Hanging out new to the scene
So often wonder what that means
As I sit in front of the world's screen
Started in on ...Googling

I typed in a single word
Pressed enter for the Google search
Took me down the path absurd
Where all the lines were blurred  

From there I ventured off the path
Wish I'd known there's no turning back
Marveled at the knowledge that I lack
Like how to whittle your own baseball bat

Just in case you're wondering
Midgets don't melt in the rain
Who doesn't think that that's insane
As I dive deeper into Googling

The art of bathing a Hindu rat
Skinning a two-headed Siamese cat
The taking of the perfect nap
Standing up while keeping your lap intact

How to delicately pierce a Rhino's ear
Dressing up then down a deer
50 different ways a man can cheer
While toasting his favorite Micro beer

Abstract art using cotton *****
How to paint between the lines on paisley walls
Teaching Yankees how the South says ya'll
Lost episodes of the show called Lost

Food served upon the world's menus
Even specialties from Timbuktu
Why the sea is green and the sky is blue
As my googling madness continues

More artwork this time with the jam of toes
How to pick your friends but never your friend's nose
Cleaning of the house without a stitch of clothes
The whole time being careful with the vacuum hose

80's Hairbands I used to like
That now know what bald feels like
Making a homemade Hindenburg kite
One that lands this time

How to handle midlife like a man
Taking a survey of what you could have been
Raising Spider Monkey's  in the comfort of your den
As I keep on Googling

I now find myself Googling out in front
As I'm Googling from behind
Googling up as I'm Googling down
To the left and to the right
I've learned how to gargle Google
That's a well known Google fact
And if you don't believe me
You can even Google that

This is far from a
car S-p-a--C-y
Oh! My? Crossover traveler
The Phyton
Top of the rank
collision-course
New job space
planning tech magic cursor

Magical Podcast*

Do we have space
Sci-Fi-Hi Meeting
Googling creating playing
Cheating Overexaggerating
And faking our
(dead)lines

Not meeting our deadlines
What is the right time?
Spacewalking on the yellow brick
the road you are my sunshine*
"Million light years away from being rich"?

     Lucy in the Sky
       LSD-Little space devil
No/space for Jack the shinning
of diamonds, this isn't Oz
Emerald City or spin-off

Climb the ladder space objects clutter
Posh-Rich Witch is which
The last epidemic standup comic

Crawling having a ball Spalding

That Spiderwomen kvetch
Wolftie face switched
Fox lies moms moon pies
The collision of the moon
Space monkey baboon
The equation or burning
Sun people in devastation

Magic God

What time holds the
Mass control Einstein the professor
The brain exploding stars
Study hall those equations

In Princeton New Jersey
Those tiny particles lost in space
This corporation division
* Space Between_

*Hard paper scissors and
Mr. Rock
It's time to money pound
The Big Ben clock
"Do we act like the only
one on this planet"                  
The Singularity
The multiplicity
The burning sun*
War of the Military
Hot fun "Twin City"
Medieval twin planets

She's brace-space and he's
Well known physic
energy flowing one
step beyond collision of '
     Two Gods"

Magic space-lotus love of "Venus_ Pond

The Mall of America Star Spangle Banner
Next International flight became a winner

Plants and animals
The primal magic
Catching the
planets there both
emerging
The submerging eye
Space-out engaging

The civilization nightmare
On the cusp right here
Martian stripe and stars
Wipeout species of mars
Gravitatious collide of lovers
Confused about earthlings
More siblings another planet colliding

Like a space odyssey ground control to
      "Major Tom"
Fe fi fun on space run
Our Earth Mondadori
Spicy pleasure taste for
Chicken Tandoori
Magical dish
Make a wish

Magic hands believing

Metagalactic space and time
Holy God realistic
Osprey someone is the prey
In the movie magical classic
Breakfast at Tiffanys
Holiday mind dressed up window
"Out of our comfort zone
eating to the end twilight zone widow"

The extra enchanted evening
For the Moms only
Our heads over space
heels hit the ceiling

Eggs Benedict, the salt wasn't kosher
Artsy Audrey Hepburn don't push her

Celestial Ocean Space Steven Universe
The Christmas madness sale
Poison Ivy Pointsetta what
a vendetta
Interstellar meeting her
new race feeling out of place
Adulation like a prosecution
Space collide anytime
can explode

Two worlds become tragic
Space station not a game
A haunting catastrophic
Collision Titanic ship

Magically got more modified
Needing a space program the
spy to identify  

Dragonfly to Madame Butterfly
Space of magic crime-space
All spots, not Dalmatian
Space wings set up for Superman
Magic fan rising adrenaline
Monster cookies for Madeline

Fire and Ice Global warming
wildfires now the collision
On another planet warning
Miracle blessing of magic
Someone before or after
just to touch them

We cannot stop this craziness
The outburst goes pop the weasel

Magic place portal
Something in the way
to crumble like a baby
firstborn rocking her cradle

The curiosity space philosophy
Like breed of cats,
Licking tongue envelope
The cats eye Egyptian
Terrified space milk the tabby
Meeting my space hubby

Microscopic became two dots .-.
Space became a new buried plot
Is this all I got Twitter
Home run ball and
New York Dodgers
Brooklyn bat *******

So compelled to the computer
Designed the Rover robot lover
Magical Elton John
wedding
space planner
Across the Universe
John Lennon
Bennie and the Jets
Like a science
Teacher's pets

Eyes spaced out the magic place within**
So sacred magic hat Rabbit
Mountain bear Airspace Hobbit
Roll over Beethoven
The dog bone playing space I tunes

The spaceship magic
fingers piano
Plays one enchanted evening
Let me see the beautiful
new awakening
When Robin sings
Her magical wand
Lights up the world
of hands magical awaits

