They say that just because someone doesn't show affection in the same way you do doesn't mean that they don't care or love you.

I believe it. We can't all be silent lovers, we can't all be screaming it from rooftops either.

I understand it. We're all different people, with differing tactics and ideas of what it means to love and care.

But **** if I don't know any better way to love than to tell someone what they mean to me, to always kiss before I leave and kiss hard, nothing soft and forgetable. I don't know anything better than drunk calls confessing how much I like you, or loud laughs at your stupid puns.

I don't see love in quiet embraces and glances and iridescent, see-through compliments. I don't see it in tolerance. I don't see love in those things.

I see it in 2 am talks when you're tired but hell, maybe I like you more when you're half-asleep in my bed. I see it in scratch marks down my back and hands grabbing at my hips. I see it in consistent, small efforts. What you do every day says a lot more than what you do every once in awhile to me. I see it in the little reminders and notions that I'm on your mind, that I'm someone in your tangled, messy brain.

I need something tangible. I can't love someone with my lips closed unless they're closed by yours in a kiss. I can't love anyone who can't shout it back to me. I can't feel for someone who only feels my skin with his finger tips, and can't make me feel any other way. I can't do that kind of love.

So, everyone shows affection differently. I'll paint it in the sky for you, shout it from rooftops and proclaim it for everyone to hear. I'll write you and kiss you in the rain and make you breakfast and whisper "I love you" when we watch movies and tickle your feet and admire you naked and press you against a wall. I'll tell you you're beautiful. I'll love you with all I have.

If anyone out there loves with all they have, then maybe we could disregard what they say, that everyone shows affection differently, and show it how we know best-

*Loudly, openly, compulsively, whole-heartedly.

The reviews were in and as usal all were pretty much what I expected .
the crittics were so dam hurtful course what do you expect from a teenage windbag
who cant take a **** without posting on twitter how terrible life is.

But much like the **** on his hundred dollar sneaker's made in a sweatshop
by someone who makes ten cents a day .
There words much like there sad little yuppie cast life's  seldom amounted
to a pimple on the worlds ***.

What kind of tormented hampster take's glee in cussing out
a semi insane  carear criminal with a rap sheet that reads longer
than one of thoose Harry Potter books.

Being a man  of  much free time and plenty of found cash.
I decided to vist a crittic of mine.
And what better place to vist than a sunny state with not enough brains
to convict a woman who kills her own kid yes that true think tank
of complete dipshits Florida.

As  my plane touched I down payed close attention to my target I mean crittic.
It seemed he was versed in many hobies a few including.
Taking pictures of himself and his homies with there shirts off
wow no wonder this hampster was viewed so much by older gentlemen who run the site.

He also liked tiedie shirts and beer well honestly who doesnt the beer I mean.
Unless your a steriod fed pro wrestler or ***** hippie who wears that **** when there sober?

The name much like most things I could give a **** about seldom stayed with me.
Cause much like the hampster im writting about  honestly was as about as forgetable
as that night I spent with his mom ohhhh snap.

He was in a cult and it was a cult that had millions of followers
the cult of the yuppie spoiled ******* for which he was the states chapter president.
hey what can I say he was a good worker course that's what the guy bathroom
that used to be a politcian said dam you Sonny Bono  why  did you ever break
up Peaches and Herb!

But enough with the foreplay children.
It was bright as hell outside warm and annoying with all the people on the ******* sidewalk
Jesus man take the wheel im trying to mix a drink.

After some brief sidetracks what?
I figure why not   **** on a place thats biggest mark is hurricanes and ******* conventions
oh yeah and people who cant convict people who ****** good thing cause this vist was gonna be a breeze.

I stood at the door that stood at the gate that stood befor me and stood befor
my verbal punching bag locked in his yupie fortress.
Yes sir are you expected  the guard asked me.

Honestly no sir I wasnt but thats what happens when  a loose woman make's bad choices.
As usal like in the cases of most people that come from that clan we call normal.
he just looked at his list and prayed I would leave.

