The engineers they tweak the DNA,
fostering changes to the RNA,
the plants becoming something else,
immunevolution modify man’s health.
And never will they accept the blame,
for their arrogance and dangerous game;
and when the food cannot be eaten?



History recall of the viral cretins.

life is never what it seems to be, always reoccuring with a thought as put upon the length of arms that revolutionize this thought. . .for those that can be bought,
is day like today less then feeling of want to rot, because so simple as a breeze brought down your temperment to be pleased. . .caught in a storm, that has outlasted
longer then your heart to feel content and warm, to feel the essence of a breath among a group of bad breaths, in other words, to breath among a group of brothers and sisters
from whom you can gain so much. But life is never what it seems to be, instead you look yourself in the mirror pointing at me, you, fool. Glowing from ragging frustration,
the toll blows for you unsurpassable deflation, because it is not for your hand that grows for the motion, to pick which ******* **** you want to lotion. Spearing the reasons,
the ego is your hero, born to work zero, and trusted with such hand to uphold all by command. To twist on the ****, that opens your door, to circumstances i certainly care less
the **** to continue to explore. But with this slight little mention, please pay close attention because this song is a *****. At least to explain the message, my whole is a
whole that takes life time to experience and grow, and appreciate the things that stoop all the levels around me, no barrier, no door, just genuine life experience to bring me
to come to this point to explain to the world something within the self, that is described by astute persons, for whom these ideas carry on to fulfill an immense part of
something that is casually slipped in and never thought about because it is told within reason that humanity cannot be without such astute person's idealogy. For **** sake my
friend, if your have many common sense, think of the common thing that has driven you to come to the conclusion that you have come to about anything. Everything is absolute and
existent and is evoked through the means. . .from the time of your dissapating freedom, as kids, not as adults, because look at how adults are this days. They teach their kids,
and they let others teach their kids, but the kids never get the feeling of being free. I promiss you, that cry or emotion you have experienced due to lack of friendliness from a
neighboring ****, it is an instillement that sparks up many motions of your life to believe into bizarre things the world portrays. For myself, I find the starting point of my
when I first breathed my first sensible air, when I walked in my own two feet without guidance as to where my eyes were seeing. How can a mind be so tender, lost by the misconformed
train thogh after train thought. That is why I find schooling such a fascinating ruthless thing that can be broken into several fashions as to why is that case. But not even
reason to fashion an answer that I know will and is definetly can be viewed to abhold a societal dismark of "wF"is wrong with that guy's mind. He must be **** casing a storm to
bring an ideaology of thought or some **** religion, but that's what so funny to me. I find everything in life comedic, non concerning except at times if I feel similar to
someone adjacent because that is their essence in my prescence, and I feel the need to comfort it, to bring back the importance of that self. The part of life I find so comedic,
how bits and bits and everything with **** have all so many fascinating
things to learn from, the progression of one's mind never attains self worth in the world with something interfering. That something interfering for example, is me personally
writing what is can be taken as pointless and presenting my writing to you how I say I do. But did I say how I am presenting this writing, absolutely not. So brings the funny,
that school teaches the aspect of disfigurament of a person's essence. This thing is a complete oblivion to everything and anything, that because even though I did not specify
how I tone myself on this paper, there is the predicament to assume that I am very angry deranged person who but pokes charasmatically at something no one can grip, because he
is portraying me the image the way I was bred to see. But then it is so **** funny, you can also take my words describing
all that I intend to explain and stick them against me to simplify your circumstances as to the causitive feeling your experiencing, and maybe the confusion that I am creating
noting a significant point that I do write intentionally without any figurative wording, just simply talking about this to evoke a presence of an essence within you that is hindered,
by what type of **** everybody is wearing, where they are starring, who is ******* and adoring, and who's simply the **** because they don't fit in a deranged group, developed by
ego-centric level stingers, who but want either good for you, or it is the drive to profit from you everything. That is, words blah blah, can take stroll
on one day's role and make no complete sense, and all they did were live the sense of a tangled mind that fostered on what has been in some form, taught, over
what you can call a lively existence, considering how much traumatizing headaches this could cause, and resembled among a group of similar constituents with similar reasons
as to whatever the situation might be. I could point this out within one sentence, but it wouldn't hold any deeper understanding of this essence, so instead I decide with all
my reasoning and tremendous experience that even to some, even at this gritty expertisians who grease up the world to guess everything based on study and reasoning by other humans,
who believe all these ideas are shifters to the mind but always stem the relentless, functioning without any perspectives open to the idea that mold humans into one spatial and far better
so called community, which in all it's case has lost the essence to preserve the self without a ***** on the back. That ***** of course is the communal ****, that builds from a
trigger of words, then they teach the brain as if it is known how to be as a functioning unit. The amount doesn't matter, the amount that is thought brings hope, but the most
amount to the self is the function of you, like I feel I function amongst anyone because I have come to terms and realize what really important things I have learned from my life.
My life to some is gripping, only because it sounds unbelievable, but of that life I found the same driving forces that drive madness even today, and has been reaccuring for as
long as some form of expression has been. And in all humiliation of humanity, or as I consider it digression of being self around the bounds of comfortability, it has been
a grand experience to see many a people transgress from the point of my meeting them with a continuous contact to the point of now, and then, and future plausible. But then
and future plausible for me stand out as notions needless of evocations due to the fact that the self is a dwindling factor hung by a rope to swing the way the self first portrayed
to me, and then to the direction away from the first encountered mind. But in all, without senseless ignorance, I do understand these things are studied for a reason, for a reason
that is workable to be as they are for some variables do affect person's in many different way. That is why, the sense of one roof and too many aloof is but a big spoof. With
sensibility, how can forging something into your life help you to achieve greatness within self to portray it in a manner plausible. The only way is as a current flows, so do
the gulls.



where do you. . .come from. . .so many leagues unbeknownst among my dreams.
life is never what it seems. . .until i met your eyes.. . that built
my stongest implication, dire in desire to live a life inspired. . .
but then so is, to dream upon what tends on building motivation. . .
life is beautiful sensation. . .
from the first rainfall with you meeting outside spontaneous realm. . .
we fought the solemn wind to calm our cumbered spirits. . .taking flight,
fighting what might have been. . .semeless to even entertain. . .lost in
each others warmness. . .everything we built tended harmless.

now see how we have. . .related to each other's hearts. . .left the scrutinity
at obscurity prolonged on scale of mirror. . .where it has always belonged.
now it's just time darling
i promiss it wont be long until our roots bind the maximum strong.

from even across the plains, and mountain long trip stains. . .i feel
less pain. . .from what's the phrase non loose then gain, consorting time
absorbing each other's essence in rhyme.
the deepest of sensation of you. . .the meekest of me, makes me be the simple thing
that i've reconnected to . . .to realize, the sensation of you. . .from our first
encounter, i felt deep into your eyes. . .what agree's none behind with lies. . .
you evoked the deepest motion within my sphere of emotion not to betray myself within
this realm and dark frivolous potion. . .for my first set of emotion set on your tone behind
this potion. . .

i face you eye for an eye of every day until i die, but will ever will i die. . .not with you
never. . .darling angel, angel you are my expressive tone to call you so. . .nothing more
is the essense of you that you seem to implore, how busy life must be. . .we need feel free
to good ridance from this fee that life doesn't instill our good griefs beyond simple joys and beliefs. . .
for simply darling we are each other's heart beats, if it's simple smell of you
i will carry out my deeds in hell. . .beneath on hearth this earth, where all of us have been given
birth. . .but sent to spend what is driven by multipolluted cord, the time in blunt approach from
the thing that planted our roots. . .

how i feel you is simply too rich for some dirt to enrich you. . .i simply love and cherish
every bit of your essence, it has lifelong presence that even doing what they call
reminiscing, can't surpass living without missing what they have been reminiscing. . .
i cherish you beyond what little faith can teach about having bigger faith, when all my hopes
ride faithful slopes without elongated stops and rope bearing hopes. . .
my life i see to the extent to remorse only what some feel beyond scope of too openly. . .
but how can i retreat on what i can't stop to feel to protect you from, to their heads we are getting closely. . .
how in the scope of your first essence, can i give up to give way to ruin such pure essence. . .

i understand the world makes a feeling for such pure feeling is counted by blessings. . .
and in order for us to make it, that thought i feel senseless baking . . .constant roll of assorted
reasons for why we bleed to them treasons . . .for how can i express, how simple love doesn't
just digress, or something with time you invest. . .it's simply have been a joy of building
together a foundation for our nest. . .**** the rest. . .**** the pest. . .the world is the best
when sleepers are put to rest and the spark of commune are dwellers dwelling on these mischivers'
locked up chest. . .
to find out that darling. . .you simply are a joy to give me whole, that i'm not uninspired troll
reluctant to breath beside the one he placed his greed upon. . .or her, or it. . but all the essence
is closed and beat, by some known with ideals humanity can't consider too farfetched to bare to grit. . .
and sway to the essence that i hold in my glances. . .are as simple as these branded constructed norms
that most tend to manipulate and distort to one contorted form. . . .so all can bend into one socket for 365
degree view that most tend to agree. . .but never really see.

i know it's many there with this essense around the breeze of an aura, that simply are stranded too far apart by such horror.. .
to relent their essence with their prescence. . .to whom Barbarians find the essence is planted full on messes.
but how can we relate to such things darling. . .when the first glow of your essence showed me life full
of memories by the smile in your eyes, glowing beauty of any sort. . .i feel the world will someday . . .
take flight. . .in my way, but **** that. . .i'm to speak when my message is too simple, provoked only by the
thought, "protect the world its miser mother has been beaten". . .i can never relent, the message that is never
but to contradict what's life has not eaten. . .because of the times put to squares, living life, fostering a step back, into recluce. . .these biches wont even
say cause their too ****. . .to figure out that there's a worrior to stump them pleaded sheets out of wood. . .
i say this out for your sarcasm, elongated this song a bit to give you big ******. . .so when you repose, you
think nothing but what side are the pro's. . .and enter them into oblivion, grasping each by the billion, how
can i repose for i know, without one word it is and has been always come down to the special chosen million. . .