Remember "A Poem" can be magic

checking potent aftershock
observing seismic anniversary
checking another tremor
resuming constrained writing

annexing hidebound constituents
hugging incoming eschatologies
fighting pervasive insomnia
battling invasive fatigue

damning incompetent fools
awaiting furtive escape
abandoning corporate wasteland
summoning celestial syzygy

detesting spaghetti code
protruding riparian dolphin
establishing unilinear escritoire
glowing cybernetic cynosure

avoiding eternal invisibility
supporting valued customer
performing lexical gymnastics
scrooping notification sounds

restoring usual happiness
glorifying darkwave fanfares
collapsing old relationships
raising ambient awareness

defining wolf people
propagating yesteryear's spectre
achieving hemispheric virality
testing weekend legerity
installing iron curtain

propagating today's spectre

developing niche audiences
transmitting abstract propaganda
disappearing thought experiments
overusing various condiments

double-checking hyper-real emotions
rubbernecking celestial explosions
observing splendid holiday
exploding volcano day

erupting bucolic mountain
disrupting hectic shouting
perfecting suggestive triptychs
checking festive pyrotechnics

drifting across multiverse
regifting glossy paperwork
writing six-lined hexagrams
liking two-toned instagrams

recalling pygmalion sculptures
brawling tatterdemalion cultures
"rambling corporate shill
rattling rapid prosody"
"battling hamburger hill
ambling hundredth library"
"sensing ideological schism
pending guttural neologism"

glowing verdant background
foreshadowing palmyra takedown
developing geopolitical mess
geminating quasi-couplet stress

"hugging cultural diversity
shrugging irrational adversity"

distancing spooky raindrops
avoiding potential burnout
implementing lexical databank
approaching crash-scene sudser

becoming increasingly selective
escaping tyrannical bureaucracy
perpetuating cut-throat capitalism
purchasing contrived happiness
incorporating chance elements
relaxing rigid structures
reheating your retweet

holding theoretical design
smiling beach life
scrutinizing eternal simulation
rushing artificial apothegm
annexing facetious document
freaking creepy centipedes

writing neural structure
congratulating yestreen's warriors
encouraging seatbelt usage
boosting abstract setting
sensing frivolous ochlocracy

keeping hypothetical metropolis
blurring metaphorical æsthetic
scrutinizing computational festival
memorializing towel day

raising six-fingered paw
eternizing fragment schedule
liking subtextual repository
quoting quintessential quidnunc

finding ideological style
disregarding their slovenliness
planning spatial factoid
spinning glacial ellipsoids

enjoying eternal spreadsheet
deleting repetitive tweet
awaiting festival lineup
gainsaying unethical startups

observing turgid experiment
contemplating conniving contrivances
enjoying dynamic project
dropping two-toned simulation
finding harmonic space
finalizing warring cavaliers

detecting enigmatic apathy
retrieving potential exchange
meddling middling muddling
baking hypnagogic pizza

spinning galactic dinosaur
building trans-pacific partnership
finishing theoretical mission
giggling agog googlers

crashing atypical tessellation
cherishing precious hexagons
proliferating western lottery
cretaceousing funkaholic skeletor

blurring turgid gallery
cancelling tsunami warnings
extemporizing incoherent neologisms
transmitting harmonic rave

gliding black hawks
hiding quacked ducks
archiving animated light
googling moonbow imagery

ignoring relatable messages
observing unfinished world
generating optional content
continuing exponential growth

Ragingly mad
Obviously depressed
Reveals secretly that
I'm coming undone

The torturous divide
Between this waking lie
And the quiet inner life

A worrisome mind

And now I'm
Googling Suicide

The internet’s not going to save you,
not sure why you keep thinking it will,
logging on Googling “Redemption”,
action’s only possible if the thinking is real,

yes we’re in The Matrix,
no I don’t care how you take it,
why am I only paying attention,
when both of us are naked,

everything’s so boring,
and most of it’s unrelated,
I’m not sure if she’s sure if she likes me,
we’re not sure what time and space is,

all we know is,
one simple equation,
there’s too little time,
and too much spacing,

to close on time,
yet too far apart,
I’m looking at you,
you’re looking at the clock,

but actually,
that’s a half true,
or as they would say,
that is Fake News,

because actually I’m as distracted as you,
logging on and Googling “Truest Truths”,
hoping maybe before I log of I can save me,
even though we both know the the truth,
the internet isn’t going to save me,
and it’s sure as heck not going to save you,

but what else is there to day,
it’s Saturday night I’m alone in LA,
almost feels like things were meant to be this way,
I see her so clear even when her image begins to fade,

which I suppose is appropriate,
in the City of Angels,
like seeing wings on a being,
but just at the right moment and angel,

Corporate Patriotism,
www.abannerstarspangled,
don’t forget the dot com,
we’re all the same equation just different angles,

feeling like God,
or at least Hermes with wings on His ankles,
or souls on his feet or Achilles with all His feats,
a Warrior for Love with a weakness at the ankles,

don’t hold me back I need to fly,
into the sunset a bet less romantic than Icarus or Sure,
because it seems at the end of the day,
Heaven is Both ocean and fire,

now before we go please one last quote,
and that’s don’t let yourself be chained to desire,
even though if I said that I also wasn’t ******,
and chained to desires as well well I’d be a liar,

and we don’t need lies,
what we need is truth,
and the truth is the internet,
isn’t going to save you,

the internet’s not going to save you,
not sure why you keep thinking it will,
logging on Googling “Redemption”,
action’s only possible if the thinking is real…

∆ LaLux ∆

Free Book Available Here: www.scribd.com/document/367036005/The-Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps

I put on a cutesy voice because I’m the unexpected murderer of happiness. It makes more of an impact acting like a dumb blonde ***** to society’s expectations, that when I come out with ****** methods one wants to scream and run away. I’ll tell you what makes me squirm, being touched and googling fear of holes. Those pictures make me want to ***** and **** myself at the same time. Gore and pain…I can handle. But loads of deep circular imprints on the skin from leaning on things…no.no.no. I can’t. It will make me implode.