Sir Im gonna have to ask you to leave.
I knew this man's logic but seldom do I let sense and reason get in the way of a good
time or a Gonzo on a mission to payback a Yuppie ***** who much like his work
I often forget.
But hey look on the bright side when ya run outta toilet paper you always have
something to wipe your **** with.


The man kept asking yet like most people I simply ignored
his pleas.
Let me ask you sir what did the face say to the floor?
The man paused thought and as the tasser bit into his neck
and as his body went as limp as the states thought process
i kinda had to feel bad as he hit the pavement with a thud.

Im kidding I like I care?
Past the point of no return and little reason I was yet at the main door.
Were little now what was his name hmmmm  oh yeah young ***** Bagginns
called home.

Why you should have seen the suprize in his eye's
when he looked up from his coloring book to see his favorite
person to talk ***** about.

Or herd the screams   as his little **** was thrown into the wood chipper
hmm oddly enough red really wasnt his color.
Im kidding I didnt **** him right away hell that would take all the fun out of are little get togather.

And besides i bought all this kickass stuff at the hardwear store.
He kicked and cried.
For the love of facebook and texting i didnt mean it im sorry!
I was deaf to his cries for hours the torture went on.

And  just when he had hit the point of total agony I did the most cruel act of them all.
Well my friend time for a little TV.
What how the ***** that torture you idiot ?
Seems this little hampster still had some fight in him.

I pressed play and what appeared apon the screen was a horror so cruel it pains my long winded **** to
write it well maybe not.
Justin Bieber appeared on the screen.
Hey guess what ***** Ive set it on loop.

From the top of his lungs he screamed like a young school girl who fell victem to this
Pagan God.
Nooooooooo anything but that.

As I made my exit from his lare slash basement he somehow managed to muster all his yupie strength
breking his bonds a bolted like a yuppie cheatah he was to fast he had reached the shotgun befor
I knew dear lord! this was it I was gone for sure.

I cant take it anymore!
The sound was beyond words.
The celling was covered in yuppie sludge.
I felt myself was I dead?
Hey they got all the channels on this satelite kickass.
As I sat lost in my private time i had to wonder was it wrong
to target little spoiled shites that bully others and shouldnt we just try to reach out and understand one another?

Yeah ***** that what am I Dr Phil?
I have to admit young ***** really was cool now he lay dead on the floor and you seem so more open minded.

Course being it's blown  off it seems to help.
I laughed I cried I ordered like five hundren dollars in adult films on young ****** satilite.
Hey I was celebrating his life and staining his couch.
You cant put a price on revenge duh.

And as i bolted from that State dumping the corpse in the Everglades.
I had to wonder what drives a young ******* to cross a old drunk hampster
like myself ?  

Well like I was really conserned I was way to buzy enjoying the gators rip the
young no talent **** to shreds.

Note to crttics get a life and avoid me or I might be making a road trip to a city
near you!
Yes someones gonna get hurt and it's not gonna be me.

Stay crazy hampsters

The bottles were scattred monuments to beaten livers and bad decisions.
I awoke like any other morning okay afternoon hungover and to void of ***** to deal with
hampsters or flying monkeys .

The agony was what I was used to but the ringing in my head was altogather a diffrent matter.
it grew louder that constant annoying ring and to my suprize much like the voices in my head after my
usal sixpack and half pint of Wild Turkey it was still there.

It rang and rang and caused such a clatter I had to finally get up off my **** and see what the **** was the matter.
I opened the door to the pub to be met by a bright light jesus christ it was the rapture or one of thoose other
big hippie rock festivals dam you  lalapalooza!

But it was just then I remebred to put on my sunglasses.
That huge annoying lightbulb was a cruel ***** indeed.
Now in the realm of what most called the outdoors the noise was clear and to my suprize it was some
strangley dressed ****** slash recruiter for the Forein Legion or Salvation Army really whats the diffrence
ya see one fashion cult ya seen em all ohh snap!


