Art is food for the heart and like food it is often hard to find.
It might come from a source that is renewable,
yet how many have forgotten that the brain is even usable.

The inspiration we seek comes from inside our own mind
where the fairies wait, having fed on our own experiences, wishing to unwind.
But as full as they may be, one can clearly see
that they cannot make art till they jump on our heart in hope of making it start.
They first have to tickle it with their little feet
before it can even begin to produce an audible beat.
Maybe giving an idea for a visual treat or a literary feat.

These fairies each come from different locations
as imagination is not limited by any dimensions.
In the world of creation, pain has long been a mighty fairy-nation,
the muse of separation, the dictator of desperation,
the soul's frozen animation, a generous, fugly frog of inspiration.

So next time you feel blue, channel that blue stream into a pen
and you may start to feel better again. Blow a kiss to that frog,
clearing the misty lake from fog. There is no call for divination,
simply let the frog jump in celebration all over your pond(ering)'s stagnation
and it will stir the waters in its elation.

Embracing pain not only does wonders for creation,
it also helps dull that cruel yet just sensation.

You say you fly

I say you’re high

Don’t even try, you just a duckling

Ugly hide please hide the **’s

Making babies cry, your face don’t know

I say you’re high

When you glamorize mass ******

school shootings

No coming back from this yo!

Acting hard to hide you / fearful

Child these dem streets, Tho’ tearful

Flabbergasted master faker, on the DL

Fugly mocking us - howdy **!

Don’t deny or say it’s fine, bro

If we’re still ****** struggling,

For something kind in everything.

Feel so low from getting high, a muggle ill

Broken system kills

All low or high hopes

Softly Or loud Apollo from The ghetto

like A show Of shadows hunted, marked

Blank tags on toes.

On New moon nights we're all dark,

But what about your heart?

Got soul, but lactose intolerant.

Hollering beauty Within feel not seen

dim lit neath twilight glow...

Don’t ******* me and say nothing - no.

I still say you’re high fo sho.

“**** Fugly mugs on drugs and everythang…“

Why oh why

Speak /Lie / or Trust?

“That’s life” Sang old blue eyes.

To Vegas or bust...

Don’t cry / **** / do or don’t

Then again ... (Pop pop pop! Goes the cop)

****!

(You’s All ****
Fugly!)

Means War Fosho..

What might the heights of the minds eyes see while the spirit is in motion of the purest emotion of intent and expression of love?


Is it such a state where false has awards and evening gowns picked out for the awards show?

Is it so fake that one might find it difficult to understand real from false?

Or might the fact that when a human being can truly  walk the line of life with grace and demanding ******* while gently caressing the absolutely overwhelming truth that love has ravaged the soul ,

Ravaged this soul,

*****, held, ravaged, run through, righted and scorned in the deepest of waters a soul has yet to express to the world for two thousand years, and all while  the captive ....... Soul,         is critiqued on the devastation wrot in such completeness that is is even to this day savoured as a prized  fetish even unto the sad would self.

Dare I ask simple a question of wondering curious eyes of windowed souls to cast a view into the dew of the greatness of being of truth and grace while respecting the very heart from which such torture pours from?

dare a truth be asked that such a human being be of a dignity in company with the child timid in him self torn, dashed , bruised, named and bolder than the soul that resides in you?

Dare a tasked truth be ever revealed of contemptuous  acts of ***** souls and privacy of ones tiny castles in the  oh so damaged and bitter sands. Of the wombs of mind that we all venture to frontier the very limit of the souls endurance, prestige while being undignified by the raw violence of the act of continued ****, or is a dared truth to harsh a fact for timidness of my self to have swallowed whole as the soul of mine self and mine eyes and mine teeth from which the vengeance did pour a pounding to seek, all to be driving back by the broken and horrorably disfigured child of me that many find more womanly.   For this Ugly Boy of me, this sad sot silly and ***** smaller to the vastness of the fridgidness of ******* through lies and manipulations while taking in the raw ******* of the common God's child , virus this not what we all are the now newly in question not so rarely ***** and sold like ****** in a new church for the dastardly and bastarded ******* that we have come to call complacency of decency?  

