O how I recall with joy a visit to Jackson, proud capital of Mississippi,
The land of the fearless fatties, the glorious land of the uber-obese,
A paradise enjoying amazingly high blood pressure and diabetes rates,
Thanks to the greed and gluttony of its 'proud-to-be-portly' inhabitants.

How delightful to stroll along its leafy boulevards, admiring the advertising
For junk food shops: "Super-Size Your Deep Crust Giant Pizza for only $1!"
"Real Men love our Emperor Size Cheeseburgers, King Size is for Kids!"
And "Come Try Our All Day Giant Breakfast with Triple French Fries!"

How enchanting to see furniture stores offering discounted extra big sofas,
Builders and carpenters with their cut-price floor-strengthening deals,
Tailors' shops with their displays of buffet pants and elasticated jeans,
Realtors promoting houses with double porches and wide internal doors.

And, O the trailer parks, those truly splendid residential areas,
With their giant size immoveable vehicles with spacious entry portals
To allow the immaculately dressed residents to carry in an armful
Of multi-packs of chocolate iced crème flavour filling Krispy Kremes.

But most wondrous of all, the myriad rival Pentacostal Chapels
With their guaranteed reinforced concrete padded sofa-pews
And their portrayals of plump Jesuses to make the fatties feel at home.
And all those "funeral parlors" with their gaping super-wide caskets.

How I loved the blinking stares of the sleep-deprived bible students
As they staggered out of an architectural wonder of a chapel,
Bleary-eyed after an all-night bible study session, and all eager
For a healthy breakfast of a dozen flash-fried sugar encrusted "donuts".

I was there in this glorious world centre of ever-escalating obesity
With my latest gorgeous lady love (at only 140 pounds and five foot two,
possibly the slimmest woman in the entire Jackson Metropolitan Area)
And we decided to try some good ol' Mississippi fine dining as a treat.

Holey Moley! What a feasts on offer: pan-fried catfish, deep-fried catfish,
Steaks the size of an encyclopaedia and all accompanied by unlimited fries!
Sweet potato and pecan pie with butter, sugar, eggs and extra cream,
And Mississippi Mud Pie with its chocolate crust and sticky chocolate filling!

(The chef de cuisine in our upscale diner told us that Southern cooks
had created this wondrous dessert because its sophicated ingredients
were available cheaply and the recipe required only minimal culinary skill,
and what's more it came with a treble serving of supermarket ice cream!)

We declined the bottomless cup of watery coffee with compulsory sugar
And enquired if we might have a bottle of his finest wine. Quel faux-pas!
The dear fatso was mortified and told us his was a Christian establishment
And strong drink was frowned upon. Did we think he was a degenerate?

That night we lay bloated like beached whales in our tasteful motel room
(its bed reinforced with ferro-concrete to deal with the horrid possibility
that any gargantuan visitors might wish to copulate vigorously);
Oh how we burped and farted, longing for a dose of bicarbonate of soda.

All good things come to an end so, after a nessy session on the toilet
(we filled it thrice), we bade farewell to the desk clerk and sloped off.
"Be sure y'all come back real soon," he declared, patting his fat gut,
"Cuz you both sure do look two real skinny Limeys, ya hear me?."

As we drove out of this elegant city that steamy Southern summer morn
In our rented 4X4 super-strong chassis Land Rover, how we smiled
At the scene outside Walmart where the special offer of the day
Was five pounds of free candies with every single assault rifle sold.

But alas! And alack! Tragedy was not so very far away that day:
Some corpulent teenagers toppled off the sidewalk under my auto's wheels
In their indecent haste to take advantage of the latest McDonald's bargain:
A quart of complimentary Dr Pepper's with a whole oven-fried McTurkey.

Oy! What a horrid mess my fender made of their pudgy, mottled flesh
And how wise we were to speed off before the cops arrived
At least, we avoided being beaten us to a pulp for being leftist libtards
Come to laugh at the dear redneck ways south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

He had just sat down to dinner
at the Heart Attack Grill.
The fab Las Vegas nightspot
where the fatties eat their fill

A place where the morbidly obese
and Summo wannabees
can chow down to their heart’s content
cause Fatties eat for free.

