The typewriters tap,
with a rat-a-tat-tat,
like a fourth estate rap
to provide us the pap
(that serves as a snack with a rat-a-tat-tat)
in a newspaper scrap
crammed with meaningless crap
from the editor's yap
(spewing flimflamy flak, booming rat-a-tat-tat)
after gashing a gap
in the daily recap
with a snip in a snap-
sounding thundery clap
crackng rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

And the talking heads speak
with a rat-a-tat-tat,
of the news of the week,
tweaking tongue in the cheek
(with a click and a clack like a rat-a-tat-tat),
thus ignoring critique
'cause they're mild and too meek
in the midst of the reek
to report of the wrack (except rat-a-tat-tat)
whilst the pundits (oblique
when protecting the chic
of the upper class clique
at the top of the peak)
chatter rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

The NRA ghouls
plug a rat-a-tat-tat
while their blood money tools
fill the Hill’s vestibules
(where deceit behind drapes drips a rat-a-tat-tat),
spreading folly that fuels
frenzied hands of young fools
bringing guns into schools
(at the drop of a hat there's a rat-a-tat-tat
splashing blood in warm pools)
for now anarchy rules
(which the hype ridicules
'til the temperature cools)
hailing rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

Lawless cops, cutting loose
with a rat-a-tat-tat
spraying bullets profuse
without any excuse
(just a split second splat with a rat-a-tat-tat),
splay a rattled recluse
like a Thanksgiving goose
gushing cranberry juice
from six slugs in the back (with a rat-a-tat-tat).
To redress such abuse,
bend the branch of a spruce
with a neck in a noose
while Death's drums beat diffuse’
rolling rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

War brings freedom to all
with a rat-a-tat-tat
(well, excluding the thrall
with fear, facing the wall
[ often smacked with a bat, throbbing rat-a-tat-tat ],
until feeling the call
to creep out of the kraal
biting back with a gall
[ with a *** for a tat and a rat-a-tat-tat ],
or to mangle and maul
if still able to crawl
and be part of the brawl
in a freak free-for-all,
midst a rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat).

Holy warmongers praise,
with a rat-a-tat-tat,
any soldier that slays
and all rockets that raze
(the drones zoom with a vroom and a rat-a-tat-tat)
leaving smoky arrays
of gray ghosts in the haze
cloaking mute cabarets
(hushed, the hip and the hop, by the rat-a-tat-tat)
while ol’ Cerberus bays
with mankind in his gaze,
so society prays  
as it rots and decays
(Satan's trumpets of doom blare a rat-a-tat-tat)
until one of these days
in a flash through the maze
mighty mushrooms will blaze
with invisible  rays,
fin’lly braising the craze
of the rat-a-tat-tat,
   and the
            rat-
                 a-
                    tat-
                          tat.

How could I have been so close
Yet so far away
The gap in the distance is more intense than I'd actually like to say
It feels like almost yesterday, where the smiles or frowns that came around
Never settling in the crest we call a "face"
It wasn't as fake as it was now
The warmth of your smile turned the mood around
Even if it was disappointing I couldn't help but try a bit harder for the sake of being friends
Cause that's what they do, staying true,
yes true
Not saying I've caught them in a lie
It just feels a little blue, on the other side
I wish I could hold your hand, just to adore
This, space that we once had
It's not the same years later and I know things have changed
Again this isn't a plead for help
Just my old thoughts into an expression
Takes it like the old way of written out confessions
If I had to be convicted Id be in for a long sentence
Like the, I broke a promise and left without saying a word,
Sad how we make it seem like it was the another's fault that we're this way...
Though in the end, it was selfish actions... selfish actions...selfish actions...and self-indulgence
That pushed the gap and broke the space apart
Id like to say sorry as a start in the right way
Though I don't think that would mend the nasty tear that's been every slowly gashing
We've been on the rocks thrashing about in a glass cup smashing with fruit juice and *****
I remember the sweet cheers of that kiss and the hard rocks on the bed
I understand it, I do
I lived in the misery of your happiness that shined through
I wanted to use your opening and vent without considering what your feelings meant
That this was a special event, and I wasn't just getting experience but giving it too
Where sweet words never left the heart
Where promises were meant to last
I formally apologize,
I can't take it away for what has happened
But I'll keep moving forward regardless of forgiveness
I don't expect to walk back into a life that I created so many problems for
And I understand completely if these words cannot pierce through like a sword
It's no point that way

Into the sunlight burning my pale tainted skin I fall;
Out from the darkness I lived where I walk before I crawl
I'm a being no man can describe yet I am marked as a horror;
I meant no harm but this is how I live a cycle causing' terror

Understanding my nature is like a puzzle picture a piece is always missing;
Dig deeper and you will find the answers right before your neck, blood will start gashing
Never will I myself will ever understand why am I brought to this world and for what purpose?;
For the balance perhaps? That we all must accept that light and darkness never coexist and that what truth has exposed...

