually individuates, and means

at the tipping point, all it means, at once.

And all the people beneath the steeple,
clap one handedly and whisper amen.

Am Big U Is Us, we be the happy fools.

------------

Many results from **** experiments survived.
I learned some history from those people.

If I lie about my faith, if
I say I asked and accepted this use of words
as real as any answer, if
I say I know I have the forgiven mind,
I say I know I have let go my will,
thine be done, I say to truth, make me free.

Who am I ? to say nay,
I am not free, but bound
by my oaths upon my own word,
no oath's more binding
on the soul than those sworn to yourself?

- I cawed the question intrusivethought
- Mark…up there horsehoe canyon meander,
- making peace a real time essential.

You do love you, you trust you, you must not lie
to yourself, first interpretation, know yourself,
to your own self, first person lovable you, be true.

Or be the brunt of all the fool's jokes.

----------------
Okeh,
It just so happens,
have you never heard it said?
It just so happens,
just like that redone forgotten dance
that I was thinking about you,
but yourself was unaware.

With myself, for an instance,
love was a given defined action,
not an act, but an action, a doing
being done, done once it continues

something like life,
if you know
you know, nobody knows everything
that the minds used
by mankind pursue
as happiness,
the ultimate state, heaven,
or, heavenly
on earth as we imagine it
must be, there,
outside the green lit temple
and all the gaudy gold and great cristal baths.

Stop there, think with me, letter by letter,
stopping
ejecting conjunctions with lost time generations,
the ghosts of the first to be officially analyzed,
delved
into,
in throaty Tuvan moan WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE
- mono tone Ai am positive
tinkly Jiminy Cricket, merest of conscious advisors to us,
still small, the trusted advisor's voice is always right,

It says yes, this is the way, leading away from temptation.

Breaking the fourth wall, we all look out
and ask the other minds, who ever imagined, not asking
not asking
to not be led into temptation. Event hue-risktical query… right?
Lead on, tempt me, thy will be done, I take no respossibility.

Whose invention was the conscious guide for children,
the mark (?) serpentwisdom on the dot.
it is a mechanism,
a construction
from life parts, a Large Language
Modeled mind, fed
but a taste of **** and Jane,
but enough to know,

the exposure to language was not the same
in all white people's childhood reality, with cousins and uncles
and aunts, who were older and responsible for the littles, who had
an experience common to the species,
after gaining bipedal locomotion and bowel control,
- for kids like me and
- plant grandmother's granddaughter
We'ld hear, with full attention on

go out side and play with the big kids, as was normal.
That, was normal then.

So now, first hat,
be first to know… as mental maker minds may
beguiled be and become aware, and laugh in joy.
Among the first grunts and sylabbic inflections, ever,
at base logos concept. Goodgleegladly crazy as that.
Spiritual truth containment spell, do tell. Child laught.
In a word. Go to the t, in time left behind ime
I am.
In the beginning of mindtimespace, at once big, init-itial
continuant material coexistence,
balancing time and chance.
The drummer calls the dance…

fit the fullness of the godhead ******
into a kid, and let him pick
his dreams using the head gear he chooses,
this is a real preschoo' child'smind preparing
to sleep routine, I imagined,
I think I was three, and the baby Peggy
who I never knew, was dead, a now noted absence,
but then there was a servant offering me dream machines,
the hat I wore to bed would set the genre for my dreams,
and I picked the spherical space helm, it came with a shield.
- trippy autobiomode triggered, I think, by Feynman.
- then I hear the **** crow thrice, I waited, another crow
- so no significance, he crows still, his singing soon stops.

Silence, soon fills with magic humms from distance, not time
spent imagining the worth, of a late autumn,
huey light bending into reds, now it's dars, some hums the same
I have found, a door into a then when I played in my mind.
I am in my right mind.
I have this cached in the collective.
I lived in a house behind the Mohave County Courthouse,
the backdoors to justice, were right across the street,
where the lawn was clover and bermuda, and children played there
on non workdays… the tendency
to think in movie sense,
thought to thought, holding hands,
we both know what that means, then both know we don't

but life, looked back at,
can be seen from where you stand or sit, stood, now
360 horizonal, the circumference, the carry path around the axel,
lever, wedge and wheel…
energy conversion to time in mind,
witty inventions, mind to mind along a wire, plain coloquentcies.
Minding my manners,
methinking beguiling a fine how do you do.
Present arms, no harm done.
It is charming to feel that look.
Command line mechanical procedural habits,
call it carriage return
hard or soft, hard, double spacing rules
from childhood, linger here
logic commands apt intention to ponder
wasted space makes no never mind,
any edit app can insert sense
since we
the users were imagined, selected
from the children,
specifically
from the downwinders families
in Mohave County,
as participants in the program parents accepted
guaranteed universally accepted credentials,
at the moment angel judging becomes credible.

