Turn the lights off so that I may know you
In this safe space, I invite you to indulge in our mutual vulnerability
Feel protection in my arms as I guard your heart
As I keep it warm between our chests
Set your gaze to mine while you share with me your aspirations
I yearn to experience them through the windows to your soul
Share with me your fears so that I may put them to rest
May this bed be a holy and sacred place for us
May this bed be our confession booth free from ridicule
May this bed be a tithing basket for you to receive love with no boundaries
In this bed, allow divine pleasure to overwhelm you
Let your ****** match the depth of your trust
Let your tears turn to sweat that trickles down the valley of your spine
Let your ****** fluids baptize you; cleanse you of any guilt
Share with me your spiritual awakening
As I receive communion with your raw, unfiltered, liquified emotion running down your body
Toss out your bible, for the only religious text I need is your diary
Allow me to tie every inch of your glorious body to a memory
I wish not to ****, but to love
I wish to fulfill all your fetishistic urges
For I know they are tied to a psychological yearning
By the end of the night I wish to know every inch of your flesh
I want the knowledge to be accompanied by the memories that make you, you
And if I fail, there's always round two after we cuddle

Tyler Castro
3/19/17

The camera is rolling, incessantly capturing every moment of our lives, leaving us with a world that never stops recording, where privacy becomes a luxury unbeknownst to us. In these private matters, we find ourselves stripped of any semblance of secrecy, exposed to the prying eyes of an ever-watchful audience.

As we gaze upon Mother Earth, we see her through an unsettling lens, viewing her as a captivating entity, akin to a seductive **** who has birthed and nurtured countless lives. Yet, contrasting our admiration, there persists an underlying desire to possess and consume her in a primal, carnal manner. It is as if we hold a fetishistic fascination with her, using fiery words to address her before we even think to disrobe ourselves from the layers of convenience and comfort, leaving her vulnerable and exposed.

This portrayal begs the question of how mankind perceives themselves amidst this intimate performance. Are we mere objects to be stripped down and devoured for the amusement of an unfeeling audience? Stripped of our dignity and possessions, we are left bare, vulnerable, and at the mercy of those who derive pleasure from exploiting our vulnerability. It is akin to a mesmerizing striptease, a tantalizing display that leaves us yearning for something greater.

In the face of such exposure, we find ourselves humbled and powerless, compelled to seek solace and redemption from a higher power. Constantly begging to be bathed in the love and mercy of a divine entity, we yearn for a respite from the unyielding gaze of the world. It appears that the world derives pleasure from witnessing us in a state of vulnerability, reducing us to our weakest form, our knees bent in submission.

In this revelatory expansion of the original sentence, we delve deeper into the implications of a world that ceaselessly records our actions. We explore the complex dynamics between humanity and the environment, finding parallels in our treatment of Mother Earth and our own susceptibility to exploitation. The expanded content retains the core meaning and context, while elaborating on the themes of vulnerability, power dynamics, and the search for solace and redemption.

There are many thoughts that escape my conscience
I don't know where they escape to
The deep parts of my mind that I don't visit?
I try to think disconcerting thoughts
Rather than exercise my memory
I think my mind is strong
And it will be an ***** that will remain functioning
Once I turn into a vegetable
My mind will function and sin
It will fantasize fetishistic acts
Plot ******
Question God
Think condescending thoughts
When my father who is very kind
Cries over my cold unmoving mass
I will curse people I don't like with satan's words
I will write my eulogy
And no remorse will pass my preoccupied mind
And then let's see what will happen when I wake up
A new woman
Ready to ****.

The following lines
haphazardly linkedin
slap dash fashion
over the course
of dazed and confused days,
therefore desist reading
any profound meaning
if you dear reader dare expend
energy and time perusing
meandering gibberish.

One mortal wedded male
pledged his troth and married gold,
thus Marigold (abbreviation of her name)
my monied imaginary paramour,
I willingly tasted sweetened deal
until milk of human kindness went sour,
whereat said benefactor
no longer ponied up funds
and didst reckon
eyes that espy wads of moolah.

She naysayed bequeathing
unlimited largesse,
and claimed over generous
financial beneficence
spurred misplaced
horse sense to go amiss
not thee holy grail
viz billeted, fortified,
lulled, and touted panacea

steeped with ushering bliss
delivering monetary salvation
analogous envisioning mirage
to an ephemeral lost horizon,
which illusory utopia
foolhardy to chase after
fostering long globe trotting criss
crossing all four square corners
across the oblate spheroid

in search of said golden manna,
experiencing das boot
jilted jack of alt raids
copacetic, fetishistic,
idiomatic...logogrammatic,
opportunistic, rhapsodic, universalistic...,
nevertheless despite surge
of clamoring sycophants
bajillion dollars windfall wordsmith
wishes himself subsequently

cursed bing flush
with ample legal tender
quite ad aware
regarding the over emphasis
on material trappings
courtesy the blitzkrieg of
mass media/ popular culture
and the adumbrated pleasure
of the leisure class

vis a vis his venerated holiness
trumpeted, encapsulated, and donned
conspicuous consumption
(tba as wasting away greenbacks)
SPCA adopted pet credo, ethos,
hot button western civilization polemics,
this hortatory expressed
by Thorstein Veblen
doth not miss

a figurative beat,
which American
not so shabby chic ethic
brought him as eminence grise -
though tongue in cheek he made Swiss
cheese out of the bulwark
constituting the capitalistic coda,
which I rarely sermonize, but tis
only this instance to beseech
whomever may anonymously

intercede on my behalf
to parlay voo any dollar figure -
since this LXIV year old papa
of two fully grown
darling daughters struggles
psychologically like the dickens
learning how to take broken wing,
and a prayer
to reinforce analogous fence of defiance,
yours truly uber twittering

one flew over the cuckoo's nest
birds of a feather stick together
meaning mine other half thee spouse
similarly tussles and wrestles
with psychological mailer daemons -
that snigger and laugh
at owning psychic landscape,
as similar malevolent depredations
infiltrate my mind –
ousted through the staff

of pharmaceutical wizards -
this chap relies on eight
prescription medications
to attain quality mental health
and receives social security disability
for incursions of anxiety, panic,
and social schizoid disorders
in years gone by exacerbated
by unceasing verbal black barbs
from mine imaginary mistress - ha.