Nurse Bridgette brought his burger
and he started feeling ill.
As he slurped his triple milkshake
did he feel a sudden chill?

Was it the unfiltered cigarettes
He went through by the pack?
Or the triple bypass burger
that brought on his heart attack?

He started turning purple
and was rolling on the floor.
He was regretting his decision
to bypass that health food store.

Nurse Bridgette practiced CPR
and dialed emergency.
Thanks to her ministrations
He'll make a full recovery.

Maverick ex-cop (Green Beret /Navy Seal /SAS/Ranger)
Twiddle of the fingers to crack a 64 bit hexadecimal code
Shot but can still beat up bad people and run
15 people firing automatic weapons and they all miss
Database that searches the planets population in 2 seconds
And has photos of their children and plans of their building
Regardless of the crime scene sample, always a rare element that pinpoints location
Car chase where a truck can keep up with a Ducati motorbike
Organisations that only employ attractive people in lead roles
Ugly people are tech specialists sometimes allowed to be ‘quirky’
Even the uglies are attractive people disguised with glasses and bad hairstyles
‘I dream of genie’ gendre were they flirt but never get it on, unless it’s a hospital series
Watchable, funny programs that always succumb to sloppy sentimentality
High schools complete with intolerance, marginalisation, bullying, and hell on earth,
The most disturbing and darkest crime sent to titillate mid evening family viewing
Endless humiliation for fatties, chefs, performers, builders, restaurateurs, and troubled teens
Dysfunctional law enforcement agencies that never work together under any circumstances
Enough, if we need this thick coating of unreality, perhaps its time to switch off?

it's a paradox of yevgeny zamyatin, that the true rebellion is caused by a stress of the necessity of dreaming... talk to any schizoid individual and you find they're the dream manufacturers... dreams happen in the safe environment of the laboratory of the unconscious... they're the socially acceptable hallucinations... it's even socially acceptable to interpret them... which i find very odd... why should unconscious hallucinations be socially acceptable and profitable and career crafting and conscious hallucinations be socially stigmatised? ah the safety, the environment of the freduain interpretation of dreams: well... he's ******* asleep, isn't he?! ******.