Sacrifice what a noble suffering one can offer for love and devotion;
What I do now, will it set the order for safety and to create a new world in motion?
I doubt one can even notice or even give credit to my self righteous suicide;
I'm a fool to even care so much that I am ready to give my life for violence to subside...

Maybe I am just tired living in the shadows creeping in the night to feed;
I envy men for their freedom that I even often ask what's the difference they also live in greed
Why must I care so much for their safety?I am living the life I am offered so are they;
But why am I feared the most for their violence is worst yet I am the only one known as a monster...

Too late to ponder more, I made my choice so long and goodbye I bid farewell;
It is a good day to die funny it's the first time I see the sunlight and touched my skin burning them well;
Blood is boiling like acid tearing my bones melting as I feel pain as I scream;
Freedom it is this the end of me to the earth I return as ashes filling an urn to the brim.

Consciousness,
mindfulness,
philosophical enlightenment -
Live for the **** of it.
Camus was right to breathe in spite of the tide of crushing emptiness.
The boulder gets heavy,
the bones grow weary,
the mountain is steep and we are steeped in irony.
For life can be deadly and death's rows of gravestones mark homes for freed slaves,
their crossed arms hiding scars
left by the teeth of nihilistic grief beatings and
surgery scalpels set to carve by
frequent false
alarms.

Sisyphus took but one break,
to hear the chains rattled from the gates,
hellish obsidian, vermilion flames licking lumps of silica grains
mixed with ash and a black tar splash.

And Orpheus sighed on the lyre and brought tears to the eyes of the most vile,
while Sisyphus
paused -
not long,
but a lifetime for those still free to subside
to dust, from blood and guts,
when their time arrives.

The trials of life,
the striving rites and lavish gifts of light to defy
the black and empty dusk still fail.
Eurydice grows pale as Orpheus turns to see her cheeks
losing every trace of peach hue,
eyes emptying,
lungs leaking their
last gale.

Struggling again, Sisyphus is sent
tumbling down the face of the great mountain,
grabbing gravel and sand and gashing gaps in his hard leather hands.
Bleeding ash,
not blood,
hot red mud dripping from the thick lacerations,
mixing with the sickening avalanche of wasted effort and waylaid plans.
Repeating the climb up the steep peak,
bones creaking like a clock's gears,
rattling off the seconds,
minutes,
hours,
years
until the watch stops its
panicked hands.

Until then we will toil unswayed
as we wear stones to clay,
carving winding paths in spirals up the mountain's waist.
No calm for those with breath,
no rest for beating hearts.
We must live in spite of life,
and then sink silent
to the earth.

i shed pounds

of hair

when i shave
my

back,
chest,
neck,
shoulders,
abs,
and below.

It falls lightly as the electric blades become hot on my body
gashing into my un-satisified self.

i am a hairy ****.
i am a hairy ******* man.
i am a hairy man.
i am a man.

but here i am
shaving everything off
so i can be
the boy
of your dreams,
the boy of your dreams.


And now, my body burns
but I cannot bear it; looking like a bear.

Candles once burnt in the night
But a cold wind took their light
I was cast down into damnation
With no hope of finding salvation

No one listened to be heard
A voice speaking without a word
Who could rescue a fallen soul
That could find no place to go

A gothic ghost screaming out
Like some demented Banshees shout
Crawling through the filth of disgrace
Ice cold tears falling on my face

An endless night without stories to tell
Countless doors leading to Hell
Nightmares daring to be my end
Gashing wounds try to offend

I fight back and yell "no more"
Bandage up this festering sore
Stop cutting my soul with this knife
Time to fight in the war of life

Copyright Chris Smith 2013

when you
       so dear to me
      do hurt me
a pinpoint *****
is a razor’s slashing edge
       make gashing wounds
       and bleeding drains me
       bound scars to testify
       to the hurt
       the doer do magnify
i flee my brittle tiny shell
and don the mask of mirth
but fleeing never find
a chambered nautilus
which i would exchange for mine
       a twig is bent
       a leaf is fallen
       a grain of sand is lost
       a page is torn
       teardrop falls
       a lost one calls
when trust has grown
when choice is blind
when reason cannot reason
       a little twist
       a careless wink
       an unintended turnabout
              eats up a painful way
              to the heart that loves.

