the flier in me is not a fly in the ointment
the flier in me daily basks in ambient glory
the flier in me is a hopeful at your door
waiting to be puzzled by you, the enigma
and betimes be indulged with some attention
the flier in me glitters and sparkles truly
because you're the source of my highness
i rise into the sky and soar into the universe
propelled by the image of your birthday suit
that reminds me that that's the natural thing
to be; naked and noble like a new creation
so there i go again flapping flimsy wings
that nobody sees; feeling like old-time magic
i want to thank you prompt of my quests
i want to thank you agitator of my longing
i want to thank you lovely seer and siren
i thank you for these blossoms open in me
i thank you for teaching me to fly like a bird
straight into the shelter of your cuddly nest
where i shall be anchored in calm waters
and soon rinsed in a cascading shower of bliss
my sweet seer and siren, i promise you this:
i shall be true though my wings should melt
as did the wings of hapless ikaros the greek

I'm as lonely as a station at night.

The december mist and the moon
peaking high over the iron fence
dulled the low volt into weird halo.

But like bats I reap the rewards of night.

The buzz of the crickets rose in crescendo
from the undergrowths around the track
sounding as unreal as the silent platform
abruptly cropping up on nowhere land
doubtful if ever a train would notice it.

Days are dull actings dancing to strings
yielding nothing to let you know you.
I'm in full vision before the lightless mirror
opening up alone but with the many faces
the dreary day ruthlessly hid from me.

The mist was engulfing the iron railings
and when a distant engine whistled
there was no track or platform
but only the lone flyer hung on the moon
like a bat glued to the scent of night.

Hannah decided to have a heartwarming party
After all home is where the heart is
So she invited anyone with lungs that breathe
To come share the warming air

She typed up a flier that read:

I welcome you all to see
The moon meet the sun
Cover charge: one body handshake

The drug for this evening will be hugs
I've heard if you have too many or
Squeeze too hard you can
Overdose on love
But we will take our chances

Bring a friend or
Better yet an enemy

Show them that the
Night can dance with the day
It will dawn on them at dusk

This won't be one of those
BYOB affairs
More like bring your own everything
So we all can play emotional musical chairs

Smiles are free
Surrounded by such company
So be sure to RSVP
Even though walk ins are always accepted
It would make me so happy
To know you're coming! :)

The best THING
That ever happened to me was
When I was a college freshman.                              
It happened in mid-February of 2009.
Valentine's Day.
A day of celebrating a couple's
Relationship with each other,
A day of romance & companionship,
And a day to say "I love you"
to your significant other.....
While getting SMACKED
In the FACE
By a PILLOW!

I was in San Francisco
at the time.
The City by the Bay.
It was three weeks
before Valentine's Day.
Throughout the entire
San Francisco State Campus,
Hundreds of fliers
Were spread throughout
The college
Describing the big event;
That it's going to be HUGE,
That it's going to be EPIC,
And that it's going to be.....
SUPER, DUPER, FUN!!!!!

I was walking to class
The other day when
I stumbled upon
one of the fliers.
After I read the flier,
I realized that
Since I don't have a
Boyfriend to hang out
With me on that day,
And that my friends
Are too busy
Hanging out with their
Significant others
And that they don't
Have the time to
Hang out with me
On that day,
So I figured
That I MIGHT as well
Go to the event
Just to see what is like
And to pass the time
on the official day of love.

A few weeks have gone by,
I was busy counting down
The days until the big event
While going through
My daily business
as a busy college student.

FINALLY
The day of the big event
Has ARRIVED!
I WAS BEYOND EXCITED!
I CANNOT contain myself.
Instead of studying for my classes,
I did ABSOLUTELY NOTHING
during the day.

Just a couple of hours before
The start of the big event,
I GRABBED my pillow,
DASHED out of the dorms,
RAN through the college campus,
And got on the MUNI Light Rail
That will take me to the location
of the big event.
Was I alone?
Nope.

A bunch of other exciting college students
From the same college
With their own pillows
were going to the big event as well.
Along the way, more and more
Exciting people carrying their
Own pillows came on board the
MUNI Light Rail en route to the
location of the big event.