The woman kept ringing the bell as if in some weird trance and like some strange witch she stood by a kettle
dear Lord! what if she was putting a curse on us all.

Hello sir care to make a donation?
It seems I could pay to keep the witch at bay why hadnt i thought of this scheme myself.
In a slurred voice i spoke to the witch in her native tongue most people call it english.
For ?
I said in a naughty school girl way inwhich a ***** ses to the teacher when she wants good grades
or a ride home with a happy ending.

It's to help the needy on Christmas.  
It seesm the pagan was raising funds for one of her bizzar rituals.
being the reporter with the heart of gold and not grain of sense I asked her to speak of this
strange custom.

It seems as though her good had had one to many and made another little hampster
so far this God sounded like someone I could enjoy a drink with.
Then he called on his homeboys to vist the little dude and give him some totally useless
gifts hope they kept the reciets cause ***** that crap give me a gallon of Turkey and a Xbox

She rambled on with her fairy tale and how now people seem to all give things to one another
On this strange holiday .
Boy like that will ever catch on sister .

She jingled her bell as i jumped and screamed like a little girl a very manly little girl may i add
dear lord woman !
That noise you may use your magic to scare other's into paying you but when I pay
a woman it usally ends in *** okay almost always.

She looked at me deepley she must have been undersing me with her eyes i felt so ***** in the right kinda way.
But enough with the foreplay children.
Are you insane?

The witch asked in a angry voice her grip on her bell tighten she spoke again.
get outta here  you ******.
Yeah i know she was totally into me.

Witch I know you've cast a spell on me so why toil with your silly made up holiday scheme.
Of all the pubs you could have decided to hook in front of you picked the home of
Hello's favorite guilty pleasure .
I say we cut through this silly spell  **** and go into the bar and i give you the most forgetable experience of your life.
Hey as long as im happy thats all that counts kids.

She paused caught deep in the moment then asked whats Hello?
Oh that was a site that used to be really fun and now really isnt.
She paused yet again pulling in her magic purse often used by witches
and candy **** singers like Justin Bieber!

She pulled from it some magic spray that blinded me.
the pain was terrible i herd her blow a whistle  lucky whistle.
Calling her warlocks who I feared were powerful and *****.

Soon I  found myself locked in a dungeon with other strange people all under spells.
there was a man dressed as a pagan God calling himself Santa
Seems he liked to play with his candy cane in public.
Yeah who doesnt?

The days passed and i was put through a horrible torture worse than having
to watch the O network or listening to Justin Beiber that musiacal ****.
I went days without  my ***** i was put into a strange state called sober.

Finally the curse was lifted as the guard showed me out he informed me
it was cause it was Christmas .
Dear lord !
The witch had  cast her spell over the world.

So as I sit in the confines of my Pub whiskey flowing like water.
I've learned beware of this bell ringing witch and her tales of strange Gods
and give or fall victem to her charms as did I.

Untill next time stay crazy hampsters.

i am a ****** ryhmist
for i arrange words in a bouquet
in hope that flower of syllables would bloom
to give you fresh-cut flowers scent or unsavory stench
but again, who cares?

they said
words are meaningless
and forgetable
so here i am
trying to make sense out of nonsense
saying nothing more than cries for help

I belive it was in a rest stop outside of Nashville when I first discovred just what lost truely

was.

The people moved ants to a hive.

Ghost's to the shell so to speak.



Looking up routes streching worn stiff leg's and existing in personal bubbles.

Affraid a seconds conversation would burst a moments ******* cast

existance.



But I only sat watching happy to be a viewer to many seperate acts in a bound for nowhere

play.



Hey you have the time?

I dont even have a watch.

I replyed to some lost south bound kid more ******* up looking

than myself.

He said nothing more as he simply  faded into the herd.



They were all bound for somewhere  and me I was just killing time.

My home was wherever I could catch a few hours sleep.

And hopefully I'd be outta this state befor long.



I was a nomad most called me a ***.

A traveler of fate and a lazy ******* to caught up in my own personal gains to settle down.