Any, how foolish, yes my dear friend , you are indeed a wiser worrier  wafareing wondering wizard of vast skills and frightful  ways and means to tame the beast of such hateful things , so costic as to reach deep into them and quiver their tiny tethers and frail feathers all a mockingly  to the tones and notes left after we vacated the dead crypts of self deprivation and hate as we all found the truth of the emotion as it poured through us when realizing this damaged, torn and frightened child , a man holding the depth of winter killing fields at bay, a man kindly swaying the stars to play a tune so as to grace all who broke his heart a stay of pain for each and every attempted and timidly bold and brazen sway and slanted ****** love or raw truth and powerful motions from which we all find the fancy to ****** the  tool as the goofiest  **** **** as hell fool we all choose to allowed the absolute grace and magesty to ******* Rule our Hearts for even just a fraction of a moment in this prayer of endless time, yet hold with the dared scary and walking naked and alone into the lions den while the wolfs and beasts all gathered their finest clothes, weapons and gold, silver, trinkites and shiny of the shiniest of the things they boldly and brashly slash all with as to command the fear to reside in the human spirit.

As this silly little hill Billy with a **** nice *** *****, were wolf feet and all called out to the proudest and loudest of the tiny little spouts and softly said " what is all you foolish fuss about?"
"Have you lost you most precious toys, only to find victim the Dickson of my sorry and sad state of dieing from the oath and lashing of what you helped  rip from what can only be many peoples and communities and even many families?"

Dare a truth to truth this dare my dearest cud of a bear for a true beast of welcome verosity I be all the while giggling and prancing all about like a happy *** skipping fairy, and of this I most truly rather be for don't you know? , did no one tell you the news?  The horror is scaring but the truth is so amazing, turns out scar gardens are the softest things God has ever created, scar gardens are the hardest element that break far stronger , bold creatures of far fasters tested , cleeted, bust a mother up than most man has ever know to exist.
Scar gardens are the very  spouts from which the truth and grace of the living love of God pours fourth into this majestic ******, animal ,spiritual ,sacred, holy and magnificent place , a place that the very bashing of the flowers that dance you delight even in the pity, plight, laughter , and slight  has done nothing but cast us all from it loving embrace, yet, dear cub of a Billy bad *** nub of a cubbed couger in the final leaps to catch this timid and playful prey of me that you so think you will devour you see,  we, the ones whom truly felt and opened and dare that **** scary *** chance to dance with this devil in the pale moon light have found that they no longer must live in fright, that this very garden is theirs and none to own but to flourish and grow, thrive if you must, but lest get nasty for a real minute, animal to animal ,it ma thrive , sure but it will **** , love ,fight, rise , Smit , right the wrongs that have tortured us far to ******* long and in that moment of exstacy the human race may just finally realize ***, love, caring, kindness and truth of self are the face of God starting through your eyes experiencing all f his loving songs creations and getting ******* goose bumps and he'll yes this Billy Jack goofy *** bad  kat all **** knuckled with bad habits and a lust for loving full ******* spectrum and a lesbian trapped in this fugly *** mans body all crazy *** triple run *** marks the spot moon shine devil of mine were wolf feet and all does truth and whole love the Real Girl and is ,,,,, and most mother ******* who are real and real down with the truth that God is love and loves even your silly but as God loves mine silly *** and the rest of this star studded cast of human **** ups simply attempting to pass and go the **** home at the end of the school bell.


HUA,    I do love the Real artist  you speak of, she knows it, and may just know that I know she is not the one laying **** the silly hill Billy with a rather bad *** wi,,,,,,,, um sorry.     Where were we. Oh yes. Um. Only those who care to let go and allow the truest of flows and are true to self and the love that one finds in the being of anothers breath, thoughts , actions , decisions, and mistakes and graces to right ones self after horrors that tear us and embarrass us, these know the truth ,and my dear friend i love you too, but not like the love i expressed to you in hopes you to feel the love i share to her with out pushing it on her, so that what is rightfully hers to reject or except i gave it all away to all even those whom used it to fuel hate in mine own shape , form and name.  And i have done all of this and a dillion years of pouring stars into the hearts of that goofy *** girl by way of dancing crying and **** it dieing through the very core of you,  yes i got you high, horney, got you off, many times , i gave you memories of sparks you know, i gave you worlds of wonder and ways to flurish and grow, i gave you what you , well many of you , did not even deserve for it was truy meant to be for her, but i felt that the most good it could do and the best love i could show her is i can love all of you and even rock hear heart all the very same ways i moved you , and not loose one silly little drop of the tears in her pain, yet sip them and drip them into her so she may choose to live again, as she has done for me.....do you now see? For I C C I said this goofy eyed going man who has done all this in his true and real names,  For I Love You So.


