George Carlin's wife died early in 2008 and George followed her, dying in July 2008. It is ironic George Carlin - comedian of the 70's and 80's - could write something so very eloquent and so very appropriate. An observation by George Carlin:

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to ****. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete.

Remember to spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.

Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

Remember, to say, 'I love you' to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.

Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.

And always remember, life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by those moments that take our breath away.

So you know you’re looking at two very different styles of dress, here. But precisely what decades? When did that waistline move back down? What details are the defining touches of their era? How long were women actually walking around with bustles on their backsides?

Lydia Edwards’s How to Read a Dress is a detailed, practical, and totally beautiful guide to the history of this particular form of clothing from the 16th to the 20th centuries. It tracks the small changes that pile up over time, gradually ******* until your great-grandmother’s closet looks wildly different than your own. As always, fashion makes for a compelling angle on history—paging through you can see the shifting fortunes of women in the Western world as reflected in the way they got dressed every morning.

Of course, it’ll also ensure that the next lackadaisically costumed period piece you watch gives you agita, but all knowledge has a price.

I spoke to Edwards about how exactly we go about resurrecting the history of an item that’s was typically worn until it fell apart and then recycled for scraps; our conversation has been lightly trimmed and edited for clarity.

The title of the book is How to Read a Dress. What do you mean by “reading” a dress?

Basically what I mean is, when you are looking at a dress in an exhibition or a TV show, reading it in terms of working out where the inspirations or where certain design choices come from. Being able to look at it and recognize key elements. Being able to look at the bodice and say, Oh, the shape of that is 1850s, and the design relates to this part of history, and the patterning comes from here. It’s looking at the dress as an object from the top down and being able to recognize different elements—different historical elements, different design elements, different artistic elements. “Read” is probably the best word to use for that kind of approach, if that makes sense.

It must send you around the bend a little bit, watching costume adaptations where they’re a bit slapdash. The one I think of is the Keira Knightley Pride and Prejudice, which I actually really enjoy, but I know that one’s supposed to have all over the place costuming-wise.

Yeah, it does. I mean, I love the BBC Pride and Prejudice one, because they kept very specifically to a particular era. But I can see what they did with the Keira Knightley one—they were trying to keep it 1790s, when the book was written, as opposed to when it was published. But they’ve got a lot of kind of modern influences in there and they’ve got a lot of influences from 30, 40 years previously, which is interesting to an audience and gives an audience I suppose more frames of reference, more areas to think about and look at. So I can see why they did that. But it does make it more difficult if you’re trying to accurately decode a garment. It’s harder when you’ve got lots of different eras going on there, but it makes it beautiful and interesting for an audience.

The guide spans the 16th to the 20th century. Why start with the 16th century?

Well, partly because it’s where my own interest starts, in terms of my research and the areas I’ve looked at. But more importantly in terms of audience interest, we get a lot of TV shows, a lot of films in recent years—things like The Tudors—that type of era seems to be something that people are interested in. That time is very colorful and very interesting to people.

And also because in terms of thinking about the dress as garment, obviously people wore dresses in medieval times, but in terms of it being something that specifically women wore, distinct from men’s clothes, I really think we start to see that more in the 15th, 16th century onwards.

Where do you go to get the historical information to put together a book like this? What do you use as your source material? Because obviously the thing about clothing is that it has to stand up to a lot of wear and tear and a lot of it doesn’t survive.

This is the other thing about the 16th century stuff—there’s so little surviving. That’s why that chapter was a lot shorter and also that’s why I used a lot of artworks rather than surviving garments, just because they don’t exist in their entirety.

But wherever possible, you go to the garments themselves in museum collections. And then if that’s proving to be difficult, you go to artworks or images, but always bearing in mind the artist will have had their own agenda, so they won’t necessarily be accurate of what people were actually wearing. So then you have to go and look up written source material from the time—say, diaries. I like using letters that people have written to each other over the centuries, describing dress and what they were wearing on a daily basis. Novels can be good, as well.

Also the scholarship that has come before, the secondary sources, works by people like Janet Arnold, Aileen Ribeiro. Really well researched scholarly books where people have used primary sources themselves and put their own interpretation on it can be really, really helpful. Although you take some of it with a pinch of salt, and you put your own interpretation on there, as well.

But always to the dress itself wherever possible.

What are some of the challenges you face, or the constraints on our ability to learn about the history of fashion?

Well, the very practical issue of trying to see garments—some of them I did see here in Australia, but a lot of them were in the States, in Canada, in New Zealand, so it’s hard to physically get there to see them. And often, even when you can get to the museum, garments are out on loan to other exhibitions or other museums. That’s a practical consideration.

But also, especially when I’m talking about using artworks and things, which can be really helpful when you’re researching, but as I’ve said they do come from a place where there’s more interpretations and more agendas. So if someone’s done a portrait and there’s a beautiful 1880s dress in it, that could have been down to the whims of the person who was wearing it, or the artist could have changed significantly the color or style to suit his own taste. Then you have to do extra research on top of that, to make sure that what you are seeing is representative.

It’s a fascinating area. There’s a lot of challenges, but for me, that’s what makes it really exciting as well. But it’s really that question of being able to trust sources and knowing what to use and what not to use in order to make things clear for the audience.

Obviously many of these dresses were very expensive and took a lot of labor and it wasn’t fast fashion—people didn’t just give it away or toss it when it fell out of season. A lot of times, you did was you remade it. When you’re looking at a dress that’s been remade, how do you extract the information that you need as a historian out of it?

I love it when something like that comes up. I’ve got a couple of examples in the book.

Well, it can be quite challenging, because often when you’re first looking at a piece it’s not obvious that it’s been remade. But if you’re lucky enough to look inside it and actually hold it and turn it round different angles, there’ll be things like the placement of a seam, or you’ll see that the waist has been moved up or down according to the fashion. And that’s often obvious when you’re looking inside. You can see the way the skirt’s been attached. Often you can tell if a skirt’s been taken off and then reattached using different pleats, different gatherings; that can give you a hint that it’s then been remade to fit in with a different fashionable ideal.