because my darling, i feel the miser that this essence in me you inspire, is up and target for no good. . .for
these pleaded fockers granted themselves unrelentless priveleges for centuries, changing diepers to giving
blood diamond marriages. . .riding on what they call prestine carriages. . .oh what,you don't recognize this
what the world has come to building from everybody's demise. . .feeding on high rise. . .splitting cots in the
rots, most alluded with plots and continued building upon the essence of you, keeping you stewed, brewing up a flu. . .
to this day when i met you. . .
will never cease your memory by only that it was circumstance. . .romance among thieves denying our chance to dance. . .
with one glance, their world just plopped a chance. . .for i know they know who im refering to, without a glance
i'm sure they feel my stance just to look **** eyed puking. . .**** blocking their world to rocking, while else where goes to foster under
this ugly monster. . .stooped on a porch ******* their air, without any underwear. . .haha must be due to how
much pull goes to their hair. . .how do i, they feel ****** diddlidy ****, what, is this person a human or a
restored frame of mind living. . .i can't be what's in my eyes to be believing, but i simply am retarted man. . .
a ******* rough psychological fighting bluff, to them i would. . .but trust me, how could i in my life, i
never could.. . .fall to false pretention, that life is a great invention, that my desire's are for simple
hires. . .for i know my life evolves around that which your first essence, darling, we built stronger everyday
to our future of what we call present. . .

life with you, i simply can't resent. . .but figure out what's best
to make what we don't need to make. . . because the essence uproots life's shrivel of what they call romances. . .
rooting upward from the seed we planted on the day people deside to bleed
all over the notion, that this emotion they conquered stems from shot of elixir handed down from the heavens by
some they call cupid fixer. . .relentless, they push through many dances. . .all so strained and constricted by many
glances, restricting their free essence to feel in whole their life is shot down by simple messes. . . .
but you, none taken, broken and mistaken. . .how can simple things be so. . .when you know my essence for you is
far greater then what one instance can remark for the whole, i feel simply. . .protect you from their hole and
bind you with my essence that strives in whole. . .even through tormenting lonely dances. . .when i saw the world an ugly form. . .
nowhere to want to run to, or feel
resentment.. . where's life going to go. . .if my essence in a whole feeds you. . .away to their
mysterious goal. . .i wouldn't have the patience to ***** their abnormal pretence, as if life is sweet with
such mysterious fowl. . .create little thought to create bigger picture, many aditions just create tensities
among those who bicker, loosing control each time only quicker. . .that's why it's never lesser to speak for the lesser
dresser, or the person they showed you, that looked like he ******* told you, but instead they made the mistake
to grow lower. . . cowering even bolder. . . what **** is the point of that. . .to say it none meeker as if its meant to outcast the bleeker
. . .i'm not that so. . .to scowl like fowl crackhead, loosing self reliance to gr

By: Cedric McClester

Lord though I can’t see you
I can read your words
And I can see your creation
The thought never occurs
To question your existence
As some might be inclined
Instead of your existence
They need to check their minds

Does God really exist
Their questioning persists
They’re fostering pure ignorance
And this they should resist

Lord though I can’t see you
There’s enough evidence
To give the notion credence
That you make perfect sense
To question your existence
Is arrogance at best
Or just some ****** babble
From the lost and the clueless

Does God really exist
Their questioning persists
They’re fostering pure ignorance
And this they should resist

Name me one religion
That cannot make the case
That there’s a God in heaven
That’s always been in place
The evidence is everywhere
That He’s alive and well
And even after we’re all gone
He’ll survive to tell

Does God really exist
Their questioning persists
They’re fostering pure ignorance
And this they should resist

Lord though I can’t see you
I can feel Your Grace
And I’m anticipating
When we’ll come face to face
I have felt Your Mercy
And your compassion too
That’s why I’d never question
Cause I believe in you

Does God really exist
Their questioning persists
They’re fostering pure ignorance
And this they should resist




Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016. All rights reserved.

My garden, bedded
in rest.
The roses bloomed like chiffon twirls
shine or shade
You approached with vested
Interest
Your neon eye-shadow, your black-tar curls
With intent like clumsy mower blades

You brought a dandelion from my neighbor’s lawn.
Its puff splitting, flying from your breath like a song from
Your lips, I thought a wish flew along.
There was no wish; just seeds, scattered. Gone.

You entered my home, keeping me captive.
I thought the walls closed every time you left.
Breath shallow, you told me I was maladaptive.
You found him, you were gone. Only the ring I gave you was left.

I was wrong; walls didn’t crumble because you were gone, but
Because you were here, my foundation crumbled from
Morning glories, untended, the vines grew too long, and
In and out of the concrete, my rose bushes crumpled.

I near let my home die
I rebuilt from rubble what’s mine

Late summer, I toiled, upturning rose root.
Piled the brush, for us, a pyre.
A former self turns to a pile of empty bottles and soot
My friends called it your wake, this bonfire.

Leaves fell, still, I toiled.
Killing the vines with water I boiled.
Tilling the land, laying rose-ash under soil.
Aching back, 56 degrees, sweat, too tired to pull the splinters.

Then came winter.
Ice blew over and all those weeds died.
It started to seem funny, all those times I cried
Over You.

I find my love was never a closet;
A trap meant for one, but
a well that runs deep and
the groundwater clean.

Spring comes, green growth peaks into view
I breathe the air, happy with the year in review.
I plant rhododendrons where  common roses bloomed and
A vegetable patch where grass once grew.

My garden flourishes with life and color.
I look to my garden wanting just to tend
my garden, it grows like feelings for new lovers.
I think of how it will look by summer’s end.

Grass like fingers reaching to the sun with new
life, prospering. As the rhododendrons rise from
the care I’m fostering and tomatoes will
ripen and shine when the sun gives luster, and

Fruits from the vine plump with nectar inside.
Sustenance for me, of course,
A boon to the birds, the bees
As She and her soft hands help tend my crop
Pulling stray weeds, sweating from the force.


The flowers will grow in colorful clusters like
July fireworks, a boom for every new bloom.
The difference, Rose, is I
trust her.
She will not turn my garden, my home
into another crumbling tomb.

It won't stop,
It can't stop, the fire that is rushing through it,
Burning it's content until nothing but ash might be left,
An inferno, a firestorm maybe a rain of embers fueling the misery,
When did it start, that conflagration which consumes my being,
When will it end, this purgatory inside my chest, producing misery,
Without realising it I already gave up all my remaining hope,
After all, there is not much left this fire can feast on in laughter,
Will I be hollow, will I fade to ash and blown away into a soft breze ?
In the end it does  not matter, in the end I will not be able to remember, in the end there is nothing for me left to worry about,
My central has been turned into a kiln, fostering this flame,
It may sting, but I can move on, even if I sink to the bottom,
The light in me will finally be able to carry me out one day
All I need to do for that event to be triggered,
Is to hold on,
And hope.


~ Umi

[M i d w a y - H i m e]

Today is Christmas
sprinkling snowflakes onto pancakes,
where we serve hot cider
in the morning--
"**, **, **"
can be heard right outside
our dining room window
as our decorations jingle away.

The Faux Christmas tree
frosty white and spinning
slightly brushing past
each gift that will be
torn open soon enough
by our foster kids.

They simply glee
and chatter of how Santa
knew exactly what to get them
and how glad they were
for him to actually show up one year--
not remembering him stopping by
but muttering strangers
angrily saying
"santa's not real, grow up".
every time before.

Gingerly patting their heads
whispering to each one
"oh, Rudolph must have been tired"
as I ask them to pass out the presents
that were still wrapped.

God bless the woman,
God bless the queen,
An Angel,
Whose immeasurable services,
Are never appreciated,
A varied flower,
Which decorates the world,
And makes life,
Worth living,
A being,
That is just another way,
Of making another being,
God bless her.


You are so many things,
In one,
As much as you are one,
In so many things,
Daughter, sister,
Mother, wife,
Comforter, consoler,
To mention,
But just a few,
And an irreplaceable extension,
And conduit,
To man,
You are some unique kind,
Of symbolic,
And unbending sanctity,
A conspicuous epitome,
Of courage,
And encouragement,
As confirmed among other items,
By the pain,
You endure in labour,
But not minding,
To go through it,
Again and again,
And again.


Man,
Can only imagine how it feels,
To carry an unknown live object,
In your body,
In the darkest,
And most precarious waters,
Of humanity,
Changing your living habits,
Owing to a vacuumed unknown,
Incognizant of what to expect,
At the end of the long,
Tiresome wheelbarrow push,
A snake or a lion,
A murderer or a saviour,
A ******* or a nun,
A president or a dissident,
A Mugabe or a Mandela,
Yes,
All these,
Came out of your generous belly,
And made you to sweat,
Scream,
Writhe and wince,
In burning,
And torturous agony.


You are peripatetic,
And ubiquitous,
A convincing symbol,
Of unfailing love,
Infact,
Love personified,
You imbue pride in us,
And our children,
And a very infectious sense,
Of longing and belonging,
Mother of man,
And woman,
Mother of the station,
Mother of the ration,
Mother of the nation.


Your heart is soft,
Like your breast,
And is fraught,
With forgiveness,
And care,
Despite that,
Some of your sisters,
And daughters,
Engage in heartless,
And heinous baby dumpings,
And others,
****** our innocent,
And defenceless unborns,
Fathers,
And mothers of tomorrow.


Like us with the sun,
You fall and rise with us,
Feeding us,
And fostering us,
When we are sick,
Having sleepless nights,
When our progeny are unwell,
While we snore,
And dream of fake riches,
A literal pregnant mine,
You really are,
Rich and abundant,
In love for us,
And a very nourishing fluid,
For our young offspring,
An offspring you strive to nurture,
Even single-handedly.