Se c'è una cosa che dovete sapere su di me .è che io sono ossessionato con la caramella .Zuccherino.fruttato .cioccolatoso caramelle.il termine " golosi " e mi vanno di pari passo .Quindi questo capolavoro candy- ispirato di un matrimonio catturato da Ozzy Garcia Fotografia ?Beh.mi ha colpito con il suo bouquet caramelle ( SI ) .fiori rosa -riempita da Ocean Fiori e un infinito visualizzazione dolci.Clicca qui per tutti i dettagli squisiti .E ' al di là abbastanza .

Condividi questa splendida galleria ColorsSeasonsSpringSettingsOutdoorStylesTraditional Eleganza

Da Sposa.Yoav e ** iniziato .scegliendo un luogo che potesse ospitare il nostro matrimonio all'aperto .l'aria calda Miami .una tregua benvenuto da inverni ventoso di Chicago e



Amsterdam e un minimo cambiamento climatico per i nostri 30 membri della vestiti da sposa famiglia che hanno fatto il viaggio dalla lontanaIsraele.La nostra visione per la sera era comfort casual con un lato di zucchero e un paio di sorprese lungo la strada.Jessica Masi di JCG eventi assicurato che questa visione è venuto a vita e Ozzy Garcia .di Ozzy Garcia Fotografia .artisticamente catturato questa visione e immortalato esso .
Avevamo fratello Yoavs officiare una parte della cerimonia .perché abbiamo ritenuto che quando si trattava di integrare i dati personali .chi poteva raccontare la nostra storia meglio di qualcuno che è stato lì fin dall'inizio ?Abbiamo voluto questo per impostare il precedente e il tono per il matrimonio a tutti i presenti .testimoniando il primo giorno della nostra vita in coppia .sono stati tutti .personaggi integrali amare nella nostra storia .

amore è dolce .il mio amore per la caramella è ancora più dolce .e ** sempre saputo che volevo il mio bouquet di essere fatto di caramelle .Alcune persone si asciugano i loro mazzi di fiori .alcune persone li salvano .avevo intenzione di mangiare la mia.Grazie alla Donut Divas .** avuto un ottimo spuntino a tarda notte sulla mia prima notte di nozze !Alcuni dei miei dolci preferiti di zucchero .marshmallow e M \u0026 Ms .sono stati abilmente collocato in un cono di cialda gigante.Il vantaggio di avere un matrimonio in giro per le vacanze di Pasqua è che anche l'erba nel bouquet era commestibile .

Oltre alla mia dipendenza da zucchero .credo davvero che ci sono pochi prodotti alimentari in questo mondo che può farmi felice come una torta di compleanno Publix negozio di alimentari .Al fine di condividere il mio amore per questa confezione con gli altri.dolci display ci ha fatto diversi stand torta di legno colorati .a cui Ocean Fiori aggiunto qualche scintilla .e abbiamo avuto diversi gusti di 8 pollici torte Publix poste sulle tavole di accoglienza .Il piano era quello di rimuovere le torte dopo cena e li hanno tagliati per dessert .ma i nostri ospiti seduti a questi tavoli è diventato così possessivo nei dolci sul loro tavolo che non avrebbe permesso a nessuno di toccarli .I nostri ospiti scavate con le loro forchette .senza nemmeno togliere dalla torta stare !

Oltre a tutti gli elementi fugaci di zucchero che è andato in nostro giorno speciale - le carte escort .il bouquet .i pop anello caramelle .lecca-lecca ragazza di fiore.il candy bar .le torte Publix - Penso che uno dei nostri ricordi preferiti dail giorno è venuto da Erin Una Chainani .** letto di Erin online circa due anni fa dopo googling Miami ritrattista .** chiamato Erin e le ** chiesto se lei sarebbe così incline a frequentare il nostro matrimonio e dipingere una scena.Non solo era pronto.ma ha dipinto due scene di boot!Ha catturato uno della cerimonia e uno del nostro primo ballo in coppia .

Quando il mio nuovo marito ed io stavamo confrontando le note dopo il matrimonio .entrambi abbiamo notato abiti da sposa corti che molte persone ci hanno offerto questo consiglio .amare ogni secondo di questa giornata perché va così veloce .E mentre il giorno ha fatto andare in fretta .non abbiamo mai avuto l'impressione che abbiamo perso tutte le occasioni per tutto dentro E grazie a Erin e Ozzy .abbiamo ricordi che ci ricordano del giorno del nostro matrimonio per sempre .Fotografia

: Ozzy Garcia Fotografia | Floral Design : Mare Flowers | Abito da vestiti da sposa sposa: Pronovias | Wedding Cake: Temptations eleganti | Scarpe : Mojo Moxy | capelli: Tanya Maquez | Abbigliamento dello sposo : Completo di supporto | Cake Stands : Sweet Visualizza | Cake Topper: Questo è il mio Topper | Torte (piccolo ) : Publix Bakery | Candy Profumo: Donut Divas | Cigar Roller : Acope Cigars | Dress Sash : Blue Bird Studio | Orecchini : Matrimoni 826 | Pianificazione + Design : GCP Eventi LLC | Flower Girl Dresses :pretty Flower Girl | Scarpe Flower Girl : Toms | Trucco : Rachel Blair Shapiro | Ritratto Artista : Erin Una Chainani | Wedding Venue : The Palms hotel \u0026
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When life has me down
On the mats
Running circles
Doing laps
Short of breath
Losing bets
I go to the internet
And Google cats...