after my usual walks drinking, i tend to enter the
realm of heat and christmas tree
a little bit too brooding,
i just painted a picasso or a kandinsky,
burnt it, and then am told to "plagiarise" it...
i don't like the approach nietczsche had
taking a notebook with him
and writing his thoughts written,
i like the way my faculty memory
eats the immediacy of thinking
as counter to the translation of descartes'
theory equating existence with thought
as if thought could prove i exist
thus uncoupling it from the original:
thought and doubt.
memory is central by comparison,
i have the revision from the miscarriage of descartes'
aim: memini ergo cogito.
it makes sense, given i started the night off
buying three san miguel bottles at tesco,
buying five beers at the turk,
spotting russell the schizoid-affective man
huntched in a corner...
told him five minutes max...
started talking with him
about the ol' sailor's narrative... turbulent noons
and midnights with a bottle of jack...
wide eyed russell every time i speak to him
reflected...
i remember drinking my first coffee aged 7...
i was born with a heart condition...
i shouldn't have... live dangerously though...
drank it... magic!
i remember the taste even now.
the cognitive me is not the existential me...
odd, isn't it?
i should have kept the original kandinsky,
but i burnt it and kept the plagiarism...
why is it that the function of memory
is paramount to mental health?
this prof. of psychology itemised this girl
who's north mania south an airplane descending
from the height vector with the ears popping...
why is it that i can remember me aged 7
and most people got cheated into total engagement
in life in the orientation of satisfied or dis-satisfied
expression of puberty?
if the faculty of memory is not defended
then diseases enter...
not one of the diseased is like an original adam,
like translation of original adam, i.e. mozart beethoven
einstein...
good enough to be without plain jane as narrator
and puppeteer...
let the strings do the talking, please!
i'm in love with ****-****** literature...
take that **** of yours, that suitcase
of ***** stockings to your mother to give it a eco-friendly
spin of the washing-machine...
**** that crap should that crap enter my heart...
you heard of ****** latin? i think you have,
it's not church slavonic, it's rude latin...
the type of thing that adds oil on the cogs
and makes you adherent to the philosophy:
pause for thought or pause for fake vocabulary?
i sweat with oaths to add fluid...
if you're offended by **** and not fck you
must be really appreciative of pronography...
so they said: we must rid the word of a vowel
and expose the people with **** corn bits between the teeth!
well... it worked...
i didn't tell you remember the pythagorean theory
you were taught aged 12... i told you
to remember you aged 12... like i remember nathanel
with his briefcase in year 8 in math class...
like i remember this english teacher's legs
when i dropped the pen to loon inside the stash-load
of pooddles and *****...
like i remember racing a guy from bałtów
to ostrowiec and winning: he on a tour de france bike
with anorexic model tires and
my on mountain bike fatties...
i told you memory is crucial... given our thought explored
inanimate things as the perfection of our knowledge,
given our thought explored animate things
as perfectly categorising man and animal alike
thus mis-interpretating ourselves, oh the sacrifice of
the perfectly catalogised atom among the toothbrushes...
a convo of assortments...
it's perfect knowledge in relation to inanimate things...
the sort of thing which is question:
but atoms are animate things... calling them inanimate
just because they're invisible doesn't give you a
right to driftwood clung to in robinson cruseo's shakespearean friday.
hence the passing inspiration... so dull now
that i only feel inspired to pour myself another whiskey
and justify the meaning of relaxed.
associate yourself with the world,
hardly many of us will end of with the genius score of don juan,
we're in an environment of strict biology,
we're told that memory governs our world
with the world being on the quest to repeat...
and it does repeat... sounding the encore of biting frost,
sounding the encore of delighted shadows of summer
having postponed snipers to shoot them dead with night...
the world that inquires per se via repeat
only divinites man's faculty that's memory,
and quickly attacks it in revenge by dementia...
imagination is left to the murderers' who fancy
all the hues of red on the face....
this world is not pleasant to those who think,
to those who couple thought with imagination,
and to those who couple thought with memory...
alas... such few increments are left to re-discover
after being taught the uselessness of centimetre
when no centimetre knowledge is used in their
mechanisation of a profession.
that bit monkey less than man already happened
contradictory in theoretical terms
given the diversity whereby man's diversity
per se cannot explain the diversity of each thing
using evolutionary relativism, niche by-product concerns...
penguins will always make it to antarctica...
no banker or plumber on antarctica... just
scientists who started the whole expedition as
worth anything by counting penguin eggs...
indeed... ah this is going nowhere...
i don't believe in evolutionary relatvism
like socrates didn't believe in moral relativism
theft is punishable with the cutting of the hand
that stole... ****** is punishable with the cutting
of the head - it's all really related)...
and the aesthetic relativism is as true as: beauty
is in the eye of the beholder -
to that girl in the night near the church
walking with a concerned friend
concerned by her attractive panda-eyed mascara expression.
most of the time i find the inherent vice of jungian
interpretation of poets
to be a case of narration: poets don't write enough
to be valued! i respect fictional occupants of the
equivalent hammer of a labourer writing long paragraphs!
well, true enough... any idiot would suddenly exclaim
a symptom as: i differentiate that i'm a constant inspiration
for a non-existent narrator, and the symptom i differentiate
from true to fake by the fact it hinders my faculty to think...
pronoun shrapnel i call it... auxillary pronouns
that benefit me to expand my thought on a levelling
that did not want to see in monochromatic divergence
of continued with linear-ism akin to horse blinders
that only exposed a corridor where a valley could have stood
for the eyes to be inspired by.