my heart with a gashing hole from a mythical screwdriver

rising

out of my problem filled mind, confused and mixed up brain

escaping

from my diminishing soul

I am sure, it might be midnight somewhere
Sun long gone to where I'll never know
Moons sing songs while rivers flow
Gashing and sifting between rocks
Crashing with utter silence
Everything breaks apart
Leaving scars in the heart
That can only be healed by being apart
We are together only at the start
But in the end the storm is going to tear us apart
Soon the storm will pass and I will love again
Looking toward the horizon
I took a deep, long breath
And dove into the water
Sinking slowly, deep into the blue
Elephant, which means the dream was about to come true
And then something amazing happened
Something I could have never imagined.
Pains me to think of the money I will never see.
Awash in the blue, I am losing my mind
Mind of a squirrel going nuts
Scampered down the street, needing more food
But he couldn't find any so he went home and got high
Lost his thoughts and began to cry.

There are hooks in you
I am only fickle finned
I cannot swim fast enough
To **** my mouth onto yours
Because-  
There are games in you
A hunting sport
A terror red ravaging game
You relish it as the juices drip down your chin

There are hooks in you
And I am only fickle finned
Pulling me into you
Teeth and claws sharper, gashing deeper
-Secret pleasure in the raw raw flesh

There are rumours shrouding you
Bullet words hurtling through my skull
Plumetting through leaves, through everything I know
There are hooks in you

And I am only feather winged
I cannot float fast enough
To embed your bullet in my chest
Because-
This is a game to you
A hunting sport
A biting, sinking, blood filled game
There are hooks in you

And all this hunting, swelling, biting
All this heaving, sweating, fighting
All this terror, flying, swimming
All this hooking, shooting, chasing
Does me no good,

For I am fickle finned
I am feather winged
And this is a game
To you.

So you are gone, I realized this tonight
At the thousandth night of our separation,
Stars glittering, Moon playing hide & seek
Same like the night you and I talked last,
How I hated change and
How I found it at every step I took, is inexplicable.
The promises were not plenty to stay.
Oaths were mere other words said in frenzy
Washed in the first rain of the season.

All those texts I wrote, stanzas I composed
Were not enough to win you.
I ask you; was I that bad?

I remember me; so different than now
Awake all night waiting for your call
to start talks having no purport,
To listen your gasps, kisses and breathe and yawn
Every moment felt like you were breathing unto me
Traversing miles, splashing on face,
Warm in winters, cool in summer nights,
your breath reached;
Inhaling all, I stored it inside
Like a souvenir; to remind me how close we were once.

You said,
you “are weak in catching the hidden meanings
In my poems”. How ignorant I was to not listen
But if you were around now,
I'd explain those connotative lines
full with request and pleas,
I had typed in midnight emotions
tears gashing;
Only had simple meaning;
I long and yearn to live with you,
around you, beside you
every second.
If I’d known substitutes of hundred diverse
emotions spinning,
I'd have used it
to avoid your confusion.
But I didn’t find. My rotten luck!

Sometimes, I ponder
If you're there to see me awake all night for words
that can match you; your radiant beauty, then all
would have been different.
But you're not there to witness the devotion.

To my ill-fate, words carry only pictures
Reading depends on the reader,
And you read it all different than I intended,
Maybe, it’s the fault of my poetry
broken and stained in failure
Never achieved the power to conquer you forever.

Every word I wrote haunt me onwards
See, the sorrow I'm indulged in,
When you have forgotten my existence,
and the love we shared.
Still, after all these years
I fighting with change
Waken all night
weary, tired, sleepy; Write you in poems!

Shaman who is keeping the flame.
Dancing like it's his last day.
Holding many secrets, knowing many fates.
Brown stubby knotted fingers do the pointing.
The young brown pups do the fetching.
Guiding the meek, chanting history.

He taught my family how to preserve mother.
Sometimes for sport, sometimes for balance.
Insisted we did this favour; not as ritual, but as rite.
We wait until the moon is filled of Mars.
We sing our people's song.
Sometimes a harmony, sometimes a challenge.

To do the shamans work; maybe *****.
We roam in threes, sometimes fours.
Our sanctified goal to slay mother's cousin.
Tall ones, brown like us, bones gnarly from skull.

We huff, and puff; the winter cold.
Lungs tired after kissing the chilly breeze.
The tundra lit up with a crimson sheen.
Fatiguing the march, yet we fly.

Hunters we hunt, fast with four legs.
We single a herd, resting their heads.
We focus the small ones, biting and gashing.
They fell like birch trees, painting the powder.
Outnumbering us, sport turns to anxiety.

We bite, gnaw, ****, and claw.
They fall hard to the Earth.
We don't feast, we have a mission.
Looting the bones, we keep them in submission.
Thinning them out; is our fed intuition.
Brothers grow tired, the prey devastated.
Mars reflects to us, as if saying mother is pleased.
The young brown pups do the fetching.