And didn't even eat my wheaties wink , smile I a not mad at ya, just being me, and some times we all have a tax bit of  werewolfand badger **** in us , sorry to offend, smile in the end, we all just might be ,,,,, sort f friends..

Today I looked into the mirror
Saw a little glimmer
Of hope
Even though
I know
Right now it looks like I have none

I just had five teeth pulled
Out of my skull
I know I look real ugly
But I'm looking at the future

I will need to wear braces
I get them in two weeks
But at least nobody can tease me
For being so **** fugly!

They can't taunt my teeth
Because I'm finally getting them fixed

Well I was five minutes late, mum
Chucked me out the door,

"I have a letter from school mum,

"Been in trouble again, no change there,

I waited for the bus but never turned up

"Great she'll think I missed it on purpose,

I jumped on my bike, ill show her, no phone
Call saying I never turned up. I pedalled like
My lungs were going to burst, The school yard
Was empty  "Crap, "Crap, I ran in thinking
I was Late the doors lock at a certain time only
Opening in case of serious emergencies.

"Sorry I'm late Miss Hoper,
"The Bus never turned u.......,

The class was empty, I heard a noise from the store
Cupboard? I listened and heard moaning

"No way Miss Hoper is getting it on,

Was I early? had the clocks gone back and mum
Forgot? I giggled at the thought of catching her
With her silks around her ankles. Camera at the
Ready, 1, 2, 3.... OK don't be a chicken.
What can they say or do, 1, 2, 3.. I opened
The door clicking away 12mp clear as day.

"Miss Hoper surprise,

Dam Miss you look  "Fugly, not looking
Your best this morning.

"I'd say she was a six as far as teachers go,

Her hair was like a drunk had shaven in the dark,
"What big nails you have,
"What  sharp teeth you have,
"What the hell? how ***** you are this morning,

What was I doing I sounded like I was reading the
Three little pigs. Miss Hoper was the wolf.
I had a voice repeating in my head, but I looked
Beside her and saw the reason for the closed door.
**** Peterson was lying their, reaching out as
If he knew how this was playing out to the end.

She licked her tooth, her lacerated tongue bleed,
No pain more pleasure was on her face as she
Drank upon herself. I stepped back as I knew
That I was within her sights. Her fingers gestured
Across Micks throat and his hand slumped silently
On the ***** cupboard floor, his eyes emptily void.

That voice once again echoed out now screaming
Into my subconscious. This time I listened.

"Run, run, run....,

As she launched upon the area I once was, heading
For the door I glanced her movement. A step behind
As I slammed the door, the walls vibrated upon the
Lockers, as I saw the luck of the keys left in the door.
The teacher launched through the panels as glass, solid
Wood was the only deterrent from her tasting my throat.

I ran through the halls each class room locked, children
Tied to the desks gnawing on themselves in an effort to
Be free. Mr Freedman was hanging their, but fate his time
Continued as he with metal cord he hung and lower parts
Torn asunder he hung their only half a man.

"HELLO, HELLO, ANYONE
"Dam I'm just telling everyone lunch is here,

I instead whisper, their is thought in my madness.

"hello, hello,
"If your not a monster,

I wondered the halls, hearing moan I'd edge towards
I could hear them sniffing as if a scent was lingering
In the air. "Could they smell me? "I'd showered though,
I pressed my cheek against the wall, looking in to
My history class, well they were history all right.
Smouldering remains of god knows what.

"Hello.....,
"Is anyone not crazy,
"What am I thinking of course they'll say no,

Looking for my prom date, is their even going
To be one at this rate? I looked in the girls locker
Room.
"What don't give me that look,
Shelly you in there is whispered, then I sneezed

"O' crap O' crap these halls echo like a church steeple,
"Just ignore that ok,

I see a foot then the faces of cheerleaders, but these
Weren't the girls I knew twisted forms tails protruding
And hair, like they have digressed to a early form,

"No not shelly,
"She was 9 now a 2.0,

She sees me, head tilts then the call, her fingers point.
That voice didn't have to scream, I was gone.
I could hear them, I wasn't looking where I was going
And clothes lined someone.