The voices of reason would seem to echo through strangers.

Whenever I'd take time to speak like some twisted record player

they'd always repeat.



So where you heading?

Nowhere and hopefully it has  a bar.



Why you on the road?

Well really I just decided to take a walk one day.



Where from?

North Carolina.

Wow why you in Texas.

It's a long walk.



Man your weird!.

Arent we all in some way?



And with that the conversation would fade into my beloved silence.

And I would view the highway and it's ever changing landscape.



The mountian  sunset's ,the desert  in the moolight ,

A city slum to a rest stop outside of Nashville where you find me now.



I'd seen Americas watercolors and her sharp edges and still charming sleeze.

And from a shared ride to a cold park bench.

I was embracing the forbidden fruit spoken of by

far better  fools and writers than me.



For true freedom was seldom safe.

But I viewed this world a travller a stranger to all including myself.



And from strange looks to even more bizzar remarks from  thoose who couldnt fathom

someone existing with no true purpose.



The question always was asked

from so many forgetable faces.



So where are you going?

Im just taking a long walk home.

Alone, aloof, amidst absolute darkness.
Within a room tightly packed with emptiness.
I awaited long, for a luminescent ray,
To lighten up, a long grim divine play.

Time, moving ahead at snails pace,
Made each second, look alike vast empty space.
I waited long for dawn to emerge,
And end an arduous forgetable journey.

An event, long past, triggered by an outrage,
Took a life, and me! to this dreaded cage.
And since, a few decades, may be,
Guilt, treachery and misery had engulfed all thee.

Now Naked, i lay with nothing of me or mine left,
like a ******, to lose it again!, to a pleasurable theft.
By the mundane outer worldly instinctive elements,
As i step back into it, the light!, liberated from all laments.

Stuck in between.....
Do I call him
Do I not
Do I talk To my dad like any daughters would
Do I stay away and not let my mother words down
Shall I not take sides
When all along I was stuck in between
My happiness
And this hideous Un-forgetable scar
That's haunting me
Constantly
Stuck inbetween my fathers love
And my mothers wounded heart.

because all the narratives are slipping...
once upon a time...
once upon.... there was a time...
and people had their lives...
huddled: bonded...
spoke to the fire...
teased a shadow drunk on a night-out
not returning with a one-night-stand
****-budy...
teased a shadow drunk:
for a handshake that would
become a classical: greek... wrestling...
the advent of judo...
sort of... hey there!
         i'm bored of the lies...
             i'm actually more than merely
bored: i'm numbed...
here's to! fishing for: the last covenant
of nazis...
just today...
i was watching the odessa file... 1974...
jo(h)n voi(gh)t...
                             even though...
****... this... **** that...
a people so... "conquered":
brought together...
                 what speaking of land...
to be conquered...
             yes: fishing for nazis...
scouting for them too...
the diaspora finally congregated...
i have to... feed into feeling...
an itch of...
the bother... should...
the words of: Balaam the Diviner...
              i guess i am a "diviner"...
i sentence each word with:
please! spare... this land this...
whatever it might be...
    of which i am... "exiled" from...
i keep the mothertongue in the shadow...
rhaspodic...
         we had affairs in the shadows:
when we wrote...
not much fun... when all the rotting
woodworks are busying themselves
with evixction notices for the:
karaluchy - cockroaches...
              
   two or three words:
   the original advent for the pursuit
of life... hell... that almost feels like
feeding ten piglets!

the black lives protests were just
an interlude...
the attack in reading with three dead:
you keep a libyan hound
on a leash for long enough...
collateral damage...
     of the union to oust Gaddafi...
i would never be a fan of anyone...
so... gifted in exfoliation of attire...
but then again:
fishing for nazis... without...
their... signature... hugo boss...
uniforms...
          who dressed these "neos"
in forgetable... attire?
   uncorked a bottle of champagne
when figuring out...
the new innovation of what was
once: the radio...