When we arrived at the location
Of the big event,
The Port of San Francisco
On the Embarcadero,
It.....was.....MADNESS!
There were tons of people
With their own pillows
Crowding the streets
And the piers
Along the Embarcadero;
They were all looking
At the Port of San Francisco
Building's clock;
Patiently waiting for the big event
to actually begin.
The anticipation was filling the air.

Then, the clock rang
Signaling for ten minutes
until the start of the event.
People everywhere were
Waving their pillows
FRANTICALLY in the air;
They were Cheering, hollering, hooting,
Howling, screaming loudly;
Making ALL kinds of sounds
to pass the time.
The clock rang once again
Signaling for five minutes
until the start of the event.
More cheering, hollering, hooting,
Howling and screaming coming
From the vastly large crowd
As well as more frantically-waving
pillows.

Finally
The moment had arrived.
DING. DING. DING.
DING. DING. DING.
The clock slowly rang six times
Signaling for the start of the six o'clock
hour.
And at the same time,
Hundreds upon hundreds
Of pillows were SMACKED
Against each other
And the feathers were
flying all over the place.
THE GREAT SAN FRANCISCO
VALENTINE'S DAY PILLOW
FIGHT HAS OFFICIALLY BEGUN!!!!!

Not only was I participating in the big event,
I was too busy snapping pictures of the big
event with my cell phone.
I've captured some of the most
Memorable moments
From different angles
And from different parts
Of the Embarcadero
of the big citywide pillow fight.
All of the pictures that I've taken
During the event
Were stored into my cell phone
So that I will cherish them
And remember/reminisce them
until the end of my cell phone contract.

Then
I decided that
I should get in on the fun.
So I went down to the main scene
Of the big pillow fight,
And started looking for a group of people
To have a nice, friendly game
of pillow fighting.
Luckily, I stumbled across
A small family;
A father and his two children,
And then.....it was love at first SMACK!
We automatically started to hit each other
with our pillows.
It lasted for a good five minutes.
We are having the time of our lives!
I was having so much fun with the family.

Well,
All good things
must come to an end.
I have a great time,
I wish I could stay for a
Little bit longer, but
I need to go back to the dorms.

Overall, I would rate this event
A 10/10,
Or better yet,
A 100/100.
BEST
VALENTINE'S DAY
EVER.
I need to do this event
EVERY
SINGLE
YEAR.

Whether I'm a single lady
Or in a relationship with a boyfriend
Or just hanging out with my friends,
I will go to this event every year
And I will definitely bring my boyfriend
and my friends with me to this event.
IT DOESN'T GET MUCH BETTER THAN
THIS!

In my opinion,
Saying "I love you"
With a box of chocolates,
With flowers,
With a nice dinner and a show or movie,
Or spending quality time doing it in the
bedroom.....
is ordinary.
Saying "I love you"
While getting hit in the face by a pillow
participating in an EPIC citywide pillow
fight.....

Now THAT'S extraordinary!

Nothing
And I mean NOTHING
Says "Happy Valentine's Day"
Than a good old-fashioned
Pillow fight!

A Tribute

A king takes supper on a creaking deathbed. Featureless, winged creatures zoom by the dark condensed windows. Micro parasites build adobe headquarters in his soft tissue. Reaching for a plate,    he groans the terabyting howl that’s prescribed with chemotherapy. Qwerty and light from the drugs, he stares at the apple on his tray. Lost in its curves, he finds himself trapped in a safari of memories. A dream devolves upon his downtrodden mind….

The canopy is populated with twittering, angry birds. Pools of social blood attract flies to the googolplex degree. He stumbles through the dell, suspicious forest while a tremulous, fiery fox stalks behind his echoing footfalls. Pixar apes swing from trees chased by grisly, disney men with guns and trucks. A large eye tunes the darkness and blinks red upon an aging mountain lion in shadow’s brush.



The sony rays belight foliage in auspicious, plaid-orange hues. This amazon of experience plugs the wanderer into a hard drive of intelligence – a gateway to an encyclopedia of wikis and browsers, expanse enough for any backdrop rooftop audience to be faux-enthralled and eager. There are grumblings in the distance of another engine tromping the scope in search of something new and useless. A rumorous bat upsets the plagiarizing tide of the Atlantic Pea Sea. A snake slinks out of the blossoms clinging to the vines among a macintosh tree and bites the salty flier of the washboard night; cyber venom invades his veins.