One of the key ways is fabric. You can often see, especially in early 19th century dresses when they’ve been made of these beautiful 18th century silks and brocades. That’s nice because it’s the first obvious clue that something’s been remade or that an old dress has been completely taken apart and it’s just the fabric that’s been used. I find it particularly interesting when the waist has been moved or the seams have been taken off or re-sewn in a different shape or something like that. It can be subtle but once your knowledge base grows, that’s one of the most fascinating areas that you can look at.

You page through the book and you watch these trends unfold and there are occasional sea changes will happen fairly quickly, like when the Regency style arises. But how much change year-to-year would a woman have seen? How long would it take, just as a woman getting dressed in the morning, to see styles just radically alter? Would you even notice?

Well, this is the thing—I think it’s very easy, when we’re looking back, to imagine that in 1810 you’d be wearing this dress and then all the frills and the frouf would have started to come in the late 1810s and the 1820s, and suddenly you would have had a whole new wardrobe. But obviously, unless you were the very wealthiest women and you had access to dressmakers who had the absolute newest patterns and newest fabrics then no, you wouldn’t have seen a massive change. You wouldn’t have afforded to be able to have the newest things as they came in. You would have maybe remade dresses to make them maybe slightly more in line with a fashion plate that you might have seen, but you wouldn’t have had access to new information and new fashion plates as soon as they came. To be realistic, there would have been very little change on a day to day level.

But I think also, for us now—it’s hard to see it without hindsight, but we feel like we’re fairly fluid in wearing the same kind of styles, but obviously when we look back in 20 years, we’ll look at pictures of us and see greater changes than we’re now aware. Because it happens on a slow pace and it happens on such a subconscious level in some ways.

But actually, yeah, it’s to do with economics, it’s to do with availability. People living in towns where they couldn’t easily get to cities—if you were living in a country town a hundred miles away from London, there’s no way that you would have the resources to see the most recent fashion plates, the most recent ideas that were developing in high society. So it was a very slow process in reality.

If you have a lot of money you can change out your wardrobe quicker and wear the latest styles. And so the wealthiest people, their clothes were what in a lot of case stood the best chance of surviving and being in modern collections. So how do we know what working women would have worn or what middle class women would have worn?

Yeah, this is hard. I do have some more middle class examples, because we’re lucky in that we do have quite a few that have survived, especially in smaller museums and historical collections, where people have had clothes sitting in their attics for years and have donated them, just from normal families over the years.

But, working women, that’s much more difficult. We’re lucky from the 19th century because we have photographic evidence. But really a lot of it will come down to written descriptions, mainly letters, diaries, not necessarily that the people themselves would have kept, but there’s examples of people that worked in cotton mills, for instance, and people that ran the mills and their families and wives and friends who had written accounts of what the women there were wearing. Also newspaper accounts, particularly of people who would go and do charity work and help the poor. They often wrote quite detailed descriptions of the people that they were helping.

But in terms of actual garments, yeah, it’s very difficult. Certainly 18th century and before, it’s really, really hard to get hold of anything that gives you a really good idea of what they wore. But in the 18th century—it’s quite interesting, because then we get examples of separate pieces of clothing worn by the upper classes, like a skirt with a jacket, which was actually a lower middle class style initially and then it became appropriated by the upper classes. And then it became much fancier and trimmed and made in silks and things. So then, we can see the inspiration of the working classes on the upper classes. That’s another way of looking at it, although of course that’s much more problematic.

It’s interesting how in several cases you can see broader historical context, or other stories happening through clothes. Like you point out that the rise of the one-piece dresses is due to the rise of mantua makers, who were women who were less formally trained who were suddenly making clothing. Are there any other interesting stories like that, that you noticed and thought were really fascinating?

There’s a dress in the book that a woman made for her wedding. I think she was living on her own, or she was living with a servant and her mother or something. She made the dress and then turned up to her wedding and traveled quite a long way to get there, and when she arrived, the groom and all the guests weren’t there. There was nobody. So she went away and came back again a week later, and everyone was there. And the reason that no one was there before was that a river had flooded in the direction that they were all coming from. She had obviously no way of finding out about this until after the fact, and we have this beautiful dress that she spent ages making and had obviously gone to a lot of effort to try and work out what the latest styles were, to incorporate it into her wedding dress.

Things like that, I find really interesting, because they talk so much about human and social history as well as fashion history, and the garment is the main way we have of keeping these stories alive and remembering them and looking into the kind of life and world these people lived, who made these garments.

Over the centuries, how does technology affect fashion? Obviously, we think of the industrial revolution as really speeding up the pace of fashion. But are there other moments in the history of fashion where technology shapes what women end up wearing?

One example is where I talk about the Balenciaga dress from the early 1950s—with a bubble hem and a hat and she would have worn these beautiful pump shoes with it—with the introduction of the zipper. Which just made such a huge difference, because it suddenly meant you’d have ease and speed of dressing. It meant that you didn’t have to worry about more complicated ways of fastening a garment. I think the zipper made a massive change and also in terms of dressmaking at home, it was a really quick and simple way that people had of being able to create quite fashionable styles on a budget and with ease and speed at home.

Also, of course, once women’s dress started to become simpler and they did away with the corset and underwear became a lot less complicated, that made dressing a lot easier, that made the introduction of the bias cut and things that sit very closely to the natural body much more widely used and much more fashionable.

I would say the introduction of machine-made lace as well, particularly from the late 19th, early 20th century onwards where it was so fashionable on summer dresses and wedding dresses. It just meant that you could so much more easily add this decadent touch to a garment, because lace would have been so much more expensive before then and so time-consuming to make. I think that made a huge difference in ordinary women being able to attain a kind of luxury in their everyday dress.

That actually makes me think of something else I wanted to ask you, which is you point out in your intro the way we casually use this word “vintage.” I think about that with lace. Lace is described as being a “vintage” touch but it’s very much this question of when, where, who, why—it’s a funny term when you think about it, the way we use it so casually to describe so much.

