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Z Aug 2018
Too many thoughts, too many feelings, too many faces

Yea, what’s the feeling of success?
Achieved so many things, but all I feel is regret,
I feel alone inside my head what don’t you get?
Wake up every morning like it’s still my set,
Reminisce on where I come from so I don’t forget,
Been to rehab a dozen times, they called me a vet,
You thought you knew me, I haven’t opened the curtains yet

Alcohol destroyed all my relationships
Forgot most of my life - except for the video clips,
Poisoned my brain to forget the pain, on the daily I feel insane
I’m above the ground though I can’t complain, god relieve this pain
I feel like I drank the blood of Cain,

Every day is a surprise, my brain tells me I’m so wise,
But he’s a master in disguise, while I’m the one who cries,
He’s the one who lies,
To me in my own voice watching my demise,
When he’s in in control anything flies,
It scares me, I built a fortress to disguise,
This out of control mind, I want to cut the ties
A Broad perception, in a beautiful world, through these eyes,

Try to express my feelings, no one can understand
**** it no one can, this experience is mine god had it planned
Just hope I can grow up to be the man,
The one he created to do whatever he can,
Yea, whatever he wants, his drive his will he can make a stand,
A visionary, Socrates his thoughts are grand,

Who do I trust, who I am or who I want to be,
It’s confusing with a devil living inside of me,
Loving spouse, family man what I try to be,
This bipolar got a hold of me,
Blindfolding me I can’t see,
Please doctor doctor set my mind free,
I thought I knew everything with my degree,
The lessons I learned from the things I failed to see,

Mommy and daddy got divorced when I was a kid,
I think I was 8, I can’t remember, who am I to kid,
My first blackout in life, daddy’s about to lose his wife,
So much anger, “he’s” telling me to find the knife,
Take it to the artery just a little slice,
Life’s not as nice, as people make it seem,
No one hears me scream, from the pain,
Inside this brain, some days I feel insane,
110 on the freeway trying to stay in my lane,
Drunk driving no I’m not sane,
Getting high to alleviate the pain

One day I can be the man, goals, driven, and full of will,
The next be full of sadness, regret, life stands still,
I can remember anger that drove me to ****,
You don’t know how I feel,
People probably thought I made a deal,
With the devil to have all this skill,
I write all these thoughts, hoping there’s a heart to fill,

Hope someone can relate,
I hope my pain makes you elate,
My perceptions not up for debate,
Here is my life there’s no room to understate,
The reality of my life and the things on my plate,
Strive to be in a mentally stable state,
Sometimes life’s not so great,
My minds locked in a crate, and he is the key holder of my fate,

My life feels like an afterthought,
Stepdad thought love was something that could be bought,
Used to get in trouble every time I got caught,
Only if they knew the realism of what I did, or maybe they ought
Not to know, but for the sake of the flow, I’m going to let go,
Put on a show so they finally understand what they missed long ago,

Let’s start as a little boy, all the love you showed was a decoy,
For the truth that mommy and daddy were ready to destroy,
Split us up, brown moving boxes was it all momma’s ploy?
I still don’t know the truth, I don’t want to ask or annoy

They say they fell out of love, how can you fall out of love,
Unless you gave up? Don’t you realize who’s above,
Poor American white family, three kids and divorced, man the stereo type fits like a glove,
Never got physically, but always received a verbal shove,
Psychologically I wish I could dispose of,
This garbage that’s left behind, in this mind how am I supposed to give away free love,


One day at a time, one fight, I’m going to give it all my might,
Serenity prayer please give me the light,
To accept my life and guide me right,
Some days things are out of sight,
God comfort me so I feel alright,
I’m shrouded in darkness, call me the dark knight,
Noble I’m my cause, daily life’s a plight,

As a teenager I survived off my drive,
Then there was the day I didn’t want to be alive,
Locked those feelings deep in the archive,
Padlocked in the deep parts of the brain so they don’t thrive,
Questioning the purpose of life when I was five,
Asked about space and God, curiosity already took a dive,
Most people and me don’t really jive,
One instinct on my mind is to survive,
Mania kicking in putting me in overdrive,
Found out when I was twenty-five,
I’m mentally ill, my life took a nose dive,
Time to wake up and revive,
It’s time to deprive,
The addiction and the **** I do to connive,
God im going to work on my life until arrive,
To the kingdom, hopefully I live to see thirty-five,

Todays a new day, no telling what I might do,
Try to hold my family together, backbone and the glue,
Just accept my view, everything’s not about you,
Been self-reflecting, I’m having a break through,
This story is contagious, call it reality flu,
Knocked on deaths door, Alcohol blood volume .492,

What was I thinking? Pores stinking, breath wreaking,
Family and friends shrieking, at all my drinking,
Woke up surrounded by the medical team,
Asked me if I was suicidal, I said what do you mean?
I’m a genius, with a good job, had one since fourteen,
Worked hard my whole life, why am I here confused as hell - creating a scene,
Needle in my arm, threatening to restrain me,
God please set me free, right now you’re the only one that can help me,
Ready to fight the doctors and nurses, now they’re going to petition me,