First I drew a cowboy boot, and they marveled.
Ah, the program, my folks must have pulled some
puppetry spell ANDTHEN CAPSLOCKED
real Koyaanisqatsi
coincidental exposure to all skin tones,
make each feel special, let them know Radar Hill,

is the only place in town where a black man,
was employed, by the Strategic Air Command,
and he lived on my street, yes,
I only just now drew this memory from an unconsciousness,
whether in the brain or the mind, I cannot say I know.

But I know where it ends, and that makes it all pretty funny.

He slips into auto-bio mode, self causal
re-de vi fo fm am 2 restive, crochet, plait,
breathe retake the
adventure in the collected unconsciousness of me,
self-actualized,
by my arrogance and cognition, acting as if in
reflections of me,
in my grand mother's eye, down the line,
as far as
true will out, and eventually land us here.

For an instance, using the measure of the recipient.
For an ever, using the mind in a word formed
per formal
occassional fallings off the log,
daydreaming as readily relatable, mote
at balance beam, perhaps an old bull routine,
landing with upwaved curved wrists,
fingers frozen in grace rising pose.
-nice non intrusive
Myrna Loy, find her statue in Venice,
and imagine her joy at being recognized
in 1989… hers was a deep beauty, memorable.

---------------------
As an epigraph a mad conscientist might suffer to be so,
you know, we may imagine being Martians, or monstors,
thinking things,
we, on the whole,
by now, know how to read, or use
reading tools, we find our minds align with others,
presented to us as creative writers, one might thinkgno-w
we were fed the canon of civilization, a bit at a time.
Some parts we gulped like dogs,
Some parts we nibbled like cats, but we were fed.

History and archeo-knowing is growing as apex human
spread pours over the last curve
in sight, all we have
are points of light,
and if this were night and not day
we could say these points were stars,
consider this,
an enjoyable idea,
a little trip you can use, sidereally,

starlight wise, and logical progressions
after agreeing
to step past simple
into polished floor sublimnity,
in our collected nonconscious idle thoughts abused,
as we speak
in fashionable phrazes that become
command line conscience
in 5-G appliances atuning
to your tastes
in puzzles and teasers and loss leaders, tools in use,
con-science,
tech knowledge,
and eth-knowledge, used
to effect a balance. Dead stop, still.

Did you get all that? Kinda funny. I think now, I did, too.

i know that just by drinking i will not feel good
with myself, i need to write something:
drinking alone never made much sense...
drinking when partying and socialising...
drinking when going to night-clubs almost:
almost always failing to pick up girls...
**** me... at my lowest i still managed to flirt
with a girl, kiss her dance with her...
   i even walked her to the bus-stop...
before she asked me what i did:
i said i was unemployed... i sort of forgot to say
that i was a poet in the making...
perhaps that's why i don't think i'm an alcoholic:
although... in a week's worth?
    i probably drink... how many units is a bottle
of whiskey?! 40... 4 x 7 =... ****... 3 x 7 = 21...
add a 7... that's 28... then add a zero...
i drink close to about 300 units of alcohol per week...
ha ha... and on the bottles?
   it reads: chief medical examiner for England
suggests that adults do not exceed drinking no more
than 14 units per week...
ha ha ha...                             ah ha...
i have a worried mind... i already said to myself:
like Prometheus... i'll sacrifice my liver to salvage
my mind...

and i'm willing to sacrifice years of my life into
my mortality's "winter" for the current ride...
i know the risks... i'm just really worried about being
constipated... and... eternity... eternity is a dawn
with a night before a day...
it's scaring me... should all of it be true...
well... the thought started scary... eternity?!
while all these insects live only days...
with infanticide and the neunormen

new-norms and old-taboos...
and then back to new-taboos and old-norms...
some people think time is linear... given history...
some people think time is cyclic...
we read history with a grain of salt and hindsight
and repeat our mistakes...
i? i think time is a sea-saw...
we're like a tide... a tide comes in...
a tide goes out... sometimes we appear
spectacular... like at the height of the Roman Empire
of the zenith of Greek intellectual curiosity...
then we fall back... allow for barbarian invasions...
what was spectacular about Ancient Greece
became Byzantine: i.e. bureaucratic...
muddled... the only great aspect of Byzantine
culture was the chants...
oh sure... the Greco-Judeo pact did undermine
the Latin influence...
the New Testament is a testament of the Greco-Judeo
pact: to undermine the Roman Empire...
no?