Oh, yes. It’s crazy. I used to work in a wedding dress shop and I used to make historically inspired wedding dresses and things. And brides used to come in and say, “Oh, I want something vintage.” But they didn’t really know what they meant. Usually what they meant is they wanted something with a bit of lace on it, or with some sort of pearls or beading. I think it’s really inspired by whatever is trending at the time. So, you know, Downton Abbey became vintage. I think ‘50s has always been kind of synonymous with the word vintage. But what it means is huge,

Warning* This is not a poem, by any stretch of the means, if you don't want to read a story then skip over this.  If you are against any part of the LGBT+ community, skip over this!! If you would like to read this then keep on reading and thank you very much

       Coming out is terrifying.  Figuring yourself out in the first place is absolutely scary, but then telling everyone what you've figured out is even scarier.  Here is my story.
      My story starts in the 4th grade.  I remember I would be at choir concerts and I would be in the audience watching with my family, and I would be staring at the girls.  Because they had such pretty dresses, and gorgeous makeup, and long flawless hair. And I would pay no attention to the boys, because the boys aren't pretty like the girls are, they aren't pretty at all to me.  Then suddenly I noticed that, and then I remembered all the girls in my class talking about how cute Johnnie is and I sort of connected that I thought Sally was a lot cuter than Johnnie or any other boy in my class was.  
      Then I remember going home and sitting in my room and being determined to figure this out, because this is weird.  I've never heard of a girl liking a girl! That happens?!?! If this is real then why haven't Mom or Dad said anything?  So I sat down in my room and I got a black, blue, and pink marker and a piece of paper.  On one side of the paper I drew a boy in blue and on the other I drew a girl in pink.  In the middle I put the word or.  But I didn't know which side to circle, so I folded up the paper and hid in between my closet door because it was open but you could put stuff in between the doors without anyone seeing it. In a month I found the paper again, and this time I knew which one I was attracted to.  So I grab my black marker and I circle the girl.  
      I don't really remember how much longer after the paper incident that this next event happened, but I know it was 4th-5th grade somewhere in there.  I had my best friend over, I think it was for a sleepover. We're gonna call her Ally. But I remember me and Ally were just hangin out in my room.  I look over at Ally and say 'Hey, Ally I gotta tell you something' and she's waiting for me to respond.  So I say 'I think I like girls.' That's all I say, nothing more.  Ally goes off repeating that it's wrong and that it's not right and that I have to like boys otherwise something is wrong with me, and is just going on and on when I just jump up and say 'JUST KIDDING, it was just a joke calm down'.  Then we just laugh it off and then she makes the comment 'if you did like girls i'd be okay with it, but i wouldn't be as close to you because i'm a girl too'. That really hurt me, which caused me to internalize all of my questioning thoughts and try my hardest to forget about them.
        Now it is middle school, during middle school I dated 3 boys.  We are going to call them Jona, Chris, and Lucas. I dated Jona for 15 months and our "relationship" was more like a friendship with fancier terms.  I'm buddies with Jona now so it's all good.  Chris didn't last long so that doesn't really matter.  Lucas!!!! I dated Lucas for 6 months and during this time I realized that I really was attracted to girls and I couldn't keep hiding it.  I realized this because Lucas was my first kiss and I was not into it AT ALL!!! I just wasn't, I tried i really did.  But I just was never much into the dude thing! Nothing against him at all, he's a really sweet guy and I'm really close friends with him now. But after I had my first kiss, I pretty much was like girls are real pretty and the dudes im just not into that.  So I sorta just slowly stopped talking to Lucas, and I ended breaking up with him.
       But I was scared of being judged for being completely lesbian, so i came out as a pansexual because i thought people would be more accepting.  So I came out to my sister first, I have 2 sisters and i came out to the one that is a year younger than me ,Izzy. Izzy was in the living room one night and i walked out there and i said 'Izzy, you'll love me no matter what, right?' she replied yes and just asked me what was wrong repeatedly.  Then I was like I was thinking and just needed some reminder.  Then she followed me to my room and harassed me for an explanation.  Then I came out and said 'Izzy, im pansexual.'  Then I explained what it was and the first thing she said was '***, NOW I HAVE A GBF!!!'.  I felt so much better after that and i was just so relieved.  After that i came out to my Mom, friends, and my other sister.        
After 3 months, I revealed to my mom that i was still confused because I leaned more towards females and that at that moment i was just using pan as a label but if it changed to not be surprised.
        Around a week after that I gained the courage to come out to my Dad.  I honestly don't know why I was so scared to come out to him, but I was and he was around the last one to learn.  So I walked into my parents room and was just talking to Dad, I had my mom stay in the room just to lessen my anxiety about all of this.  Then I brought up the topic of the LGBT+ community, dad and i talked about it for awhile.  Then i said 'dad, i mentioned gays because i like girls'.  then my dad went on a list of analogies but in the end he was okay with it.  Actually my dad was the most supportive about it right after i told him he was so okay with it and it made me so happy.  Although my dad was upset because i was scared to tell him.  After I came out to him, I pretty much just admitted to being a full blown lesbian, and it was all great and dandy and everyone was happy.
       Then it was time to go back to school, but this year was the year I started high school.  So I was a freshman who had just come out as a lesbian to all my friends and family over summer.  So not many people knew that I was gay.  But then I become friends with this girl, I really liked her.  I was at a friends party and she was invited and after that party I couldn't get her off my mind.  (I know this seems like it's going off track but it will connect soon) I figured out that we have a class together and we started talking.  
        At the party I mentioned the whole being gay thing and she was okay and very aware of it, and one day she went to my locker after school.  She had been doing that a lot and gave me hugs to say bye and stuff but i completely overlooked it because i don't know what flirting is. She was at my locker and i decided to put my big girl pants on and ask if she liked girls.  She responded with i'm pretty much cool with anything (pansexual). Then she asked me to the dance, I obviously said yes and wigged out when she walked away and immediately texted my best friend in florida (Ally).(Oh BTW I came out to her over summer over skype and she's completely chill with it now, we are still best friends and she doesn't mind at all) So we went to the dance and she asked me out.  I said yes, wigged out some more, and then danced some more with my friends while she talked to hers for a few minutes.  Fast forward to the few weeks after the dance.  We had been walking down the halls and hugging so everyone figured it out.
         That's where we are today.  I am still dating the girl, i've met her family and she has very nice parents.  All my friends know that I am lesbian, and they completely accept me.  My family knows, but when I say family I mean my household family.  My grandma and great-aunt know, but besides that no one else does but I don't really need them too so it's all good.  But I am so much happier than I have been in a long time.  Yes, relationships are so frickin stressful especially if it is one with the same *** and you've never had one of them before.  So if you are in your first relationship with a girl, take it slow.  But if anyone is in the mindset of coming out, first make sure that it is safe for you too before you do it.  If it's not safe you can't, be safe about it no matter what.  You'll be able to be open about it one day, but make sure you are in a safe environment.  But if it is, yes coming out is the most stressful time ever! But in the end it is the most rewarding thing, to be able to openly say I'm insert your label(s). It's an amazing feeling, yes you might lose some people on the way but if they won't accept you for the real you then don't even deserve you.  So my final thing it, you are an amazing human, and if you come out you are the strongest being and you have earned my utmost respect. If you haven't, you've earned my utmost respect because it's heart wrenching and I've been there, but you will be able to bloom one day my little flower.