i.e. make them... wear...
forgetable... attire...
       some grey suit...
     but... of course the but!
   they can't succumb to the eccentricity
of... wearing the same ****...
over and over again:
the trick would still be played...
that they might...
for themselves: of course...
and have the clothes washed
and primed for re-use...
like back in school...

                  i could swear to have clicked
on my usual ctrl + c / + p...
wikipedia.com...
   for the ц: not being on the keyboard...
by "magic fingers" and all the more
a "magic will"... redirected to...
russlandjournal.de/en/...
    
          ah... "surds"... "signs"...
      like...                 the g-nome...
                           the g-nostic...
                                  otherwise: some variation
of... diaGnostics...
                             my own little...
bless the veil of inconvenience...

my little escapism: well it's fresh...
it's not a newspapers' opinion column...
when journalism was something
noble...
          it's fresh and it's...
how did i abandon finishing Dicken's
   the Pickwick Papers?
                      to have to glue the ridge...
that page turning skeleton...
it is... after all...
an edition from the 19th century...
i want to finish it...
but i dare say... if i did...
the binding would not retain its:
intactness...

                  so... are we still
scouting and fishing for nazis?
the romanced old baddies?
      the ones that would... somehow...
agitate the arab world post 1945
in shady dealings...
how... the diaspora would finally
congregate...
and a people could be robbed
of their land...
an israel...

        but the... diaspora didn't...
"finally" congregate... a sceptical bunch
of kippah kaddish qabbalah scientists...
ibn saud and the myth of the dajjal...
by god: the arabs would never drink...
impossible... camel jockeys that they:
were... are...
so... sugar-frenzy!  
                 they do like their sweets...
and sexed-up juices of trickle
phlegm from the harem of harems of:
****** olives and ******...
                      grapes...

            hell... wouldn't it be just nice...
to see someone... donning a ******* with
pride... for... open-range practice?
but these's days...
it's all a game of... so... who's who?

arab playboys or new-money beijing
shrimp whittle-wichard squirt: a squint
on the altar of lemon-C... some minor
vitamin deity...

                  narratives: all shrapnel...
    all existential "complications"...
have... honest to "god"...
become... constipations...
and the best of these are in england...
what with the school of...
that aesthetic...
  aesthetic-of-curating-hierarchical-norms-/-standards-/-expectations...
i was looking for a word...
a german hyphenated centipede was born...

etiquette!
what was a "complication" came to be easily
served as... a constipation...
oh... and i've had my fair share of
those: wild adventures of Mr. Turdy...

was once: a not once upon a time: je(t)ц(t)цeit:
or the concept of abolishing a theory of gravity
and the great devauliton of a van gogh painting...
classical verbiage...
word salad of misnomers...
if they were only misnomers...

candly floss of stripped nuances...
the elder: a democrat...
"social distancing"
or the... grand revisionism /
revival of the feng shui...

igorant moi...
   feng shui: a geomancy...
...........................................
.........­...........................................
.................................
...............................­........
......................................................
.­..........................................

        (my my! and that is!
a schematic for...
a loitering... paragraph)...

   who among the porcelain folk...
tinged with...
       is to speak of chiromancy...
or... to treat the stars and their
constellations...
with... impertinent questions...
to salvage some sort of a remaining
whole: that some man lived...
that some man...
would be...

a zen parody... a zen anything:
anyone: anywhere...

      to proscribe a tao placebo:
is to live a taoist sickness...
to live "anything" and an "anytime"...
to be so conflated with the confines
of an immediacy: a heideggerian: dasein...
that there's a "there"...
sein... there are more connotations
being excavated from
the etymological "term": unwavering noun...
concerning being: a space...
a coordinate...
than there's... wild dreams!
annotations to subscribe to
a temporal fatalism... by that...
indeed... time...
                  fall of the: and gathered
knee of amen...

                bridal coup:
this.. laced fake sellers' poignancy...
the brightest of minds...
and the darkest of tongues...