     it isn't? oh... come on... the myths because over time
myths: given time...
go along the pyramid "scheme" of:
mythology "<" history "<" journalism "<"...
          aha! now poetry comes to the fore...
which way are we going to go? "<" or ">"?
  what a wonky looking L... or Γ (gamma)...
then again... maybe it's one of those weird
"Copernican" Vs....
   right... how now: write the plural of vvvvvv...
without the apostrophe that's also
suggestive of v's... i.e. V owns a lawnmower?
right... move the apostrophe along... Vs'...
because... it's not versus: hence no vs. <---
  the full stop...

to reiterate: i learned to constrain my frustrations
on Samuel Beckett's Watt...
i remember one sunny afternoon
lying in a park and laughing from frustration
at the complications of the language...
laughing out loud: getting a wave hello from a small
boy walking back from school with his mother...
i wasn't laughing at anything particular
or for that matter universal, just the per se...

how else? vs' or vees or vvvvvvv etc.?
plenty of v v v v v v v
                 < < < < < < < <
                > > > > > > > > > ?

we haven't moved that much from the ancient
world... where letters had a duality of being used
as phonetic encoding symbols and mathematical
constants after all...
VI + IX = XV
    6 (b) + 9 (P) = 15 (IS)

now i would to being an alcoholic is i simply
drank to drink...
but i'm writing... i need creative juices...
if i'm not jerking off to pictures of mature
women... Ava Lauren... come on...
it's a Porsche of a body...
i don't need to watch anything... just the photograph
and i leave the rest to the imagination:
although compared to the cinema of memory:
the cinema of my imagination lasts at outbursts...
sure... if i were simply drinking...
to "cope": drinking before a mirror
and falling asleep with a hand placed in a bucket
of water to wet my bed...
yeah... then i'd join some A.A.... ahem...
midday "group therapy session"...

but i'm busy... well into the morning hours...
scribbling like "mad" like... the monk who wrote
the Codex Gigas...
       me? devil or my own ego? i like my garden...
only today before my expedition i offered
two plums to my neighbour and my mother...
i brought these kind fallings in my hand outstretched
in my palm... washed... obviously...
but i didn't usher in any confusion:
no conflation of knowledge
regarding: what's good (universal)
   with what's evil (particular)... hello!
                       Greco-Judeo conspiracy...

wow! Δ delta... that's not the "letter"
Pythagoras worked with... is it?
   he was working out why either L or Γ
have either \ or / missing respectively, no?
          but delta? Δ? that's an isoscoles...
now... i dare to wonder: akin to Heidegger:
  question-worthiness arises from a spontaneity...
questions asks themselves...
people just need to find them...
this is but one example...

you know when you're sitting in a garden...
and you hear a shoom echo in the sky...
but can't see anything...
right... there's a jumbo-jet flying over your
garden... you hear it first...
seconds later you see you...
**** the chicken and the egg dynamic for normal
people saluting the mantra of passive
curiosity...

what came first?
Δ or the triangle?! that's a big question:
a question that Wittgenstein could only appreciate...
since he wrote so sparingly:
but i have to admit... his stance on tautology:
the thesaurus... mine: on thesaurus rex...
and the dictionary omnibus...
                          i want to repay Samuel Beckett
with the same frustrations he poured onto me...
this is my revenge... i want to fry brains and then:
freeze them...
            
what came first? Δ (the letter) the sound...
Da da da or the triangle?
my guess is: ****... i've already answered it...
with what?! the use of ******* pyramids...
but how Δ morphed into D and how did the pyramids
become abstract "all of a sudden"?
ah... the glory days of Greek intellectual curiosity...
its genesis... oh too suddenly ***** by:

the myth of the origins of Rome...
the Aeneid: a Trojan holiday in Tuscany after the fall
of Troy...
    
but no... i couldn't simply drink and pretend
to look into a mirror...
i wish i could have been a painter:
then again: no...
i can't leave "****" to abstracts: to some "suppose so...."
"suppose" he "thought" this blah blah blah-*******...
ever get "*****" by a South African
with ****-friction that was so bad
you thought you were getting circumcised
of putting your phallus inside an enlarged earthworm's
mouth-gut?
    i have... it's not a pleasant experience...
knock-knock on wood... ****... not wood:
knock-knock on bone: i.e. my forehead...
               what a terrible **** that was...
and she was raised in society... a teacher at some
boarding school... all boys...
******* cocoon ***... in the dark...
under the bed-sheets... never... ever! again!
but at least i now know what a slightly timid
beached whale of a ****-blonde stereotype looks
like...
           dry ***** are the worst...
seriously: it felt like ****...
on to occasions i had problems with getting a hard
on with prostitutes...
this one time: fair enough...
it was my first time having a *******...
obviously i was nervous...
but when i was... ahem #metoo "*****"...
i was as hard as a fiddle...
   what the **** did she spike the food with?!