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn’t just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there’s the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey—
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter—
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that’s particular,
A name that’s peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum-
Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there’s still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover—
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

It was a hand me down,
An old Chevy that grandpa didn't need,
It was just a little truck,
But it would do,
Blue and silver, with rust sprouting up here and there,
A creaky tailgate,
No ac, but a sunroof,
Comfy seats that held you like a race car,
The smell of dust wafting from the vents
It had a little engine that needed work,
It had old tires that needed to be replaced,
A layer of dust that needed to be washed off.
But I didn't care,
It was my first truck!

New engine,
New tires,
A deluxe wash at the co-op,
And a black ice air freshener,
This truck was born again.

Spinning tires and dust flying,
Rolling down the streets and tearing up the gravel roads,
This truck purred like a kitten.
I didn't care if people had bigger trucks,
Newer trucks,
Fancier trucks,
This was my first truck
And I loved it!

You know, I never met a Frank I really hated too much,
except for when I was little and I despised
my ******* grandfather for threatening to
nail my ears to a door every forty minutes.
Having said that, there's a hole somewhere where
people vacation from life and I haven't found it,
but the closest I can get is bed.
I woke up with half my *** still asleep.
I hurt somewhere new every day.
But hey, it can't all be **** coffee and half wilted daisies, eh?
I got my copy of "Eaten by Machines; Collected Poems of Austin Heath."
Look at that.
My word in print.
I'm not making a **** cent off of it,
but there it is. I'll call myself a writer now.
At least out in the open.
Among people.
Sigh.
What if further on down the century,
people decide these years were the first
seeds pushed into the dirt that would
start the apocalypse?
Or, what if we are already the post-apocalypse?
This place smells funny.
What if the past heard about the future,
learned about all the wealth and resources we had
at our disposal, and instead built fancier weapons
for the war machine?
Would they even hesitate to call us monsters,
and declare the future the end?
What the **** do you think we're looking down?
We're all going to go insane,
and **** each other in our sleep,
and we'll sleep rarely because we
realize that it is one big
unprofitable blind spot.
We'll die half-narcoleptic, insomniac, lucid dreaming lunatics,
with manic paranoia and no conscience for violence.
In our sleep.
Sleep.
I can't quite remember why I left bed,
I guess I needed more sunshine in my diet.
My phone is off, it's past noon, and I haven't eaten.
Frank is disappointed.

Destined to never be satisfied, that is me,
I will swallow the world and purge,
Wiping my mouth of the spittle, off too comes the grin,
Momentous occasions amount to invisible entrapment,
They'll try and tell me that it should be enough,
Sedated and post-op lobotomies on pedestals,
Formaldehyde jars packed with vernal reward,
Plopped on sofas staring at the **** tube barrel,
Fancier and well built imports,
**** measuring contest gone wrong,
Debt built up and drowning rats,
Tunnel vision scoped Dharman,
Wicker trinkets, frail mistreated,
Lunatics that love for the wrong reasons,
Insanity epidemic gross over-exaggeration,
Billy clubs fly from hands of misguided lawmen,
Prayers knelt under the bus benches,
***** corroding the underbelly of the social glance,
Blind blues moutharp in the corner still playing,
Trains running on time, taking the life from the patrons,
Steel breathes burnt crimson,
Foggy cauldrons from medieval nightmares,
The haggard ***** dangles her ***** precariously above,
Just an inch or two in the wrong direction,
And all this meaningless mess might be forgotten,
Books burned, learned forgotten, buildings from the sand,
Starting the sick cycle over again,
With an even wider **** eating grin,
Chartreuse Cheshire cats with inviting eyes,
Taking the breath from the first borns,
Replacing motor oil with sugar canes,
HOWLING what history has shown,
Making a prophet from the scammers and thieves,
I can't believe that we don't all see,
What my path of professed malnutrition,
Gambled stimulus, Golden fleece lined nimbus,
Never enough for the scabbed *****,
Never enough for the howling idiots in the sun,
Never enough for the lunatics undistinguished,
Surely never enough for you and me.
Continuing on snickering underhanded,
Snide underbreath worried about repercussions if found out,
Maybe even too ignorantly blissful enough to not give a ****,
Head down looking at your shoes,
Or ready to inflict a flat tire,
Graceful or oafish,
Humble sniveling whelp, prodding pious peacock,
Dividing rod stuck in the teeth of our teeth,
This is the loner society,
At least tolerance is taught in our schools,
Has anyone really learned anything?

sullen
black
darkness
im crazy
im not sure.
laugh alot.
pretend its okay
soak up the sun
soak up the tears.
make it winter
drown in tears.
while in the streets.
they sing festive cheers.
sanity.
sanity.
sanity silence.
   vanity violence.


i m still confused.
since when.
everyday.
i dress my wounds
a little more.
a little more fancier.
i hide the scars.
where no one can find them.
maybe only me.
deleting words i type.
why? out of shame?
what is right. what is wrong.
painted
images come in my mind.
is this a cry for help.
i wonder.
am i going crazy.
what is crazy.
maybe i'll try to explain me.
and maybe you'll be the judge.
fast
incredibly fast.
is there a therapist in the house.
i dont trust them.
they are boring.