The average, homeless, bounding, warrior awakens to find a cold supper on his lap and another syringe in his arm. His remaining gums support his teeth as they bite into the apple. He swallows, sighs, and rests his balding, crescent, once-handsome head on the white pillow.  The green fruit tumbles gently out of bed and mutely rolls to the floor.
With that, Steve Jobs is dead.

Stellar spirit, fearless flier to high skies, your wings are gifts of freedom,
your florid songs, tug at my heart as much as those plumage,
your elan, though subdued a bit by harsh weather, takes new shoots,
never in disquiet, indomitable, your inner lamp, now burns with camphor light.
I see you fly above the storm clouds, singing anthem of your soul,
spectacular, in clear weather, cheered by your dear ones near,
the hillsides, valleys and dales resound with your dulcet tunes.

She called me




She called me
a little *****

in which five knuckles
and four spaces
were the only faces
that ever turned a light on for me.
Or off, as a matter of fact.

Write it on a flier, or
tie her up in the back of a limousine,
ask her to give you some sugar
and send you to sleep.

Just don't be weird about it.
And seriously,

pay attention,

you just might


burn something.

I think my voice is changing.

I press four fingers into my forehead
and smoke a cigarette like that one writer
I was too cool to ever read. You know,
they treat you like a ******* drug?
A ******* drug!

Past lovers,
and their coat hangars,
I don't wanna talk to 'em,
I don't wanna touch 'em.

But I do;
it's easy to cut into
those veins once you've
found 'em.


*I'm sorry,
so prone
to wasting time,
I love when my head
spins on an axis
all of its own.

We all know when we are not wanted as it seems that many do,
A jolly up in the town, everyone there but you
Your work mates are friendly but only for the day
Theyve spoke of their home lives and that they think the dog is gay
A bit of what is known as banter wouldn't go a miss
Your mates of old all married now, your still searching for that bliss
Facebook and Twitter can be the final hurrah with pictures of their lives
2 kids and a dog to boot, only way to get them out is a free drink as a bribe
Your best friend and their new found buds, all arms up on that log flume up north
We had days like that at Chessington, 18 and ******, before your kids were spawned
We pretend we live alternative lives, who needs that wholesome charade of a perfection
A City flier, on all the apps, a wit you could not section
You tell the world your happy as, a life now ruled by Tinder
But tell the truth, your home in bed, fish finger sandwich probably from Findus
But it pulls at the heart, those pictures of happiness and a life that you thought was right
I'll get there someday, just ignoring the now, I'll say it again,

Thanks For The Invite

JJB

A helicopter fashioned
from feathers and fairy dust
buzzed the rioting fuchsia,

Newton's laws upended,
outsmarted,
The ruby-throated flier darted
over and under blossoms,
taking samples
with the lightest touch--
like a visitor from another planet
intending no harm,

then he backed off, surveying,
Lingering in weightlessness,
Suspended in the moment before,
when all is possible,
Poised on the edge of
free fall,
deciding what's next.

Offense is a proud, pretty bird
preening her feathers just so,
resplendent in attire
crested and crowned
looking down over the world

without warning,
the wind dares to
tousle her hair--
affection between
connected hearts, between
friends, between
the flier and the flight

the bird shrieks
at her ruffled feathers,
the caring gesture,
and the good intent.
she broods
she resents
and she preens

when she is ready,
the wind does not come.
she shrieks at its absence
as she did at its presence,
but she can't put her pretty feathers to use

Deep where the Sun lies
flies, and then in its parade dies
into the dark under mass
the cloaked ritual of time
that hovers upon the boundaries
the songs of the ages.

Where glint to eye
that inward sigh, the cry
that tormented deep holds its bar
far, upon the trilogy of  the lost
Gods that made and paid the cost
of frequent flier miles.

Shadows creep, leap
where the distinction arises
surprises the mornings jolt
that rides the long encounter
where cold the steel bears the fascination
of the chambered game
twirling, revolving, frame by frame
where the poker hand falls to the colt.

Triggered, offset,
the bang of the aeons arises, surprises
and dropping like the shadow he was
the smoking barrel
the drawn out look
pages from a tormented novel
that lay in a hovel
there on the floor.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

A grey goose above me
Calls strident-high,
Alone and looking down,
While I walk toward the lake,
Looking up to find
His silhouette against gray sky.