you know what’s really haunting about pictures like this:
    (see profile picture)
i only found out about the paris massacre
at 6pm.
so this whole mental illness debacle...
i guess i’ll have to fake it, improvise,
all the great ones did it to push people away
for some peace and quiet...
i’m seeing... i’m seeing the equivalent of
the 100 years war with islamic barbarism...
there simply isn’t a mein kampf orientation of:
what comes next?
the only thing that comes next is panic...
why didn’t they shout THIS IS FOR IRAQ!
why suddenly involve: ah crap, i knew it,
the re-emergence of poland on the map
ensure the post-colonial nations get the ***** treatment,
i was subjugated to prussian, russian and austro-hungarian
authority for some time, what the ****?!
the french / english / spanish trinity of colonialism
is not my 5pm cup of tea... **** it... let’s tango anyway...
let’s tango with hail marias in england
and magdalenes in corfu or ibiza...
yes... i’ve lost touch with reality... your definition of reality...
but at least i am the one who’s immersed...
you’re still stuck to the slavish realism of paying taxes and
kissing the bonnet of a sports car / boiler -
i’ve lost touch with your definition of reality...
mind the 1% budged of the n.h.s. caring
more for fatties and smokers... wisecrack.
well, what are the parisians gonna do... #: weareeaglesofdeathfans...
that won’t sell... my bet is... they won’t even bother
to entourage democracy this time... watch and learn boys...
they shot sub-culture admirers... they won’t march...
we’re **** to them... the neo-hippies...
they... will... not... march... this time, i promise you that.
it’s not politically adequate for the WE STAND TOGETHER pantomime...
they won’t.... i know them when i see them
crazy eyed and pathetic and uncourageous...
so unto satan and the kabbalah...
ever hear the post-traumatic stress-disorder of satan
having to hear ah ah ah oh oh oh uh uh uh
of woman?
there’s only two left... eh / i = pronoun....
satan does not have access to the vowels e and i....
i.e. he took back a tape recording of ***** into hell
to play on loop... while the tortures took place...
sweet music some say...
let’s see tomorrow.
theoretically though? losing the prefix un-,
and attributing something more functional
in relation to the conscious faculties of thought / memory /
imagination... you can only decrease your chances
of dreaming and provide the antidote to the theories
of the unconscious... it's already stressed in psychiatric
theory as animalistic... animals make sense of the world
with their distinctive "onomatopoeias" & intuition;
write poetry like it's a front-page story
that shoved through the queue elbowing people
to be first... hit the molten iron into shape while it's
amber hot... reference actual immersion in the world
(existence), rather than referencing non-immersion
in the world of idealism (essence / not
necessary essentials).

that needs or wants  to join and experience the "discipline"?.
Either taking or  giving--we are two way.
All formed from the Isness of the Universe.
male or female,preferably under the age of death of body?
Youthful in appearance.
No fatties or druggies.
Well mannered and trustworthy.
Frustrated for ******.
Reach it through Tantra.
Players of instruments.
(but NOT others styles and energies)
can you travel?
India or Amsterdam or Deia or Kathmandu?.
No wage slaves.
No poets.
No inhibitions.
No taboos.
No deranged or psychotics.
Preferably practising Raja students.
No cost.
Except total dissolution of Mind and Conditioned Identity.

This spoken word.
I want to talk.
Folks'll put you
In a box.
It has six sides.
There's lots in stock.
Works just like a
Broken clock.
It fits in life
Two times a day.
Once the cradle.
Once the grave.
Then they'll fix
A label, TOO.
Once it's on it

STICKS LIKE GLUE.

There's a man
Down on the street.
Not someone you'd
Want to meet.
Drinks his meals
So he won't eat.
Shuffles 'round
Sits on the curb.
He's a "mumbler".
He's "disturbed".
Talks to self
Because he's shunned.
Got a label...

He's a ***.

There's a woman
Has no phone.
Has twenty cats
'Coz she's alone.
She talks to them
When in the mood.
She's so poor
She eats their food.
Yup. She has an
Attitude.
Has no husband
Who'd get paid.
On HER there are
Labels laid...

She's a SPINSTER.
An OLD MAID.

There's a teen
Who is arrested.
He's a menace.
It's attested.
Nope. He's not
Very nice.
He is into drugs & vice.
Is this "DELINQUENT"
Past retrieval?
Is he past knowing
'Coz he's evil?

Tie die. Peace sign.
Kinda trippy.
He's a "LONGHAIR"
He's a "HIPPIE".

Is she lovely?
Or "STUCK UP"
He's a "DOG"
The laughter's ****.

[chorus]
They aren't "NORMAL".
They're "unstable".
Slap 'em with a
POST-IT LABEL.