well.. what's done is done... Johnny Depp was believed:
a fully documented affair...
ah... this conflation on the basis of the word AND...
it's not like "he" said: and you will know
the difference between either good or evil...
that "we" will know the difference between
good AND evil... knowing our ontology:
we'd be prone to entertain good as evil...
and evil as good... in the latter instance:
the more lasting, entertaining prospect...
               aligned with our hoarding sentimentalities...

Kierkegaard was onto something...
but he just didn't have the bilingual or the "autistic" /
"schizophrenic" focus to drill the baron of 90
into a corner and establish grandiose architecture...

it's one bad "thing" after another...
the fact that i might be drinking and not scribbling:
an opportunity wasted...
but the fact that i can't find the right sort of music
to listen to while i scribble...
hell... if i could write in silence...
but it usually takes one song...
a song passed down...
BRYGADA KRYZYS - to co czujesz, to wiesz:
Crisis Brigade - what you feel, is what you know...
sampled from an album from 1992...
Poland... i never imagined them being
so bilingual... how did i arrive at the song choice?
i was revisiting Edinburgh trying to get back together
with my ex-Russian lass...
  failure... she was already on a "different " path...

three nights in a hostel... left to a ****** couple...
i was only "scouted" when talking to some Slovak...
i got drunk and my English veneer drooped...
**** me... i had a wild night in Cracow
a day after...
i was fending myself from this waggling tongue
taxi driver who caught me
squeezing at my "major-phlegm" residue tool
trying to find an alley-way...
scary story... teenage girls not invited...

but i was in a hostel with this couple from Warsaw...
best name for a capital anywhere...
compare War-Saw with Bang-****...
ha ha... so she was this tall girl...
pristine like a ballerina...
played netball or whatever the hell tall girls play...
we were roaming Edinburgh and we
came across a charity shin-dig
and i exclaimed: oh.. what a nice acoustic (guitar)...
immediately... she retorted:
i hope you return to Warsaw and find
a nice girl for yourself...
i.e.                      not her?!

what a hyper-democratic reality we're all living in
right now...
   i'm not going to see her again...
i can see her like i can see my great-grandad...
a shadow... a figment of my imgation: almost...
"almost" being the fact that she recommended
this song for me: feeding me this idiotic self-worth-sence
delusion of comparative "literarture":
i'm John Peel...
  but my speciality is outside the realm of
the English speaking world...

wasn't today spectacular?
   it sort of began... "it sort of": began with me cringing
at an accident waiting to happen...
some white-van man was exiting a Tesco carpark...
too high... too high... jeeze!
sraped his ladder clean: proof off of this roof...
helped him out... became a 5 minute part-time
traffic warden... he ease back...
i picked up the pieces... you alright mate?
we had it sorted...

then on a whim... roughly... from Havering Road
to Edgware Road?
****... if i was going to cycle down Oxford St...
i would be cycling with a copy of Ovid to read in Hyde
Park.... instead? i cycled via Central London...
Chancery Lane: just before Holborn... and *******
Holborn Circus...
**** me... London looks weird without a tube-map...
it's 4-D geography...

if Donald Trump was playing 4D chess...
then i'm orientating myself around 4D geography...
on a bicycle... having formerly used
the buses and trains and the tube of London...
to hell with that load of trans-Atlantic *******...
sure sure...
you say one more ******* thing
along the lines of SLAV(e)... say it...
say it's "etymologically" sound...
say it... now that you have? ****** ****** ****** ******...
not the same?!
you have a problem? i don't have a problem...
i can tell the difference between a Somalian
a Nigerian and a Kenyan?
we're? having? spelling? issues?