are girls really illogical.
that makes me angry!
i dont want to be illogical.
i hate myself.
im scared of worms.
i like dark colours.
i think alot about accquiring stuff.
distracting myself from actually thinking.
by thinking of other stuff.
like how to be pretty.
have dreams and ambitions.
but im just building stuff up.
inside, im confused.
cos this dreams and ambitions are shallow.

and nothing makes enough sense.

tell myself repeatedly,
wash the clothes. wash the clothes.
it sits there. 4 days i think.
soaking in the water.
why do i never do that.

touching water. i rather be sleeping.
i rather be writing.
i rather be doing anything but cleaning.

but it keeps bothering me.

clean the room. clean the room.

why?

for whom?

i like it this way.

nobody visits me.
im a mess.
my room is in a mess.
keeping it clean will be pretentious.

should i put on a front.
people will like me better that way.

stop nagging me i say to myself.
and i start nagging myself to stop nagging myself.

so many different thoughts.
**** yourself.
laugh harder.
jump off the building.

magic dont exist.
im a non-believer.

funny amazing.

why do i like so much
to laugh.
why.
why.

why do i almost cry when i laugh.

why do i secretly wish i could cry my feelings out.

and stab myself.

pull my hair.
scream.
lean back. stare at the ceiling.
silently.
i get tired.
shhhh...

sit on a rocking chair.
to and fro.

make creepy voices and laugh.
why is that funny.
laugh very hard.
refuse to think hard.
im just writing whatever.
i need some help.
i want some help.

does normal exist.

i hear you.
i just heard you.

laughing.
ice cream over your face and hair.
how come i remembered.
i wasnt telling myself to.
i wasnt saying oh this is fun. i had fun.
i just do.
i didnt write then.
i didnt need to.

you smiled at me. i smiled back.
we were kids.
we were free.

and slowly time eradicated your smile.
or mine.
it holds too many secrets inside.
my mind.
and weird how time is.
it feels like a drag yet looking back, its all gone
in a puff.

now your smile is tainted.
complicated you know.
one does not always smile cos one is happy.
there could be alternate reasons.
its not straightforward.
how are you? a question asked one too many.
can we really know?
ask and you shall receive?
receive the deception?
they say they are fine.

if that seems enough questioning to convince you.
you must be a fool.
either from choice or not.

i dont like people.
i like them.
but maybe not always.

my friends are great but i keep secrets from them.
so it tortures me to be with them.

its a self-inflicted torture.

its a tainted smile on my face.
its the lonely night like this that
im writing this.

its the out loud wondering.

what's going on.

its a need for some explanation.

what am i doing.

im losing my mind.

there is no coherence.

im not losing my mind.

i still make sense.

complexities.

like a bee to honey.

i wrap myself around them.

like they keep an illusion around me.

an illusion of depth.

whereas,

lies in me a masked reality

denied so many times.

i keep doubting the presence of it.

the presence of the absence.

i say my life is not empty.

i say it is over-flowing.

i believe it.

but is this my one true belief.

or a self-inflicted one.

a choice i made just to be happier.

out of convenience.

but really deeply questioning myself.

i dont know why i think my life is great.

am i giving up.

am i slowly eroding.

and i think alot of myself.

narcissitic.

i cant get enough of myself.

and i want attention.

and i want to control people.

why?

i do things to get desired outcomes from people.

follow ur heart they say sometimes.

i dont have a heart.

i follow my sins.

my greed.

i torture people.

the ones in my head.

im scared to hurt people in real life.

i want to see them happy.

i want them far away from me.

and my evil intentions.

its something i fight everyday.

i do what i think is right.

but sometimes

i go against my very own principles.

this confuses me.

do i not like my principles?

then why do i make them my principles?

do i try too much not to fit in to my own boundaries.

that i run to and fro from one conclusion to another.

do i throw away all my life just for a moment of peace.

ants in my screen for real.

my life is a mess.

im buried.

deep in the chaos around me.

and im helpless against my own.

she needs to change.

something has to give.

and im afraid of a life without her.

the me i want to change.

and by change i mean get rid of.

will i still be me if i change.

will i still be me.

me.

i am.

confused.

They never had a guardian
no one from birth
they have no one to guide them
to teach them the right things
they don't have a shadow
over them
to protect them from evil
to protect them from the world
they are thrown in these buildings
to rot
to die
to suffer
with people ,unknown
they are treated like servants
taught to be servants
of the rich
if
they free them from that place
and imprison them
in fancier buildings
but still
treat them like servants
they live harsh lives
those who are weak
**** themselves
and those who have no choice
live with the pain inside them
until they can't
they are orphans

King America,
my King,
King America,
whom i live under,
King America,
who freed me of tryanny,
replaced only with illusions of security,
King America,
you tell me I'm free,
but all that can be seen,
you and me,
suffering with no means,
King America,
to no avail,
King America,
you abolished slaves,
but with your dictionaries,
created a word,
King America,
this is the wage im suppose to make?
come on my back hurts and I'm feeling the pain,
King America,
I'll feed and support you,
sew the clothes on your back,
make the beds you sleep in,
and even scratch your ***,
but as soon as the sun sets,
your nowhere to be found,
King America,
your a royal pain in the behind,
King America,
I'll give you this,
your good with your lies,
you talk with your mouth,
making me believe your eyes,
your face might even think its telling the truth,
but all along i can see your hands,
slidding the pawns,
your think your sneaky,
King America,
you use your religions and fears,
mark the masses,
I hope they easily scare,
King America,
you think your god,
King America,
if anythings the truth,
we shouldn't question,
we wouldn't search,
we couldn't know the answer,
it's all buried beneath the earth,
King America,
I'm sick of your ****,
you **** me off,
and you know what *******,
King America,
your looking to fight,
pawns,
batallions,
war heroes and crimes,
black hawks night vision goggles,
might as well throw in a b2,
tanks,
mortars,
and soldiers,
a few million,
why not?
King America,
as you stand there behind your game,
King America,
im just one man,
holding tight my hands,
King America,
look down your sights,
King America,
he's just one man,
who cares about his views?
King America,
I won't tell you "not" to shoot,
thats up to you,
King America,
I'd be your friend but your a bit of a ******,
King America,
you say your so great,
but look at the people who have no food,
King America,
the thirty plus percent,
that have no shoes,
King America,
look at the poor and tell me,
your happy with your thrown,
playboys  and penthouses,
yachts and jets,
5 irons and 3 woods,
business deals and synergy,
banks and loans,
monopoly and mafia,
but besides that mrs. lincoln how was the show?
King America,
you make me laugh,
or at least the fact,
that so many would rather see black,
King America,
you've colored your flag,
white for purity and innocence,
red for the valor of war,
blue for the chief,
had to get fancier and had a star,
a symbol of the heavens,
the divine goal to which man,
hath aspired from time immemorial,
dont forget the stripe,
symbolic of the rays of light,
King America,
too bad thats a lie.