We're miles from town
On a middling winter day,
Shortest hours of light
Within the year.

We two are lonely here.

Skies gray promise
Neither rain nor snow;
A warming wind is blowing;
Perhaps the silver skiff
Will melt again,
And let the grey flier in.

Where are his loved ones?
I'd like to know;
And why he flies alone,
Scanning from his skimming height,
And yet I think I know.

I used to hunt his kind,
To lie in wait beneath a blind,
And rise to meet
Descending flocks,
Wings set,
Until I knew
The goose I'd brought
To ground
And the goose above
Remained inseparable,
One mate for life,
Death do them part,
And after, live alone.

A chill is setting in tonight,
And I am heading home;
A fire and my wife waiting.

Some comfort as the evening ends
I hope the grey one finds,
In the company of friends...
I'd see he weren't alone,
If I could make amends.

baby, I’m a ******* for your love
baby, I’m a lover of your soul
baby, I’m a crawler to your door

baby, I’m a flier on your wings
I’m a crier of my tears
baby, I’m a sinner
I can’t win
baby, I’m addicted to your love

baby, I’m a lost soul
and baby, you’ve found me
baby, I’m an old woman
but baby, you know me
baby, I’m a crashed car
and baby, you’re my saving grace

I’m falling hard
and baby I’m hoping you’ll catch me

you already have a million times

i guess in england i am marx... i spotted one victorian asset that leaves me gobsmacked... so if pedophiles are the lowest of the low in the crime pyramidal scheme... i can almost see it as those with melancholia and schizophrenia being like pedophiles... instead of proper treatment these people get the syringe filled with ridicule... the lowest of the low in the crime theatre are pedophiles while in medicine they’re the mentally ill. do you know how many marriages i’ve seen fail because of overcooked pasta?!*

it’s odd, the moment you realise the hebrew femininity
in stefan zweig’s biography of hölderlin,
it appears when scardanelli (pseudonym)
makes his gesture at the passing of napoleon,
schiller, beethoven, novalis, schubert and waiblinger...
its picturesque depiction of the ivory tower,
the piano the solace of solitude that eclipses
the solstice of congregational sanity so so animalistic
in the morse code platonism of s.o.s.
(what form is it? usually a sinking ship):
frequent flier requires company!
retired divorcee requires ping-pong partner!
oh the horror of such scenarios... never content
with one’s own company, are we?
too bad... i was about to write some satire...
i guess sarcasm will do...
zen buddhism is a perfect antidote for this:
stefan zweig laments the “loneliness” of the poet,
zen buddhism says: **** the world, let the lack of the world
fulfil you... isolationism tactic, purely pronoun related...
no dates to remember, no third party antics... no politics...
the voluntary beggar had more brains than the voluntary sacrifice,
it’s like: i can always go back to my honey abode
with the lineage of princes... or i can try and avoid crucifixion...
hmm... unbaked dough... what a lost will for choice!
no you see... zen buddhism makes this whole shunning the world
and interaction in it a positive...
on the no. 86 bus going to school i learned my first lesson
in non-constipated writing with a relative the sole eyes
of wounded pride avoided...
forget the world and let the world forget you.
works miracles... i live in a jamaican shanty town
and the whole ghetto is filled with me...
it’s the only world i desired and it desires me...
it’s not exactly tübingen...
the chance of an essex lad entering university
is quickly sentenced with the birmingham folk
at u.c.l. stating: we’ll crucify you for the accent!
the essex lad retorts: 'but that’s 200 miles from derbyshire -
what’s your point?!'
thank god i studied in edinburgh... i can keep an eye
on saxon politics from a stoic scot perspective without betting
on the winning horse...
if i went to london as “originally planned” i’d have dropped out
because the ******* are so pompous they hide their pomp
with protests: oh look... they brought the drums out with them too,
if i was serious about protesting about something i’d
look for knives and hammers... you know... the french reign of terror
democracy... forceful... i think they just read the memo
with a typo: bring ye conniving slogans and your cameras to lineage plot details
for social media outbursts!
you could never have proper statistics with television
programs... no we see them all the time...
the internet folk are really party-party orientated...
i can spot about 9 statisticians in a group of 10:
i.e. there's gucci trendy and there's pixxel trendy...
although in the latter sense you're cognitively naked...
and in the former sense you have to ask
someone for a deciphering specialisation
without flinging out the badge of honour that
reads: AUTHENTIC GUCCI TAILORED IN
SOMALIA BUT DESIGNED IN ITALY.