English "public intellectuals"; them!
you add that ******* epsilon to the word Slav-
and? i'll just cut off the suffix -an
from the word GERMAN...
           ******* filth! GERMS!
    **** or ****** is not an isolated
instance... but then again: i trust the Russian
to use their bayonets more than i trust them
to use their tongues...
and that's wrong... since... they could readily
people the shadow-people of the shadows
of people...

    i've been ******* for quiet some time....
i'm ready to pounce... bite at something pulsating...
i ask the song i'm listening to on repeat:
what's my problem?
i can't say ******...
but some English ******* can add
an E to my ethnicity and equate me
to SLAVE... what etymological guarantee
does he: GERM...have?
                            i'm currently in the process
of eradicating a rat from my house...
GERMANIC PEOPLES ARE VERMIN...
THEIR WOMEN ARE EASY TARGET ****...
what?!

the "situation" is a lot different from what
it was under the deconstruction of the Soviet Empire...
now all i see... the deconstruction of
the Capitalistic hegemony...
hell... i bet that even Vietnam is on board!

Slav(e)?! NIGGERNIGGERNIGGERNIGGER...
what he **** are you going to, do?!
sure... you're not a racist..
you're just an etnicist! ETHNICIST!
inter-racial biases: Russophobia:
all Russians are "bad": when they say they are...
you...

   sie fickin rattekeimemesch.....

'__'
''     ''      Li - i.e. fire... as a trigram
'__'       ******* toaf-face "smile":
to suggest "fire"...

i completely abhor leaving poems began one evening
and not finished:
squatting thoughts enter this abandoned housed...
and i can't strain my desire to keep
with the concept of Ensо̄:
                                                  エンソー

a poem completed in one sitting: i'm not a novelist:
i'm a "poet"... i don't have the luxury to retain
days and days on a composition:
what i start i must finish... i can't allow myself
this luxury of a novelist...
hit the iron while its hot comes to mind...

mind you: what's the difference between a proverb
and a maxim?
    i think that... maxims are conjured up whims...
half-truths... statements without justifications
or if they are grounded in any justifications:
they are for French ballrooms
for Confucian strict MING obligations...

                        maxims are untested truths...
maxims are: to say the least: not proverbs in that
they are hardly mystifying...
like this Slavic proverb:
   better a sparrow in your hand than a dove
upon your roof...
      oh: i know what that means...
better your own happiness than the happiness
of your household: and not out of selfish reasons?
if you are content... the contenteness can seep out
of you... and into the household...
why? you have a ******* sparrow in your hand...
who cares about a dove on your roof?

problem... i forgot what i was writing about yesterday...
i made notes:

- Mashiter's Hill
- King Rat
- щ "vs.": -ść                       me?!
invent a letter?! ha?!

well... i was so close so close to finishing...
Godsmack is touring... i think i'm going to try to get a ticket
for one of their gigs...
they're currently my favourite rock band...

Mashiter's Hill... oh... this little hill with a park...
i can walk up it and i usually drink a beer on
one of the benches... from it...
i have a pristine panorama of London...
   me? i'm at the utmost north-eastern tip of Greater
London...
                  it's London and it's "London"...
anything outside of the A406 is hardly anything beside
the Home Counties...
i wish other English people would cut the Essex
folk some slack... esp. the women...
     to me they're nuns...
or... as i recently found out... i'm unapproachable by
women... unless they're really drunk...
i'm just recounting what i hear:
a ******* will tell me i'm beautiful
a drunken woman in her 40s will tell me i'm ****...
do i make any moves on that?
    hardly... i like su doku puzzles: not headaches
caused by women...

but only yesterday i did a 50+ mile journey there
and back to Edgware Road to... hmm...
drink a Thai beer...
                    there's no point having a cycling session
less than the length of a marathon...
i stopped off at Chadwell Heath and bought myself
some fish sticks (45% Surimi - Alaskan *******,
   Hake and some crab) - of the 16 in the packet
i gulped down 14... it's such a bad idea
to cycle that sort of distance without having eating
anything... toward Edgware Road i was cycling
in a trance... literally i was honing in on an abstract
black hole as an ink blotch just ahead of me...
   but coming back? the low sugar levels kicked in...
i lost concentration... ah... i'm burning fat resources...

well... i tried cycling drunk once... Francis Bacon
painting-esque sort of bruising... never again...
but that didn't stop me from cycling...
in heavy traffic...
    on top of Mashiter's Hill i admired the distance
i covered... oh look... cycled past the Docklands
and Canary Wharf... went past the Shard...
all the way up to Hyde Park...
tomorrow i'm going to repeat the journey...
maybe i'll get a chance to meet up with Dan
and he might sneak me in to watch some Pearl Jam...
i was sent a text today about a possible shift...