**** MY FIST                                  COPYRIGHT 2011 DAVID EHRGOTT


Lucy Lucy  What have you done
******* a kid
well it ain't no fun
Bashing and gashing
covering him
My right forearm hurts like sin
Lucy Lucy Kiss me kiss
Match the left one by doing this

Just
**** My Fist
**** My Fist
Yeah
**** My Fist
**** My Fist

Lucy Lucy ******* me blue
Here is all that she did do
Slapped me around; Put me through walls
That mother-******* Lucille Ball

So
**** my Fist
Yeah
**** My Fist
just
**** My Fist
**** My Fist

**** My Fist
**** My Fist
**** my Fist
**** My Fist

Tuesday Weld was not a Ball
She frigged herself and that was all
But Lucy had a *** playpen
For children around the age of ten
so
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST

Surviving this is not a bliss
and my arm, it hurts like ****
I raise it up to tell the world
That Lucille Ball was my first girl that

****** MY FIST YEAH SHE
****** MY FIST
****** MY FIST YEAH SHE
****** MY FIST
SO
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST

**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST

JUST **** IT BABY YEAH **** IT
SAID **** IT BABY YEAH **** IT
JUST **** IT BABY YEAH **** IT
SAID **** IT BABY YEAH **** IT

Little boys of only ten
Should not be used like that again
But you know Hollywood and them
I'll save the world and tell them just to

**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST

Lucy did it why don't you just

**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST

Hollywood Hollywood just kiss this
I've really had enough of your **** so

**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST...

There is an inch of sleight in this house – this cold chair,
a burst of cologne clogging a 20 minute stride. The stringent
air tonight blusters deeper than gashing sheens.

The little dryad of dew outside and the cadenza of frogs
after lambaste of rain. Whenever you sing, your voice
communes an immense pain, something unconscious of its
gravity, something that levitates back to momentary ululations

swelling in the grime of times and heady chances. A long stretch
of a day submerged in silence resembling a howl underwater.

There will be many sorrows and they will take form of doves,
assume the skin of the populace. They will come in a volume of
names pressing the linoleumed musk the way the body turns
maneuvering over the saltine, the mattress, juxtaposed to a lover,

a brusque aroma of coffee brushing away the calm demeanor
of the morning, dragging along the weight of its lassitude
towards the sprays of fern opening a dense ornate of forget,

you, in all places that pulse without recall – an obtuse
fish feeling its life in a surge of blue, overtime, finally knowing
    what it means *to sing and drone only words.

Fear of failure had me slogging
Constructing these walls of limits around me
And I’ve been confined in this prison for decades now
Consumed by my own self-made leviathan
Seeking for perfection, which smells not in this world
Procrastination, had me shackled on the same level
Letting time passing by, wasted
Assuming what the world may assume if may I fall
I may sleep in disgrace with fear,
Walking on the prickly path, away from your gashing eyes
I may drown in your scornful laughter, a stagnant pond
Of discourage for men
Whilst ageing not to be young no more
We grow naive with poor minds, weary souls
Thus age caries no wisdom nor oomph
To rectify errs of the past, though far ahead still glows
The lit of hope, the spirit to rise from the dust
To release my soul free and disrobe the coat of fear
To stand tall and soar above the horizon and reach the stars in the sky
Though I may never catch the time I let to flew away

i had my feet on theair and was gashing in the new
house of first violence
my hands were arranged in a patient painful shape
that laughed with speed
he's a dank specter of courage lilting in this valley
falling perspicuously quiet
of motion deadened, an apathetic figure stiffly
la petite mort
well spill sleeping wind on the face of night
and go into your head
a delicious sprawling valley, at the beckoning
of my fists
i made it for you, this dream, so dream it

my fiery and forgiving god of mischievous delight and pranks
who holds me in his loving embrace to shield me from harm
guide me and protect me from the stabbing swords that have fell on me cutting, slicing and gashing into me to cry in anguish and pain
love me and be tender to me like a gentle, caring lover that will never betray me, pray to you my ever loving handsome god, loki, may the valkyries bless me as well and guard me as well as loki's children keep me from danger

A deep gashing hole
My heart keeps on breaking
I think I’m insane

I saw you just taking out the trash, but I didn’t want to seem like a creep, so I let things skip a beat and now I’m thinking of your smile and your face but I’m at windows distance and I figure that you want some space or you’d be hitting me up and right now so I stand between the

Crater filled lakes of ash and ****,
scoured landscapes sickened by flame.
Fire and breath of choking ash distended disarray

Lava lakes and crater making mash
the splintering soul coming through, gashing and weighing in on itself.
it knows little of the chopped trees gutted for domicile.