I see water colored
Cats as art
Cats with wings
Swinging stars
Cats that sing
Cats that bathe
Dressed like Pirates
Sailing lakes
Cats that bark
Just like dogs
Cats with friends
Playing cards
Cats that jump
But not that far
Catching air
While missing marks
Cats in Charlie Chaplin hats
Using credit
Who's got cash
Cats that eat
Silly String
Freak out when
The doorbell rings
Cats that talk
Like babies do
Where their meow
Sounds like goo goo
Cats in color
Black and white
Chase other cats
Run from mice
Where my kids say
That's nothing new
I'm sure some of you
Have seen it too

But like I said
When life gets bad
Where sanity
Is barely kept
I close my door
And lock the latch
Go to the internet
And Google cats...

This **** could be a lot easier
if I wasn't so dusty
or if my aspiration hasn't been disposed
or exposed. 'Thought you'd like to know.
I'm failing math again."
And my game is still obviously whack,
Anyway I got you to come over.
So, with a pretty girl now and drinking kombucha,
all these Facebook friends
I didn't think I'd have to see again.
Beckon me with a tight fist.
Refresh the laptop and let the afterglow echo
back and drift,
over a nose and fascinating lips.
"You know the bars here don't close till very late."
Everything I love will probably crumble
into a glass of soju. Vices
and the soul undressed
and the fish market's funk clings and holds tightly
onto another's thin grey hoodie.
"What do you do?"
Hobbies among other things include googling
or maybe just oogling at an Incheon passerby.
"Seoul tonight is almost as bright as you."

3rd Grade, Awards Assembly
Children are filed into the cafeteria in almost orderly lines
Giggling about silly jokes that make no sense to adults
But for awards, they are silent, and expecting.
Kindergarten, first grade, second grade, finally
The little girl with her shiny black shoes waits for her award telling her that she qualifies as smart
And she receives perfect attendance

8th Grade, School Computer Room
Awkward preteens set in blue plastic chairs
Friends clumped together around a single screen
"Secretly" googling ***** like it's a crime, though everyone knows
But in the very back
The girl with her black bag full of books checking her grades online
Has her nose to the monitor and worry in her heart
Because just perfect attendance makes her a disappointment.

Junior Year, Home Bathroom
Soapy water soaks the floor and into a dollar store rug
The bath is half empty and tinted a rusty shade of red
And sitting on the floor with her knees to her chin, carving A+ into the scarred skin of her arm
Is the girl, almost a woman, with her eyes messily ringed in black, who doesn't dare cut too deep.
Killing herself would mean losing her perfect attendance.

Wake up, bake it.
Give no *****, fake it.
Days spent, nothing.
Nights dreamt, loving.
Kids home, screams start.
MTV, Mario cart.
Big sis, no heart.
Big sis, love art.
Paints herself, always red.
Wishes herself, always dead.
Snapped wrists, knuckles bled.
Voices always fill her head.
Moms home, red eyed.
***** bottle, she always lied.
Names Jeff, *******.
Names Ben, ******* too.
Daddy says, he wants to die.
Comes in my room, starts to cry.
He's been googling, clean suicide.
Asks the same question, who am I?
Brother screams, stamps his feet.
Sisters crazy, no nice and neat.
Go in my room, close the door.
Try not to breathe, lay on the floor.
Try not to cry, punch a door.
Try not to die, try not to soar.
Hand swollen, can't move.
Pack a bowl, for one not two.
Breathe in deep, let it sit
Listen to music, begin to slip.
Drink a bottle, finally faded.
Drop the mask, no masquerading.
Pass out, dreams are waiting.
Pass out, finally escaping.

I’d really like to stop googling your name
cause I want to be honest when I say I don’t stalk you.
knowing I’m the one who said “good-bye” first doesn’t make the distance less quiet
and it’s the quiet that really drives me insane.
I got used to the sound of your breathing,
the sounds of your odd foods
and ecofriendly chip bags were comforting,
it was calming to know you were nearby.

And I’d like to believe that what I’m doing isn’t stalking,
I’d prefer to think I’m just keeping track of an old friend
who I dated, and then left, is it’s complicated an option?
I’m probably crazy, but I’m not dangerous and I’m certainly not violent.
I don’t look for your address, or try to find out if you’ve got someone new,
I just want to make sure you’ve gotten along ok.
because as much as the silence toys with my brain,
I still believe it was better that I left when I did
because the silence from your lips would have severed my soul.

I made the right choice to leave
and I’m right to keep up the distance
but it’s difficult to ignore you,
when you’re still just two clicks away.

also, why is this so usual for me
i’d like to say that now is when
i think about everything
monumental, like the economy
or my parents hurling pebbles at
each other’s backs or watching
“iron man” with my cousin on christmas,
feeling like some kind of tourist in my cousin’s bed,
i.e., is this what christmas is supposed to feel like?
i don’t know, i celebrate chanukah, please let me know.
sometimes i think about my brother
in the woods,
is there smoke lingering on his palm?
i don’t realize how much i care about him until i do, until
my eyes are dark out, until my eyes match
the insides of my stomach.
but usually i am thinking about you, or us, or we, last year, sitting
together like static tucked softly into our houses. you were
always digging graves inside of my neck because,
we’ll die soon but before that we’ll get married,
except wait i’m 18. my stomach still lines my throat
when i swallow pills and i don’t know how to cradle
anything else other than my knuckles and there are plants
in the windowsill and i water them, sometimes, when i feel
like it. when i was 13 i saw blood streaming my underwear
and i told myself, this is it, i’m with death, i knew the doctor
was lying when he said i was so healthy.
when i was 13 my mother came into my room
and said, “look, now you can have children.” i was 13, now i am five years
older, i still cry when i think about mothers. how easy it is for them
to lose their children. like once i watched “boy in the striped pajamas”
(on my birthday) (how stupid) and i cried for three hours afterwards because
i felt like the mother, or just a mother, or my mother and her mother
and her mother and how we could all easily pull away from each other like thread.
once a boy from my school died and another time a girl from my
camp hung herself and i cried for their parents, mostly. i didn’t
know how to cry for myself yet and i still don’t. i’m tangling
other people’s emotions around my throat, i’m still trying
to find mine. mother tells me, you’ll find them if you clean your room.
mother says, look at how much you’ve grown. i am churches of guilt
when i don’t believe her. there are always people praying
inside of me. nobody should ever pray inside of me, least
of all you. if anything my hands are two skyscrapers
but that’s the only kind of building i know how to be.
i’m sorry, i’m in bed googling ways to leave somebody
without hurting them and also without being selfish. i am so
selfish, like leaves covering sidewalks, i am so selfish and i am
so sorry and i am crumpled but also i think i’ll be okay and
maybe one day i’ll think of you without feeling so sorry for myself.