i came to this posit: inquiring...
my last... salvaged futility...
and it had to become apparent...
i had to find myself:
unable to leisure...
for the eventuality of all eventualities...
the supper of languid:

the mushroom hijacked the brain
of ape...
              parody...
the tree imitated serpet in shedding
its core... of bark...
the elevation of answers...
via... the 1960s psychadelic
experimentation phaze...
              + + + +....
                                we had to...
acknowledge the gemini:
clone... and the brain subjected to...
the pickling jar...

            why wouldn't i partner
up with... the death closure dynamics...
verbiage...
yes... yes... because...
the sober are the sane:
no sight of dolly the prodded:
proud matriarch fo miles around!
b'ah b'ah...
   i sell my consonants
with an ambiguity of vowels...
every... chance... i... get...
to have to: and i have to...
divinate the tetragrammaton...
in the "H" the vowel-catcher...
phoneticism of the god of words...
and in the beginning...
easy "thing" to desecrate...
the hierogylphs...

   the 'ebrew god wouldn't...
desecrate... the roman alphabet...
wouldn't... desecrate the phonetic
encoding of the greeks...
cul de sac of "adventure"!
             i hear...
the litany of the gods of the conquering
hebrews!
the 'ebrew god... didn't...
conquer and...
the egyptian hieroglyphs... were...
conquered...
                  canninites... canine bark-alongs...
dog-whisperers...
            
the hebrew conquered...
           cuneiform...
                  scribble fancies of arabs...
the revenge of Keturah
the mother of Khadījah
this... inbreeding of violence...
old sway old...
                   new sway new...

             what cave... when working with...
sand?
i **** on it: perhaps...
there might arrive a castle...
i blow on it...
   sand come... sand go...
or... sand go... sand come...

the dehydrated mind is everyone's
new norm:
because: the cpllective said so?
never the sanity of the mandarins...
lie on top of of lie...
cherry-topped-up-with-lies...
but still...
a "forward vector"...

                but the hebrews...
couldn't erase the roman alphabet...
or the greek alphabet...
they... managed to hide the runes...
they best hid the glagolitic script...
but what good did that?
when the greek solved a revival of
the glagolitic script and served
up a palette for cyrillic?

ergo? the hebrew god failed...
the fate of the hebrew people...
with the 20th century...
as a zenith...
was also their nadir...
          the god of the word:
of phonetic encoding...
you can't... somehow...
stage a fake war...
when... the roman alphabet was
to be used... in computer: code...
encoding...
you can't... erase this progress!

  you couldn't with a hierogylphic owl...
so much... teasing...
did... the mandarin: your god:
your sanctity saviour: of what?
god of "gods" blush... shy away...
the hebrew phonetic letters...
posisted against the mandarin
octopus?
what is it? crude bollocking:
and a shard...
          a truly... ripe... "prophecy"...
solomon's harem
the envy of a newly bred...
muhammad...

          i asked the willow...
why it had to gimmicj wilting...
with a Y... as it always turbned...
not the willow... the oak...
sure as ****: not the birch of pine...
to leisure... aging...
by... leusuring a loss of...
skin... leather...

  easy target practice for the god
of the hebrews...
              somehow...
the numbers were also concerned...
for all the love of hiding your vowels...
like they might be
diacritical markers of "accent"...

          hello: pseudo-sand peoples...
4 (ה)...
                  that's as best as i can arrive
at...
kippah... kaddish... qabbalah and lot...
a people: a country...
not worth invading...
a... diaspora... a people...
not worth displacing back:
into a congregation of:
"nationhood"...
if only... israel...
and there came...
the paupers of the vatican...

   i guess... i guess:
i'm not guessing... the returns policy
of that... parody of a clan...

a diet of diatribe...
  how can the hebrew alphabet claim...
superiority...
over the roman or the greek...
alphabet...
     "alphabet": phonetic encoding...
when... the greek moved into the theoretical
constants of science...
and roman... remained: instilled...
    for "phonetic" questions...
  
hebrew: proto-writing...
        i would wait... for hebrew to fail...
when being... dashed...
forged... upon the wave...
crashing onto the caverns of seafront
mandarin!

            to retain some of these letters:
as numbers...
is enough...
            but sorry no sorry...
        ktav ashuri...
   the hebrew god... jealous and proud...
the norse gods... bended their knee...
and became invisibly: doubly apparent...
from Runes unto Rome....
finally! a phonetic encoding system...
that... the hebrews...
couldn't perfect:
or find themselves ar superior odds to...