The fresh roots poke from soil
and I sit and think about how I can dig holes around myself and with that somehow take something away,
like a tree or a treasonous wish.
Pitfalls and kush. Smoking the herb and with wishes of last dishes

Misguided missels firing,
their exhaust coughing plumes,
and strands of future tears,
and beams of heat pierce the sky,
molding oxygen to any form fit.

Distraught I revisit the past.
The crashing pain and aftermath,
the raking claws, the jaws and teeth, seeping from the soil.
Coiled snakes flicking tounges
and young souls.
old and putrid piles of bones,
left alone to shine bright,
and tranluscent as night falls, my mind is old and misguided.

I’ll cry out in distress I’ll never find the proper time to relax
I now know I’m worth nothing
I’m suckin in air taking up gas
I’m stressed but I’ll find
That throwing refuse onto a pile
Of burning rubber. the cooling bubbles

The trying times of today.
Getting out of slumber,
waking up to stay alive,
gritting teeth I hate myself
I am the pain and suffering, and that is why the suffering exists only in myself. without a body such as my own, perhaps suffering could cease.

i can hear a fraternization
  of doors that loutishly slam repeatedly:
just another instance leaping out of reason
   and lunging in on impulse;
wrapped in the heat of leaving, all your words
     scatter on the floor like white, mangled asphodels.

one hairbreadth heave and a cutting glance
  at space and it seemed to have bled carnations
  pried open, dissected, obscured, mutilated by birds.
bags drop like H-bomb. displaced equanimity somewhere
   between blame    and        accurate   silence:
in an instant   i believed   that   I am that sudden   word
       of  reprisal.

    there’s no   getting   even,   still   halves are separately
       wholes   to   themselves,   intact,   further apart,
         breathing and gashing    the   air.

Darkness suffocates me
I sence my death

My strength evaporates into nothing
I will not exist as I am

My eyes have ceased their vision
My heart offeres no beat

My screams have no voice
Just silent echos across the street

Angry words attack me, tearing my mind
Family discarded, abandoned and void

Torment has outlived my joy
It gnaws through my bones

Gashing wounds seeping with pain
No embrace ever came

My blackness is hidden
No-one can draw me out

Breathe freely this destruction of self
To gain the bitter end

Twigzy 2013

The symphony of the night... Can you hear it?
Come dear lets waltz with the rhythm as your heart beats...
Face to face we dance round and round,
Eye to eye we stare and silence became a sound...

I can feel it... The pounding on your chest;
As you breathe slowly enjoying this moment...
Perhaps it's your last, no one will ever know,
What's behind this mask, just a bit more I will show...

(Palpitate!Yes let your blood rush through your veins!)
I promise your warm blood will not be in vain!
I can't restrain myself! Shall I rip her throat now?!
Let the gashing begin breaking the vow!

The music is at its intense part,
The notes it rise and fall like the beat of your heart,
Matching the moment as it come to an end!
I apologize dear for in my hands you must suffer hell...

Sorry love for you must quench my thirst!
No point in screaming! And please wipe off your tears!
It turns out our love to be a ****** romance.
It all ends with a bite, halting our last dance...

after all those years
chasing people and hopeless dreams
falling in love with boys
who weren't meant to be
I've convinced myself
things aren't always what they seem
I see six, you see nine
i see black, you see white
I've built walls high above the ground
And I've let them turn it down
and i kept chasing and chasing
hoping they'd finally face me
embrace me and my flaws
but no..
they drew their claws
slashing and gashing.
with gnashing jaws
i shut myself away
away from monsters
who embody my sanity
and I convinced myself
maybe i dont need people.

The cool, clear babbling brook of crystal water fed by childhood’s innocence easily reflected the soft light of simple joys

Neon lights
Blasting sound bites
Are you pretty enough
Lose weight now
Shimmering clothes

These toxic wastes of existential effluents
Entered my stream of consciousness
Until the channels into my self-worth thickened with mud and fed the reeking skunk’s bath of self-loathing

Racing thoughts
Prevent sentences from forming
Instead I chew
On my cheek
Until it bleeds
The metallic taste lingering on my tongue a refreshingly devastating reminder of my continued humanity





Each stumbfumbling of words causes my pelvic floor to sink
I have no support
I’m a mess
I’m a puddle
Where there’s a bright yellow sign reading, “Caution, Floor Wet”
There’s me
There’s the puddle
There’s the mess

You approach my soul
You ignore the sign
Your kindness mops up the puddle
Your respect cauterizes the gashing cut of self hatred

Where there was once a puddle, there’s an egg
There’s life

The sharp jowls of your fierce devotion act as ****** to my self esteem
Holding it up through the turbulence of biting thoughts