in their disguised self-centered ways, the faithful are obsessed with going to Heaven and staying away from Hell


1
all the faithful,
these holy believers,
they all fear this address:
No.1 HELL, OUTSIDE UNIVERSE,
POSTAL CODE: 0001
all the faithful
want to avoid this place like, well, hell!


the non-believers just take it easy;
they have no such obsessions


all the faithful, the holy believers
they all aspire to this place:
ONLY 1, HEAVEN, DIVINE UNIVERSE,
POSTAL CODE: 0001
they all try and get there
and with their narrow True Only One Way
they think they'd get there anyway
easy as if you'd googled for Heaven


the non-believers just take it easy;
they have no such obsessions



2

and well, if the faithful are always imagining what God sanctions
and says, I don't see why their opposites can't also imagine what this Grand Supposition says



and in their aspirations,
to reach
ONLY 1, HEAVEN, DIVINE UNIVERSE,
POSTAL CODE: 0001
the faithful
***** the planet earth
with all their doctrines
and their aggression
and their violence
and their narrowness and bigotry
and their holiness and their obsessions
and creating constant divisions
and so I can sympathize
with their supposed God becoming sane
and thus declaring to the faithful:
Oh no, I'm not letting you ******* in
as surely you'll make a Hell of Heaven;
I'd rather let in the non-believers here anytime
at least they don't have your hang-ups and perversions





conclusion

well, the poor faithful then, the holy faithful wholly excluded, they'll have to content themselves with Googling for Heaven, and viewing the streets of Heaven on Google Maps of the Divine World

******* at tickling the ivories,
at inducing the jet buttons
to chortle, say, in a concerto ;
but I do strum and flirt
with those amazing royal,
88 unrepentant loyal
keys for Jupiter and Saturn,
for Mars and Neptune,
making a blank bland tune
for extraterrestrial beings for fun.

On the cosmic moors
the moon's whirling feet
cease for my discordance.
What a slurred entrance
by F in D major!

Only a novice--an amateur.
I'm no magnificent pianist,
O majestic Mercury.

Summon the stars the search
to lead for a supreme virtuoso,
one of  no incongruent ingenuity
like this dilettante--a pseudo
music polymath, counsels Thebe.

A Mozart, Beethoven, or Bach?

Any of the greats scored above, as well
as geniuses like David and Handel.

Impressario fly! Flee thou away
and go get a classic maven.
Otherwise sleep there forever at Erebus,
never dream of waking up in Eden.

Circuitous world stops: strings break off
at the Earth's axis--
the Sun's panels pause

and darkness' movement begins
its own obscure notes to improvise:

apace demented melody
is released,-- bathos of symphony:
tinny wine of concord
settles on the lees of discord.

Asteroids hooting some ***** calls
when into the grand chrysolite chamber--
in her tailor-made blistering gown--
strolls in the coruscating Venus
in the sturdy arm of jaundiced Uranus,
garbed in his glistening stomacher.

Like a ball, all eyes are bouncing
hither and thither, up and down,

googling and ogling,
once more at them leering,

gaping at the irreplaceable paintings of
da Vinci, Picasso, and Van Gogh
cavorting  upon the weightless walls

to the romantic performance of Strauss
in the palace orchestral of Bacchus.

Another typical afternoon
In the Sunshower State
South Florida we call it
On my way in to work
Listening to music
Phone in hand
Then it happened
I slipped and fell
My phone now airborne
Me on the ground
No good could come from this
Once it met with the pavement
It did three spinning backflips
Then stuck the landing
The screen now cracked
Now I'm left living phoneless
A liberated attachment
No phone calls, texts or e-mails
No random googling or facebook status checks
Freedom from complications
These are the first few days
Then it sinks in
Detachment from the world around me
In these digital days
I have lost my lifeline
No quick access to information
No calling for help
Disconnected from everyone
And everything around me
A week wait for the repair
My dependency has become clear
If you don't want to admit it
It's ok, we all have it
This is just my story
How I found out about
My cellular co-dependency

I. I thought you were her world;
   Her paperback novel
   She could ponder quotes in
And crack the spine of.
   But you’ve now got police orders against you
And the pain of missing you
   Seers the seams of her striped-sweater heart
   And though you’re trying to get into Green and Ginsberg,
   She can’t see what the big deal is.
   You were the Holden Caulfield
   To her Jane Gallagher
   But Holden never took Phoebe
   To the mattress so
   I guess that makes the two of you
   Sid and Nancy
   Instead.

II. I suppose she never believed you
   When you told her that you were an alcoholic.
   Because alcohol burns
   And though you lit her fire,
   You couldn’t keep it burning.
   You told her that you didn’t read
   And she should have
   Backed away then.
   But she didn't.
   Because you played accordion
   And dressed like Gatsby
   And she adored that for a good while.
   Until you told her that you despised the Rolling Stones
   And may have committed a ******.
   Even then she did not back away
   Because you bought her cigarettes
   And hit on other girls
   While she waited for you
   To give her the boot.