There's a girl
Who eats her pain.
Downs her food
Unrestrained.
She's bulimic
So she's "CRAZY"
She may be "FAT"
So she is "LAZY"
Another on the
"crazy" list...
His anger's inward,
He's depressed.
He may drink
So he's a "******".
Here's another label...

"LOSER"

Then there's the boy
Who lashes out.
Beats kids up.
He's a lout.
He is wild and
He is wooly.
He is labeled as a
"BULLY".
There's another
Kid who's shy.
So he gets the
Blackened eye.
He is "sraight"
He don't get high.
Nose in book,
He goes unheard.
What's his label?

He's a "NERD".

[chorus]

There's a one
We ALL know's BAD.
She was *****
By her own dad.
At age thirteen
She's "knocked up".
We ALL know her...

She's a "****".

There's a man
Who wears tattoos.
Labels he will never lose.
"WHITE TRASH" 'cuz
He owns a bike.
She likes women.
She's a "****".
She smokes fatties
So she's a "stoner"
He's just "weird"
'Coz he's a loner.
He loves men,
So he's a "***"
She loves him
So she's a "hag"
How'd YOU like
That odious tag?
Let's all do
The Label Rag!
Don't it make the
Tongues just wag?
It's enough to
MAKE YA GAG.

[chorus]

Tribal nation?
I'll be brief.
He's an "Indian"
Call him "Chief"
Does it make
White egos bigger
To call a black man
"BOY" or ******"?
Is that wisdom
Do ya figger?
Whatcha think
THAT'S gonna trigger?
Will the term "*****"
Do the trick?
How 'bout "******"?
How 'bout "****"?
How 'bout "****"?
That ***** Jew.
Well.
Let's take a look at YOU.

Look in the mirror.
The view is free.
Look in there!
What do you see?
Do you see yourself...

Or ME?

Is there smoke?
Are you deceived?
What's th label
You've received?


Look out dere!
HERE COME DA JUDGE!
10 feet tall & has a
GRUDGE!
And since we're getting
Really formal
Got another label.
NORMAL.
You judge someone
With capital blocks
Cuz you can't read
A CEREAL BOX?
Is prejudice the
Meal you eat?
Label on that
And it ain't WHEAT.

[chorus]

Yes. I'm white.
And I am sixty.
I ain't young. I ain't ****.
But I'm a POET
I can TALK.
I have been
Around th block.
You don't like it
You can WALK.
YOU WON'T PUT
ME IN A BOX.
I wasn't a "******".
I wasn't a "tweeker".
Was a "CRACKHEAD".
A ******* seeker.
Finally got it in my head.
There's another label.

That is DEAD.

Yeah. I'm a Christian.
"Jesus Freak"
I'm not ashamed
Because I seek!
Believe'n sure don't
Make me WEAK.

I'M DONE WITH
THE DISSIN' AND
THE TRASHIN'!
Got a concept called

COMPASSION!

Yeah. I know it's
Not in fashion...
But this no joke.
It's not a GAME.
I got a label...

It's my NAME.

I got another
Worth the seeing.
Another "label"...

HUMAN BEING.

Yeah. I'll preach.
I'm gonna shout.

My name is

CATHERINE.

Over. OUT.


SøułSurvivør
(C) 6/13/2017

If perception truly is everything, then to age in Amerika is a psychological disaster.

Amerika is a youth obsessed country;  a capitalistic consumer oriented country. All the power of capitalism goes into (via advertising, etc.) creating and maintaining this youth obsession.

Take women as an example. If you are female in Amerika, you must always look 25. You must be slim, long-haired, sexually alluring, preferably blond and dress youthfully. Even if you are 60.

This goes a long way toward answering the question why so many women who are 40+ are so fat, unhappy, depressed and ******. Simply put, there is no reasonable way for most of them to meet cultural expectations.

Either they let themselves go (fatties abound in the US) or they resort to grotesqueness to measure up (extreme diet and exercise, plastic surgery, etc.)

They can't win so depression and self-loathing abound.

Most mature women have known that horrible moment when a young, attractive man looks right through them. They have become culturally invisible: they are shocked and hurt.