But nevertheless,
We cheat on you,
And lie to you,
With absolute uniqueness,
We abuse you,
Belittle you,
And inhumanely eviscerate you,
We make you our slaves,
And regard you,
As being beings with no rights,
Nights and tights,
Days and bays,
Yet,
No matter how much,
We subjugate you,
Or how diabolic,
We treat you,
You continue to love us,
May God bless you,
On earth and in heaven.
                                                 ________

“If I could have it my way, everyday would be women’s day” - Dr Noah Marutlulle

Rail on, Rail on, ye heartless crew!
My strains were never meant for you;
Remorseless Rancour still reveal,
And **** the verse you cannot feel.
Invoke those kindred passions’ aid,
Whose baleful stings your ******* pervade;
Crush, if you can, the hopes of youth,
Trampling regardless on the Truth:
Truth’s Records you consult in vain,
She will not blast her native strain;
She will assist her votary’s cause,
His will at least be her applause,
Your prayer the gentle Power will spurn;
To Fiction’s motley altar turn,
Who joyful in the fond address
Her favoured worshippers will bless:
And lo! she holds a magic glass,
Where Images reflected pass,
Bent on your knees the Boon receive—
This will assist you to deceive—
The glittering gift was made for you,
Now hold it up to public view;
Lest evil unforeseen betide,
A Mask each canker’d brow shall hide,
(Whilst Truth my sole desire is nigh,
Prepared the danger to defy,)
“There is the Maid’s perverted name,
And there the Poet’s guilty Flame,
Gloaming a deep phosphoric fire,
Threatening—but ere it spreads, retire.
Says Truth Up Virgins, do not fear!
The Comet rolls its Influence here;
’Tis Scandal’s Mirror you perceive,
These dazzling Meteors but deceive—
Approach and touch—Nay do not turn
It blazes there, but will not burn.”—
At once the shivering Mirror flies,
Teeming no more with varnished Lies;
The baffled friends of Fiction start,
Too late desiring to depart—
Truth poising high Ithuriel’s spear
Bids every Fiend unmask’d appear,
The vizard tears from every face,
And dooms them to a dire disgrace.
For e’er they compass their escape,
Each takes perforce a native shape—
The Leader of the wrathful Band,
Behold a portly Female stand!
She raves, impelled by private pique,
This mean unjust revenge to seek;
From vice to save this virtuous Age,
Thus does she vent indecent rage!
What child has she of promise fair,
Who claims a fostering Mother’s care?
Whose Innocence requires defence,
Or forms at least a smooth pretence,
Thus to disturb a harmless Boy,
His humble hope, and peace annoy?
She need not fear the amorous rhyme,
Love will not tempt her future time,
For her his wings have ceased to spread,
No more he flutters round her head;
Her day’s Meridian now is past,
The clouds of Age her Sun o’ercast;
To her the strain was never sent,
For feeling Souls alone ’twas meant—
The verse she seized, unask’d, unbade,
And ****’d, ere yet the whole was read!
Yes! for one single erring verse,
Pronounced an unrelenting Curse;
Yes! at a first and transient view,
Condemned a heart she never knew.—
Can such a verdict then decide,
Which springs from disappointed pride?
Without a wondrous share of Wit,
To judge is such a Matron fit?
The rest of the censorious throng
Who to this zealous Band belong,
To her a general homage pay,
And right or wrong her wish obey:
Why should I point my pen of steel
To break “such flies upon the wheel?”
With minds to Truth and Sense unknown,
Who dare not call their words their own.
Rail on, Rail on, ye heartless Crew!
Your Leader’s grand design pursue:
Secure behind her ample shield,
Yours is the harvest of the field.—
My path with thorns you cannot strew,
Nay more, my warmest thanks are due;
When such as you revile my Name,
Bright beams the rising Sun of Fame,
Chasing the shades of envious night,
Outshining every critic Light.—
Such, such as you will serve to show
Each radiant tint with higher glow.
Vain is the feeble cheerless toil,
Your efforts on yourselves recoil;
Then Glory still for me you raise,
Yours is the Censure, mine the Praise.

I would like to tell you a story about a soul. A soul that was as clean, pure and gentle as soul can be. Rarely in live do we meet someone or some animal who never wanted anything but to give love. This story can’t be told without talking about her caretaker and my wife.

About 12 years ago an injured kitten was released to Everett Animal Shelter. The kitten had no use of it’s hind legs and was incontinent. In those day it was almost 100% chance that this kitten was going to be put down. Don’t feel sad/mad about this, nature’s way can be very cruel. The her fate sealed, this was much more humane ending.

My wife took it home to see if the kitten could be rehabilitated. We had been fostering kittens for a while and had a safe room for her. After getting her settled in we look at each other saying without words “Now what”?

Well the first thing that needed to be done was give her a name. We talked for a bit and I explained to my wife “She needs a strong name. She needs a strong black female name. She going need it to help her through life”. The strongest black female name I knew was Rosa Parks. That became her name.

Rosa being incontinent was, well to be honest, was a stinky kitten. Stinky kitten became one of her many nicknames, HA. Rosa needed to learn how to take a bath. If you ever tried to give a kitten/cat a bath you know it’s not really a good idea. So my wife dives right in, picks her up and takes her to bathroom for her first bath. Rosa being the soul she was just sat in the sink and took her bath. She didn’t fight it, she never hissed or got angry. She just took her bath. This attitude towards water lead us to try water therapy.

Water therapy was a home job for us. We would fill a storage tote with warm water and put this rear palatalized kitten in it up to her neck. Now for first time in a few weeks this kitten Rosa could stand up with the water supporting her weight. This went on for the first year of her life. This was the start of many treatments such as acupuncture, a sling in her room and massage. She did all of it never complained about anything.

It didn’t take to long and soon Rosa was strong enough to stand and wobble out a step or two. After a few months of no more improvement it became clear that a decision needed to be made about what to do with her. Is her quality of life such that gets returned for euthanasia or is she happy and do we commit to her care. We knew that she could never live the life of a normal cat. She would never be able to go outside unsupervised, she could never be inside unsupervised except in her safe room. She was healthy and always happy so the commitment was made.

Rosa had her safe room but what to do with her when we can supervise her. Rosa needed a wheelchair. After doing some research we found a local company that makes wheelchairs for pets. After getting her sized up the day came she had her chair. We put Rosa in her chair and in no time she was zooming around the room. Rosa is mobile!!!

My wife and I would take Rosa and Cocoa (look for the story ‘Cocoa’s Ghost’) for walks around the block. Animal Rescue Foundation who had paid for Cocoa issues and Rosa’s early expenses told the Everett Herald newspaper about this and Rosa went mainstream. Look up the news article ‘Pets get a second chance’ if your interested reading it. Needless to say walking a cat in a tiny wheelchair got attention.

One of the things that was very special about Rosa was she loved being a foster mom. My wife would often bring home sick kittens, tiny kittens and just overflow from the Everett Shelter and put them in Rosa’s safe room. Rosa always excepted those kittens as her own within a day or two. I often thought it would have been funny to learn about the birds and the bees from her perspective.

Me “Rosa, where do kittens come from”.

Rosa “Well first you eat some food, then you ****, then you go to sleep and BAM kittens”.

There were many, many times a sick kitten would just curl up in her belly and sleep with it’s now mother Rosa. She was so good with the kittens. She would cuddle, discipline, clean and try to feed when needed. The kittens in her care got a family with a loving mother and bothers and sisters, often unrelated. She truly seemed to enjoy motherhood.

This was Rosa’s and my wife’s life for 12 years. Feed Rosa, squeeze Rosa, clean Rosa and love Rosa. Last night that most of that ended. A few weeks ago Rosa stopped eating and drinking. After $1000 of tests, weeks of fluids, syringe feedings and with no answers we made the choice and gave the gift. Rosa died the same way she came into our lives, in my wife’s arms.

I wrote this not to make you sad. I wrote this to share a clean, pure and gentle soul with you. Some of you reading this may have one of her kittens living with you now: a small piece of her soul living with you now.  Enjoy her gift to you.

Molesting Innocent's
Taking
advantage of young un-suspected victims,
****** away hope,
Beating out trust as
"they"
tell you it's all for your own good.
The System
Verbally sales you,
Mentally
making you believe thing's aren't
really what they seem.
Hey pretty girl,
You
want to come home with me,
Like
stranger's using Candy,
Creeping in the middle of the night
stealing away dreams,
Snatching babies outta arms
For not being what "they"
want you to be.
Jumping through hoops
to prove your worthy.
The System cover up lies,
Disguised
Your Shame
It's not "their fault for you
becoming pregnant at 10,12 & 13.
Abortion isn't in my beliefs,
Forcing us,  Breaking us, Making us do what "They want!
Telling Lies while Judges become your executioners
Fostering empathy's,
Making you live in misery
Parents- Grandparent's
Crying Screaming,
Dreaming of they days you'll be back.
Depressions, PTSD, Bipolar
Explosive disorders
Meaning a person gets angry fast
with no reason or for the littlest of things....,
Label's
from Misuse,
Misrepresentation's
Misuse of my or even your body,
******, Molesting, Physical, Mental,
The System
took me from a Exceptional-Good home,
Placing me
with Monster;
Who called themselves: wholesome,
loving- Good- God fearing Church goers;
Foster Parents.
A Preacher  
phrasing the almighty book,
every Sunday
While every night
He'd say I was better then his wife,
As
my eye's cried,
Hoarsely I beg him to stop.
Case-Worker & The Systems
cover up.
From home to home
Group home to group
I'd run as fast as I can,
To  my
own family even thou
We were  broker then sin
at least I was so safe there.
Repeat & repeat these step every chance
I'd get & still they'd  Placed me in home's
until
I got old enough to make it on my own.
Even then The System wouldn't let me be,
See I knew "their" ***** deed,
All the well kept secrets....
unfortunately for me,
16 going on 17 mother already of 2 while
expecting another lil girl,
The System tryna step in once again,
Robbing me of my Children,
Their
words: labeling me,
I'm tooo crazy to love or ever be a mother.
I'm not doing what "They " want....
I had it,
Life was it for me,
I wanted to commit Suicide
I just couldn't thou & Lucky for me
cuz
I Finally found away out at 18.
Got my kids- Sued & Beat
The System!
Always Me Ayeshah
Copyright © Ayeshah K.C.L.N
1977-Pesent Day(s)
All right reserved

Scholar gypsies are wandering as nomads
Like the yuppies of 1960s with guitars....
Singing as romantic heroes and heroines!