^¡^
          ^¡^
   ^¡^

Plain and brown
Ubiquitous
Seen yet never seen
Like street workers
Or bellhops
Or busboys
Or homeless.

Scrappy little scavengers
Scraping out a small lifespan
In cracks of concrete
In city streets smelling
Of asphalt and skidmarks.

They hop along
Like  yesterday's newspaper
Or a 5X81/2 inch flier
For last night's bar-band.
Dandelion's fluff.

Outside of McDonald's
They congregate competing
With each other for
Hamburger buns which
Cling to cold
Half eaten cheeseburgers.
Greasy french fries
Which cause congestion
In their legs so severe
That they shrivel up
And fall off.


Yet God sees every one
Of them. Loves them.
His eye is always on them.
They do not fall
From the branch
Without being
Counted.

A freedom we
Will never know
Is their portion.

They are unencumbered
By the ground
While we are
It's slaves.

Their 🎶🎶🎶
Tells us we will
Always be thus.
We will  always envy
The soul of sparrows.


Write of Passage aka
SoulSurvivor
2022

Y-acht walks around the blue sphere
O-nly yearns, not just to wander
U-ntil it finds a place sung home

D-eep it goes above the water
O-n the welkin filled with flier

N-ever ceases crawling in
O-h, home, so far, where you've been?
T-ill it meets the amity within

B-ut, home is near yet it is distant
E-ven afar from land, and near to alone
L-eft is regret, a yacht of uncertainty
O-h, why do I belong not?
N-owhere, do I belong in?
G-uess, because I'm just a yacht

My wires are
tangled up
Strangled up
And tied tight
To the chains
Keeping me down

Its time
I know
I saw the flier
Time to
Get some pliers
**** this wire

Disconnected
But the freedom
Feels too good
To go back
I wont go back
Never again
Cant hold me down

These scars
Burned on by
Hot wires strangling
While I was dangling
Above the surface
No arms
To catch me

Twisted
Red to black
Blue to yellow
Orange to white
Wrong, wrong, wrong
Get your head
******* on right

**** these wires
And your jeans
On fire
Cause you’re the liar
While I fought
But im done
I wont go back
I wont feel that


No going back
im too wired
to look back
just head forward
dont look back
chin up straight
blood is pumping
time for something

This is not a poem

This is a revelation of self

This is me finding the staples that tighten my skin so that I can finally look like
a man

I know this

I love to share what makes me feel good

Especially people

I want you to feel good

I know

That I am afraid to take showers

Because the moment the water starts running there is nothing to distract my
thoughts

I can stand in the tub for days and never get wet

I know

That so many pieces of my heart

Are in way too many back pockets

My love is like a dime store flier

Beggin’ you to throw it away

Go ahead take a number

I’ll never really be whole anyway

This is not a poem

This is a revolution

Where I finally protest my body like a seizure

And give up on my heartbeat that’s beggin’ you to put your hand on my bare chest again

I know this

I am not characterized by the cancer that I thought once wanted to **** me

And I am not some cutting board

This skin is too calloused to be back stabbed again

And I will no longer stay up nights waiting for anyone to love me

And I am not

And never was

Made of anything designed by God

I know

that if you want me too

I will love you forever

And I know how to hold a grudge just as long

Like an egg on the end of a spoon in a one-man relay race

This is not a poem

This is me

Finally putting together the patchwork

And replacing the stuffing

Double stitched

so that I will not fall apart again

We?
Yes! we don't know exactly
What we are
Saying factly  ....
Greater people we are
Life is like a wave
Just like the crests and troughs
We are like a slave
Just like a gruff

Until
Yes! Till We don't fly
With the magic wings we have

We have just forgot
About those wings
Which are like the springs
With which we would jump higher'
Yes! we would be flier'

*Yes! fly with the wings you have
Make yourself suave
Just fly with the wings you have
Just do ave
Of your wonderful ability
Fly with the magic wings you have

It has been almost two months since I last felt the energy of your lips against mine;
I've forgotten for the most part the way they tasted after you smoked a cigarette out on your balcony in the cold.