Men suffer from all this too, but not as much. Younger women will sometimes actually see value in an older man. Rarely, but sometimes, so cultural invisibility comes later for men.

Mid-life money, Corvettes and condos only delay the inevitable. The same moment will arrive and so will the hurt and shock.

This is not as simple as all men are pigs or all women are *******.

If we know that the perception that we don't exist is created by the capitalist media and advertisers, why do we do we buy into it?

Every age has its beauty. Why not accept it and be how old you are? Be who you are. Forget those impossible perfections. Stop trying to be Barbie and Ken. Be real.

It is difficult but possible. I have seen it.

In France you see lovely older women dressed alluringly (but not like 20-year-olds) who are slim, can run in high heels over wet cobblestones and exude sexuality. You often see them with handsome younger men, who are clearly entranced. Why there and not here?

Maybe it's the champagne or maybe it's just sanity.

mce

By: Cedric McClester

When it comes to six-month-old baby Jim
Yo’ *** is clearly out on a limb
You are the one who fathered him
So you better be runnin to an ATM
What the hell did you expect
Having unprotected ***
It’s unjustified under any pretexts
But ******* are not intellects
Your DNA tells the tale
The moment that you slip or fail
To pay support you’ll go to jail
And you cannot afford the bail
So I’d pay up if I were you
The things you said were not true
If she’s a ** then what are you
Cos you went ******* riding too

Where does he find ‘em (I don’t know)
The guests seen on the Maury Show
When it comes to ... (oh **** here we go)
You are the father (***** don’t you know?)

The girl comes on and says she’s sure
But he calls her a **** and *****
Because they did it on the floor
And she has slept with countless more
Then she says Maury look at that baby
There’s no ifs, ands, buts or maybes
That’s his child (the one he gave me)
I can’t believe he’s gone and played me
Suspense is building on the set
The test results aren’t in yet
But he’s prepared to make a bet
And obviously she’s upset
Once the answer has been found
They both start jumpin up and down
Then she don’t wanna stick around
Her reputation’s in the ground

Where does he find ‘em (I don’t know)
The guests seen on the Maury Show
When it comes to ... (oh **** here we go)
You are the father (***** don’t you know?)

You’d think she’d be embarrassed, yo
But she’ll be back show after show
Claiming she just wants to know
Who’s her baby’s daddy – Oh!

Changing partner like a necklace
How can people be that reckless
She’s so gangsta she reflects this
I’ll be ****** (she’s got a checklist)
Scratchin off names (one by one)
She’s on page two and still not done
Guess you could say she’s had her fun
But she wasn’t the only one
Given all the STDs
That are out there (if you please)
They should be hogtied and seized
Or forced to bow down on their knees
I bet straight *** was not enough
They’ve probably done some other stuff
See tongue disease can be real rough

Where does he find ‘em (I don’t know)
The guests seen on the Maury Show
When it comes to ... (oh **** here we go)
You are the father (***** don’t you know?)

Look at those who’ve come and went
Though that wasn’t their intent
Most of ‘em can’t catch a hint
See they’re beyond embarrassment
All because they shook their fatties
At all of those potential daddies
None of whom wore Jimmy hatties
Now those mommas goin batty
Watch and pray that it’s not you
None of ‘em have a clue
Wouldn’t you have thought they knew
Who they’re giving their stuff to
But that would be too **** easy
Look at ‘em they sure look greasy
Some of ‘em are down right ******
And none of ‘em are built to please see

You’d think she’d be embarrassed, yo
But she’ll be back show after show
Claiming she just wants to know
Who’s her baby’s daddy – Oh!

Where does he find ‘em (I don’t know)
The guests seen on the Maury Show
When it comes to ... (oh **** here we go)
You are the father (***** don’t you know?)

When it comes to six-month-old baby Jim
Yo’ *** is clearly out on a limb
You are the one who fathered him
So you better be runnin to an ATM
What the hell did you expect
Having unprotected ***
It’s unjustified under any pretexts
But ******* are not intellects
Your DNA tells the tale
The moment that you slip or fail
To pay support you’ll go to jail
And you cannot afford the bail
So I’d pay up if I were you
The things you said were not true
If she’s a ** then what are you
Cos you went ******* riding too


(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester.   All rights reserved.

the rejects.
the uglies.
the fatties.*

slightly u n d e r
and to the left
                     of the mainstream

dug under a little,

|grooving at our own pace|

pulling at the roots.