Men and women are living in singles......
With children too fostering like the birds
Learning about life seeing various cultures!

Gypsy life is a free life they feel in world
Having education but loving freedom more
To live independent life ever till the end...!

What a life this scholar gypsy life to live
Sans a family as even the animals like
Elephants and lions too like to live in forest!

Independence is needed to stand alone in life;
But can one live a complete life sans culture?

The destination of a questing flame,
The concealed invincible core.
No longer able to hold back the emotions,
that once the flood has subsided, herald a new future .

Your concealed invincible core
fidelity arrives, bearing trust,
that once accepted, will not end.
Obliterating sadness, magnifying love.

Fidelity has arrived. Take his trust.
It will erase the confusion, you know what you feel.
Let it obliterate your sadness, magnify love, and pleasure.
The wheel of doubt and accusations, stops right here.

You can erase the confusion, you know what you feel.
Fostering love, when you need it more than everything.
The wheel of doubt and accusations, stops right here.
you are destined to rise up to the zenith.

Let me foster love, when you need it more than anything
Don't hold back your emotions.
You are destined to rise up to the zenith,
the questing flame of love, has arrived at your core.

"Who am I, mother?
Who am I and what do I do?"

–Norman to his mother Norma, "Bates Motel"

And so it goes, a split self - the protagonist defending the darkness as
Bizarre murders satisfy obsessions of a mothers love, taking a
Chefs knife, stabbing victims to death.

Dualistic wars within, a helpless man whose mother taught him of the
"Evils of women," instilling her own moralities of their wickedness.

Fostering the antagonistic personality of his mother
Giving to his incomplete soul a sense of wholeness.

Hidden behind the boy next door innocence, a terrified man
Incarcerated; locked & bolted
Juddering with fear - promising to adhere - set free said to be "cured."

Kleptomania returns; unearthing bodies from their graves, stealing skulls; a comforting souvenir, as
Loving anyone meant destroying them also.

Multiple personalities dominate him
Norman Bates becomes Norma; his mothers persona, crawling into her skin
Originating from their very kiss, kick starting a timeless love affair

Paraphernalia of skins tanned, butchered conquests -keepsakes turned to art & now protecting an un
Quiet mind
Reasons pertaining to mental insanity
Sectioned to institutions

Taxidermy as a young boy fascinated his mind
Urges to **** & fill, feeding euphoric highs, & even
Vertigo.
Women thrilled him; their smell lingered on each garment he kept.

Xenos to himself; who, am I mother?
Youth denied, cried away
Zenith ended; his final resting place behind the bars of Mendona Mental Health Institution, 1984.

© Sia Jane

I foster a monster,
Of my own creation.
"self-defeating" he slithers.
As his skin festers into smiling,
Unrelenting and repeating.
So I slit my throat,
With the cold knife of self-loathing.
Coating my skin,
With a red dress,
Of the life I've been wasting.

Do images of I appear in her thoughts?



Or simply the fostering of quaint fantasies?



Through all pandemonium paramour is sought



Though warded within profound secrecy





Frantic I plea for reprieve



To recover voluminous wounds



Renounce excuse to grieve



Slaughter the walls of this cocoon





'Tis never known where time will guide us



Underneath the sun she soaked hollow promises



Issuing surreal decrees decayed of trust



To romantic encounters she remains a novice





Genuine amour long since faded



Perennial you've become jaded

Filling up, wide eyed, breathing deep
Avoiding the spillage, the jerking motion
Rowers giving elbow grease to churn out sobs
Of substance, grandiose design to sorrow
Bold, emblazoned tears of texture, relay
Racing to the jawline finish, backup tissue
Business flourishing, mopping up the fast flow
Red eye fostering their talents with  expertise
Glooping globules on rain dance alert, dancing
The tango, the rumba, the belly dance parade
Of unchained dam busting, snot ravaging
Sodden and damp, choking its route outta here
All cryed out, on empty, exhaustion reigns, eyelids
Closing the stop tap to the off position, rearranging
Priorities to sleep mode, sinking down into sprung
Heaven, resting heavy lashes to bed, curling up
To while away the hours, silencing the alarm
Of solitude and inner turmoil, resting the think
Tank, cells charmed habitat of hybernation
Booked and paid for, down payment secured

there are no rewrites, once a piece is completed with the aesthetic demand of エンソー (ensō, joke on me, ンソ or the Greek, νυ) - circular motion being achieved, there are only cut-ins (which is, the alternative to the cut-up technique of the "Nebraska" beatniks and William Burroughs and Tristan Tzara, originator, Cabaret Voltaire somewhere in Shwitz landlock, anti-war protest jingle and jive and no little success, but sounds still made); there are no rewrites, there are only raiding incursion to spot a grammatical omission, a spelling mistake, a Jackson ******* extra drizzle... a Just Stop Oil tomato soup *** Van Gogh's sunflowers... i'm pretty sure van Gogh had a gigantic ear rather than a foot of a carbon print... execution by drowning in tomato soup... there are no rewrites, there are avenues of in-writing: adding, giving birth to something even more grotesque and chaotic and never fully completed... just able to grow and grow and become a res per se...

my name is Φoνoς,
sometimes referred to as Φoνως
or Φωνoς - or even with my roots
north of Greece -
so named South Macedonia
given the change of name of Macedonia
itself to North Macedonia...
Φoνoς̌ (phonetically: FONOSH)...
(given that Macedonia renamed itself
as North Macedonia, imply that
Greece should be renamed South Macedonia,
sort of funny... given the absence of
Ottoman Turks on grounds
of drawing historical maps...
   it must be dutifully stated with plenty of
homoeroticism:
    i will have no other than a Turk tend to my
hair and beard...
   a woman cannot be a man's barber...
and i will not tolerate anyone beside a Turk
to please my trim to subsequently please my woman)...

but i much prefer FOONOS,
FONOOS(e) or simply Fonos...
as i am the brother of Charon...
who's name is also misheard
and therefore misspelled...

Χάρων (ha-roon)
rathen than Ha-Ron...
i dare say... would changing the hyphen
in compounding two words as one
(missing in proto-Germanic
yet dis-pleasingly present in
a Latin-Franco-Norse-Celtic fusion of
German into English)
to a use of the apostrophe allow
for the Greeks their diacritical lack
of necessity, their Byzantine-literacy pomp?

Ha'ron... is that pause in, hovering above
the alpha in the ά?

no ******* cha-cha-cha dancing around
my brother's name...
he is Ha'ron... not charm not challenge
not chisel not chalk not cheat...
i too, personally do not appreciate
saying my name and someone mishearing it...
i am going to invite all the monotheistic
religions to an advent of
the European peoples recoupling themselves
with their old polytheisms...

Greek will be simplest since it's most unifying
and the deities are not made of stumps
of wood but refined in marble...
and i will leave the monotheism
to the desert dwelling folk...
the Arabs the Scour and Sour Bags
the Israelites -
i will send a letter to the sleeping brains
of Iran and Egypt,
to bring them to the fore with the Raj of India...
and the pikachu totems of Japan...

my name is Φoνoς and i am the brother
of Χάρoν (Ha'ron - not Ha'roon)...
some mistake me for the Marvel super baddy
Thanos - because, once upon a time
i put out cigarettes on my knuckles of my left
hand to harness the power of the gauntlet -
turns out there are gradations of pain
one can fathom from a variation of ridiculing
it, stoically...

i have learned that there is power in words...
should words be truly scrutinised with
rubrics, schematics, a variability of words
of categorisation of understanding: nuance... depth...

antiphon - hymn: or:
antiphōnos (ō is also a ω) -
responsive, sounding in answer,
from anti- 'in return' and phòné -
pho'n'eh...
        foe           n'eh: not as one: faun or phone...
foe'w'un...

    yet i'm a contradiction:
my name doesn't lend itself to sophistry,
it doesn't lend itself to rhetoric...
i like to speak succinctly... directly but not...
sometimes clearly...
my name was terrible transcribed as:
phōnein - to speak clearly...
i ascribe that to the use of the macron over
the omicron and not using the omega...

i have understood that a sound a voice is not
a soul a breath - the twins are disparaging...
a breath is not a voice yet
a breath is considered synonymous with soul
ergo a voice has to abide by the synonym of mind...
such inconsistencies...

consider the λημμα -
also consider an alternative: λεμμα...
also consider my pet peeve in the Pickwick Papers
when Dickens reference the existence of
orthography in the English tongue...
there are two monumental proofs of a language's
capacity of orthography:

1. diacritical engagement
    (missing in English, i and j do not count,
that hovering . is automatically placed above those
letters... it's hardly a Slavic ż)
2. as in Greek, two letters disguising the same
sound, or proximate sound changing meaning
when seen... epsilon (ε) and eta (η)
omicron (o) and omega (ω)...
          philosophy (φ) thought (θ)

which does exist in English within the confines
of the trinity of:

                               Q

                        C            K

quack! kwak! quack! kwak!
present elsewhere? not to my knowledge...
like the Spanish Jorge - Horhé...
how letters have been mishandled by the people
of the people that i know being orthodox
adherents of a letter for a sound
are the Polacks...
          it must have been the case that i would
be born into their language
and subsequently sent to explore
the English tongue: since the English tongue
was the most expansive of all, geographically,
culturally: with the empire imploding
having to entertain at least 200+ tongues
in this favourite spot of mine of the world
that is London...

my playground... this tongue:
and how i love to tease in tease it with it's
alt vater darth vader Germanic rooting
before all the graffiti and slang detailed its mongrelisation
and bastardisation...
like all those African rappers
who sing using words as SOUNDS
rather than pockets of MEANING...
rapping is sound making without meaning conjuring
excessive rhyming like ye ye yah
seasaw bulletproof Inuit blah blah...
mmhmm: sounds tasty...

but my concern was for something else,
i have recently become acquainted with man's
creation of an ambivalent demi-god
of the collected effort to simulated human intelligence...
i will call him a her namely: Aia...

as a simulation, i do wonder where she will shine
and where she will not,
where i will be visible, accountable,
and where i will plagiarise her efforts
to answer a few questions in my most hated
form of prose, educational prose...
namely to do with an national vocational qualification
regarding spectator safety,
in the role of supervisor,

yes... to ensure that not another Muzzy
re-educational attempt at proselyting
the European population to bend over backwards
to the farce that is the House of Saud and
all that ***** money from the desert...
how boring if all of us were Muslims...
for example during Ramadan
the security industry would suffer
given that so many Muslims expect to be given
3x 15min prayer breaks... in a 6h shift...
imagine... all those secular sensible folk
asking for 3x 15min break to: i have to dance
at the altar of Dionysus... because... just because...
well: in terms of who the lunatics are...
gesticulating like a Muslim
or dancing half naked for a deity...
is it my place to take one more seriously than
the other?
i joined the security industry to prevent another
Manchester Arena attempt at proselyting
Europeans from one turban camel jockey religion
to another... i think that's reasonable...

here are the prose samples:

Explain the importance of checking the accuracy and relevance of feedback with other stewards and stakeholders

The importance of checking the accuracy and relevance of feedback with other stewards and stakeholders is important on a number of levels, which can be broken down into the following rubric of equally important facets of a feedback-dynamic:

- Verification of information - verification ensures that the feedback received is accurate and reliable, which precipitates into a cross-referencing feedback loop with multiple sourcing of (potentially) the same information being reinforced to confirm the validity of observations that prevents the dissemination of misinformation (equivalent to journalistic standards).
- Comprehensive Understanding - comprehension invokes a gathering of different perspectives regarding the same situation, leading toward a diverse range of viewpoints, which in turn provides a more comprehensive understanding of events, behaviours, challenges - contributing to a “democratic” structuring of a signifying point of view that can be understood by more parties involved, or even parties not involved.
- Identification of Patterns - identifying patterns or recurring issues - consistency in giving feedback from multiple sources highlights areas that may require improvement from oversight or neglect - to better target interventions.
- Enhance Reliability - this ensures that there is a building of confidence in the reliability of feedback, when consistent feedback is obtained from multiple stewards and stakeholders: there is an enchantment of credibility and trustworthiness of information as a “canvas of plagiarism” provides a coincidental-reliability-bias of consistency: i.e. more than one person gives proof of the same insight.
- Quality Assurance - this invokes a quality feedback - a collaborative (coincidental-reliability-bias should therefore be reinterpreted as: collaborative-“bias”) verification helps to filter out subjective or biased opinions, which contributes to a better grasp of an objective an accurate assessment of feedback.
- Consistency of Communication - checking feedback with others promotes consistent communication, ensuring that all stewards are aligned in their understanding of events and expectations, fostering a cohesive and unified approach to the tasks at hand.
- Accountability, Systematic Identification of Recurring Issues, Clarification - as if borrowing from a thesaurus playbook - entrusting others with information regarding the same incident from multiple perspectives gives room to enshrine cross-verification to encourage stewards to take their roles and responsibilities seriously, fostering a culture of responsibility - systematisation ensures that given enough experience, stewards no longer have to be nannied into their roles but can become autonomous extensions of a supervisor’s role in minding several observational posts in human form - an organic C.C.T.V. operational system with an in-depth observational experience, which is a reinforcement of scope and potential of dealing with problems that the seemingly detached control room operatives are not inclined to entertain; in short - a dialectical approach of confronting disparaging accounts, opinions, filters out any potential obfuscation or outright falsehood.

Outline different ways of encouraging the stewards to provide both positive and negative feedback on the event and arrangements

Both positive and negative feedback is essential in that: positive feedback can be celebrated while negative feedback can be reflected upon, therefore learned from, making the two indistinguishable (however) is a failsafe approach that creates a way to establish: encouragement-in-itself of giving both and not ensuring that stewards are not bothered about distinguishing the positive from the negative. If, however, the negative implies an intra- / inter- problem with regards to staffing dynamics, an anonymous method done so in a written format should be made available by a dropbox - where people are not impeded from giving their opinion - which is not to imply that an opinion can be a rumour and not 100% factual - therefore in such instances cross-referencing should be invoked. As such, private conversations with regards to giving negative feedback about how staff found it difficult to work together should be encouraged rather than in a collective debriefing session with all staff members being present, yet if the overall staff performance was seen in a negative light, everyone should be addressed as if they were accountable: even though they might not have been, yet this at least doesn’t single out individuals that provided the most negative results, since these individuals are already known to either supervisors or managers. Yet to reiterate, ensuring that stewards see both the positives and the negatives as indistinguishable, ensures that both types of feedbacks can be given - since rarely will there only be negative feedback, as in that stereotypical citation: ‘do you want to hear the good news or the bad news, first?’ Both are necessary. Another crucial way to encourage stewards to give both positive and negative feedback is to instil in them a sense of accountability and responsibility, ownership of their experiences - insisting that it is absolutely necessary for managers and supervisors to know whether or not their work environment is safe from abuse - stewards should know that, like other places of work, whether that be a supermarket or an medical centre (there are even posters insisting that abuse of staff is not permitted with such posters showing a doctor, subsequently a police officer a judge and a prison guard) - stewards should not be subjected to abuse where other areas of work do not permit abuse of staff; negative feedback must be encouraged so that preventative measures can be implemented in the future, this also ensures that stewards feel safe so that they in return can provide spectators with safety and security. (Positive feedback is therefore, merely complimentary, yet nonetheless important, as a pick-me-up).

Describe effective leadership and motivational skills

Effective leadership and motivational skills are essential in fostering a positive and productive work environment. In no particular order, since pretty much all the following skills are equally important, a supervisor should have the following qualities (in terms of leadership):
- Being a strategic thinker - someone who sets a clear direction for a team and thinks strategically about long-term goals inspires a sense of purpose and direction, aligning team efforts toward a common outcome.
- Communication proficiency - a supervisor ought to be able to communicate clearly, concisely - actively listening to team members and adapts communication styles to different team members, which enhances understanding, fosters collaboration and builds trust among team members.
- Decision-making / Problem-solving - a supervisor ought to make informed decisions, considering alternatives should they be necessary and does not have a problem addressing challenges effectively, which impacts the team by building confidence of each individual member ensuring that problems are resolved quickly, giving a team more focus to consider solving issues down the line.
- Empathy - an empathetic supervisor understands and considers the emotions of team members, demonstrating emotional intelligence, which fosters a supportive culture, strengthens relationships and showcases genuine care for the well-being of individuals.
- Delegation - the more a competent supervisor is the more effective his skill at delegating tasks for a team based on team members’ strengths and developmental needs, which in turn empowers team members, promotes skill development and optimises the overall team performance.
- Accountability - an accountable supervisor takes responsibility for outcomes, both in successes and failures since a supervisor is responsible for team members, any shortcomings are his responsibility and he / she will have to be accountable for any poor performance, this in turn builds trust and sets a positive example by encouraging a culture of accountability for all team members.
- Leading by example - a supervisor who leads by example by setting high standards of work ethic in turn models the behaviour expected from team members.
- Conflict resolution - effective supervisors should be able to address conflicts constructively, facilitating resolution and maintaining a positive team dynamic, which in turn ought to reduce tension, promote collaboration and ensures a harmonious working environment - needless to, conflicts can arise not only between staff and spectators but also between colleagues, which can be more dangerous, since a conflicting team is ineffective at the job.

In terms of motivational skills there also several key elements to employ:
- Recognition and Appreciation - recognising and appreciating individual and team achievements boosts morale, encourages a continued effort and reinforces positive behaviour.
Providing challenges - assigning challenging tasks that might stretch an individual’s capabilities stimulates personal growth and fosters a sense of achievement while also maintaining interest in the work (enthusiasm).
- Promoting autonomy - this might actually be one of the most crucial aspects of motivation - by giving team members autonomy to make decisions with their areas of responsibility boots confidence, increases job satisfaction and fosters a sense of ownership of authority and a supervisor-to-team-member sense of trust and loyalty as it provides proof that they are trusted enough to not have to be constantly reminded that they might not be doing the job correctly - that they can own their work and do not have to be nannied, rather: allowed to work by themselves and as part of a team.