Before the everythingphobic
Now the noneedforanyphobics
Your hand embraces my face as the softness of your lips sinks sweetly into my forehead
A weight drops

What falls away are the snake skins tattooed in scars unveiling the porcelain glow of new beginnings.

i hear the argument from the little yanks, i.e. the brits, the wanks, all the ****** time: learn the language, we'll welcome you in... like ******* will, unless i'm not a ****... i'm only welcome: when i displace you as the main ethnic similis... i can speak an english better than you, yet still you'll persist talking about agendas of demographic platitudes, **** the yanks, and **** the little yanks, the british wanks! i'm actually waiting for your little project to take root in the construction industry: odd... there are more women in the military, than in the construction industry! that's ****** sexist... we should have more women throwing bricks over their shoulders and being equal with men; ah wait, cows on parade! cows on parade! the military will soon be a place for women leaders on one side, and desperate lone wolves on the other... with the real battle ground, the real trenches, being the buildings under construction, in the construction industries... your new warfare agenda, has only just begun.

the brooding blood boiling: i leave no allegiance
for sure, i make no friend, as i make no foe,
i stand alone, in the waters of all that i: abhor.
a somali family of ten will sooner find housing,
a nigerian, a russian and arab millionaire,
then either i or the native sprechen
cold-touch chicken goosebump fest of hate -
and i won't be alone...
  but the moment you scheme your little
pathetic racial stereotyping incisors -
your little scheming gnat incisor gashing at
the wound that is supposedly never to heal:
i'll sell you a new testament,
since you blatantly woke too late to
correlate the secular history of the ancient times,
the unearthing of the text, and
the cushioning for a st. augustine's hierarchy
of absolution...
    rest my bone, upon a grecian lie?! never!
i will sit with whip in one hand,
and honey in the other - and speak for one
else, other than my other significant "other"
namely myself, and lead the illiterate
bludgeons: upon retezat peak -
       cutting off the bluntness of impaling
crucifix - to make a doll from those impaled -
gesticulating with arms, while the sharpened
pike slouched into their ****...
              as if imitating dolls attached to
    spiderweb threads to dance the puppets' dance...
that's crucifixion: doubled up upon.
first they tell you learn their language,
and you comply, but then they ask you learn
their crisis, and you begin to rebel saying:
i signed up to the language:
  not your bewildering existential crisis!
        
by the way, have you noticed that modern
political conversation in the west
lies heavily on the pivot side of the cartesian
sum? i've noticed it...
   political commentators hardly ever think!
all i hear is: sum this sum that, sum sum sum,
i.e. i'm a capitalists, i'm a communist,
i'm a libertarian, i'm a liberal, i'm a conservative,
i'm a socialists, **** me and the spectrum alike:
i'm really starting to think that
the heavy-sided state of affairs summons
only the cartesian *sum -
    it's beyond a q. & a. session where we
exchange badges, labels and other assortments
of pitching for a perfect freshers stall of
asking for attention: eventually
the leverage shifted from a pivotal balance
to a one-sided gesture: i am this, i am that -
what do i think of anything? none of what i
"supposedly" am, or am not.
  it's no longer what's question / answer worthy,
what is central is: what's thought-worthy?

summa summarum?

1. by talking your have the problem of defending
a "cartesian" sum - the bit where you say you
are, but can, in a lightning flash switch to otherwise:
est non primo causa; or?
2. by thinking you have the "problem" (i.e. you don't)
of "defending" (i.e. ditto)
        the kantian-aversion-of-cartesianism -
i.e. the kantian "cogito" (hence the aversion) -
      i.e. cogito in per se /
                                        cogito ex per se...
3. the kantian-descartes mongrel
    (a) the noumenon (thought)
     (b) the phenomenon ("being") -
and how many detractors have come from the latter?
a noumenon does not implode to later
explode and cause a tsunami of "worthwhile"
imitations,
  in the same vein that a phenomenon has
to implode to later explode and cause but one
imitation that starts behaving like a cloning
archetypical zombifying effect of the necessary
regurgitated, half-fed intentions...
   i can't believe the fusion of kant with descartes
seems so completely:
   by mere talk one has to shield the "being",
and become lost in labels and an appropriate
handling of data,
     the mantra of:
                      i'll walk before i'll crawl...
and so many defences, and all these conversations
ever end up sound as are: hi, my name is bill.
      
you write, you mine - you don't mime -
  the moment your stop mining: you start miming,
you enter the ancient grove of the hive -
but none of the current talks
seem to outweigh the cogito in contra to the sum,
since much of the talk is a stark cataract of
what sum could be, should the already sharpened
cogito of a blade, be met, with a sum
akin to a shield of an idiotic: scarcely knowing
the difference brain of an actor-idiot...
  hey, if philosopher-warriors are to be
distinguished: have you ever thought
that the actor-idiot is an easy task -
  did you for once think that playing an idiot's
part as an intelligent person was ever
going to be easy?
          a warrior-philosopher happened only
once, in his ability to put you off your guard.