"What the hell dude,
"You ran in to me,

Your normal,
But your, I saw you dead?

"What you mean dead?
"Down that hall, eyes gouged out,

And with that a shiver like someone had
Just mosh pitted on my grave, I heard them
I went to run, down the hall, but heeded his
Story *"dude hurry up run,

"I cant my ankles all buckled,

A second later I was in the lockers, lucky I'm
Skinny, they were upon him in moments.
Their tales swinging around in the air as though
They were playing with him. Then tails wrapped
Upon him legs, arms, neck they purred and
Claws dug in as if to get a running start.....

Blood, so much blood, I bit on my jacket to cover
My scream, I  was lucky his body tore up in
Such noise that I was unseen. they took of parts
Kept for trophies or munchies who knew?
I ran down the hall, I turned and tripped over
Something? I looked down it was me...

"What the..., what the....,
"How could this be,

Then flashes in my mind, I was here when it
Started, "I turned first, I opened my mouth
And expelled it, I watched others consumed.
I locked the rooms and through a key hole
I gestured it in. watched the madness mutate
Them in to me, "I watched..

But how did I end up here?

"Think, think,

I ran down this hall, and I ran in to me,
What the hell is going on I look, into the
Trophy case, I see something not me?
I look at myself eyes void only darkness
A shell, I enter two digits in. "Empty,
I look back as I see me, but others also.

I realize I'm an echo like these halls, I fade
Into the darkness as I realize it wasn't me.

"Just memories of other mixed in with me.

"I should have played hookie today,

But now I'm empty and its roaming the halls
looking for its next feed...

I wanted to cry and be a man synchronously.
She takes me heart
Smashes it into b.i.t.s

I wanted to laugh and throw tantrums simultaneously
She hands it back with a grin
Ugly art stitches cover my heart.

True love is not for the faint hearted
There, are me fugly stitches in her heart

The force is with us.
So are cookies at the darkside.

PRELUDE
________
[ I would engage but disengaged
enamoured masked fetid cage.
To sit spit splutter to cough it up
spit it all out
all over the pensive penners page
words turned ugly fugly loves pup ]
_________

Alla allua all al alala allis all is
Well that blends the well,
Wait! Wait!
(bit nipply in here)
nope that's not quite it, try,
All is ill that bends will..ok
One more go,
All is well that ends well
Right?   rite!  write? ok, ok,
this has been happenin for days,
pen sieves    
spent    
spinning lines
All over the place,

Whirling dervishes spinning fine
lines crossing, sparkling, in my kind
mind, finds the bind, blinds, then unbinds
Better yet     Get    in     behind
(Aussie shepherds call out)
Oh holy **** dressed up like a duck
Ok..I got this, really I do,
let's seem to find a seam take two,
better yet...mark it...scene set & action!

Bn California dreamin
stealin,
creamn,
little kittys pretty
Vannah & Clementine
their morning rituals feeding lines
a ***** pushing
faucet fed H20
odd observations
one kink 4 kitty cat
prefers to take her water right on tap
still my keys go  
tap   tap   tap
Queen Vannah aloof saunters to lap
to sit to think,
not counter fed drink,
she's way too cool for school,
what were we talking about?
it gets little hard to think
you standing naked
smiling
by the kitchen sink

Ahhhhh...love..the emotions spout,
refer crazy prior lines
fed by loves fire,
tossing feelings
up,
down,
in and out,
twist it,
turn it, up, down
shake it out

there is love of lovers,
there is love of mothers,
there is love of others,
sisters, cousins, friends, brothers
those kind of others
the cliché would say...
"It finds you when you stop seeking"
or,
"expect it when you least expect it"
usually historically my reply maybe,
yawn -
mass conditioning speaking

funny tho how things work out,
how someone says
"how you feeling"
transmutes transcends
to not ok...
then,
just flat out ascends
to big bursting clouds  
bountiful love reeling in,
from a kind word uttered
love
begins,
again