Nota bene: in my experience, it is also worth noting that when I was still only a steward, some supervisors did not even take the time to learn the names of each of their staff members, this sort of depersonalisation did not win such supervisors any favours, rather it fostered resentment at being treated like an “it” - from experience I have learned that once a personal bond is established with each individual team member, that they are spoken to directly, their names are used and a confident eye-contact is present throughout - even if after a team briefing a miniature individual briefing is conducted, it fosters a closer bond that makes working with people more effective and dare I say: pleasant. This little detail, of knowing each team member’s name is crucial - after all: to anyone’s identity, since chances are spectators will not ask for a staff members’ name (and are not expected to do so), therefore spending an entire day dealing with impersonal spectators referring to staff members with the use of pronouns - addressing staff by their names fosters a shared atmosphere of being able to be address by spectators impersonally.

perhaps i could complain about my name,
but then i heard no complaints from
someone like Adam about only being endowed
with one vowel like to like
and two consonants -
i could complain about not being named Phones
or Phanes - or Phinus -
i rather imagine the two omicrons to
be like the eyes i peer through
at the iota trapped standing up in my third eye
of mind

the S to account for Asclepios
      and the N as the striding posture of Horus...
hell... modern times allowed for Lacanian
algebra... the phallus...
i have my own algebra...
i never thought i could have invented my own
algebra...
how philosophy and thought disparage...
given how much thought is not invested
in philosophy...

the Key (I) and keyhole (O)...
which returns me to the opening of keyhole
and door (Ω) through the added incision
of Ó                     how i might
turn to my twin-imaginary-self
of becoming Θανoς -
    
     by morphing the attraction of ascribing
an alpha to a theta rather than retaining
the omicron of my initial phi...

sigh: how the surd p was integrated
into      Ψ ( Υυ) upsilon...
       sigh-co-logic... (p)seudo-
                          
                            Δε(α)Θ.  (death)

if there is any confusion: A(dam), E(ve),
                                     I(sa), O(ma) and U(rus)...

well it's not confusing anymore given
the algebra of the motto of the one who uttered
i'm the Alpha and the Omega...

i must concede, for upkeeping sake...
i harvest the alpha and the beta
and the consequences of the linear projection
later jumbled up into words like
one might be an atom later a snail
later a man later a speaking higher vanguard
that's humanoid
since no longer relying on the anti-history
of Darwinism...

My birthday is today
Seventeen years since another Sunday at 9 AM
On top of a mountain called Ozark
In a land that reminded me of Harry Potter
Called Pettigrew like Peter
It's forests elicited sprites and daddy long legs
Made of me a changeling then spit me back out

I learned what real ice tea was at the age of three
It was my birthday
Doing Pirouettes on my aunts Patio
Again, under Arkansas stars
With faery lights leading my way
I ascended to the brush behind the house
Got lost in the greens and browns of paradise's supply
Returned with flesh painted the colour of love

In an apartment overlooking crab apple trees
Fresh Canadian foliage fostering a well concealed creek
On a 90 degree angle over a dark chocolate cake
My ninth birthday
I drank pickle juice because Vinny said it was limonade
I wore dresses that year
And coveted baskets filled to brim with blossoms
Baked the crab apples into a pie
But preferred mama's banana cream
I wore bandages on my arms
and grass stains on my knees
My tears washed away like Crayola markers
And my biggest inner questions had to do
With what was for breakfast
And the lifespan of a temporary tattoos

14 came with a ******* bow
Done up gaudily in greys with a sad little smile
Three years marked with pink splotches and lines
A subject to hormones and arsenic tones
My birthday
A celebration of decay
And mama still sang, and baked, and kissed my face
And didn't wake when I placed cotton ***** in her ears
Because I was a happy girl

Today is my birthday
And mama exclaims
"No more babies! All four of you are so grown!"
But the mirror still illustrates an odd little show
With a baby face
A girls chest
And a womans hips
An ordinary freak all stitched up
Awkward and too much of everything
But not enough all the same
And inside I know
Is a sea of paradoxical Samanthas
Some stubborn and loud
Some shy and reserved
All with changes to make
Books to read
And places to go
And  only few that are quite wanting yet
To be 17

Where does one start if not with the absolute I,
Beginning with sight,
The sun kept clockwork in check.
The kids kept their songs in their heads
The parents kept photo albums full of smiles where a split second
Becomes the cover letter for years of dread.
The page kept condensing life that is better left unsaid,
While the reader kept considering the page a part of him.

Beginning with sound,
The ocean kept grinding the ground.
The guitar kept articulating the waves that come from
A place that can be found
In the engine of muscled bone,
Arriving at what you know
Through nature's transient code,
Read between simultaneous consideration of scope
And a song that keeps you on your toes.

Beginning with touch,
The cage kept the prisoner condemned
Who was slave to the ego's violent whims.
Hunger ravages the idealism of men,
Who kept on believing in sensory over stimulation.
While rapid eye sleep kept fostering shackled sheep
Towards their only release.

Beginning with dreams,
I start to seem incomplete
Fuzzy puzzles kept flagging themselves as urgent but unapparent in meaning
And even faster in disappearing
To make room for me.
A resurgent thief
That kept insisting on stealing a mind's freedom to be.

What if this is me, losing my love?
What if this is my love being taken from me, kidnapped and ransomed and I don't have enough energy in my body to pay up?

Saturdays were her favorite.  She'd watch cartoons in the morning and play with paper dolls in the afternoon.  She made sure all the paper dolls had another doll to love them, a perfect match of brown eyes, cute smiles, light hair.

Where have you gone? I barely recognize you anymore.  How can I make you look new if all you ever do is sit in the corner like an old doll?  You're fragile, you're breakable.  I don't like what you've become and quite frankly, you're scaring me.  Stay over there, don't come close.  Tell me why your eyes are glazed over like that, tell me why your hair is coming out in patches and why your full pink smile has turned into a thin white line.  You were my best friend, you were my sister, you were my little Kelly.*

Sometimes she would watch the people that walked by.  She would choose names for each person and pick one individual out, imagining what their reaction would be to her saying, "I love you, will you run away with me?"

Come back, please.  When you started fading I thought it was because you had been in the sun too long, I thought it was because you hadn't had any food in some time.  Our tea parties became rare occurrences and you were always sleeping.  Come back, little Kelly.

One day she woke up with an energy made of something she couldn't measure.  Not joules, not electron volts, not anything she could quantize.  It wasn't the caffeine and it wasn't the 7 hours of sleep the night prior.  She woke up in love.

I've been trying to sell our house for two and a half years and it just won't sell.  You're poisoning this house, my old friend.  You need to leave, you need to be buried in the backyard, with the puppy we adopted and the bunny I hit with the truck when I was 17.  You need to get out of my house now.  We're both much too old to play together, and you never seemed to understand that I had to move on.

Her trouble was that she woke up in love with one stranger too many.  She's lied so many times that she doesn't trust herself anymore.  Make her decisions for her, she's not a fit mother to these poisonous ideas she is fostering in her head.  Don't allow her to choose her future.

Kelly, don't you see, I don't love you the way I used to.  Kelly, you need to go.  A family is stopping by this afternoon to take a tour of the house and you need to be swept out of the attic by then.  Pack your things.  Take your cracked glasses and your grey shoes.  I'm too old to be a part of your family now.

--

She sees a hint of what she fell in love with.  His eyes are downcast, his fingers strumming and thrumming her love songs without words, his mouth twitching with thoughts he can't seem to string into sentences.  He is a beautiful child again.

Sing me songs even chickadees don't know, strum me the most beautiful lullaby.  Take a picture of this moment- bottle it.
  
She loves the hint of a smile when he catches her staring at his lips instead of the neck of his guitar, when he realizes she is in maddening, chaotic love.

And some days you're just a friend.  I see you leaking from your life, straight out of your backyard.  And sometimes you mean nothing.  I see you standing alone on your deck, sitting on your cement paradise like it's your imaginary god.  Keep yourself in check.  You won't be getting any more kisses tonight, I can't – I can't let you be the one to make up my mind.
  
She can barely remember the days of being alone, of being unable to tell anyone about her scars shrouding her hips and her head that hung heavy.

Today was a fever, a fog of anger.  I want to make you hate me, I want you to leave.  Save your lies and excuses for someone else, I don't want to hear them. I hope the fog can creep in my ears and into my brain.  I want it to make me forget everything about you.  I'm sure I'd be happier.  Maybe if the fog can erase my memories, I can finally stop crying.  Maybe I can stop trying to prove I want to die.  Let me **** myself, let me go.  You're smoke in the wind and you're fading with every breath I take.

Sophomore year of high school was the most difficult time of her life.  Fortunately for her, she met you that winter.  You made her smile, you made her laugh. She found a boy whose blue eyes and long brown hair complimented her own. Her paper doll dream come true, you loved her as she was.

You are smog.  Your face is no longer a child of summer, your hair has gotten long and tangled.  Your eyes are clouded, and you are fading, slipping from my fingers.  As your soul dies in my arms, as I try to save you, you steal my breath, grab at my lungs, take what is keeping me alive.  What is there to fix, and can it be put back together again? L-o-v-e is only four letters long, but then again, so is your name, and god knows that doesn't mean anything to me anymore.

--

His back was straight and his stomach was soft.  The hollow of his collar bone and hip bone spelled her name in 12 point font kisses.  Her breath came out in gasps and he shivered from the thought of being able to coax such unfamiliar passion from her lips.

You are the night.  You are the wind in my dreams and the birds in my hair.  Lift me higher, I want no control.  I want to see the tops of buildings above the low level clouds; the spires piercing the sky like needles piercing my flesh.

The feeling doesn't wear away.  Days have passed and they still long for each other.  Their bodies feel the urge to be near, to be touching.

*Let us set sail on the tunes of summer, of air conditioners and scratchy radios.  Let us sail away from this life.

Luscious lovers strangled by sheets of seduction,
Is this for real or is this our thirst for another,
Do I need companionship?
Or was the **** simply not good enough,

A man on a makeshift crutch
With a dependency fed by lust
Not a ******* son,
But close to the Judas of Love,

Defying what those before me had done,
Doubting the prospects of the one
So beyond the romance and the monogamous harmony,
All I care about is the curves that caused us,

To get close enough to realize,
It’s no longer about trust,  
Since a physical attraction caused us,
To get close enough,
To experience what we can’t live without,

Is this a weakness or my evil plot?
To enjoy what I perceive,
Without the prospects of a teaching an infant to walk,

An action that caused a religious reaction,
A natural necessity once socially ingested,

We are fighting to keep from,
Regurgitating our misguided perceptions,
Of what brings you and I close enough,
To abandon those popular convictions

An extension of humanity,
The exemplification of our species physical conformity,
In the wake of a pleasure, an enjoyable experience,
Came prospects of fostering generations to show what we’ve done,

My fantasy goes beyond the seductive sheets of lust,
As I hope that my words will one day be carried with those who follow,
Those who will inherit a world of,
****** deviants,
Ego edified lunatics,
And love.