I can’t say there is a word for what we are
I know I was looking through your pictures yesterday
Laughing at how cute you look
Wanting to tell you which ones you look bad in,
And how others do not make you justice.
Kissing you and the non-stop laughs
Make fun of the fact that we are fatties.
Driving to McDonalds at 1 am.
I have a feeling it is going to hurt.
But when I am in your room, on your bed
Not being able to keep our hands off each other.
It is complete bliss.
We have amazing ***, you know it’s true
We take a break and go at it again.
And then you open up about the things you love
Like those nerdy topics of things I do not understand
But, your whole face lights up while you talk.
And you apologize for speaking so much.
Don’t ever apologize again
Don’t ever shut up.
Please keep talking,
Until we meet our end.

Doctors said,
"Kid, you've got problems.
Not to worry,
We can solve them.
Take this pill twice,
Every morning.
Here's two more for
When you crash. "

I was stupid,
What did I know?
Fresh in high school
Fourteen years old.
Life just seemed to
Pass me by,
Then I took one
And got high.

Freshman year,
In ROTC,
So on point, no one
Could beat me.
Then one day,
They caught my eye;
"You should probably
Meet this guy. "

Fifteen kids stuffed
In a closet,
Huddled around our
Technical sergeant,
In his hands,
Like shining diamonds,
"I've got stuff that you
Should try, man. "

Lortab, norco,
I'd heard stories.
Ritalin just didn't
Do much for me.
Tylenol 4 and xanax bars
Made me picture
Crashing  cars.

Everyone knew that
I had Addy, I drank beer,
And I smoked fatties.
They said,
"What do you want for go-pills?"
I said,
"I'll take ALL of THOSE pills. "

From that day,
My life was over.
Never again would I
Be sober.
Still I pulled through,
In the end,
With some help from
My 'new friends. '

Let's fast forward,
On to college,
Rich kids with their
Parents' wallets.
Track me down with
Midterm chills,
"Hey man, can I maybe
Score some pills? "

Hydrocodone, my
Best friend,
Stays with me until
The end.
Empty bliss that's
Like no other,
Gifted by my
Lovely mother.

Every month, I'd
Throw a party,
Young and stupid,
All invited.
Smoke some ****
And drink and chill,
Waiting for those
Luscious pills.

Talking smack and
Starting drama, waiting
Till we hear my mama,
Twist the **** and
Step inside,
Bongs and blunts were quick
To hide.

I said,  "chill, guys,
She's not stupid.
My mom's cool with how
I do ****;
Sure she likes to take my pills,
Still, she's brought me
All my thrills. "

"Twenty norco, fifteen xanax,
Pill for pill,
Understand that? "
Then she sat,
And smoked our joints,
"Oh my adorable
****** boys! "

Travis said,
"Dude, that's your MOM? "
I said,  "why, man?
Is there a problem? "
He said,  "nah, but ****,
She's cool! "
I said,
"Only since I've been in school. "

People
they smile more
these days and
they don't seem to notice
for the past was much filled with
bloodshed
and
misery
hunger and famine
with the darkest
and coldest
of winters

people once shivered naked
in the snow
and today we control
the
elements
of mother nature
in our home

bandits once littered the dusty roads and
vultures flew always nearby knowing the outcome of
the days events

sure, people still ponder on their next meal
but
there are more fatties than there used to be