the hearts flower slowly opens
it's the hope
love carries upon it's soft
scented breeze,
it's the joy
love communicates
whilst on her knees,
and the tenderness
felt between them
she, he, the we,
in the squeeze

bunches of fist clutched sheets
bitten lips my heartbeat
thundering in my head
language of panted moans
native to our bed
fingers pressed
the the back of your head
your features lost
between my legs


ahhhh, yes, yes, yes!
loves steady heartbeat
the     thrum    thrum      thrum
wondrous beating
upon loves drum,
and how each new fresh
transformative experience
of love
transcends the past,
as again we relish,
the skipped beats
warm moistened seats,
the play the foray
a new wave way

as sweetly tendered lovely love,
delivers up finely sublime
all soaked delicious
steeped in rhyme,
that elusive now found,
brighter sunny day.
so, to end, what of love?
well,
Id say,
let it play,
oh all for lovely love,
let it play!

J.C. "honey owl" 28/04/2019.

No people can handle this ****.
Barely those who lives through this.
All purpose seems the life in flesh;
Is horrid at its best.
A twisted sitcom show.
That’s no less then cruel jokes.
many times in deepest holes.
eyes glorify the rope.
Or mind glorifies rope.
Who knows anymore.
One realizes loneliness is where the sick is born.
One realizes loneliness is how aching hearts shall mourn.
Yet again these thoughts of red,
beg that one please will tend.
With sharp swords and gore.
Of Blades piercing flesh
Of sharp swords and gore
until limbs be torn.
Surgical mesh be drenched.
This stomach is so sore.
Destruction absorbed.
Self infliction is adored.
........................................
in that wretched mirror.
It is so crystal clear.
This face  needs disfigured
This face needs to be Seared
An urge to burn the face,
as well as to cut.
Perform practices precise.
To tame the craves;
for blades
that thrusts.
Fugly as the ugly duckling.
If his feathers he began plucking.
repulsive ravishing disgust.
Spit at reflections for good luck.
Anger and vile succumb as it does.
In all ways that it can be done,
This self harm now one knows and loves.
Black seems white feathers of doves.
...........................................................
Insi­de black demented places.
Lurk do entities of hatred.
Laugh in masks like a masterpiece painted.
Unfazed as if one is sedated.
Forever this chaos.
in pureness created.
Dead be these roses.
in violet vases.
........................................................
To remain cloaked in magic states.
Still many strife always remains.
At times it seems the blind are divine.
Dilated be these eyes.
Shall needles pierce eyeballs to disdain.
Urning to spray the eyes with mace.
Keep the hArd drugs in the brain.  coursing through collapsed and thin veins.
Keeping the *** from being laced.
Without intoxicates still insane.
Only hopelessness and endless pain.
At a young age came,
demented strange days.
Paranoid in fear;
With destructive paths near.
malevolent demeanors have now appeared.
......................................................
For so long felt so helpless.
Life in all forms is selfish.
As despair impairs.
One becomes more selfless.
Remain thy light in darkness black.
While psychosis viciously attacks.
Crack back
Owning a craft.
Obsessed with knives and plastic wrap.
Unorthodox ways.
Leaving blood that rains.
Up for many nights and days
Owning a craft.
This world is sad
left perception oh so mad.

i.

  truth is clever
  when you underestimate
  him,  the moment you
  are sober he will
  excavate the flesh
  from your
  fingernails, grazed
  out with
  his fugly ones,  

  and while you wail
  in this agony,
  this soundless saliency,
  you will seize
  only for
  this fragile moment
  and only then will you
  cultivate what is true,
  the truest and the truest
  fallacies.

  it is only
  like this  
  when it hurts.



ii.

  i like the smell of
  rain because it smells
  of absolutely nothing,
  and it reminds me that
  nothing
  can really be everything
  because nothing is what is real
  and nothing is good,
  and nothing is better than
  happiness,

  but really, nothing is
  the only nothing,
  the nothing that
  can surrender
  this theoretical emancipation,  
  this sugar that tastes like
  cardboard and crack,
  this chemical that
  is white enough
  to bleach away
  sins with cold
  fire.  



iii.

  i'd rather believe
  in the bruises
  around my neck,
  lynched by
  the metaphysical ribbon that
  ties me to reality  

  than to believe
  in the bruises
  that appeared
  on my brain,
  raw from the world that
  is fabricated by a
  *******logical
  malice derived
  by a mind  
  like yours.



iv.

  am i merely a nudiustertian,
  and the monsters before that
  and the carcass after

  or am i simply a demonised mother,
  of 'duplicity' and 'profanity'
  or any other piece of lexicon that
  defines a rapture between
  the word 'human'
  and the word 'sublime'.