kant in the cartesian terms of the kantian
term noumenon: thought.

    kant in the cartesian terms of the kantian
term phenomenon: "being" -
  and to boot, youth, the phenomenon of
punk, extinguished once a new zeitgeist
emerges - and the phenomenon unguarded
by thinking, but by mere imitation:
disintegrates into a fiddler-on-the-roof moment
of lacks: introspection, retrospection,
         by-invitation-only-itemisation
            relegated to stretch-armstrong televised
biographic of the zeitgeist...
          
luckily i can write this sort of rigid *******,
and enjoy a whiskey sharpshooter more.

Every so often I wake up in the middle of the night for no apparent reason and on the periphery of my vision, I see you seating on the edge of my bed. Your face seems to be dappled but I figure you always have that crooked smile you seem to favor. No matter how many times I’ve seen this it doesn’t fail to surprise me each time. My heart races until the force of my blood gashing through my veins is almost painful. I gasp and I blink, and when my eyes open your no longer there like you’re no longer in my life. I keep expecting to be content with that fact but that hasn’t happened yet and it worries me that it never will.

Grieving is such a strange thing, you know, crying for someone you’ll never see again. You’re supposed to mourn all the pain the loss has caused you so you’ll be better again, better to live your life, to love again, to see the world in a new light away from the shade that person had on you. But what if your life is the shade and that person was the only light in it, as if they were made from the brightest lanterns?


You once wrote to me in the middle of the night, “Make me feel something.” You said, “I’m so numb.” You said. And I pictured how you whispered it after, with your fingers shaking as they gripped the phone as though it was your life’s salvation. I held you close with arms that you could not see but felt and my words covered you like false temptation, beautiful and alluring, and just absolutely right.  Yet they were all just fragments in our memories because we made nothing veritable. I never really let you go after even though I thought I did. My soul imprinted on yours and it was as if that moment ripped part of my being and kept it with you.


I never really let you go even though you broke my bones as if that moment was when we first lipped from the tallest towers. We floated on broken wings and we told each other that all we had was fragments of each moment we spent together until one of us decided no more moment should be made.  It was never acknowledged, of course, because selfishness was in our veins, not matter how much we tried to live for one another, there was a silent clock ticking in both our heads, screaming to for us to stop; to just give up, to leap from the tower and to forget. I should have hurdled first so I would not have to see the remains of you shattered.

Everlasting inflicting pain
Tears open the wounds and scars
And overshadows all victories.
Heads pounding with malice and thrash
Yearning for love and existence
And all received is judgment with hate.
Kindred spirits broken in thrice;
Splitting personalities by the daylight.
Failing is inevitable when happy
Although the marks the skin bare
Witness to the suffering.

Gashing the thoughts into a blade
Hoping for revival of somewhat
Even though its gone intentionally.
Recognition is accepted and beloved
Until it turns violent with despondents.
Tear the pages apart and start anew
But the story will remain the same.

The world will never forget May 5th,
when my birthmother’s piercing call disturbed the atmosphere,
Forcing the Monday clouds into hiding.
It will never forget how the rivers dried up,
After the months of mourning my coming,
And Jordan’s death,
How within that nurturing cradle I ended his existence,
Before he even had a chance to live,
The twin I’d never come to know,
A name I’ll never forget.
The new moon shriveled at my arrival,
Bringing forth a moonless night.
My birth being the beginning of their war,
As my grandma and birthmother fired their weapons,
Mere inches from gashing each other.
I became the ruin of their lives,
The downfall of my birthmother.
And yet this catastrophe lit up the sun,
So that even at night,
A halo circled the Earth,
“Wished for child”
My future parent’s hope,
A candle in their devastation,
To the stranger’s willing to save my life.

I look down upon these hands of mine
long artist's fingers, worn, callused, padded, and harsh
I have wanted, needed to build so much
but they are not up to the task
they are tired, need to rest

I have shouldered a future I do not want
those to care for, those to bow to
I cannot see the future, once so bright
my sight has dimmed, bitter, broken light
a glimmer here, a glimmer there
that all I allow to distract my path

Its a path, thats all I know
sparkles in the distances
Isolated, broken glass is all I'm worth
twisting in a gale, I refuse to change
round and round nothing to change

Is an angel's wings beating my soul?
steel tipped feathers to the bone?
I hear the voices, but I think they lie
the truth is reality, ****** broad
I know my fate, to be alone and bound
my hands, broken, bleeding, cold

I cry, gashing my eyes with tears
this cold, cold world
I made this place,
with broken hands,
my own

XIX

Missed!
How the hell do you miss a ship?
There she was, slipping out of the harbor
Plain as a summer’s day
And there I was
On the harbor
Gashing in fury at my packed suitcase.