III. She liked your accent
   But it was just a sweet, endearing cover up
   For a mind as empty as a gypsy’s wallet
   And a rich man’s soul.

IV. You liked to give her drags
   Off your E-cigarette
   Because it tasted like cherry Pez
   And you wanted her to see
   Or rather, taste,
   The magic.
   Kissing you was like magic
   Until
   You moved on to an older broad.

V. Everytime
   Her lips met yours
   You tasted like heavy *****
   And she was too desperate and twisted
   To really give much of a ****.
   So she accepted it
   And moved on.
   Because you called her pretty
   And made out with her in the forest,
   Denim scratching denim,
   Hearts hurting hearts.

VI. She didn’t know you were homeless.
   Or, rather,
   Maybe she did
   But she didn’t accept it.
   Like an elderly doesn’t accept death at first
   And attempts to bargain.
You smelled horrible…
   She believed it to be a natural thing.
   But you were neglecting your hygiene and with that,
   Her as well.
   And the only thing you cared more for than ***
   Was the *** Pistols.

VII. You asked her to take off her glasses one day
   And with one look of her freckled,
   Pimple-shell ridden face,
   You told her she looked like Ramona Flowers
   And upon googling who that was,
   She nearly crapped herself in glee.
   She should have taken it as a sign
   When you began to find
   And tiny reason to touch her in as playful a way you could.
   Through tiny nudges
   She should have seen the possibility of romance blossoming.
   But you were 29
   And she, 17.
   Twelve years, practically
   Three Presidents
   Between the two of you.
   But your undivided ideals
   Brought you only closer together.
   You were an English education major,
   With a III mark after your name
   And Megaman on your walls.
   She took one look
   At the astounding possibilities,
   Drew a breath and fell in love with
Every little thing about you.
Every single,
Unnoticeable thing about you,
From the scar
Stretching down your spine
To the scruff on your chin…
She fell
Deeper in love with you
Than she ever had before.
And she saw a dream,
A future,
That came in on a hot summer day
With Taco Bell
And destiny.

The year of Skinny Pop and sugar-free Jell-o cups,
we guzzled vitamin water and *****,
toasting to high school and survival
complimenting each other’s thigh gaps.
Trying diets we found on the Internet:
menthol cigarettes, eating in front of a mirror, donating blood
replacing meals with other practical hobbies like making flower crowns or fainting.
Wondering why I haven’t had my period in months
or why breakfast tastes like giving up
or how many more productive ways I could have spent my time today
besides Googling the calories in the glue of a US envelope.
Watching America’s Next Top Model like the gospel
hunching naked over a bathroom scale shrine
crying into an empty bowl of Coco Puffs
because I only feel pretty when I’m hungry.
If you are not recovering, you are dying.
By the time I was sixteen, I had already experienced being clinically overweight, underweight, and obese.
As a child, “fat” was the first word people used to describe me
which didn’t offend me until I found out it was supposed to.
When I lost weight, my dad was so proud.
He started carrying my before-and-after photo in his wallet.
So relieved he could stop worrying about me getting diabetes.
He saw a program on the news about the epidemic with obesity.
Said he is just so glad to finally see me taking care of myself.
If you develop an eating disorder when you are already thin to begin with, you go to the hospital.
If you develop an eating disorder when you are not thin to begin with, you are a success story.
So when I evaporated, of course everyone congratulated me on getting healthy.
Girls at school who never spoke to me before stopped me in the hallway to ask how I did it.
I say, “I am sick.”
They say, “No, you’re an inspiration.”
How could I not fall in love with my illness?
With becoming the kind of silhouette people are supposed to fall in love with?
Why would I ever want to stop being hungry when anorexia was the most interesting thing about me?
So how lucky it is, now, to be boring.
The way not going to the hospital is boring.
The way looking at an apple and seeing only an apple, not sixty or half an hour of sit-ups is boring.
My story may not be as exciting as it used to, but at least there is nothing left to count.
The calculator in my head finally stopped.
I used to love the feeling of drinking water on an empty stomach
waiting for the coolness to slip all the way down and land in the well,
not obsessed with being empty but afraid of being full.
I used to be proud when I was cold in a warm room.
Now, I am proud I have stopped seeking revenge on this body.
This was the year of eating when I was hungry without punishing myself
and I know it sounds ridiculous, but that **** is hard.
When I was little, someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up and I said
“small.”

~

<>


nearby distant,
the soft thrash of warm waves
lapping interlocking,
happily wet tongue kissing,
sun-oven precision-crisping
the Long Island striped bass
and porgies, at a surreal cooling
77 degrees

Pandora synced to his eyes,
shuffling freely,
by saying
we too see!!
playing for him,
Stairway to Heaven (Led Zeppelin)

poor, poor poet,
strains to brain drain one more time,
conducting an ogling googling word search
for those combinatory storied ones that
sailboat glide
all the while
wildly bursting with Pellegrino effervescence

compromising sounds sights,
to present
properly the balance,
to preserve
properly this moment,
peaceful alive for all times,
as poet has tried,
and failed so many times before...

the caw caw caw of the crow mocks the illiterate human,
for the bird calls it, in single sound perfect and
the human a laughingstock,
for not in his possess,
to capture this perfect moment
of human sabbath.

a Roman Saturn day of rest,
on this day that itself,
is perfection,
perfect for celebrating our common creation,
on a day that our
almost-all-agreed-upon calendar
is marked for us to
forte rest,
from an existence of just laborious

the chubby checkered cheeked squirrels
laughingly pauses,
watching, enjoying a poet's struggle,
mind boggle,
the poet's chubby cheeks
stuffed with discarded words,
all insufficient to capture
the absolution of
absolute beauty

bathing in the noisiest of nature's sounds,
all that contravene the silence of living things,
breathing prayerful thoughts that all
summary end,
with a common gesture of
forefinger upon the lips

a human acknowledgment of
utter obeisance to the forces
calling out by example

listen, see!

silently presenting,
this,
this!!

a day that demanded perfection

Simon “Hurricane” Hudson prowls the snooker table
Like any good mixed metaphor would.
A modern day Pythagoras
He triangulates his shots.

