I step inside and get in line.
The first thing that catches my eye is a sign that reads: Subway issues codes for a free cookie as a thank-you for completing a survey. Ask a Sandwich Artist for details.
I think to myself, “Sandwich Artist?” You gotta be ******* kidding me.
Who is this ultra superior, ******* that is responsible for this?
Why can’t we accept our job titles for what they are?
We always need to jazz things up so we feel a little more important and less-judged,
but we become more inferior with this kinda ****.

Society is a mind ****.

There are two sandwich artists behind the counter, and one is rambling on about her birthday that is in a few days.
She is SO excited.
Standing to her left is another artist, masterfully creating a sandwich for the gentleman in front of me.
She closes her eyes and replies to her partner with great wit, “Hold a second - I’m throwing you a party right now in my head.”
She opens her eyes, and our eyes unfortunately meet.
Son-of-a *****!
This is making me really uncomfortable.
It’s taking all of my might to not give her what she is clearly hoping for - a smile.
I do.
****, I'm a *****.
The gentleman in front of me doesn’t hear a thing.
He is too busy to notice.
Look at that perfectly, tailored suit.
He must be important.
Mr. Important’s index finger is tap-dancing all over the screen of his fancy phone.
He sure likes his phone, but don’t we all these days?
Technology is the ****, and we are the ******.
But not me!
I have a flip phone.
Yup.
I bought it for $29.99 three years ago.
The salesman pulled it out from storage, and the box had dust on it.
He looked at it as if it was an ancient artifact.
It is.
And I bought it…

It hasn’t been more than a minute, and Miss Birthday Girl starts to ramble some more about her party.
The witty artist closes her eyes and replies,
“Hold a second.  I’m throwing another party for you in my head.”
You’ve gotta be ******* me…
What a redundant swine.
I turn my head to the right and look at the lively advertisement of Coke’s product, Fuze.
It’s a pretty sign for what it’s worth.
I just stare at the **** thing and act as though I haven’t heard her ******* comment.
I continue gawking at the word, Fuze.
My eyes gaze over to the accompanying graphic of a sweaty bottle of some ambiguously-flavored iced-tea.
I probably look like someone who is easily distracted by shiny, vibrant things.
Or someone who is REALLY thirsty and is going to buy me some of that Fuze.
But I am not thirsty at all…
Just angry.
However I do want a large cup to fill, so I can fill it with Fuze and toss it in her face.
With that thought, I figure it is be best for me to leave.
So I head for the door and exit.
I had parked my vehicle across the street, and as I walk towards it, her voice endlessly
repeats in my head.
I sit down in my seat, noticing a plastic bag of dried apricots tucked in the cup holder.
I open the bag, and there are only six left.
Five remain stuck to the bottom as one plops into my palm.
I put the one in my mouth; the flavor is to be expected as well as the texture.
The chewy consistency reminds me of cartilage.
This must be what it feels like to eat an ear.

A small ear, maybe even a lobe.

Nonetheless an ear.

Now for dessert! Xanax.
I unscrew the top of the little, red, metal container that I carry with me at all times -
like a devout Catholic with her rosary.
I place one tab on my tongue, the sweet tang a perfect complement to my lunch.

Maybe, just maybe, I don’t need anti-anxiety pills any more.

Maybe I just need a new phone like the rest of the world.

Na…**** that.

Go ahead Darling,
dolly yourself up,
climb up on your platforms,
tighten those jeans around
your nice lady-hips.
Spread some hot pink
on your ruby red lips.
I think you are the bomb!
O let me,
O please let me,
light your fuze
when your ready to explode,
ready to explode
with me.
It's incineration time.

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im building a love bomb, the mother of all love bombs, MOALBs, and it has a short fuze

We were like a house hollowed out by flames
Lust burning though the pretty paint over our bones
The fire from your harsh words curled around my heart, licking at the bottom of my spine
Carving I love you into the walls with ashes
Soft words that hit like death
Like decaying snowflakes
They blew through the home we had built together
Dancing with the floorboards just how our shoes used to
Waltzing up the steps Enameled in black war paint
From the epic of our love that raged within the walls
Support beams jutting out of the ground like fallen soldiers in the wake of our crusade
Memories strewn across the battlefield
Left floating in the eternal winter of ashes that our passion had left for us
I was ice trying to freeze over the fuze already lit for the end
You were like a burning match
lashing me to your cruel hand
getting pulled six feet under the rising water in our house
I was the flood
And you were the house fire
We were consuming each other in our own storms
You were burning up every piece of me trying to find fuel for your own destruction
I was too busy tripping over the fallen debris you left to run
the flood ripping every breathe out of your chest
the flood ripping out every memory from your dreams
because that is the only place we have left
I can only paint your face in my sleep
I didn't know until you how cold fire could be
You left me in a permanent coma of your shadow
I sleep walk through the streets at five am
trying to find the light in the distance
trying to find your face
but even in the dead of the night in two separate beds
we are a natural disaster chained in a house
weak ivory walls trying to contain
an arsonist
and an empty river

Do you know why,
I can't sleep, in the attic or the deep?
No Anchor on these tides, treasure box
in a pirate's hope;find the boat.

