I felt the world at a finger tip,
It tingled
And radiated,
Radius.
Sedated,
I am medicated on absence
And excess.

You are the mirror to me,
My existential mess,
Superiority and minority thought.

Superficial and fictitiously bought,
Buyer from the sold,
Silver to the raindrop,
Water to your gold.

It drips
Fingertips,
Touched the world at a lark,
Till light fled,
Leaving the dark.

I bid farewell to new,
And hello to you.

My bed is empty. I count the seconds down until you appear: 1...2...3 times you've asked me to leave you alone. Leave you alone? How can I let you be so cruel, so uncaring, and so completely and totally near to my voice. I can't. It's not who you are in this world-we call reality sets in and I grab my **** as the black of guilt sets in.

Black. Gray. White. What room am I in? There's ten feet of tile by ten feet heaven bound. The claw foot tub grips at the **** stained floor, fighting gravity's nagging whine. It's all too real. All too fictitiously crisp. All too false.

The ivory room slips into the field as the brown drains from the vomitorium. Bathhouses, **** me. Lesioned tricks, **** me. Loneliness, *******-off to Cair Paravel.

I'm an ice cube in an ocean. Don’t drown, don't go, just come.

Rhythm stops and I study the damage. Laying alone on my bed, skin burning with the genocide of my seed spilt for you, I realize you are gone. With the revival of my senses I realize: You are a dream. A fabrication of lust and desire. But this moment, these feelings are ever changing. This moment is real. This time it's you. Tomorrow night: Tommy Anders, Brent Everett, Mr. Corrigan! Pornstars extraordinaire.

That's all I get nowadays.

Space Case is not the advertisement for fear of losing yourself to the very darkness that is blanking out from normal reality and heading into a newer reality, (from which only your own psyche can fictitiously acknowledge, properly).
However way you spin the wonderous find of the gap in your own little sub-space (that is your own even tinier different types of psychological roundabouts...)
Nothing is truly centered in the very lucky situations, where each newly realized predicament isn’t as endearing as you'd first realize them to be.
Carrying out the struggle for the circumstance, that is one's own disembodied state, where such lucky situations...go completely dark!
Now, what's the first ideal of a space case.... Nothing more than what you haven't already knew from before you lost your very first contact with reality.
Since after all, your newly realized ideology is ("reality central") itself!
Things become slightly corrupt when reality central takes center stage, because you have no such management on this sort of (now newly put together source).
It's almost as if you've been entirely thrown into a newer source of energy, that only you and you alone, can bring yourself back out from, (via "your own little reality" itself).
And when your own psyche can once again, fictitiously acknowledge properly, then everything starts to take many tumbles (just so it can reorganize itself back into its original form). Coming directly from the very agreement from its own previous ideals and impressions upon a perspective that danced a little too much), when becoming stuck between two sources of familiar energy sources that signatures the very voice of concern, (or even a voice of caution).
Where everything starts to begin spiraling out of control!
But there's no chaotic tendencies, when consequences become the newer mortality rate...that this very circumstance provides the very presently disturbed predicament that still surrounds itself with such disbelief) over something so sudden, immediate, and radically unexpected!
But that's life, after all. And you can't control what goes on (outside of your own mind's eye). When you truly control what goes on from deep within the very inside itself.
Lastly, what goes around, comes straight on back around...when it truly becomes this scenario (upon many sequences after sequences) that enable you (once again), to hitch up a ride with the very sudden, immediate and radically unexpected realization of such a, well...
Let's pretend (for ONLY just a single moment, before it slips into its own dream sequence or improbable dreamscape, where nothing truly "healthy wise", comes back from that)?!
Which then delivers a type of pressure-free release into (the very such now incredible acknowledgement) of officially knowing that everything that had just built-up (over time) towards this very point in time...
Is nothing more than the ever-lasting, ever-increasingly and never-ending spectacle...of a simulation for "abrupt flaws"!
Because when it comes to such a slithering snake, that is a simulation for abrupt flaws....
Everything begins blurring out of sync!
Then begins distorting the very outside world, as if it was merely a mirage (without "self-acceptance" in itself)!
And when everything completely comes to the very turning point that is fusing together this perfect little bundle of "incomprehensible" joy.
This is when things collapse into a radically self-inducement scenario, where the "head case" (that you once were, on the outside world).
Now officially becomes the newly established Space Case! (Full of primary self-doting commands and actions that consequently, don't fit perfectly in the outside world.
When it was truthfully all about the head case that was meant to evolve into the space case all along.)
"Reality Central" is (as yet again), back up and running!
Begin your newer reality, my friends....
If you’re not already slipping back on into your own such fictitious beliefs again?
When you’re really not accepting the outside world for what it really is. (Except, that's blasphemy!
Only when you don't simply accept your own ideals from within your own heart.)