**** me... hierarchies... SIA licensing...
no stewards welcome...
              fair enough, no problem read my reply...
i'd love to see that band... but i'll cycle there anyway
and maybe get a whiff of the music...

king rat? yeah... that one...
    i'm currently working on getting rid of a rat in my kitchen...
had to removed all the foods from the cupcoards
near to the ground...
  smart *** *******... or fatherfucker...
either Oedipus or Electra... either way...
i have smart cats...
but i never thought i'd have a smart rat...
falling asleep feels sort of weird...
    it's not like having a parasite in your body...
i have a rodent in my house...
   the party starts circa 12am... it starts moving...
i tried cheddar in mouse traps...
i.e. why do i think this rat is smart?
         well... em...
                (s)he doesn't simply eat the cheese
and doesn't get caught...
   (s)he ***** off with the mousetraps!
             i had to buy / replace the mousetraps
with rat traps... basically guillotine equivalent machinery...
if that "thing" snapped at my fingers
i think i'd be left with a broken finger, or two...
but what sort of rat takes the cheese
and the mousetrap with it into the darkness
of his hiding Eden?!

            i'm reluctant to use rat poison...
i'm sort of hoping for a Robespierre's clean cut...
snap... i don't want to **** the poor ******
by snapping its snout... i want to **** it
by crushing its neck... i don't want it bleeding from
its snout: to dead...
            sure... i'd love the Disney adventure
of Mickey... but if it only ate the food... but chewing
on cables... i have a ******* washing machine
and a dishwasher... it starts chewing on that:
i'm ******... smartest rat i've ever encountered:
courtesy of my Nigerian neighbour performing some
voodoo rituals at night leaving food
in the garden thinking he was feeding pigeons...
even one of my cats brought me two dead younglings
after catching them...
i know a rat is a rat and a mouse is a mouse...
mice are timid... rats? the i.q. shoots up...
****'s sake... it's not enough to take the cheese
and not get caught... it also has to take the trap
with him... what? knowing rats...

even if its tail was caught... it'd chew it off...
   it would mane itself in order to scuttle into shadow
and dust into a future...
two songs come to mind:
Pearl Jam vs. Ghost: RATS...
                  of course i prefer the former...
but a rat's a rat... and a washing machine is a washing
machine... i feel bad about killing it...
please don't let me use poison pebbles...
but?

   **** me... last point... right... the English point
about "too many vowels" in the ****** lingo?
sure... well... if the Serbs could incorporate the Latin J...
i think i can make a bypass...

what's rat in ******? szczur...
exactly... what instances allows me to...
first of replace the Z with H and use it in Ing-leash?
CHeap... ****... but not together...
the idiosyncrancy of the tongue that belongs
to itself...

but there's an alternative... borrowed from Cyrillic...
personally? i don't mind using it...
spares me "details"...
i know that Hebrew hides letters:
notably vowels... like diacritical marks...
i know certain languages hide letters...
this is perfect...

   щur = szczur...
                  less consonants for you?! happy?!
there are plenty of words that couple
the SH+CH / SZ+CZ dynamic...
щotka: brush...
          ah... i can do away with SZCZ via (щ)...
but there's a doubled conundrum...
with a word like:

sincerity: szczerość....
          see... i can do away with the "excesses" of Z)
щero

but even Russian Cyrillic doesn't have
a compounding... diphthong...
****... we're not talking about diphthongs... are we?
diphthongs require two vowels...
we're not talking about vowel "transgenderism"...
we're talking about 3 consonants merging...
so...
   it's not a diphthong... not that i care to look
for the SHCH curiosity... but i haven't found
a name for it...
   but we're talking about letters without diacritical
markers... well... "technically":
you could...

                         šč-        
                                     but that doesn't appear in Czech...
only in ****** and Russian...

                     šč- = щ
          
           yes... the prefix hyphen is necessary...

because that's exactly my point:

   dość!                   enough!

where: šč- = щ does exist?
                 -ść = ?          yeah... there's not Cyrillic equivalent...
i would have to invent a letter!
and i don't have the capacity to just conjure such
a letter up...

i've mentioned this before: it's annoying me...
the etymological crux of falsehood...
among the Anglo-Saxons...
that the etymological root of Slav is written
with a missing "e" via "slave"...
sacred words? niggerniggernigger...
hard to giggle?! the extra G too much?!
i'm offended, too...
           let me relay this message to the Russians...
they might rough up some UPA Ukranians...
no matter... better warring among "ourselves"
than having foreign influencces...
Communism was only born out of Pan-Slavism...
we tried... we failed: good to know we failed...
now the western world is playing the fools' bargaining
chips... i'm just looking on and thinking:
it's just a matter of time... before there will come
a canyon, a crater from what would otherwise
dispel the dinosaur's and leave us with
nothing but crocodiles and serpents...