Meanwhile his rival, lion-heart "Rocket" Richard,
Not to be confused with Lionel Richie,
Is on his mobile Googling
How to play the perfect “snooker”.
And the two Perfect Pauls
Discuss the latest football,
While “Whirlwind” Wendy sits in judgement,
Knitting the night away.

At long last Simon plays a stroke!!!
And rattles those unrelenting jaws
Of that elusive pocket yet again.

The game rolls on.
But where the hell is Simon?
The clock on the electricity is running down
But where is Simon?
Where is he?
He’s at the bar
Telling barman Nick how Rochdale
Will win The Cup one day.

Hurray, he’s back to play again.
Cascading planets collide into new orbits
As they did in the Primeval Solar System.

We play on,
Safely keeping those precious *****
Away from those black holes
They call the “pockets”.
We try to pick our shots
(At those pockets lol)
But all we keep potting
Is that white one.
Maybe we should switch to Billiards,
Or *** some plants instead.

Paul Butters

This one is for the doctor who called me “delicate”
I think I missed that word in the thick textbooks about disease I’ve seen
This is for the lab technician who lost not one but two vials of my blood
Because I really wanted to help that new nurse figure out veins again.
This is for the stupid slogans on the walls
A fichus with the word peace under it, I'm cured.
This is for the geriatric room with the low table they always put me in
An arthritis patient means elderly woman, right?
This is for the negative tests and endless questionnaires about my health
Checking how often, how severe, and how much I care.
This is for the four empty orange prescription bottles sitting neatly on my desk
Red pills, and yellow pills, and white ones, oh my!
This is for the loud groan of pain in the morning I make before I even wake
Because why shouldn’t my roommate wake up when I do?
This is for the symphony of my cracking joints and creaking bones
Because violently trembling when you walk up stairs is so very ****.
This is for the manic googling at 4 AM,
Does this symptom mean anything? Is it just a quirk or side affect?
This is for WebMd, bless their hearts,
Who think that sniffles mean polyps and headaches mean cancer.
This is for the flights upon flights of stairs I climb each day,
Cats are considered ****, is panting like a dog?
This is for the cramping and shaking hands everyday
Because as a writer and artist I never even use them right?
This is for my mother
Who’s waited patiently with me through every doctor’s visit
This is for my best friend Lauren
Who missed three classes to take me to a clinic
This is for my nephew
Who is too big for me to pick up without grimacing now
This is for the wine I drank
And the bedroom basement I climb out of
And the backpack I heave around
And the school lunches I leave in toilets
It’s for the nights I have to stay in and the ones where I make myself leave
Because the only thing tough enough to stop me
Is me.
And I’ll tip my hat to myself for putting up such a good challenge.
It’ll just make it even more satisfying when I knock it the **** down.

I would humbly put forth the idea, quite prostrate, that it would do us some good if we were to put aside, for a time, our epistemological certainties and archetypal savior fixations and, instead, opt for a more robust, ocher-hued ontological preeminence: putting the what before the why.

Only then can one, say, sip hot herbal tea from an old pink bone china teacup and, without thinking about all the things all the time, for once -just- feel the sun's warmth on your aged face as it begins its set over a half-eaten cotton candy sky that is epic af and reminds you of Peter Pan and then Robin Williams and then whywhywhy and then something random and weirrrd, and, in doing so, you can watch the lack of shittogetherness, of which duly occupies the very seat of your character like a bully usurper that hits you bc "he loves you," melt into a very (very) temporary oblivion and revel in what is before you without feeling paralyzing angst that is, usually, soo angst-y that you gotta pronounce that **** in German as if you were Schopenhauerly sitting at some non-descript desk in some non-descript room with your hand stroking your truly descript crazygeniusguy hair that is some kind of proto-Wolverine hairdo (and you wonder if Stan Lee was cryptically tipping his cap to S's philosophical pessimism with this peculiar gesture; consider googling it but don't because you've already googled too much sheeyt today), thinking (or brooding) about how much of a ******* Descartes is with his whole, yuhknow, theory about some ******* secret nanoputian angelic chemist that sits at the pearly gates of the Pineal Gland and performs the sacred transduction of the divine ghost, or whatever. Otherwise you are, like, consumed with analysis, which is a complete ******* bore and - let's face it - a thoroughly transparent attempt to sound smarter than you actually are.

This herbal tea I'm currently drinking has "rose hips" in it. Dear botany, that image is fun.

The years before the drugs
before the smiles
the bright times
the easy nights
were dark

But I only knew darkness so
to me it was brighter than the sun

There were nights of red bull and vodkas
of googling obsessions
and losing my personality for a weekend
There were days and days of misery

my sobs
my screams
my nightmares
my tears
your tears


I would scream until the air in my lungs were gone
I would get down
I would run for hours
and I would feel my skin crawl

The years before the drugs I was cruel
a 13 year old girl with a razor sharp tounge
hell bent on expressing pain
any way possible

This experience isnt unique
but just because it isnt unique
doesn't mean I dont need to apologize
for the years before the drugs

I'm sorry.

If you like
some day will be so drastically different from today
that you will never know how insignificant current worries are
or how silly actions were
life can be
how you like it:
queen of primetime
soccer mom
beach ***
anything.
I think I'd like to be a traveller.
I want to see the places I've only heard of
to ensure that they do exist
but I'd want to do so only if there was no hostility
which is impossible
so I suppose this will have to do
only hearing stories
googling images
reading books and learning languages
and just imagine the view from another mountain.