April 10, 2019

Come a day, reason peeks around the corner,
Wisdom spots the whole idea,
nothing hidden around
the edge,
she winks back.

The story is there
was this kid,

he has these uni-
que memories
odd
memes,
or easers of toils,
heartfelt
reward for sweated blood

proverbial guiding
memories
resting easy in the shadows

he sends songs soaring
some when
Dams break, knowns burst
thru bubbles in jeopardy
new f-izzy izy knots
loose the lowest layer of liege
let go
loosen
free. all for allegiance,
reciprocal give and take with no control
given to any lacking self
controlership

idle words redeemed by chance
take up the dance,
least friction
desidare
aitia
gentle
ease of flow, over under, around
, through, if it comes to that,

any which way ye find,
wind way,
Pollen Way,
River way, rolling
rocky mountain way

it was noised abroad, in the hill country.
We all knew.

Reason come with me,
we have heard we must war

some more,
we are feeling
fused with metal minded

souls set to unleash some
monster idea thing-ysdril-
whoops cyd-drethal
con-tributary
mythic
influence,
twist ing side
ways to es
scape the scoffer
from the
Welsh brig… abrupt

scene shift
like a real life movie

encrypted Welsh wonder words

the professors called thunderwords and
allowed only those umlauted
u prounouncers to speak

with proper compre
hensions,
you get that? Ubermenschken?

Controllership. that idea.
think what controllership would be,
if it were yours being weighed.

The Welsh had a word for that.
goruchwylwriaeth.

How was such a word lost?

How can we teach our kids
controllership when our nation
has no national tongue able

to roll wisdom into reasonless reality,
goruchwylwriaeth,

it's magic, if magi means much to you.

---
Ordovician rules. If I had a hammer.

Ord'vicians, hammer warriors,

hammering out justice all over this land,
as the bombs were falling,

for God's sake. Sake itself is assumed to have
meant "cause",
cause being reason, aition or aitia.
Reasonable reasonibility to
just ify now, as real.

So, since we agree,
we know right, when we taste it, or

do we take a chance on better, a bit more
than half the times?

Judge the controlership system.
What determines a good controller?

when can I assume you consider me no evil? Wordwise, id est.
assume (v.)
early 15c., "to arrogate, take upon oneself," from Latin assumere, adsumere "to take up, take to oneself, take besides, obtain in addition," from ad "to, toward, up to" (see ad-) + sumere "to take," from sub "under" (see sub-) + emere "to take," from PIE root em- "to take, distribute."
Meaning "to suppose, to take for granted without proof as the basis of argument" is first recorded 1590s; that of "to take or put on fictitiously" (an appearance, etc.) is from c. 1600. Related: Assumed; assuming. Early past participle was assumpt. In rhetorical usage, assume expresses what the assumer postulates, often as a confessed hypothesis; presume expresses what the presumer really believes. Middle English also had assumpten "to receive up into heaven" (especially of the ****** Mary), from the Latin past participle.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=assume>

(that which causes, which is not prophaseis)

childhood is so undeniably attractive
in youth, with eyes like hearts because we perceived with our hearts
and minds filled with stars and naivete; captivated by nuance yet aroused by simplicity
speaking in dreams and romance,
living freely, boldly, and fictitiously in some elders' disregarded reality.
and we remember such, in fleeting hope
that our greying eyes may see in spectrum once again.

A friend of mine told me
I was in love
with you, of all people--
my jaded romantic,
hopeless and cynical,
fictitiously crafted.

I told her she was wrong
emphatically--
that I didn't fall
(in love or otherwise)
for boys like you,
uncertain and determined
to be anything and everything--
mostly because I refuse
to allow you to be right.

"Existence is but a deception," thinks Mister Sen,
"a ***** little lie, a junkyard of loss created by all men."
With cellophane dreams in restless hearts,
Mister Sen contemplates "to- comprehend, this or that."
"But everything is as zero as good,
and all are as one as bad."
Mister Sen thinks to himself, "I ain't no ***** little rat..."

Thus he walked out, and right on to the door, and,
With fancy biggy dreams,
stopped once or maybe twice to check out the store,
A store of books which sold fiction and all those upon a time, just at once,
Mister Sen, therein and herein, thought of having a slightly furtive glance.