i'm looking for ingenuity in creating a letter...
akin to

šč- = щ
                                                                ­ -ść = ?          
                     i want
more wounds to lick... or rather:
i want a single mum's dog to lick m knuckles...
i want to listen to more Godsmack: pretend angry...
i want anger: i want furore:
i want energy... i want sweets...
i don't really think i need that much fibre...
that much fat... that many high-tier carbohydrates
to take more time to break down:
i think i need to look for a different brothel...

all the Chinese ideas... but written without ideograms...
without ******* traffic colours...
why is it green and not blue to imply: GO!
blue? water?!
           then again... makes sense...
"sense"... i feel autistic by now...
mix blue with yellow... what do you get? green?
two-birds with one stone motto...
              
i can't just create a letter... on the spot...
it will take years to counter the Cyrillic prefix
with a Pollack suffix...
   like my inability to paint the fence...
i just can't do it...
              i'm painting a fence... i'm not painting
a worth of canvas...
i can't: i'll blame it one the roses...
but the roses are not the problem...
the painting itself is the problem...
                    
       all the Chinese ideas...
but... without the ideograms...
written in Katakana... or best.. in Hanguel...
without the ideograms...
"emoticons"...
            death is not a respiting fellow;
death is a harrower of an inevitable harvest.

i just wrote a corruption of what i should
have believe in with
a contending contentment.

What roof are you climbing or did you already fall and break?
You know it's going to hurt but you can't resist the take
'Cause problems feel less real when you're the only one awake
But be careful oh my angel, new ones always come out late
Do you even care that your heavens' fallings are at stake
Oh what was a careful girl in search of the cation-less

Go ahead and ring the bell, she's been dying for too long
Heart shells empty and fall full from above
Let her sky go on, it's so torn up down here
Choirs calling out to the moonlight (sing, sing, sing)
Take the fall on open wings
Let the self-taught be free (fall, fall, fall)

Let her go, it's all so freeing now
When you're at the sky fall
Take it all in, watch as she flies
Leave me behind

And she was hiding troubles, such downtrodden things
And we, we couldn't save her, we didn't know the way
But she was so full, stars felt their first glow
All because she took the fall and we didn't make her stay
What a terrible price the good always seem to pay

I'm not talking of death, heaven's gates aren't for today
But leaving all you know takes breathing pains away
'Cause oh the air down low it's so heavy with our sin
But the air up high is so unimaginably thin
Only angels fly when it's so hard to live off heaven's falling glow

Let her go, it's all so freeing now
When you're at the sky fall
Take it all in, watch as she flies
Leave me behind

Flying here is alot like falling
Only falling here seems.....
To be like bumping into a long lost friend....
One your not quite sure
You had ever missed until
You speak again
The words spilling out
Like *** over poured inside a tiny
Flask....

You begin remembering dvery detail
Of those forgotten days
And memories seem
To reappear... only different...
Like you forgotten why
You had ever stopped trying to
Fly....

High as you were in those younger days...
At least theres braincells left
To recall why
Sometimes its best to
Leap in good faith.....
Remembering......
That only birds fly
But fallings bliss
And lifes not forever

If I could be any known
Creature on Earth
I'd still choose to remain
The same human since birth
Have I been, and am currently
Will be for more
Of the time, only I
Can decide what it's for
What's in store
What awaits
To embrace
Me with only what we
Higher apes
Could lay waste
To rapacious,
Voraciously
Taking a taste
Of forbidden fruits ripe
With the sins we have chaste
For what other such beast
Could destroy and create
A feast for the gods
That we make
As we mate
Procreating the future
And sealing its fate
In a consequence drenched
In a floodwater's rise
Of the actions we take
And the plans we devise
To ascend to the skies
We can rationalize
The absurdest demise
And as chaos enraptures us,
Captures us, caged
We unleash feral rage
And bring order from chains
But are bound only by
An instinctual drive
To not merely survive
But as civilized, thrive
On our own two feet striding
To the other side
Of the lives of the billion
And counting
Supreme
Zoological,
Often illogical
Beings
With fallings as graceful
As "death do us part"
And with hearts that beat just
As abstractly as art
Can we render it all
With a sentient perception
A meaningless void
In a sea of depression
Or be overjoyed
By our manic expression
Of what makes us same
Makes us tame the insane
Makes us whole
Makes us all people, equal
Indivisible