Another starlit Hemetucky night,
Finds me listening to one of my many,
Many Bonnie Raitt CDs.
Metaphorically speaking,
We must lick her ****.
Give her the recognition
She indubitably deserves.
10 GRAMMYs?
Listed as number 50 in
Rolling Stone Magazine's
100 Greatest Singers of All Time;
Number 89 on their list of the
100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time!
Lists? We humans love lists.
The HUAC loved lists also.
And while we’re on the subject of lists,
What list has your name been added to?
A statistical anomaly worthy of further
Investigation by our Big Brother in Bluff, UT,
Those guys tracking anyone goo-goo,
Googling my name, my poetry,
The poetry of Giuseppi Martino Buonaiuto,
My UNpublished poetry, i.e.,
By definition, nothing in print,
Nothing between book covers,
Nothing you can get your hands on.
Merely cyber-effervescence,
An Off World ether,
An ether although vaporous,
A digital fingerprint, nonetheless:
Quickly identifiable,
Easily reducible,
An entirely redacted,
Boiled down, cooked down roux.
A roux you’ll rue? Perhaps.
Not to mention the kanga roo,
ROO as in secret, offshore
Kangaroo courtrooms.

So know, know you’re on a list.
One of numerous Watch Lists
Watched by the Watchers who
Watch people like us.
So, if you’re reading this online,
Don’t say I didn’t frickin warn you.

BONNIE RAITT:
Of particular interest is her brilliant cover of –
Her complete musical reupholstering of--
Del Shannon’s neonatal 60s-era classic:
“Runaway.”
That twang slide-bass intro.
That harmonica squeal hovering above;
Those long, pulsing instrumentals
Punctuating her grit.  Her heart.
Her dark & lonely childhood
That drew her to true roots music.
Like me, born in 1949--
Unlike me: in Burbank, California.
Daughter of Broadway Musical Star
John Raitt: a true Roadie,
If ever there was one
Bonnie sent to private Quaker schools,
Banished to pricey summer camps.
Routine experience for any child of
Successful entertainers on the road,
Again. (Sing it, Willie!)
Bonnie: denied nothing but
Parental time invested.
Consumed by a drive to
Get the man’s attention,
Daddy’s little girl,
Addicted to ******. Fade out:
“I wah-wah-wah-wah wonder.
If you will stay, my run, run, run
My little runaway,
Come back baby,
My runaway.”

1:30 AM is when my head starts hurting and my body feels heavy with burdens
My soul feels hollow
And I don't really know who to talk to
Because it's a little late to call anyone
I'm googling weird things
And making my bucket list
Coming up with distractions for weeks to come
Because it is my only escape from my inexplicable pain and sadness

Here I am again.
Up all night again.
Fueling doubts again.
Daydreaming again.

Googling answers again.
Stalking social media again.
Wishing again.
Thinking again.

Here I am again.
Thinking about him again.
About you again.
Not knowing what to do again.

Maybe I should go to sleep
Instead of laying here, counting sheep
Again.

I see you hurting and I want to help but I can't because I'm a *******.
I love you so I should be able to do something, anything, but I can't.
You say it's because I'm so far away, but I know that it's because I'm a *******.
Exhausted, you went to bed. I stared at the screen where you were
Where you were is still beautiful, more beautiful than anything I ever see for real.
Eventually I start googling myself, checking every name I've ever lied. I mean lived.
There's nothing there, not on google or bing or duckduckgo.
I'm not even enough of anything to anyone anywhere to be on duckduckgo?
How ******* pathetic is that?
I should be helping you but all I ever do is make you more stressed, more anxious, more upset.
You say I don't, that I give you strength, that I'm important to you.
But I know. I'm a *******.
Maybe you'd be happier without me. Maybe you'd be better off.
You tell me I'm being silly when I say **** like that.
Maybe you're just being kind.
What do I give you, what do I do for you?
I write you a love letter every night for you to read every morning.
I tell you I love you a hundred times a day.
I tell you you're beautiful every time I see you because every time I see you, you are beautiful.
I don't understand why you don't believe me.
Except that I'm nothing. So maybe I'll end it all and set you free. Crushed painkillers and good scotch.
Maybe some tranquilizers so my mind can be tranquil for once.
But I can't even do that, the nothing that I am; I don't have the courage or cowardice or whatever it takes to end myself.
Because what if I'm wrong? What if there is something that you see that I can't?
Besides, I can't leave you. I love you. I'm sorry.
I crawl into bed and feel the tears soak into my pillow.
I try to come up with a way to explain everything wrong with me so that you'll realize why I have to go.
I imagine your answers, I imagine your face as we talk.
I just want to stop hurting, to stop missing you when I have no right to miss you so much.
You're so beautiful. How can you not know?
Now, I'm thinking about kissing you.
And tomorrow doesn't seem so bad.
Maybe tomorrow will be better, maybe I'll see in me what you tell me is there.
And maybe you'll let yourself be beautiful to me.
And we'll have a chance.
Maybe.

12 drafts later
And this poem is still ******* garbage
I tried to say something profound
But I had to start by Googling the definition
Plan B
Say something honest
So I wrote a verse about young love
But I have the soul of an old man
And I’ve never had a girlfriend
Dead ends
I want to write
I really do
But I’m lost for words
And the more I try to write about myself
About who I am
About what I’ve felt
About what I feel
Socrates
The only thing that I know for sure
Is that I know nothing at all
I heard someone say that once
Not sure what it meant
But surely it must fall under
“Having intellectual depth or insight”
Profound [Def. 1]. (n.d.). Merriam-Webster Dictionary
**** it
I’m not a poet.