He has read a lot of Sartre, Beauvoir, and Gilles,
He has read of Toni Morrison, The bluest eye,
But he has never read of himself on any given day,
He has never read of himself within any story to say.

Thus Mister Sen thought to himself-
"I am all old and a bit too shy to be told, maybe...
In any drama or an in any such way, to be too fictitiously wavy,
Existence is but a deception, and a ***** little lie,
Even in fiction and philosophy, I Don't have any right to look
around with my eye,
Why won't I have a chance to say any goodbye?"

He walked home, all cold and tired, and all,
With nothing in the world which seemed to be so good as true,
Mister Sen but never thought of himself,
That he was a story, combined to form a million things, untrue.

Mister Sen, Well this one's for you!
"It was all in the cold winter air,
Where all the answers blew, They were all really blue,
Dreamy And wavy like scented flowers at night and bright,
Bright as white and pearly glow,
Mister Sen They were all really blue,
To be honest at heart, they were, Meant to be only for you."

Mister Sen,  this one is for you!

It was all in the cold winter air,
Where all the answers blew

I’m smiling fictitiously, feigning functionality, I battle growing apathy, due to your incessant irrationality. Spewing hate filled bigotry, by angrily insulting me is no longer satisfactory, i've been growing rather weary of your paltry ****** misery. You act like you’re a victim, when you’re actually vindictive, yet everyone still beckons, to your pretentious petty whims.
Your consistent conniptions are causing great friction, you’re a deplorably toxic affliction that your friends have to endure. You don’t seek a cure, ignore the people who care, and never mature, but sure. We are what’s wrong.
Affecting everyone around you with your irritating ignorance, not noticing the damage that you make your friends experience. By acting solely on your selfishness, you’re becoming quite a hindrance.
Replace this self-annihilation with rehabilitation. You’re always seeking affirmation but go about it the wrong way, keep up this desolation and then no one’s going to stay for you. Because with enough persistent pressure, the strongest rock will become weathered, the bonds you’ve made will start to sever, you’re going to lose your friends forever.

Stifled into servitude
infiltrated
*****, pillaged
consumed
The papers piper
plays their tune
Thick as thieves
they lead you to their ruse
Pay into the fuse
lighting our inevitable doom
Fictitiously facing
agitations of their separation
Believe youre free
to serve a nation
which merely is
a corporation

The sound of peace silenced by a thousand guns at war
Silenced by a thousand voices with words they have used before
The avenues of unity and humanity, no longer do the voices explore
My heart and my soul they suffer , I bleed with the torture from within, the actions of so many I so deplore
Serenity subdued, quite conveniently quashed, the hands of the perpetrators so easily washed ,those who seek, left behind left out there in the wild the bleak, voiceless and destitute, forever free,and forever resolute
The sound of peace is the noise of those  who endure, those whose thoughts lean towards pure, maddened by the monstrosity of life with its parade of parasites, a disease with no cure, the sound of white noise  to keep peace from your door
The sound of peace the crying of an orphan child, a refugee before he's turned three, the politics of peace in the land of his father, is the sound of desolation, a way to dampen and eradicate the sound of inspiration, this sad child knows only a sound so wild, the sound of a land viciously *****, and from its pavements of beggars, streets of vagrants , it can never be scraped.
The sound of our sovereignty, the sound of our ruling state, the sound of a cash machine, the sound of another devious deal declared, into the dark hours of deceit the sound of brokers exchanging gifts as they fictitiously negotiate
The sound of our country, the sound of our victory, the sound of our old dying in care homes fit only for dying rats, the sound of the nhs run by pompous over paid blood ******* fat cats, as patients and nurses suffer, they continue to help each other, the sound of our great land, whispers and secret deals with the upper echelons who have always had the upper hand,
The sound of now , this modern age , the sound of your child crying at 42, faced with a torture of finance , a restraint of  existence and excess responsibility, no reason to be no reason to do, more so than ever a slave to the wage that seems to furnish so much more for others, you can only sit by and listen to the sound of brothers killing brothers
Our greatest new age noise the suicide inducing tremor of look at what we have created and how it is so silent those who turned out as the great gift of capitalism was celebrated, silent if it were not for the greatest noise you can hear, it grows and grows void of any past fabled fear

I am like a dying candle whose energy is being lost
My duties and responsibilities took me on the way
Now my heart and soul are waiting for the real blast
And my near and dear ones have left me to pass away