What will my family say?
Am I a failure?
Why can’t I do a single ******* thing
right?

I’ll dream of her tonight.
And night, and night.
Of my journey that wasn’t,
isn’t,
never will be.

I’m out of money and hope and fascination
and dreams
I’m going home,
now.
Godspeed to all I could never be.

In the pennacle within the inner sactum of a Human Soul there exists an unsurmoutable amount of interchangeable energies that are transmitted thru the cosmos in form of vibrations and abstract auras. In God's throne there exists Principalities and Powers that precede in intermission with Humanity's prayers that are heard by all Heavenly Host and God himself and are being assessed and the final decision is made by the Lord whether he will act upon your desperate supplications or remain unanswered due to God's perfect nature and inner workings within each individual life here on Earth.

In his Holy Mouintain God subjugates his blessings and trials allowing the King of this World to ******, tempt and test our Spirit thru Worldly Carnal Desires and oversees every human soul working for it's own salvation. The accuser Angel Lucifer seeks to keep us chained to Wordly temptation and continues to torment the Human psyche and weakened fleshly bodies in constant opposition with the Spirit leading us to spiritual destruction and his final goal is to drag us to perdition of our salvation by rejecting The Holy and Only Begotten Son Of God Jesus Christ. Heed to a direct order from the Lord himself...for he says "I am the Way, the Truth, The Life No One Comes to the Father except thru Me" allow him to build a personal relationship with you because he cares loves and yearns to get to know you personally.  Our mission here on Earth is to Love God above all things and to follow and imitate the Lord Jesus Christ as our Sheperd and Lord overseers and intermediator of our souls who he holds in his hands. Most importantly our grand mission is to bring the Gospel of Love, Truth and Peace to all Humanity. Let the lost souls be led towards the Light of God the Father and the abundant mercy and benevolence our dear Lord Jesus has in store for those who want to get to know the Son of Man the Divine Author of all things for he was made before the foundations of the heavens and the earth which was slain being a perfect, holy and was is and will forever be the mirror image of his Father.

In remembrance of his sacrifice we ought to walk living in this World as the "Light" and doers of righteousness. We are the salt of the world and thru our daily spiritual walk and by our spiritual fruits we bear we show others what can be attained thru a solid relationship with the Holy Spirit, the Holy Son and Father God the Maker of all souls all things and his plan shall NOT fail because he has NEVER failed before and never will. Bestow upon our heads a crown of life a white robe of pure eternal life and a place in the Heavenly Realm where many unbelievable treasures of perfect obedience and the sacrifice of us exchanging carnal pleasure for a lifetime of servitude and humbleness dedicating our time at straightening our paths and relying on the Lords understanding and NOT ours for if we rely on him fully our paths will and shall be made straight. The Lord wants us to live in this world abide by their rules and submit to our authorities ...but NOT let them take our faith nor our savior much less our relationship which must stay in our constant care and continue to grow, flourish and be surely visible for others to see and in turn either be curious about it and see for them to ask us how we do such things and how are we so concerned on living a quiet pious and righteous lifestyle. By arousing the curiosity of others...in turn we get to touch all people who we come in contact with and get the chance to share freely what the Lord has done for us that we cannot and could NOT do for ourselves which is allowing the Holy Spirit to daily be fed thru reading the scriptures, acting according to God's perfect orders and trying our very best to live by his precepts. We undoubtedly fail the Lord daily but we keep a everlasting submitting soul to his judgment and continue to come to him for everything and forever keep a diligent sincere open heart conversing with him day and night and never sieze our constant mingle between us and him and having the FAITH towards him that unifies our Spirit with his and in accordance to our deeds may he have mercy for all our wrongdoings and as he pour blessings for our righteous deeds in the spirit. We envision a Paradise and a New Heaven where the souls of the saved and redeemed souls will go to abide in when we reach the afterlife...nevertheless, the ones who choose to ignore the calling of the Lord will suffer the ones who remained stubborn and rebellious and decided to follow the World and love themselves more than their Savior will be doomed to be branded and cast upon perpetual everlasting torment a lake of fire where there will be Hellish screams of agony sour tears and gashing of teeth with an endless separation of their souls from their Creator and where they shall curse him forevermore and whatever petition made to God will be unheard. God please have mercy on us may your light and love NOT turn cold on us seeking your guidance daily. Zion awaits the holy and righteous. Amen!!!