Drifted on a pierced lip, a fixed kiss,
a mental slip--
on a burnt out Fuze.

Double check for a
red lighter's glaze,
As wolf is entranced in the gaze, of a moon's longing.
              EYE
Take it easy,
little child. A bottle ship on a lover's dream
tossed and turns as sleeper learns,
trust the Sun.

Light so stronge, Life will always crawl
in the uncertanty a simple plee,
to be
           to exist
                           to dream,
What It really is, spinning the compass
to the steady Fun, painted with snow.
As a remote control in
*****-MOAN phase.

I’m going crazy.
And blocked from my muse.
Talent growing hazy.
No concentration, burning the fuze.

Broken and ***** toy,
I’ve been thrown apart.
Wake me up, boy,
I can’t hear my own heart.

in this place we see about us, I will tell you a tale.

I will guide you loosely along a river as we meander.

Do not fret that what I will show you is known in vast and secretive, stations and nations of groups hell bent on you not knot knowing the facts, of this river flush of a full house i will tell , wait, full house is later, lets do the flush first. oh, wait, I guess you should be reminded of what you didnt know you knew, and this is so true all the way through,
That I will only tell you of the things you already know, just forgot, kinda like I did so.. here, wee, goooo.

What is an Azimuth as in and exactly as a compass azimuth, but a direction or an Angle, of the Angels sighted line of focus a beam of thought sound and light energy over a distance in a given direction.

What is an Inclination, but an angle of the previously said deerhearted best to remember these things, bare with me please, I can meander rather briskly.

What are these things of azimuth and inclination and what the hell do they have to do with Love, the Flow and curing this life and tree we truly be?

Um, let me start now by asking of sound and sand on a rubber surface sound through the tube hitting and vibrating this surface covered in sand, what pray tell do you see that shall happen? shapes of the resonate sound frequency of a three ( oh so many more um, ;like all of the dimensions, for we are made of the love of the sound , for the sound is the sound of love being spoken to us, Son, ,,, let that one sit and steep just a little bit longer...........)
oh yes read read it.   .... shapes of the resonate sound frequency of a three ( oh so many more um, ;like all of the dimensions, for we are made of the love of the sound , for the sound is the sound of love being spoken to us, Son, ,,, let that one sit and steep just a little bit longer...........)


ahem, okay, now that you just popped a small part of your ceiling off and can now see the sky , which you should do every day, imagine your ceiling is glass by you can feel the wind and the air as the trees sway and the clouds dance by... um, okay, so, azimuth and inclination and the three dimensional aspect of sound, Um SHAPE. like the triangle, so lets say we want to fight fire with fire, lol, so funny, oh, um triangle is um, oh you will see when you choose to fact check me.

so to create a real shape with real sound and thought the true light you are unable to see, and do it in a large very large size. then you go to locations dictated by the map and math, and then take a rather modest size triangle and lets say the base is the distance from fort smith Ar. to Fayetteville , AR to um, measure it out and them send a group of loving people to these locations and at the synchronized with the real time as in at the same time and no time zone bs, you direct your thoughts and sounds, amplified or not to the azimuth and inclination or angle to the horizon so as to meet at the tips of the shape of the numerously sided , your choice triangle and then watch what happens, oh I know, wait, what if bad people want to harm you or others you have told them how to go about a chunk of it. oh, silly, I own the joint, or a good chunk of it. lol j/K... or am I,, but seriously, dont worry, otherwise they would not have concerned themselves with hiding it from your far more powerful and RIVER of real life, see the sound is the love which is a the flow of a river, and well, try damming a river which has real steep flow boundaries, meaning not much in the way of a down hill run of a water fall, hard as hell to dam the water flowing through air. *(yes and thank you for the nudges. no really. please except this, I wont name for reasons, but you know who ya are there beautiful friends). so, um, yeah, see, they rely on you not using your tech, the real and true technologies that flow, or bust up impeding events or behaviors or things to the flow of life. for nothing is more powerful than love, and though love like water, AHEM.......... like Water, it is shapeless, formless a void yet remembers the will and intent of its focal adjustments, or vibrational surroundings.
What I have done here, for those whom are not quite sure. is just handed you the keys to your cage and the keys to this love ship and its direction of partial travel, though I refrain from the temporal aspects, that is not up for discussion, well, yet.  Now get a map and map out all the people you love around the nation and globe and family, you will begin to see something, I WILL NOT TELL YOU OF IT, for it is the journey that causeth the flow to be unimpeded, and dear friend dont forget to overlay yours with your soulmates. and BAM, oh My Fing God do you see it????!!!! will be uttered aloud i many places. yes, I love you, and yes, You are dearly welcome, and Yes, i am Dearly Thankful for you all. all, artist doing Studio time cause Baby Blue needs a **** Binky, to the person that never will say anything, but influences the world in ways and wonders none will know till the big celebration. wink. no one is unimportant in this. for it is real and really a big **** deal.
Ummm, well. Yes I am slow. but when it happens and I am trly allowed to, my love is true. and yes this part is exclusivley for that 4 you, know who. , maybe one day yu will forgive my far too loyal to a flaw ways, that caused some rather serious delays, but then again, the Love is never not right on time. I know cause, I am awaiting yours, and know and loyal in my faith that it will undoubtedly be right freaking on time. I love you silly, so giggle, **** it. giggle. please. I cant bare you not laughing. smile for me. you silly funny face, you my peach fuze loves, my perfect side of the moon and tiny soft tattoos too. yes you silly. and it is me, werewolf feet and all. ugh, yes, have you not seen my ****** ugly *** feet folks. geez, lol. wink.