40 years became 2000 years...
a slow decay i.q. lesson
culminating in the denotated rubric of:
auschwitz... sorry... sorry told...
you can't... treat...
the proto-italian perfection...
like it's some... *******...
hieroglyphic! like it some...
proto-borrowed... syriac / cuneiform!
sand-****** kippah-u.f.o.!

savvy? no savvy? we can have
this argument going... on and on!
it's not like...
  i have care for the crude...
it's not like people are going
to return to the cafe or subject...
they'd hope... themselves
to a live maggot and concert...

you can't... you can't...
perfect what's already perfect
in latin with hebrew...
the music! the music!
     a cul de sac war project of ******* whipping!
which is all the need for
a circumcision!
added
of a worth of a niqab!
...
   i'm starting to think that... the kippah...
is a side-project for...
investing in solar-panels...
honest to god: no joke...
it's like the hebrews are being bribed...
and bribed: auschwitz nutz truez...

     because... the hebrew phonetic encoding...
system of x-ray letters...
can... will... somehow...
get rid of the latin...
   they couldn't get rid of the greek...
when greek became cyrillic...
useful idiots... and a laughing god.

my former respect has become...
a... shambo: a ****-pit...
shambles: exact!

         i always hoped to... keep my...
pretty.... toes... to the last.

I've always been drawn to inanimate objects. Call it my ADHD or just general neurological fuckery...but I've always understood objects more than people.

Spoons are safe, plain and simple.

Spoons are spherical devices with no sharp edges and a low probability of hurting others.

I never took them for much more than the pragmatic things they were. Spoons are a means to an end, a vessel of delivery.

Yet for some reason I now see how vital spoons are to my very existence.

Always forgetable, spoons are easy to take for granted due to their immense accessability. Yet, they bring about waves of panic in me when I can't find them...especially when I need them most.

You know those people....you know, the weirdos that collect spoons as trophies and tokens to be revered on shelves. I've always kept spoons on shelves before...pretty...and completely impractical.

Because those spoons were never meant to be ate with, never meant to be used to sustain myself. No....I want a beautifully dented spoon.

A spoon that's been ran through the garbage disposal by accident at 3am....a spoon that's been dropped on the floor and licked by six cats at once.... a spoon that just needs a little polish and a whole lot of love.

All my life...I've eaten with forks, knives, and sometimes even just my fingers. And while I've learned there is a time and place for all utensils in this world....I would be lying if I said I didn't hold a special place in my heart for spoons.

I know not much in this universe...but even in the hours when my brain goes dark and the lights begin to dim I know these three things to be true.

Spoons are safe.
Spoons are sustainable.
Spoons are worthy of love.

And I vow to spend the rest of my days....eating soley from my spoon and I will always be honored to be yours in return.

come to think of it,
     i can hardly concern myself with
speaking two languages,
among the polyglots i'm
   hardly...
                      what the normies,
locals, natives:
                     call schizophrenic...
yeah: split-brain...
        i don't speak two languages:
i walk in two trenches,
   among the no-man's land
of the everyday grey and
sadly forgetable... as in:
                               well adjusted.

trust an estonian to conjure
up "premature dementia"
                  as a precursor for
the easily available term of what
becomes a medicinal metaphor
and a lost metaphor:
     which i, just so happens,
stumbled upon.
               dumb ape in england,
chamaleon in poland...
       mind you:
              can "you" even imagine
becoming entrenched
in two languages?