I lay motionless in front of the fan blowing a warm breeze, any sudden movement will have me drenched in my sweat mixed with insect repellent that I had to spray all over my freshly bathed skin to avoid the spreading mosquito virus. I already have 29 bites,itching while counting each minute they allow us to have electricity see, here the government can shut off the power throughout the entire village as they please even in 100 degree weather heat. Don't take the electricity, eyes tightly shut..don't take the electricity, maybe if I concentrate hard enough, don't take the electricity, i continue to plead. It's funny how we can take things for granted. As I think this the fan stops. The heat instantly begins to engulf itself around me there's nothing else I can do so I continue to lay still, it's now silent and In the distance I can hear faint voices talking. Mom and dad and a couple of friends are reminiscing on the good ol times when they were all together in the past. It's been 18 years since then. And I'm glad to be here with them to see their emotions filled with happiness. Visiting old family members and friends, they greet with their warm embraces, I smile. And even though more then half the county's population is in poverty on top of not being in the best medical condition you can tell that they except what life gives them so they continue to keep moving to keep going to keep fighting with less crying. Man It's funny how we can take things for granted. Mom and dad aren't the richest in fact they aren't rich at all but it's encouraging to see them still giving. We've only been here 5 days and it seems like they gave everything they have, but I trust that Jehovah will continue to provide materially for them, so I'm not worried about they're survival when we break up with vacation and go back. I have faith. Reality of todays condition hits when you witness someone who has far less then yourself. Kids playing race car with a wooden bench and sticks is a sight to see. You wondered why you cried when mama got you that cheap plastic Barbie doll, you girls know what I'm talking about, the one with the legs that easily popped off. Instead of the one that came in a fancier box. It's funny how we can take things for granted, even as innocent little children. And at least you get the option to ride on a bus that cost 2 bucks with comfortable enough seats and cool ac. Talk about luxury. Try riding in a pick up truck packed to the brim in the summer heat knocking on the back of the drivers window seat to signal the next stop and then paying him 8 bucks. See It's funny how we take things for granted. Now that I'm older Im grateful for what I had while growing up. That I have parents who fought to get where they're at with Jehovah's help. Haiti is my love, I'll embrace my culture with open arms and warm tender cheek kisses. Stitch my people's pain inside the bottom of my sleeve. And weave the essence of Haitian on the outside rim of my beating heart. Knowing that, when this system comes to a complete end this, this is when my country Haiti will truly live again. For Jehovah said “I am creating new heavens and a new earth.”​— Ayiti ou se peyi mwen, menm si mwen pat fet ladan, map toujou renmen ou ne *** sa moun yo di mwen, konye a wap soufri men pa pou two lontan, kontinye kenbe djanm nan fen system la. As long as I am Jehovah's Witness I'll be there to witness Haiti's rebirth. And I will not take that for granted, not while in Jehovah's paradise new earth.

You can't finish Spring cleaning
because every old thing becomes
Inspiration for a poem.

2. Instead of planting that garden you
Promised yourself, you write about
Your metaphorical one.

3. Because you're a romantic poet,
You ruined your flowers by plucking
Each petal in a She loves me, she loves me
Not tirade.

4. Every stupid bird is a new poem.

5. April rains bring about the
Melancholic poem inside you,
And you love it!

6. Instead of playing with your
Kids outside, you write about
It instead.

7. Even though you are allergic
To everything, you take that stroll
In the park you write about
So often.

8. Spring's promise is really just like
The New Year's poem you wrote,
New beginnings and all.

9. While digging through your Spring
Cleaning, you find your old poems
And decide to post them on
Hello poetry.

10. The garage is a mess, nothing
Is getting done, but in the poem you just wrote
Is about the hard work it was.

11. You learn the name of
new birds and flowers to make
Your poem fancier.

12. And finally,
You really don't like Spring,
But its a season, and we're poets,
So yeah.

Bodies moving in the glass
But, alas, the snow falls
Outside the globe
Who knows?
While inside
This side, like flowing tide
Points and pirouettes
Reflect in shapes like snowflakes
More unique
A picturesque finesse
But bleaker in the light
Than under glow of moon
Because they know
The show
Lacks something from
The airport shelf
Becoming
Something greater than the self
Silent ballerinas dance
Underwater glitter
Fancier than windows taller than the sky
And why
Can't they appear
And here
We disappear
In light among shadows

Times New Roman reminds me of a time when I knew that romance was not dead because I got to hold it in my hand 
 
The curve of the characters reminds me of the uneven curve of your cupids bow

The claustrophobic clustering of vowels reminds me of the cringe worthy cling of your foggy glass  frames stuck to mine, failing sight feeding failed intimacy

The simplicity of each symbol reminds me of the systematic sufficiency with which you seduced me in so few words,
 the straightforward soliloquy with which you struck me and bereft me of my sanity.

The length of each letter reminds me of the longevity of our last embrace
Lanky limbs looped laterally to the length of my body for literal milliseconds

The overuse in overdue essays typed in early hours of the morning reminds me of the overuse of three words and the emptiness and lack of effort behind them, 

Submitting those three words for a good grade and a pat on the back, coming up short because professor and princess alike saw through the inability to do
With meaning,
That your words had no feeling.

The fact that though I've faced fancier fonts and fell for them fanatically, I always return to the first, reminds me that though a fair few have found more than friendship in my fragile forearms that the first is the forever 
and if at times the former 
then always the future

the finest font I've ever found is you

I Didint mean to do it!
What Have I done!
Ive corrupted people with my creation
I cant belive what ive done!

Its just some cardbord
A pipe cleaner and Half a paper towel roll!
Its not what its made out of its something more!