All my ladies please do understand
Intrinsically you bring beauty to this land
Put your body out there in the public eye
And you will get attention that you can't defy

Pictures of you all over there nettisphere
Fun, vivacious, seductive and suggestive
But fugly buggers better type nothing rude
You only welcome it from those attractive to you!

So you want to please and tease with your naked pics
Now you're furious for getting comments from freaks
This is why our whole world is troubled
When righteous hypocrites' standards are doubled

November 17, 2017

Red dry patches there
Red dry patches here
Red dry patches everywhere
Irritating, itchy , and ugly
“Put some lotion and everything will be fine. It will be gone and it won’t be fugly”
They said
If only it was that easy as a book I just read
But no.
I always keep myself on the low
You see, sometimes these patches bleed
And I cry, because it hurts and wish it will heal at such greater speed
I cry because when the water cleanses my body, it sometimes burns
I wish we could take turns
So you would understand
Why I can’t simply put myself with such confidence within myself, as I seem like a lost strand
Why my insecurities are high off the roof
How I want my body to disappear, like “****”
How I’ll never have decent skin until many months from now
From time to time admiring other people’s fair skin and I say “wow”
I wish I had normal skin
So I wouldn’t have to be dry and flaky, I would’ve had some sort of win
I wish I could be able to wear clothes that reveal some of my beauty from my body
But being snapped in reality, it’ll just disturb everybody
So I shall wait
And just deal with everything as it is my fate

You are running through the woods
and the simple act of breathing reminds you
that you alone
are not whole.
You have a gnawing urge
a shaking, painful need
to intake breathe. Your lungs
are hollow and you cannot exist
without the aid of the thundering world that surrounds your body.
Leaves rustle at your feet but there is nothing alive within them;
it is spring, but still early in the season,
all of the branches of the trees hang limp and bare and gray and cold.
Everything is quiet
and only slightly sweet smelling--
you are reminded that your life,
however vaguely synonymous with your soul,
is the fire of a candle
goldish-yellow
fragile
flickering
and nestled tightly between your vital organs,
sprouting delicately out of your aorta,
and homed only by your ribcage.
You probably think that it is an overly generic metaphor,
but I am going to use it anyway.
You are reminded that although this earth takes in the carbon dioxide you exhale and in return seeps life into you
at the pace of a heartbeat,
one sudden violent shudder
could take it all away.
And I don't want to be alone.
I am reminded that this poem
is supposed to be about you.
But hey,
who cares,
I'll take everything sweet and powerful and pretty and deep and
spin it into something of a self-portrait.
It doesn't matter how messy or wordy or nonsensical it is, I can just slap an Instagram filter on it and call it good.
Because according to people who aren't us,
that's what my generation does.
But I do not think that technology is shameful.
Maybe the internet gave me Stockholm syndrome,
but hey, I don't care,
I like it.
I do not understand the resent towards everything modern,
like:
selfies,
iPhones,
social media,
the polio vaccine,
the spread of legal marriage equality,
or the continuous, grappling, and rejuvenated fight against institutionalized racism
(something our predecessors never could quite stomp out).
We are a candlelight
that can never be put out.
God graced me with 20 million nerve endings
(I know because I googled it)
and a whole heap of flickering atoms
running from my fugly toes to the tips of jittery fingers
so that I may feel
and express myself.
I'll be ****** if I take that for granted.
This is the New Romanticism--
penned out with two hammering thumbs on a touch screen.
Hell, maybe I'm the new Nietzsche.
Everything that I can experience
has the potential to be beautiful.
From pointless technological meandering
to the raw and flourishing earth that brushes up against my skin.
It is all worthy of note for it comprises the miraculous euphoria that is human nature and
human life.
Maybe everything that I write
and feel
and think
and experience and
believe in is all petty and for naught
because I am a teenage girl
and nothing but.
However,
the universe at chance collided altogether in a smash to bring about a world that sustains my very individual personal life,
and mankind created laptop computers,
so if even miracles are possible,
I'd like to be a little more optimistic than that.
But this isn't a poem about that.
This is a poem about running
and breathing and living
through the woods
with you.
Not escaping, not fleeing, just running
and believing and being.
I think we're going to make it.
I think we're going to make it just fine.