        luckily for the polyglot
there's an intact aspect of him
easily acquiring the multiplicity...
        1st generation migrant
and...
          you know those 2nd
generation ***-nibbling-beavers?
     vector-boy doesn't
want to come out and play today...
no medicinal view,
   no... Hippocratic oath to mind...
writing, as if humming a lullaby...
nothing of
snap and col(l)age format...
      i really think that's an excessive
use of L... too much association
with: college...
      i mean: i haven't read
a single book by stephen king...
it's almost a shame...
   but then diffusion and cinema
happens...
      and why wouldn't i be disorientated?
if england wants to treat
bilingualism as schizophrenia,
   then at least i can point
to the clear divide...
                 tickling inorganic
artifacts of a past: when sentenced
to speak before a tangible
representative of the secular
faith of the asylum...

            play my cards right:
           i might even become a priest.
not that i didn't mind asking
cesare borgia for directions...
        i really did take to the brothel
and a ***** as an imitation
of going to confession...
            took to the religious theme
like a good catholic post-scriptum...
**** my altar my flower
               my eaten heart...

when *** takes up religious
   royalities,
               metaphors,
   and everything else,
  not bound to economising with
a spouse...

another thing i can congest
into my pigeon-brain...
    the "supposed" power of
metaphor in dis-ease
   (negation of ease) -
                       at least metaphor
is a coping mechanism
   to what is otherwise,
just dumb placebo pushing
  with self-"help"...
      the whole genre of "literature"?
placebo.

- but i never thought that
england would deem bilingualism
to be equivalent to schizophrenia...
there goes my Napoleon quote...

almost all psychiatric definitions
  of "madness"
           resonate unde the umbrella
of lathargy, in unison;
     what's sad about depression?
         that there's some sort of romance,
a mystery...
          behind plain old lethargy...
can't exactly feel pumped up
            when there's no sweating
horse next to you, but a sanitised swtich
ON / OFF...

         madness "is" an attempt to
make lethargy base yet at the same time
                                 eloquent...
       a romance among kings,
                a whip among paupers...

        what,
   because             every
                 is            "is"              
                           an
                                             =            ?

I can only find two sensible reasons
behind poetry...
   well, more like three...
the aspect of voyeurism,
              but there's no real thrill
in that...
      the odd chance of seeing
language in free-fall...
                disintegrating,
     then the reintegration in a
comment section...
                      or what is best
depicted as an escape from
    the dormatory of social formality,
the sort of conventionality
that strangers allow themselves...
and less about the one howling
wolf in a pack of mutes...
   more like the in-between pacts
and settled grievances,
   slyly passing enigmas and...
     lit candles...
                  thirdly though...
the casuality of the whole "business"...
2 months!
   a book of this sort of stature
I could digest within a forgetable month
of listlessness...
     but at least with poems
there is no sense of achievement...
    zilch...
                    and that's a formidable
gesture of appreciation...
   perhaps a novel is this that and
the other... yet the persistent sense
of relief, upon completing it...
no more than a brick,
     amounting to a feeling of having
erected a mountain...
   hovering above it, a halo of:
well done... a heaving sigh of relief...
a pat on th shoulder and...
for some inexplicable reason...
   a sense of initiation into a cult
of John the Baptist...
                    why this sense of:
having accomplished something?
     it's almost unbearable to have to
strip down a novel
   in order to see the bare, minimum,
or rather, memorable enough
to be granted a scenographic
         translation...
                since when is reading these
bulging gluttonous texts,
not akin to reading X R A Y S?
               a poem a view
  a novel some absurd finalé...
    which becomes nothing more than
a miserable sigh of relief...
    funny that,
  a poem allows me to not
accomplish any major feat,
leaving me neither satisfied,
    nor unsatisfied...
         but certainly not relieved
akin to a novel, which,
        in its monarchical
    bulk sometimes nibbles at me
to express...
               saying that,
I wouldn't pay the sort of homage
that some poems receive
(esp. those using the rhyming aid)
    in being memorised...
odd, this medium,
      of perpetual motion...