I have played my inning passing thru all thunder
I have saved my loved ones from the earthquake
Now with blur eyes when I look back to blunder
What is this world full of mockery fictitiously fake

The light of my eyes is now waiting for light to go
My predestined destiny and destination are in front
Still I aspire to see all my loved ones before the blow
Let me gracefully and graciously take the judgement

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Glow

Akin a tumbleweeds  
aimlessly blowing in the wind
umlaut punctuation
courtesy of let herd Mother Nature
nsync with markie mark,

(or other faux nuke heads
on silent auction
ajudicating bidding chopping block)
or getting sparred
sum xtra mo' mints

before morphing into gamut
tuff height (against opposing
super cross currents)
bow willing head over heals

deftly thwarting encroaching
enfilade enhancing
invading army of deplorable
dust devilish debris
with full Stanley steamer ahead onslaught

opposing approaching phalanx
ta become a foo lush fighter
putting kibosh
across the infinitely open
and wide prairie land

(which wasteland fictitiously
epitomized and described by T.S. Elliot
with absolute zero relevancy here)
a barren vista ravages
metaphorical landscape

of one measly mortal malcontent male
bumping and scraping
along an accursed habiliment
just barely avoiding
and dodging diabolical demons

mercilessly unrelentingly ready
to ****** this somewhat sanguine Simian
who finds himself amidst pitfalls
of a tortured and twisted existence

racked with up pinions
(halving smartly put irons in the fire)
deployed incognito
tub hest describe demonic dungeons
damp, dark, demented domains -
a veritable no man's land

and one impossible to escape
from no matter how fast I flee
from the fearful, fiercesome
and phantasmagoric forms

figments of imagination
yet real and tangible as bone and flesh
haunt sacred house of slumber
and transmogrify me
into a loathsome madman

ranting and raving senseless
gibberish and gobbledygook
yet perceived as metaphysical
and philosophical
sane state farm mister soundcloud
syllabification stutterer

from one whoa man
World Wide Web wayfarer
(perchance yourself)
which virtual vagabond
venerates vowels

and possesses means
and tees to till verse
akin to a sorceress
who waves magic wand

to produce such supreme sentences
and weaves tantalizing
terrific topographic tundra's
that this admirer of her artful
and colorful poetic endeavors

prompts him to accompany
Gaia as thought-provoking troubadour
amidst the information
super byways and highways

along winding labyrinths
of critical thinking
or simply stepping cobble stones
comprising silly
rhymes without reason

all the while giving subtle egress
into that chamber of secrets
long kept shut tight
to maintain sure footed
stance of solitude,

whose only entities happen
to constitute trappings
of literary lugubriousness
those tombs of largesse identified
as great works and master
pieces of literature,

yet careful to avoid complete intimacy
lest cherished 100 years of solitude
shattered and heart rent asunder
twin perils of loss provide
an understandable cautionary tale

from author of this rambling missive
a most profoundly perceptive
and acute Ape man
touched to the quick
with a bit of angel dust

and aware this agonized
angst riddled arboreal beast
contents himself with
the confines of cyberspace.

Beautiful creature you are. My wishes surround a perception I have formulated for you. Are you this creation? Ive fell in love with my creation, my creation which is not you yet articulated around the physical features you posses. Give me back my love I’ve put in a lover who fictitiously exists, my love put to waste in something which exist only in the pockets of my mind. I love you I love this creation I love this feeling, this feeling destroys me for everytime you deny me I presume my existence means nothing to you. I yearn not for you but for my creation, which ceases to exist as you. Who are you ? Your insides are dark and twisted. I do not love this earthly reality, it has stolen my lover, I hate it I hate it, to dispell what you are would bring great gratitude to my hollow soul. How can I live knowing my creation can extricate me from this ne’r ending nightmare Ive unluckily found myself in. For he cannot our only connection occurs when I close my eyes to escape reality, then as they open again he vanishes. You do not serve your purpose instead you haunt me, a reminder of what could be nonetheless will never be. I love you.

Introduction: once again I incorporate
my trademark penchant
to fabricate fictitiously
portions of the following poetic endeavor
can you care to
discern fact from fiction?

Attempts at lifelong friendships and holy matrimony...

Shot thru with figuratively cankerous nub,
cuz yours truly did flub
even though as a scouting cub
how yours truly - alias Phil Anderer
committed faux paw unlike me papa bear,
he set admirable example
sidestepping and skirting carnal temptation,
(****** one... two...; ****** one... two...)
squelching roaring testosterone
against succumbing, rutting, quieting
call of the wild desire meaning
inevitably envisioning seducing,
mounting, kissing, caressing...
receptive quite pleasing gals,
nonetheless merely fending off such
verboten enticement left him panting.