PRELUDE
_
[ I would engage but disengaged
enamoured masked fetid cage.
To sit spit splutter to cough it up
spit it all out
all over the pensive penners page
words turned ugly fugly loves pup ]
__

Alla allua all al alala allis all is
Well that blends the well,
Wait! Wait!
(bit nipply in here)
nope that's not quite it, try,
All is ill that bends will..ok
One more go,
All is well that ends well
Right?   rite!  write? ok, ok,
this has been happenin for days,
pen sieves    
spent    
spinning lines
All over the place

Whirling dervishes spinning
fine
lines crossing,
sparkling,
in my kind mind,
finds the bind,
blinds, then unbinds
Better yet     Get    in     behind
(Aussie shepherds call out)
Oh holy ****
dressed up like a duck
Ok..I got this, really I do,
let's seem to find a seam take two,
better yet...
mark it...scene set & action!

Bn California dreamin
stealin,
creamn,
little kittys pretty
Vannah & Clementine
their morning rituals feeding lines
a ***** pushing
faucet fed H20
odd observations
one kink 4 kitty cat
prefers to take her water right on tap
still my keys go  
tap   tap   tap
Queen Vannah aloof saunters to lap
to sit to think,
not counter fed drink,
she's way too cool for school,
what were we talking about?
it gets little hard to think
you standing naked
smiling
by the kitchen sink

Ahhhhh...love..the emotions spout,
refer crazy prior lines
fed by loves fire,
tossing feelings
up,
down,
in and out,
twist it,
turn it, up, down
shake it out

there is love of lovers,
there is love of mothers,
there is love of others,
sisters, cousins, friends, brothers
those kind of others
the cliché would say...
"It finds you when you stop seeking"
or,
"expect it when you least expect it"
usually historically my reply maybe,
yawn -
mass conditioning speaking

funny tho how things work out,
how someone says
"how you feeling"
transmutes transcends
to not ok...
then,
just flat out ascends
to big bursting clouds  
bountiful love reeling in,
from a kind word uttered
love
begins,
again

the hearts flower slowly opens
it's the hope
love carries upon it's soft
scented breeze,
it's the joy
love communicates
whilst on her knees,
and the tenderness
felt between them
she, he, the we,
in the squeeze

bunches of fist clutched sheets
bitten lips my heartbeat
thundering in my head
language of panted moans
native to our bed
fingers pressed
the the back of your head
your features lost
between my legs


ahhhh, yes, yes, yes!
loves steady heartbeat
the     thrum    thrum      thrum
wondrous beating
upon loves drum,
and how each new fresh
transformative experience
of love
transcends the past,
as again we relish,
the skipped beats
warm moistened seats,
the play the foray
a new wave way

as sweetly tendered lovely love,
delivers up finely sublime
all soaked delicious
steeped in rhyme,
that elusive now found,
brighter sunny day.
so, to end, what of love?
well,
Id say,
let it play,
oh all for lovely love,
let it play!

J.C. honey-tiger 02/07/2019

Wormy gorgon of the fugly garbage gorgon's has a very sad an' lowly life indeed. She curses an' antagonizes a cancer fighter instead of sending her sincere good wishes an' a heartfelt expressed Godspeed.

On her best day, she exemplifies all the characteristics of a mean spirited, moronic jag off misanthrope whose only desire is to plant a very bad weedy seed. Her angry tongue splinters an' then bullies.
My wish is t’have fingers of tumultuous jostle you – attempting to throw you hard toward kingdom-come…

Human suffering,
“Can this drama, the supreme embodiment of the human condition, possibly be okay?”
My stomach knots.
---------------------------
Often not much has changed in our actual life –
Yes, I get into the same bed each night trying to go to sleep,
Thinking that if I look away,
You might be gone by the time I look back.