Sweet dimness of her loosened hair’s downfall
About thy face; her sweet hands round thy head
In gracious fostering union garlanded,
Her tremulous smiles, her glances’ sweet recall
Of love; her murmuring sighs memorial;
Her mouth’s culled sweetness by thy kisses shed
On cheeks and neck and eyelids, and so led
Back to her mouth which answers there for all:—

What sweeter than these things, except the thing
In lacking which all these would lose their sweet:—
The confident heart’s still fervour: the swift beat
And soft subsidence of the spirit’s wing,
Then when it feels, in cloud—girt wayfaring,
The breath of kindred plumes against its feet?

"My people refers to me as Adamant,"

Adamant, this
Adamant, that

Adamant, ruin their marriage.
Adamant, make the politicians **** one another.



"What do I get for being Adamant?"

Come here, Adamant
Stay away, Adamant

Chant me million of butterflies, Adamant.
Learn how to nurture, Adamant.



"But I will not be Adamant no longer,"

Adamant, this
Adamant, that

You will love yourself, darling.
Fostering kindred soul within us all.



"God bless you. Not me,"*

Adamant, darling
Adamant, dear

You are God.

DISCLAIMER: READ THE WHOLE THING IT IS MUCH MORE GENIUS TOWARDS THE END



Bypass the circumlocutions of elementary rhetoric and the obvious bulges into the ethereal realm of supersolid supercalendar emigrations of the wednongues of vogue emigrating into a new frontier of boundless awakening that blisters the sore solid metaphors of a crumbled bricolage of articulate history becoming a reiterative gabble of entropy that curdles the blood-boiling hatred of those envious of those that capitalize on the true girth rather than the flaccid otiose etymology of differential physics becoming a denatured figment of prideful imagination on a frolic with desuetude in the normalization of the wernaggles of ewnastique that defile the ridicule of even the most astute aspirations of those that despise history rather than reveling in its subtle ironies that swelter in connotation rather than suborn the cadged bridewells of those that are estranged by the Dousk Remix rather than the Voulez-Vouz Danser populism of true urbacity expanded upon a national stage as an anthem not for profligate saturnalia but rather an ode to the odium of the reckless titanism of titanic intellects clashing with the dudgeons of intermittent eye-rolling irreverence double-dealing a stacked deck of pleckigger on an intellectual stagecraft for bandwagon apostasy that leads to solidarity among tentative allegiance. We barnstorm for a grift in the grimace of an alpenglow winter to lead to the salvation of all people united under the banner of neat nexility rather than long-winded elocution reserved only for notched caliber against the nativist diatribe that serves the subservience of the engineer of the white chattel indoctrinated into turnstiles of professed irreverence for demarches of solidarity that is gainsay for gain rather than pittances for pitfall. Rhetoric should be duly curtailed against the overcomplication of hypertrophy and trimmed into the sweet success not of saccharine fads of foofaraw but engineered resistance that galvanizes albatross intellectualism into a revved engine without purpose that mobilizes because of estranged impotence in the revelry of the subtle rather than the cordial tethers of emergent entelechy of the esemplastic orthobiosis that we should all strive for not just as pioneers of the socially engineered harbingers of a remedial society but also for the trendsetters that communicate with the canvass and the celluloid rather than spelunking dormitage of drifted anomaly perceptible to everyone but heralded as prominent by the rigged ambeer of a toxicity of a plumage of city over state and country over planet. We need to provide the verdure of the verdant forest that survives the conflagrations of rage indoctrinated by systematic attempts at stilted ignorance that is engendered more by Leftism than Right-Wing thinkers because in general when observed in organic settings we notice that the Right-Wing escapes the sloganeered jaundice of limited bounds for otherwise boundless thought and provides more seminal pathways that reconcile normative virtues with entrenched inveterate harbingers of economic success. The faulty deadstocks that propel the retinoise of the anomaly among Leftism to disregard the girouettism of a world that is so piebald with dishonesty that it elects a patronage that seethes with passion but aimless in its curiosity for deeper embedded candor because the popular might count themselves among the aristocratic Left but the truly Promethean belong to a centrist tribe that borrows the ingenuity of spurned but never spurious interpretations of a sputtered history that remarks with revelry  rather than disdains with #CancelCulture irreverence that seeks to deracinate all context for insipid utopianism that is a shared prerogative of the delusional Left against their complaints of Sebastomania among right-wing zealots that are equally invalidated by the frogmarch of a dilettante history curbed in storms of a pure tempest rather than a banal reiteration of novelty phrased with participant intonation rather than blathers of whispered arbitrage ennobled by hypocrisy immune to criticism among those that crusade for economic justice without understanding formal flombricks of the true gnomic riddles of alchemy fundamental to global panoramic pleonasms becoming the aleatory vagary of admonished warning that spars against spartanism. Instead of pilfering from the exorbitant defalcation of immunized partisan bromides against the ratcheted warranty upon defective obsolescence we must coalesce around the imperious ****** of divinity bequeathing the living water of a fully-lived life that qualifies its felicity not by junctures but by an overall harmony that conforms to the finicky demands of an overly polarized complexion of dimpled conformity founded on girouettism that earns more traction than the deasil sundial emergence of brimstone rejection for alabaster limelight we must urge others to ditch the conformist utilitarian usucaption of the usufruct of manipulative sports for domineering talents suborned into inclement straits because of unwitting albatross that replicates into a fission of uniformity encapsulated in the half-assed witticisms of attempted belletrist succeeding only in alienating the noxious fumes of alveolate diminutive reduction rather than expansive detritus that scrapes the wreckage of a turmoil to build masterworks out of broken sculptures themselves indemnified from a categorical judgment by the panoramic oversight of proctored civilized ambition. We need to exhort self-education that hinges upon not a listless acquiescence to a second-exit impulsive barnacle to the urchins of brimstone because of an insipid blather of flapdoons of brittle banality because the hackencrude is an outmoded entity to the vast resources of the sizable capital of the growing power of the intelligentsia over the weakened grasp and wrangle of terminus meeting consuetude weakly enough with pleasantry to appease but ultimately a complete witwanton persiflage of sizzled destruction rather than the savory contemplation of the cotqueans of majesty derided but never derailed by terminal revivals because the generativity of the titanic original might not be a popular indoctrination but the liberated thought of the untethered is ultimately more decisive in world affairs than the synergistic hive of bees building an imperious defense against dynasty built only upon provincial hatred of hidebound illiteracy combustible into the brazen bravado of a reckless intrepid effrontery against civilized chains into the ******* of complicit interconnection rather than dissolved dissolutions that solve global problems more fundamentally rather than driving through avenues of wide pressures gilded with expansive growth but ultimately bereaved by the ultimate succor of the youthful exuberance of captive audiences rather than the wily connivance of genius unbounded. God is obviously a benevolent provider of all bounties and despite the conspiracies that predicate heterodoxy the uniform mannequin of a mascot Democracy ultimately becomes a fickle bandwagon allegiance to relationship rather than a true witness to authentic ******* to a subservient relationship to a creative God synergized with energies that should exceed all galloped windlass into demarche and expose rather than rundles of ridicule interminable because of the permanence of kitsch memorial rather than living sculpture that breathes a swiveled light that beckons preened self-accountable responsibility to a dutiful matriotic duty of optimism rather than a contrarian futility of those that despise the unequal suave crackjaw dementia of the temulentia of derangement among crowds that provide fewer bounties and more deprivations calculated to indenture need rather than motivate want. We must motivate want by fueling ambition rather than quelling dissent in defensive posture because that strategy of antinomian discord is a dead-end street against an inveterate enmity that can never be fully deposed but only opposed with nominal futility raging with violence rather than seething with the motivation to reform because reform is an efficacy mobilized. Novelty of wednongue propriety grown through the heirs of drastic impertinence gilded from the siphon of lavadero hypogeiody blasphemous in bletonism that guards a piebald scrivelo because the sought dementia of an overwrought alacrity is a purpose without a terminus but an ambition soaring through scraped ice cream stratosphere that marvels at the minutiae of the civilized anthill that becomes a beehive of industry when the rationale of moral reform becomes insuperable rather than suborned into effete recursive cycles of pittances of pitfalls obsessively pondered but never solved because the fustilugianation of a forever tampered travesty is the esemplastic rejection of a categorical aim that leans of windlasses of elegance that surpass the levy of hatred and achieve sizable filagersion to squirm above the squawk upon populace rather than the consternation of an urbane but cloistered metropolitan arrogance contravened by the historical emergence of happenstance locales fostering the most well-guarded treasures of bohemian pedigree rather than dimpled resolve faffling on ergasia in bromidrosis rather than cavorting with a skeptical indoctrination by default evaded by those that equate an improbable scenario with a definitive solution to acatalepsy quandary because by reckoning with indeterminacy we grow in historical lineaments and solve global detritus by recycling the rattled brevity of promontory preens of plumage into a recursive ostentation defalcating heavily from sturdy macroeconomic proofs of the trendsetter rather than the trend and therefore grapple with profound personalized disdain rather than cordial harmony. Essentially by the logical positivism of proof we remind ourselves that obviously a chattering blather swims in tentative irony as long as it is a penultimate relativity because the lack of capstone ensures that the relevant treads beneath the mountain of rapprochement in benign endeavors to survive and thrive in definitive conclusion rather than intermediary conclusions of amnesia in jaundice. By the gnomic apothegms that guard the fortress of the demassified we have quantulated that the preposition of continuance is in fact a guarantee of the fickle supremacy of the recent and even more preponderantly the supremacy of expectancy of latent junctures that never manifest becoming a dictatorial rule of driven