Apalachee High School,
located in Winder, Georgia
witnessed an active shooter,
whereby the alleged lone gunman
(actually just a teenager of fourteen years)
killed four people and injured nine more
the latter hospitalized with injuries
after a shooting Wednesday
(June 4th, 2024) morning.

His (the lad who pulled the trigger
on the firearm – an AR platform-style gun)
father and mother must be held culpable,
and similar to the slain victims
surviving kith and kin
probably experience immense grief
(at least I would hope).

Yours truly (me),
a married sexagenarian and proud papa,
whose two grown daughters;
a twenty five old, lives in Bend, Oregon
and eldest - almost twenty six months
her kid sister's senior
resides within bucolic Ithaca, New York,
whereby he himself
dwells at Highland Manor Apartments
smack dab within the heart of
Perkiomen Valley, Pennsylvania
nestled here within suburban
southeastern Montgomery County
deeply affected by the tragedy
(as well as most previous occurring
violent, nasty, and brutish ****** crimes.

The Second Amendment of the United States Constitution protects the right of Americans to keep and bear arms. The original text of the Second Amendment is:

“A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed”.

The Second Amendment was ratified on December 15, 1791. Its origins can be traced back to ancient Roman and Florentine times, and to the late 16th century in England when Queen Elizabeth I required all classes of people to take part in a national militia.

I (a slight baby boomer at approximately
seventy inches tall from stem to stern
targeted as "scapegoat" during boyhood),
no longer a ticking time bomb harboring
rage against the machine,
would never buy nor use a weapon
intended to fire rapidly
loosing countless bullets,
nevertheless writer of these words
empathizes, sympathizes and telepathizes
third-person singular simple present
indicative forms of empathize,
sympathize, and telepathize respectively
with the predictable cited suspect,
who frequently trends toward being
a quiet natured, nerdy lad
at the receiving end
of verbal and physical harassment.

Still back in the day mean kids
indiscriminately name called me
attendant with closed fists
mere inches from my face -
both boys and girls made a point
to assail introspective
severely shy Matthew Scott Harris
pleading with cruel, fiendish, imps -
of the pervert please don't hurt me
and repeated the following saying:
sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words will never hurt me
(or so the playground adage
wants us to believe).

Words do hurt and the shame
those words can instill in us
have a way of instigating and
perpetuating inferiority complex
in our minds and our bodies.

Easy access to high powered military grade sophisticated woud find blunderbuss quaint.

     More often than not such brutal and nasty (short lived) nefarious schemes directed at humble lettered people (like those comprising my home town of Lake Woebegone) minding their own p's and q's, when out of the blue a sudden bitta bing bitta bang rings the terrorist catcall followed by red tide and river of blood.

     Thus occurs yet another staccato sinister sonic soundcloud boom across the pearl gray slate of some formerly anonymous place-name. which blitzkrieg of shells shattering (at shutterfly speed) the democratic rubric of society with senseless slaughter, whereat somber silence echoes the wails of agony.

     This epidemic re: murderous love affair with gruesome morbid fixation allowing, enable and providing the terrifying trappings for angry person to maniacally gun down (in slo mo) a milling crowdsource (perhaps pathetic plan premeditated) employing coterie of odious loading incendiary fiery clips.

     Suicide bombardier seeks to slake thirst to take aim with deadly precision, and spray with pump posse city, a congregated engaged group of people), with egregious fulfillment to mow down slew unsuspecting victims, which bring revulsion to this American citizen.

     Death be not proud, nor ought airtime allocated to these heinous cavalier avengers.

     Foe tee eight hour special proffers especial easy access to sophisticated high caliber compact offspring of rapaciously lethal gimcrackery cutlasses.

     Sorrow soulful songs sung by the likes of death cab for cutie in tandem with foo fighting beastie boys pay homilies and homage to grateful dead.

     Fetishistic martyrs wannabe set sights of sister and brothers of their same simian species.

     Once target(s) locked and stocked per skull and cross bones, the ammunition barrels at greased lightning speed dead set upon unaware persons. the final minutes/seconds of various lives instantaneously cut short, when instagram cross hairs seal the fate upon avast group of happy go lucky men and women.

     Instantaneous re: within the blink and/or flickr of and eye, the gallivanting live capital one progressive pinterest-ting human hulu hooping unwittingly accompany the grim reaper as riders to final resting place.

     Ribald exhortations and allegiance gifted from he/she who ushered in bereavement, where grief experiences a field day, whence pandora gorges philabundance like, as incalculable forsaken emptiness doles bleakness upon a grim outlook brought about per spilt blood, sweat and tears tallying the cost.

     Mortal kombat rues unfathomable payless priceline, which induces adrenaline to course thru the melee, where survivors sprint non selfie ish lee to a safer outlook, where moments before the collective asylum seekers indulged in a joyus fancy feast per vanity fair, whence diehard fanatic (attired inconspicuously like some dishabille schlepper of an outlier) pulled the trigger releasing high powered voluminous ammunition loaded murderous mass homicidal instrument.

     Netzero escape for those unfairly killed in ceaseless undeclared warfare, whereby killer (ofttimes a pissant punk) cooly unleashes fearsome fusillade from out the barrel per his/her lethal methodological munitions.