t’is a time for rejoice
jubilation in the street
the religious fanatic has left
the building is clear
this home is clean….
still,
the specter of Trump looms
like the last sunset
falling on humanity
the orange glow
seems to swallow the United States –
looking around my nation of fatties
red-faced
taking a break from prescription inundation
to shake flabby fists
at the neon screen,
the only god left.
I find myself seething with contempt
for a system that so divides my people
while I carry blood
straight from the reservation
only removed generationally, twice,
I am a white boy
man
the symbol of global oppression
the face of hate and racism
self-loathing one’s own skin…
and they say I can’t relate….
and I am told I have it good…..
easier
dirt floor ****** single room swinging light
stained and sheet-less hand-me-down mattress
but I can’t understand poverty
just like everyone else
I walk around with a sore *** –
are we all ****-hurt as a people
I think so…
quick to argue
slow to empathize
all of us spreading our own
propaganda
as if we had some answer
as if our individual idea
had merit…
collectively we can accomplish greatness
alone….well, Jordan was a great basketball player
but, just an o.k. owner
Steve Jobs was a great computer nerd
just o.k. with social skills
some of us on Hello Poetry
might be great poets
but our greatness comes from the community
all of our writing together
creating a cornucopia of sentiment
and smorgasbord of language
the greatest online poet community ever
……………..
because I am here –
the insanity of our dichotomy
is like a lobotomy
on a circus mouse
we want to belong
but be special
we want to be part of
yet, stand out
we want culture
our way…..
a great comedian
who was just an o.k. survivor
once said
that it’s all just a ride
I think he was right –

**** it in, my mother says,
**** in my abundance of fat I've layered upon my stomach.
Hold it in, my grandmother calls before she takes my photo.
It takes nothing more than years of this,
To know she means well by it,
She simply doesn't know what it's like,
To be told to make yourself smaller.
This is what's taught to people like me.
All the misfits, the fatties, the excluded, the ignored, the chubby, the outsiders.
Those who know the sound of a wet T-shirt being pulled from a belly, after swimming.
Those who've been verging 95th percentile their whole life.
Those who are out of breath from dragging their prison cells for bodies up one flight of stairs.
We've been taught to shrink,
To take up little space,
To minimize ourselves,
Until we are the smallest possible.
To make the smallest movements,
As to not send jiggling ripples of flab up our legs and arms.
As to not awaken the beast of chins that sleeps just below our lips.
But today,
I stretched my thunderous thighs out.
I let my rolls that I've so skillfully hidden beneath my shirt show.
I lowered my chin to show the world there are more than one chin there.
I was monstrous, huge, bold, brave, big and fat.
And I loved it.

TAKE TWO GUESSES

lie detection for idiots
fist-fights-for-fatties
hosted by *****-old-hosts
whose only concern is the
money they’re pocketing

it only goes to explain
the bottomless-pit-depth
society has sunken into

the only worth these shows
hold for me are the hunky
but amazingly-stupid dudes
who appear there-in, along
with their god-ugly-fat &
equally dumb women-folk,
forever crying ‘he’s cheatin’

to wit, I say to myself:
at least these dude have
some merit

so shoot me if in disagree-
ment but that’s the way I see
it… those dudes should hook-
up with each other & the
women with jenny craig  — Laccetti

Yap,
Let's do this.....

Listen up everybody
I am here,
he name is Dough
Dough Flower, and I am the most important thing ever
yeah! I am the stuff, the mostest, the business, the main ingredient
I am Internationally famous, I am alive all over the world
everybody wants me, everybody needs me, you can't do without me

Listen people,
I rule things around here
I am so famous you name your cash after me
Dough, yes! Dough Flower, I am white, soft, dry and powdery
you need me for all types of cuisines but mainly I make bread
you need me for cakes, biscuits, scones, rolls, all types of cookies
forget the list, anything you bake, apart from animals and chickens
I am very likely in it, I am hot, I am cool, I am yummy, I am chewy

So, go on tell me, people!
which one of you do not know me
Am I not the most important thing in the world
do I not rock your cakes and move your jaws and fill you up
do I not exist everywhere, from the USA to USSR, from Mali to Bali
Maybe I don't rise in India bit I puff in China and burn in Malawi
do I not mix with everything and roast and twirl and even swim
See how I roll, I am white, I am soft, I am 'cie Magnific' n'est pas ?

People, listen up stay woke
I want you to show some respect here
Come on it's about time you know the secret Ruler
From my humble parents Mr and Mrs Wheat I become world ruler
I'm all around, in you and I keep you alive one way or another
I make money for some of you and I make millions of you in fatties
Now before I go, I want to tell those of you who waste me, don't
I know some kids enjoy throwing me in each others faces, Stop