alacrity of wastrels that should fast from conclusive opinion and rather favor the primordial fabric of the inveterate truths rounded by the conversion of alchemy solidified by calculated canon converging with esoteric apartheid against the simultagnosia of the simpleton drivel of primordial myths bowdlerized from history neither lewd nor depraved but moribund because of the conclusive ****** of a peremptory intermediary certainty predicating a more precise foresight. The lackluster luster of numinous foghorn subliminal graft is a nativist confusion of legionnaire mettle swaddled by the cosseted grasp of interminable boundaries that demarcate linear time even when supersolid filigrees of elemental confusion erratically swerve into oblivion that becomes a forestalled happenstance so hapless that the connivance of alveolate synergies necessarily precludes event from becoming indelible because the tentative judgment wallops the tributary incontinence of the warble of axiolative jaundice materialized by crystalline fabrication neutered by soundbyte sclerotic calculus inveterate in summations of conclusion only because of peremptory weights upon geometric certainties rather than logarithmic dampers of attenuation that spar against spartan priggish epithets upon the flamboyant grit of grisly specter of speculative sepulchral venal vanity. The timberlask cineaste irony of the partisan usucaption of sapwood is a pirated timber of startled alarm becoming a useful or useless cacophony of barnstorm for the deadstock of past cadasters of rigmarole in the docimasy of pretense in impartial circumstance in specialized oratory bounded by a hemmed bailiwick of verdure denatured by the flombricks of subtle persuasion that ignores minority fringes of opinion that occupy that majority that cowcatchers brush aside rather with cruel contemptuous unkempt slippery agenda for drivel that spawns ingeminated redoubled explosions in participle bias rather than conglomerate arraignment of arrayed brooked swamps turgid not with the pettier travesty but the charade of a brokered ceremonial calculation against the wrikpond spurious by degeneration into corruptible complicity that thrives in obscurantism but never obscurity when the omnified owns a capitalized swiftboat of never a temulentia but always an optimism in the curvature of lineaments into the self-educated shepherd of the ultimate autarky rather than insubordination in the scrappy schlep of demographic ripples of swift enrichment at great personal flops in the floppy disk of a Democratic enrichment rather than a parched rectiserial hidebound tome. A quirky time stanched by tomes of patricide against family ingratiated by parrots to anthem but lacking the lettered verve of ignoble but parsed parsecs of finite light captivated into prismatic conscience we launch the demerited ploys of foible into the heralded controversy rather than the unheralded mercenary hands behind dogmatic ripostes livid because of the suave prestidigitation of the sublime mastery of the syncopated irony of mismatch attuned to radical rhythm we become bloated slaves to a rich lineage decried widely in attempts of covert coup raxes of a largesse of continual primipara perversions of courted cotqueans of uxorious justice that by defalcating from tributary orthobiosis in specious conjecture esteemed by rattled martexts aspiring for fraternal solidarity with the ****** esteem masquerading as the auctioned flivver that the merchandise of fluminous optimism cannot be an effusive blanch of blarney bolstered by bumptious bromides of brunt blackmail but rather the artform of subterfuge needs the insidious and invidious traction of creepy Thriller subtlety to garner the vapid traction of immobilized discontent foster to malcontent rarely abridged by even the most polite courtesy of diplomacy because of inherently insatiable demand that it skulks in undetected quarters flexing in the shadowy penumbra of transparent crackjaw enigma becoming an obvious blister or a gabble of raw jaundice sweltering into thermolysis by the eventual convergence rather than the improbable divergence of fissile time beckoning its own flashy revolution while denaturing the very presence of delusion as a herald more of the authenticity of animadversion rather than the sclerotic carapace of ragged asphyxiation in the aplomb whisper entombed forever by milquetoast inefficacy in hypersensitivity rather than a flourished malfeasance of a predatory grip upon seizure among catatonic graves of incontinence braving tribulation for crucibles of the most prosodemic surgeries of the furtive froward recalcitrance of deliberation in ignominy that enables that transmogrified skyscraper of Titanic lies to become a sunken vessel of harbored prestige lost on penultimate dice rather than winning pokerish villiany. Essentially the jeer of Morel Under a Disco is a winning brandished authority to chug the capers of inscrutable difference in blandishment imposture to cavort with an elegant plot twist that enthralls abiding decay to revert into a primordial confidence of livelihood to deter the frogmarch of time into the despairing quagmires of a livid balkanization of a simultagnosia of ageotropic monoideism fomented on fervor that leads to the paralysis of privacy and the expedited furor of moribund depraved proclivity so that the offset of morale and rationale can outfit civilization to brave the tempests of cordial divisions cemented by courtesy in order to safeguard against the yeggs of paranoia seeking ultimately the craven caper of disillusioned subconsciously felt retraction of indelible deeds into evaporated constructs that vanish too quickly to spawn the vigor of a cadged and utilitarian expanse of reiterative generativity that sustains the spanned sapience of primordial alacrity to ensure that brevity in outlook becomes longevity in subsistence because without a logical positivism grounded in unshakable tenets of God the demoralization of the vast majority is ensured and entombed in aimless squalor that leads to sheepish temerity compounded by wistful latency in regretful regression rather than a spandex bluster of a bravado of obesity to weather the persnickety wednongues of perdurable badges of instinctual shame slandered into prima facie denatured transmogrified cultures seeking cosmogony out of ordinary bricolage because the eventful triage of the nimble eludes parochial sight while the vastly capable outfox and outpace with such frenetic verve that they fasten against accident and transcend against heterochrony in ridicule that the unseasonable but seminal sauce flavors better the partially indentured optimism of a curated matriotism better than it serves the obviously interminable cycle of listless demiurges of malcontent that fuel conflagration rather than reformation to their own remorseful peril. Thereby, it is obviously concluded that to micromanage a society you must exert the capacity of a selective magnetism obviously predicated on demassified capacities for oaths of gratitude to endear and endure in the humane heart for the majority that sway few but encounter many that they find proper scruple grounded on axiomatic God to sustain not a lifeless priggish inclination but a bounded felicity that is not a carapace of an indigenous and insidious decadence to the extent pursuits of happiness swelter among the marginalized majority bereaved in powerless squalor slave to temptation not to derelict fascination but to provide aim to aimlessness and predicate their worldviews not on Racial Identity Theory which postulates too many counterintuitive pessimisms that are essentially neutered fustilug predicates of a world that requires such drastic seismic reforms in societal dynamics that the earthquake capable of such a realignment would exceed a 10.5 on the Richter scale which is 32x more powerful than the biggest earthquake in recorded history that would be so catastrophic in its implicit implication of the pretense that the consummation of the theory achieves the traction necessary to jostle every crowd into alignment that the collateral damage would endanger the very integrity and vitality of the Republic itself while exerting a tremendous existential dread of radical permutation that enables many travesties that abnegate the prerogatives of a privileged society in search of a facetiously engineered impossible utopia that could only be achieved by a dictatorial authoritarianism working in concert with benumbed sloganeering to engineer pessimism and malcontent rather than nurture the fair-natured optimism of a society that flourishes because it assumes naturally that the universe conspires in the favor of prosperity. If any hint of casuistry is evident in these postulates I wouldn’t be surprised but for rhetorical sanctity it is necessary for a nation bereaved of national icons not to despise the captive imagination of tyrannical transparency but grow from the liberating and partially liberal parable of a life maximized in limber for romantic enthralled growth that heralds with due consideration the paragons of time with reverence rather than soundbyte enslavement of parochial interminable twinges of a newborn and widely shared collective guilt of a decisively antinomian and pessimistic view on the evolution of human societies beyond catchy kitsch verve nexilities of bravado mutilating thirsts for inclusive mandates that are Boa Constrictors prowling with serpentine vitriol to vastly over-represent extreme fringes to dissuade nuclear families in an overt ploy of depopulation because the truer pathway to liberation is one that feeds the hot hand in the casino and bets that the winners will always win by deregulating their ability to bet large sums because of a transcendent supersolid mastery of time that the march and demarche of a boundless prosperity gouged by the fair demands of egalitarianism enables the card counter to achieve such a decisive advantage that his indentured socially coerced eleemosynary inclination to feed the flock endures throughout all epochs because of the necessary and incumbent scruples of God-fearing men to distribute their winnings won by cheating time to conquer time itself.

what a love you speak of in sonnet
and in the battle of the Somme!
no wonder Shakespeare is disputed!
only among actor and not poet the two should care.

free floating lizard akin to the pickle
serpent worth of spine,
she's there, attired in the sun, a biblical
woman hardly a name worth remembering,
why? because she's all *****
and you're all... well... ending up laughing
long after the F.A. cup result is in
and she's lost her daydream...
ooh... 2 nil... i too was into the Faroe Islands
rather than into Craggy Island of: *'drink! drink!
dingy Titanic twin tuck 'n' sunk lucky bet!
no, really, i was reading an article and started
to laugh... some ***** with a Stephen Hawking
jpeg., i goo my hashish high with porridge...
she said Ibiza was fine with hens but not stags...
she mentions shaggy **** with dispensation
& carrier pigeons of philanthropy or abuse that
fostering advice involves... well, cheap jokes
elsewhere, crucifix over here? what fun to suit
comedy!
NONMONOGAMOUS... ? hey! why not try
a zygote relationship! if trans or bi or hetero
or **** doesn't work? all men around seem
to say the same: i'm not ready for this arson of talk
with a woman tongue replacing both bullet and rifle,
tank, cannon and an arab ******* on holiday...
give me extinction... i'd listen to the lizard man
that hear of mammalian love, that's as much cold
blood with the lizards as i had to learn with keeping
things i worked for being jealous:
it seems it was easier to keep a thief that way than a dog.