I've learned by now that I'm at peace when I suppress the memories and pretend you do not exist.

That probably isn't healthy but at least it helps keep your ghosts at bay.

Some thoughts, though, are etched into my memory due to how much I tried to remember every little detail while we were together
otherwise I knew I'd forget-
how your pupils expanded and contracted,
how the sky looked,
how much the air weighed-
You and I both smoke often and don't put much faith in our memory but I'd be ****** if I didn't try to remember.

I think I tried so hard because deep down I knew what we had,
whatever we were
was temporary-
but it was pure,
and it was rare,
and it was so beautiful.

I desperately tried to remember you sitting there beside me the first night we were alone together,
walking around downtown and passing back and forth pineapple ***** in a bottle of mountain dew,
picking each others' brains,
talking about our past.

We became inseparable within days.

As puzzle pieces, we fit perfectly.
Even our friends thought we would be great together,
you and I both **** well knew it.

I still remember how far away you looked as you played the song you composed on the piano and that it was so ******* beautiful I tried to hide my eyes that were welling with tears.

I didn't care that you weren't really mine as long as I was still falling asleep in your bed and feeling you move closer and drape your arm over my waist in the wee hours of the morning.

Peering out of your window half asleep, I had the perfect view of the sky.
I'd watch the sun rise and look over at you and I felt like I was finally home, which was a relief since I felt unwelcome at every single place I had ever lived.

One night, your friend drove you over to my house;
you had drunkenly texted me saying you wanted a kiss.
I sat on the couch and anticipated your arrival,
trying to calm my pulse,
not having a **** clue the end was rapidly approaching.

After all, it's hard to see the end of the road sign when you're too busy looking at the breath-taking scenery.

Lying next to me on my bed in the dark,
you touched my face and whispered, "I think that deep down, even if we're not together, you are mine... and I am yours," and I believed you because I was always told that the truth comes out when the drinks go down.

We were so sweet to one another; taking each other's temperature while we were sick and lying together in bed just talking for hours on end.
We agreed time flew with one another. We kissed and laughed so much.
I was content.
I thought you were too.

We stopped seeing each other as much,
Our conversations dwindled and I could feel you losing interest.

I watched you slip from my fingers and I couldn't do a **** thing about it.

Less than a month later, I went over to your apartment and you were high on the couch with your coworker's legs draped over your lap; the same girl I tried to befriend.

I looked away from the eyesore but you pulled me back in with torturous small talk.
I did my best to seem relaxed but my thoughts were burning into my exhausted brain,
how could you?
I cared after you and you repaid me by rubbing salt into the wound.

I knew then that I had lost you and I did everything I could not to shut down completely.

My autopilot is a reckless flier;
always has been,
probably always will be.

But despite the sharp turns and rough landing, I have been going to bed before 8 am and remembering to eat.
I have been taking my vitamins and drinking water.
I have been getting high with my friends and trying not to think of your voice.

As ****** as it sounds, sleeping in the bed of someone new helps speed up the healing process, or numb the same wound that won't heal- I can't tell.

I know people are meant to enter and walk out of our lives at precise moments and that there are lessons to be learned in everything,
but I still don't understand.

I guess these things just happen
but gee, I wasn't expecting it'd be over so soon.

We never had closure and we're both with someone new now so these words, words, words are pointless,
but as long as they are still flowing, they are still alive which gives them purpose.

And that is a thing worth writing about.

We were a thing worth writing about.

I dig my teeth into the grass
my nails in the dirt,
trying to never leave our garden of Eden.
But I've over stayed my welcome or so I'm told.
You say my frequent flier miles are too much to cash in.
you say my love will dissipate,
cease to exist
that's only something you don't wish to know.

Then this academic high-flier, Little Miss Sunshine, who was very clearly an endless faucet of happiness and fulfilment... she took her own life just a month after getting the exam results of her dreams. In her good-bye note she said she wasn't miserable- and I honestly don't believe that she was- but that, at eighteen years, she was absolutely sure she had had a good life already and didn't want to spoil that with a bad back and divorce.