They all seem to be ****** into What ever this is
With boxes and bags and streamers they did.
Making them prettier and fancier with every chance they get
They tape anything they can
To trees
to friend drama
Just reporting it all!
Just watching cause happen
And making the call

They surround all the bully's and watch them get beat
No one steps in
There too buzy reporting
All they care is about the videos
Not about what's happening
Not about this evil that grows like fire

And I created it
I started it all
The world is forever doomed
This is the camera man
Sighning off for good

Most persons who are ageable
                                            - aren't even adults

They are just grown children

                  Who have learnt fancier words

       more serious sounding expressions

                 And
new
ways
of
secret
tantrums.

Those imposters. Caught ya.

Spider one. Grownchildren zero.

The clouds and the sun are always
competing to be noticed
Flying fast in front of each other
to block light or
make it look
much more fancier
Clouds are scattered everywhere
Moving across the ceiling
Slowly
And the sun
There is only one
But it can be seen all over the world
At one time
Even though in some places
It's asleep
No one really wins
But their competitiveness
Makes me notice both of them
A little more

If I could
I'd buy you an
ocean.
I'd give it to you
in the biggest bottle
I could find.
I'd put a ribbon around the top
because that would make it
exponentially fancier.
I'd put a sailboat
right on the water
to remind you to breathe.
It would have an anchor
because I know you like those,
and I'd put little whales in it
because whales are cute.
I'd give it to you on a crowded street
in the middle of some busy city
that we'd pretend to hate
but actually desperately want to be a part of.
We'd be wearing dresses
becauses dresses make everything more special
and there would be bikes.
Everywhere.
I'd wear yellow and you'd wear blue.
You just would, okay?
And we'd both have hats on.
After I gave you the ocean you'd laugh
and call me dumb
but then you'd say
"I love you"
because that's what people who need each other say.
And you'd put the ocean in the basket
on the front of your bike
and you'd smile.

I know what I mean when I say it
Though you think I'm talking in code
A fancier truth I will forfeit
When I'm in your humble abode

I only delay in your absence
If you are away in your head
But time is the killer of nonsense
So words that are weak can lie dead

I've seen what I needed to witness
A carefully crafted display
And I am no longer a harness
My fibers have started to fray

The process began on the fringes
The very outside of ourselves
And somehow undid all the hinges
To doors binding both of our hells

A world
A big world yet it seems so small
While the fat and the rich indulge
While the poor and the helpless loose cautious
While the churches are getting bigger and fancier
While public schools are getting smaller and messier
While the killers are set free
While the victims die
While critics critique to ****
While critics cry because they can't take the heat
While the ball drops on New Years
While the homeless man looks for another chance
While the big and rich are known for nothing
While the small and poor will never be known
While I look at this world
While I see the destruction of
humanity
When will we get better?

among the people that i hold accountable to suggest
someone has lost touch with reality:
    well, apologies for not engaging in your
  cinnamon-laced *** life - i sought other spices:
as in chilli for the tongue, and salt for my eyes,
and pepper for my nose - because that's what's
being debated: when philosophers come back
from their adventure i'll let you know what reality
actually is - then the cathedrals will crumble,
   then the neo-Babylonian extracts from modern
architectural preferences will become less neo-Babylonian
English and more: Glaswegian dialects
surrounded by Croat diacritical markings -
    as if drawing hunting antelopes in caves
   giving us "more" clues about the one inhospitable earth:
or are we truly surrendering to Darwinism
rather than carpe diem? i'm i'll ******* chirpy
given a dinosaur bone, and the timescale -
             and given that we turned Cartesian duality into
a dichotomy, everyday seems challenging:
a blimmin' boxing match 'n' all...
                                    i can't remember how many times
i've been k.o'ed (knocked out) in my waking moments
(conscious or, rather mourning? don't know).
      i still find it staggering they (no paranoia collective:
simply scientists) came up with the fact that the sun
(or any star) is a reaction of helium and hydrogen:
do people really explode into chipmunk joviality when
   doing a b.b.q. of their bodies on a beach?
             (asking questions becomes a ****** syringe
after a while) - and yes, use the term joviality before it
becomes archaic, you never know when it might
unearth a wormhole of Hades and **** the fact out
and flush it into oblivion.
              and some don bowler hats and use folded
umbrellas as walking sticks, perhaps the monocle,
but definitely the bow-tie: and make rhetoric of language:
airs, courtesy (court-t'eh-c vs. curt-see): herr chirurg!
how do you insert the scalpel into the rhythmic expression
of dribbling that kauczuk? (rubber ball).
      (cow- -chook).
           i mean in Cockney: how do you juggle that word
properly while balancing an oyster on your tongue?
and yes, i'm starting to believe Polish (as a language)
borrows too much from German - of the few slavic languages
i also say Kaiser bun -          she's called a variant of
antoinette, i.e., a kajzerka, or Wilhelm (dressed as a little
girl, all hurly burly) akin to philippe duke of orléans;
someone say lace stockings?
      i could write out this ******* in chauvinistic bravado
aesthetic: or i could smoke a cigar...
     and sooner we realised that crows never prayed
but croaked -
        that pigs grunted and never prayed -
that pigeons cooed, and never prayed,
       that monkeys did the mambo knock-knock joke -
that woodpeckers were the original carpenters and
                invoked the existence of the machinegun
and the rattler.
so there are people (sophists) who wear
bowler-hats, smocking, monocles and disdain:
rather ardently -
                 and then there are those that spontaneously
explode, from out of nowhere,
and dress themselves in rags and never rags to riches
sort of attitude - because appearances are deceptive
and too can be gambled with and neglected and seeing
a decay of a royal house: is much fancier than seeing
autumn...     because aren't the Windsors
                                         vacating Buckingham?
as in: from rot -                 apple and pear sweetness.
(at this point the poem should end) -
       not always the case of: less is more...
speaking on behalf the man who read the karamazov
brothers and stuck a leaflet on the back
of the book that read: the hash marihuana & hemp
museum - oudezijds achterburgwal 130 amsterdam
                    (next to the 'sensi seed bank' grow shop
   www.hashmuseum.com).
i mean you have read something equivalent of a brick
these days, at least one brick within that distractive
paradise of poetry - either the already mentioned book,
or war and peace, or in search of lost time,
or bolwesław prus' the doll - and they said
that life's short... not with these books being read it is...
life becomes a snail-paced traffic jam -
            it's what mystics aim at, across all religions:
the carpe diem momentum.
            it's not even boring, it's just a tedium-ladden
misanthropy: that suggestion is mainly aimed at seeing
an afternoon sitcom about 0-hour contract jobs...
       which is applauded by the terminally ill who
might say: thank **** it's not me.
            so we're all agreed - what the collapse of
communism left behind was a chance of a pension,
        given that all the western countries sold their remnant
versions of tribalism to stealth upper-tier formulations
         of "we're in this together" as otherwise know: companies...
we're not accompanied -
                   cold and wet and ***** -
                            which is odd why we'd think it
necessary to cause upheaval in iRaq...
                           given that the origins of communism were
in England, tested in Mongolia and then ingrained elsewhere...
ah, but of course, the profit margin: it's hard to
automate people surrounded by machines
        it's like olympians competing with para-olympians
where's talk of golf and the handicap?
              not here...
                       but i'm wondering, how can i redeem myself
after having stretched the poem for too long?
     point being: i can't change the status quo, and don't
intend to - and is that hypocritical or simply being
honest? well: if i managed to fit the concept of the big bang
into my little head: i'd choose the bullet every single time -
   we've established a majority, we've become as deluded
in our hopes for individuality: as was once deemed worthy
of the idea of god; we simply have established a constant
supply & demand parameters;
or what Heidegger calls: the perpetuated "ineffectual"
(well, not really him, my wording) -
                  basically a state of panic and
how different does concern compare with anxiety?
   a woman would tell a man that crimson is very different
from burgundy, as man would use the crude sigma:
red, red. n'es pas?