Fake a smile for me please
Because my cheeks are getting sore
Just let me rest a while
Until you walk out that door
Babe I can't really take it
You know how wrong you are
If you don't have an apology, fake it
And then you can take the car
Make love to me for one last night
And maybe it'll spark a fuze
Maybe it'll make your **** up right
And maybe, again, I'll love you
a.m.

The sounds that soak though our skin,
run through our viens,
pull together all emotion
we did not know how else to communicate.
Vibrate our bodies and
give us a reason.
Bond our minds.
Fuze together our souls.
Feed our energy.
Free us from our:
Past.
Present.
Future.
Time.

Try to hold time
Try to hold love
Try to take Joy
Try to open mud and fuze the water molecules with atoms so it won't float up.
Try to create you even the bad parts
When your mom died, or your sister cried or your Dad leaving the family cause he had somewhere else to go.
Try to ..
Try to prepare the heart.
Try to make the sky before the  stars
Try to keep smiling
Try to keep still
Try to be a son when you was in a womb
Try to be a water
Try to create a fog

Oooh I wanna see this
Try to be God.

many many
           flavors it comes
appendages entwined
           or a parental kind
degrees resist
           and are graded here
as is a failed attempt
           it does exist!
We are rewarded here
           for concept
and purity
           and fireworks
or fizzled fuze
           when it comes to love
it is not confused.

For everyday, she cakes her face
With a coated mask.
She does it to hide the pain.
Otherwise, she feels attacked.

She feels that pressure everyday.
She has to laugh.
Even if the joke is mundane.

And everyday, she hides behind a fake, withering smile.
But by night, it turns into her twisted insides; vile

She's not herself.
But she is her.
Her personalities fuze
And merge.

She's done.
She's relieved.
She draws in her final breath.
As she drowns herself
In a liquid ruby red.

Her lips whispering softly.
Her pain waves coming deep.
Her wrists shouting violent blood.
Soaking through, and
Now seeped.

She let's go, as she feels the little girl she used to be die.
She slips away.
Unaware and induce.
And off of her tongue
Escapes a goodbye.

In my irises my pupils turn
Into blast waves
Are you aware
That this gaze
Was a lit fuze
Severed chains
My latest jewels
Flames crave
The intake
Volatile fuel
Oxygen
****** in
Catalyst lips

Our children are flames
We are embers weeping sparks
Our scriptures remain
On ash-imprinted hearts

Upon its back, we ride,
into the books of history,
all of this, it takes in stride,
for it, there is no mystery.
Slithering through the sands of time,
but of it retaining no memory,
simply drawing an unstoppable line,
continuing on to infinity.

****** wars and droughts and famine,
like the hands of a clock continues,
we like to stop and examine,
but it goes on as its muscles stretch and sinew.
Political changes and new regimes,
trapped in the past as the times fuze,
through all the ****** and the schemes
all of this it simply eschews.

Is this the worm of fate,
or simply that of time,
we can love or hate,
be just or enjoy crime.
No matter what we choose,
we ride it anyway,
to the future, we ooze,
there is no escape.

The lamps go out over Europe; when will they burn again?
The New Deaths rise inexorably in Italy and Spain
We leave the office, turn off the lights; stand alone in the dark
Gaze out on Luton’s business zone rather than Saint James’s Park

Soon we’ll learn to spell “furlough”, to self-isolate (so formal!)
Did we sleepwalk into this – JG Ballard meets normal?
Netflix, Fuze and Teams and Zoom, set yourself new goals
Clap the frontline staff at eight, then stockpile toilet rolls

Yet the weather’s kind and spring is here; it feels there’s nothing to fear
Magnified, blown-up, eye-catching - a virus which sounds like a beer
Lockdown will get tiresome, it’ll feel like a phoney war
Masterchef still on the telly, quarantine starting to bore

London Calling reminds us “the wheat is growin' thin”
Blinded like Day of the Triffids by an unseen foe within
Excel’s pop-up wards unnerve, beds laid out in a queue
Sepia-tainted photos: 1918 Spanish flu

Then the figures start to rise - thousands now and more
And, though they’re other people (no black cross on my door),
A feeling of displacement, we’ll meet some sunny day
“We’re all in this together!” doesn’t sound so blasé

How long will England’s hedgerows remain beyond the pale?
How long the pubs stay silent? Denied our pint of ale
The chronicles of history await the final score
A time when over Europe those lamps are lit once more

END