(This has been) a Creeping ode to the aftereffects of a small minded twerp…

by "ooznozz"

I cough up blood like words of
love to the limpless scandal
counting question marks on her
fugly face.
I throw up food like a volcano
that screamed justice and the
magma missed jezzabelle, the saint.
Cosmopolitan Freakshow,
A deluge sans answers,
An empty box.

Warts appear like the truth
which remains.... well.....you
know all about that don't you.
Go on, we all wait for God
but he'll never come, ask
the King, but then again,
who does he answer to?
I answer to this fever,
this muse of Dante,
I answer to my sins,
Like the State of Nature
to her dues.
And then I eat the
medicine, which is philosophy,
A poison which cures a day,
but ends a lifetime.

Onto my stump I rub expensive, aloe vera stump cream
before and after swimming in an icy, mountain stream
'cause I don't want to be on the stumpy, jungle-rot team

Onto my swollen leg stump I rub expensive, aloe vera stump cream
before & after swimmin' in a frigid, North Dakota mountain stream
'cause I don't wanna be on a North Dakotan stumpy, jungle-rot team
Please hospice nurse mercy-killers, don't mercy-**** me by flogging
me with my prosthetical leg, as I am happier to be alive than I seem under a satanic mix Fleetwood & Jagger, there'll be nada to redeem
for oath keepers' fugly ******* who're under sacred oath not to ream
under skies of liberation whereat Jersey sheenies shimmer & gleam
I fear the mumbling, perverted pig, the fake obstetrician Bill Cosby
'cause he'll drug me with Quāāludes just before he rapes & robs me
Being the last to die as is a plan that loving romantics have 'tis true,
especially at the death-bed of a rich uncle who has got bronchial flu
Let's sway gaily under rotting palms while praising Lordly Christus
with hymns & psalms as cultishly-religious claptrap exalts & calms

"That's not a good hat
for a fine looking man.
That's a go to hell hat."
I said "I don't understand."
Steve piped on up
"Man, I'm trying to sell that."
To which Bob retorted
"It's a god awful hat!
When it is donned
and someone does yell
that it's ugly and fugly
you say go to hell."
So I bought two right then
and put one of them on.
Walked to the door and
before I was gone
I turned and I smiled
It was not a hard sell
"Well gentleman thank you
now go to hell!"

I deactivated my Instagram account last night in a fit of tears and self loathing. This morning I'm compelled to share my feelings on Twitter because there's no one specific I can turn to. It has taken a breakdown and 8 months of therapy to recognise my sadness stems from loneliness. And that's a dangerous thing to be during recovery - lonely. It makes the impetus to get well harder to see. I'm happy alone but cannot sustain happiness on lonely. I can't give up and leave my love with the burden of my lacking commitment to life. I can't move on until these traumas no longer knot my nervous system and corrode my sense of self. I can't heal in isolation.

Shouting into voids through screens and pixel bits is the cry for help with no destination, no intended audience, no necessary acknowledgement.

Having no friends, only casual acquaintances, was safe until it wasn't. It wasn't by design. I leak desperation wherever I turn. If anything my carnal need for connection, positive reception only worked to put distance between me and love of others. I think that's why I cannot comprehend his love. He gives so freely, unaffected by my jagged edges and fugly design and my insides coated in tar. Still he collects me on his lap and holds me together as my body threatens to crack open with violent shudders, my core destabilised as tectonic plates surrender to mounting pressure of my past and present. Great fissures marking lifelines and more pain than is acceptable for one lifetime.

My greatest fear is by being too weak to let him go. My deepest hate is my selfishness as I force a life of loneliness on him too. Those who tolerated me before have set in place their boundaries - I'm glad they're putting their own needs first, of course, and the pattern repeats with painful recognition that I am the problem. But now it's not only me who feels cold in the distance, he is left astray as well. My heat insufficient to warm us both. I should untether him from me. I should let him be free. From responsibility, from duty, from guilt, from the crushing weight of knowing me and loving me.

If you love him, let him go. I should. I should. I can't. And that hurts more than all the isolation. Selfishly too, because if I let him go I could be free of this. I could slip away unnoticed and not hurt anymore. Living is pain. It demands so much. I am empty. I have no more to give.

Love might be a losing game, but life is a cruel irony.