Think surrendering to playful kibitizing
as kickstarter to hanky panky;
said violation against matrimonial covenant,
thwarting potential indiscretion subsequently
linkedin with Capital one aplomb.

I never bore witness
seeing me dada caught
in sexually compromised contretemps
to any aforementioned high fidelity hubbub,
yet his sole male offspring (me)
begat courtesy Harriet and Boyce,
(but one minor tidbit to share,
neither father nor mother physically alive
they long since passed away
to Elysian Fields)
found their one and only son - nada faithful
blithely nixing pledged troth,
which rent asunder filial bond

between self and precious progeny
plus provoked wrathful ire
and eventually forgiving soul of thee missus,
nevertheless her heartfelt
initial fury at discovery
of absent husband from Bryn Mawr quarters
didst activate pulse
to throb considerably faster
and louder than usual subdued lub dub
and even at present
when daring to discuss
mine moonlighting one night tryst
as Casanova wannabe, which
hard drive of mine generated message
Abort, Retry, Fail?

Though ***** never freed
flagellated empowered gamete sea men
despite libido being shifted to high gear;
****** ******* never consummated,
nor ****** ******* bliss experienced
much less allowed, enabled and provided
ditto the recipient of mine adulterous affections.
Far fetched fanciful whim
(hard to believe) fallacy
complicity, excitedly, and willfully
following imaginative thought,
though following whim never expressed,
but how rousing, spellbinding,
tantalizing the thought of foreplay
exciting, fondling, goading
receptive flirtatious paramour,
an alluring mistress of color
to attempt and strategize my abduction
as random human trafficked heist
held prisoner until an undisclosed
sum of ransom money
delivered to the captors.

The wife ofttimes references taboo subject
regarding aborted love affair
(alluding to side piece as underhanded gibe)
upon being probed, questioned, and raked
over figurative coals with intimate queries.

These mild interrogations
trigger a sudden uptick
in voluminous silence;
tick tock transpires soundlessness
spikes male level lent rub,
between one once randy husband
and grateful wife; she exhibited forgiveness;
how virtuous ma lady accepting spouse,
which whole frisky fiasco
(on a Freaky Friday)
fostered felicitous flagrante delicto
induced reciprocal black barbs upon psyches
their paternal parent inflicted.

Although antics unbecoming
monogamous kickstarted, declared, and avowed
essentially compromising legally binding union
long since ceased
(matter of fact yesterday April 21st, 2022
me and the missus
went shopping at BJ's. Whole Club
200-C Mill Rd, Oaks, PA 19456),
the psychological fallout
still indelibly etched.

Tumultuous emotions roiled
driving past long gone
home of me childhood
324 Level Road no longer exists,
yet chuckful of memories
flooded mine consciousness
flashback triggered gamut
of existential trials and tribulations.

As a youngster behavior of yours truly
(i.e. mine) never purportedly "bad"
rather reserved, I gave no indication
then how such a cute beastie boy
when becoming acculturated
within loving family provenance
versus disaster later married life evinced
displayed, exhibited, and flaunted
characteristics antithetical, diabolical,
heretical, and piratical
(so much for hyperbole)
par excellence of an exemplary cad,
a most definite poor example

and embarrassment of one
good for nothing dad
to two adorable daughters,
who deserved better egad
myself as basket of deplorable
father figure in retrospect me not glad
carrying on illicit affair
trying to compensate
while cultivating the row
(elle) regarding husbandry
during and post pubescence
never going out on date,
nor kissing an attractive lass,

when poet of Perkiomen Valley
scores of years ago
besotted with anguish
extremely, governed as introvertedly,
and painfully shy lad,
(he knew nothing about
powder milk biscuits)
and more or less describes himself
during his adolescence as a "wallflower"
self deprivation concerning experiencing
life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness
found aging logophile mad
at himself missing out

on typical social/interpersonal casual forays
donned in fashionable dungarees and plaid
fast forward to mein kampf as unhappily wed
whereby hours spent
(rather wasted) posting
and answering personal classifieds
for female assignations
numbering well into bajillions
in other words quite a scad
only countless lunar months ex post facto
did sincere regret prevail
mooch more'n a tad;
dalliances involving barenaked ladies
costing inxs of any legal tender ***.