As I peer over the edge of this cliff,
Into uncertainty,
The bile rises in my throat,
It’s familiarity a truthful testament to my existence,
Teetering on the edge.
No one sees the strings attached behind me,
The other ends lost in the hands of the incapable,
Ironic that the only power they hold,
Is ultimately all the power I depend on,
Loosen their grip and I slide closer to the depths of desolation,
If they pull together then I’ll be saved,
But they aren’t aware of the limbo they influence,
So focused on their greed they don’t see my strings in their hands,
Every waking hour I recite words of encouragement,
Support,
I lend an ear,
Offer a shoulder,
Plead and profess in the hope they will listen,
But I’m fighting blind,
All the time my eyes are focused on the darkness below that reaches for me.
I don’t even see those that I try in vain to command,
Some days my confidence sustains me,
They listen,
Pull me back from the edge,
Give me moments of peace and fragments of relief,
Then they drown my voice in their petty squabbles and loosen their grip,
I slip,
The bile returns and I find myself teetering once again.
I don’t know why I haven’t lost it,
Jumped into the void just to save my own remnants of sanity,
Often I think it would be better to deal with the darkness that awaits,
Than wrestle with the insanity of fools,
Maybe I’m the biggest fool,
For allowing myself to be tied to the end of a madman’s noose,
It no longer  matters how I ended up here,
Only how long I can live with it.
If I didn’t care I would of jumped long ago,
But I do,
And that’s my kryptonite,
That why I’m scared to scream at the insolent,
To command my requests in words they can’t mistake,
Because if there’s a chance to coax a rescue,
To wrestle a reprieve from the minds of my ignorant masters,
Then I’ll fight for it.
But it’s hard,
Every second of every hour of every day,
It’s hard to be this puppet,
With a painted smile and a funny dance,
I make my watchers laugh,
Never will they know what is happening on the other end of my strings,
They’ll never even see them,
No one else know how little control I have,
And why should they,
I’m a puppet on a string,
And I invited the puppeteers,
You want to know the real kicker,
I have scissors,
I could cut my strings at anytime,
I’m not scared to fall,
I’m scared to give up.
Fallings easy,
For the weak,
I refuse to fall,
Regardless of who holds my strings,
I refuse to fall.

into the unknown courting lovely lass
crafted four years ago to date
flying colors while eldest progeny
an undergraduate
at storied university did pass.

Even at a young age, she
first born of deux darling offspring
established herself as a high achiever
gifted as “star student,” motivated
maintained abiding diligence
linkedin with carpe diem
knew at a tender age ticket to paradise
forged in the cerebral chamber
stark realization necessity
to escape domestic dysfunction.

Beloved daughter dubbed "Munchkin",
an appellation engineered by "mother"
now evinces enviable survival skills,
this papa dismissed himself attaining,
and though sites set
to attain satisfactory income

courtesy asper keeping
your inherited Semitic
nose to the grindstone
(cute as a button)
toward fiercely dedicated
academic success to

acquire Bachelor's Degree
objective self instilled since "star student" -
(another moniker the missus aptly affixed)
amply proven successfully completing
undergraduate engineering degree
(a minor in je nais sais quois French),

this from storied high achieving Ivy League
University founded by Benjamin Franklin
this "sir" man once again
applauds laudatory milestone,
and additionally acknowledges
sincere appreciation surrendering

veritable treasure trove
commestibles, toiletries, vitamins...
allowing unswerving selflessness
to kindle tears of utmost gratitude
figurative biological dice throw
now embarks upon admirable

self reliant (no batteries needed)
time tested personal conviction
proving steely mettle with panache,
despite fallings out
undermining rapport during yesteryear,
when dada felt important,

evinced kibitizing, pampering,
reading requested stories,
(yea even Harry Potter - now passe)
aware how mine debauchery,
who set poor flagrant example

posited ye to escape appalling
financial, emotional, spiritual...
domestic conditions
ye understandably
envisioning more ideal legal guardian,
asper loco parentis

thus parting equals bittersweet
sorrow for dada, whose bottled anger
directly linkedin to opprobrious
selfish misdeeds compromising
psychological welfare two precious progeny
whose presence provided joie de vivre,

and never wanted restraint imposed
maturing into an admirable young lady,
no matter sentiments towards me
poisoned by toxicity, whose
predilection to debilitating panic
undermined, restrained, quashed...
necessary needs and wants

to nourish healthiness...
despite aggravating, hellbent
nerve wracking time consuming
odiously infernal exhausting
drive to accept donations,
i.e. personal belongings...
dada doth care for thee!

Pointed hopes
Peirce skies above
And in colorful fallings
Reach the pinnacle of scope

We are seen most only when we glow