*i wish i could write something within the framework
of universal appeal; something simple
   and easily digested: like baby pulp, or simple
pulp of any fruit, mashed up and regurgitated
as if a seagull feeding its chicks... alas! not to be.

We all crave that Permanent happiness you know

            it can only come from inside though.

Not from eating ice cream,
                                        buying new shoes,
                    hearing a joke,
Kissing a mate,
                                         Swimming in a lake,
Living in a bigger house,
                     Or Driving a fancier car.

*The more we rely on the material world for happiness ,
the further we dig ourselves into an endless pit.
For when one thing is gained, example that car,
you are temporarily satisfied.
Then a new want arises ,
a new goal that makes you think
" okay when I get THaT THEENN I will be happier"

And so it continues until you never settle with your idea of happiness.

Thus it is good to realize sooner rather than later- that true happiness is just a misleading term for absolute contentment .

Such Contentment that you learn to take the bad as you take the good. Always remaining in the middle, unaffected by any external matter.
You always looked pleased.
You never desire more.
You take what you get, enjoy it gratefully,
if you get more you are pleased-
if you do not get a single bit more,
would you know it-you're still pleased.

It is brilliant really, and so simple.
The goal is never to be happy.
The goal is be contented.
At least it should be.
Me thinks..

Like the Beast with his collar
Is Man with his dollar.

The collar, you see, restrains the beast
In his pursuit of a fancier feast.
The dollar, then, restrains the man
From following after his self-centered plan.

Blue collars, white collars,
Dollars dripped in red.
Which collar, for you,
Will they place around your head?

Will you be led to believe that the collar you earn
Is solely based on the knowledge you learn?
Or will you discover that the number of dollars
Determines the number and color of collars?

It is good and well to aid mankind
Upon this noble trek;
But do it for the reasons of progress and love;
And not a collar squeezing your neck.

Have you seen people act
He screams at a shop keeper with words that hurts
He thinks his phone and his looks is what matters the most
His car should be fancier than most
All we look at are things that don't define who we are
If you shout are you a man or does that make people understand
If your phone is expensive that means your rich and you have fans
It's funny how people think so materialistic  now a days
To them the really thing that matters is only a haze
People who clean your street do it for a penny to earn
They deserve my respect than a man with a gold earn
Respect who are below you and know that in the end your made from sand
So if you disrespect him is more better than you
Think deep and don't be a stupid terd

Waking up
With a half swollen face
Last nights beers rattle
Across the tile
One is opened and full
.Who knows.
The only thing in the freezer
Is a bottle of southern comfort
I lay back down and press it
Against my face
Read some poems i wrote last night
For the first time
The sun peeks through
Black curtains
And I know
That sun is not mine
The day is not mine
But I am not bitter
You can have it.
Besides
There is still a few beers in the fridge
A box of cereal and a pill for sleep
The radio still works
And I am in the middle of
Lorca
Hamsun
McCullers
Anderson
I always start too many at one time.
I shower and look at the hall
Across the street
There are happy Mexicans dancing
They are dressed in nice
church clothes
They can have it.
I hear the Sunday crowd in the
Bar downstairs
They are always cleaner and fancier
Than the normal crowd
There is a live band there today
They can have it.
I walk out to the car to grab a book
And remember it's breaking down
And there are overdue bills to pay
That was the plan for today
No.Tomorrow.
I walk back up the stairs
Make my bed
Shut the curtains all the way
I am not bitter
You should take it
And I hope you do
something
Worthwhile

Smokers the insensible people
They harm themselves
But harm nearby also
Initially they act it as fancier
But after sometime they addicted
Smokers enjoy their life
But decrease their live
They forget the family
Happier personally
Just kick out this habit
Enjoy the life with relative
Get some sense
Kiss the life
Mess up with this
Bad habit of smoking ..

I'd write you letters,
But you won't write back,
I'd send you flowers,
But you don't fancy that,
I'd beg you to come over,
We both fancy that.

You'd push me over,
But I don't push back,
You've got many lovers,
And I don't fancy that,
I had only one lover,
But she didn't want me back,
And whenever you come over,
It gets more fancier.

Nothing makes you feel more fancier, more romancier. Than new underwear, & fine lace covering your *******. Underdressed, I've never heard of such a thing...

Living
shouldn't be this complicated
why it feels like all of us
are in a race against each other?
who has the fancier job
who has the more sophisticated house
how far is the finish line?