When I opened up my eyes,
Seen my momma with tears in her eyes,
Most painful look I’ve ever seen on her face,
Now I feel like a huge disgrace, wish she knew gods grace,
My hearts racing at a fast pace, anxiety took over freaking out in this place,
The realest hug ive ever felt was from momma while I was in that room,
Time to clean up my life, time to clear my mind and get out of the back room,
Where my thoughts are locked, time to forgive and bury the in their own tomb,
Most think they know me, and its dangerous to assume,
Most my life you seen me in my costume, hiding behind the monster of doom,
Spent so many hours in my bedroom, drinking so much leaving behind an ethanol fume,
Days later it’s still hanging around, how the poison turns everything into a darkroom.

12 days locked in the psych ward, hopefully I can move my life forward,
Dr. says I had an episode of major depression, I forgot to tell them about my secret obsession,
These words are the closest thing I have to a confession,
When I die take my brain for a case study dissection,
Don’t let my evil said lead you to mis-direction,
When im aware I can make the correction,
What an elusive lie, chasing perfection,
Life is about love and a real connection,
God im tired, give me a symbol give me direction,

Therapy sessions for years, did nothing to help these tears,
Still react with impulsion and anger, watch out for the danger,
the biggest fear ive ever had was the fear of myself,
and the things I was capable of to destroy myself or secure the wealth.
So many secrets it’s a masquerade, im hidden behind my stealth,
The lies created to maintain this alter-ego destroying my mental health,

My biggest pains in life are when I had it all and left it all,
My depression after mania was the biggest fall,
I felt like I was the king of the world, king of the jungle; hear my call,
My ego inflated from my achievements, made me feel tall,
Daddys dream was his oldest boy would play college ball,
Just like the song boys of fall,

Daddys dream wasn’t mine to live,
But that wont stop me from giving all I can give,
Im sorry for the night I was drunk and we got combative,
I shut that night out its not something I want to relive,
Please daddy forgive, now you’re so corroborative.

Now momma I know we do not speak,
The real issue is we don’t want to feel weak,
Why are we so strong, the ones who cant take critique,
Maybe we are so unique, and live life with such technique,
The type of thoughts people think are antique,
Their arguments bleak, our common point is its our mind we speak,

Im ready for the conversation, a common destination,
Where we live in harmony, and actions don’t lead to causation,
I hope my dictation, and the acceptance of your creation,
Allows you to accept me and the ground I call my foundation,
Rebuild our family, together we can create a formation,
Our time and love the only donation, mix em together titration,
It’s a ruination of the family, its everything I wanted it to be,

Ive struggled with every relationship,
With anyone I let close I seem to lose myself and flip the script,
Those evil days I hide in my mind, security equipped and encrypt,
I feel like im writing a manuscript, a story of a man who slipped,
On the struggles of life, and opportunities that have been stripped,

Went to college on a full ride, paid for room and board seen the debt and just about cried,
350 a month to the government talk about a life hurdle that broke my stride,
Since graduation I noticed im the new dr. jekyl and mr hyde,
Success in my life was implied, mental health hit me on my broadside,
Missed my grad school opportunity, I should have applied,
Had love going for me, turned into a landslide,
All I want to do is have a good job and be able to provide,
Im not the only one suffering this epidemic is worldwide,
I just want to sit by the lake side, retire and reside,
Somewhere peaceful where a simple life is implied,
The only downside, is the demon inside me that takes me on the regular for a joyride.

Worked 80 hours a week, drinking a fifth a day,
Most people don’t even know what to say,
To me it was just another day,
Its about to get nasty watch out for the word play,
Life not black and white live in the grey,
Area, mass hysteria, my mind runs astray,
Enough liquor in my blood to make me sway,
One wrong move may be my doomsday,
I write about my life like a final exam essay,
Giving it my all no halfway,
Yea, im making headway, opening the doorway,
For all to enter; serve up my experience like a fine dining entrée,
Living check to check, cant wait for payday,
Maybe someday, ill be on the golden walkway,
To the kingdom of god then ill be okay,
Impulses so strong its hard not to obey,
The other side of me that’s so hard to portray,
When hes manic I get risqué,
Let me paint a picture, get your tickets to the screenplay.

They say its not what you go through, but what you became of it,
My lifes not a stereotype, those stipulations don’t fit,
I seem to get back up after every hit, I couldn’t write this skit,
Im trying to use my ****, my mind feels split, I cant take this ****,
I just want to quit, go to therapy to learn skills and what to omit,
From my life, its hard ill have to admit,
Elementary school I realized I was a misfit,
Dreams in the stars, illuminated and moonlit,
Building a legacy without a permit,
Try to live life so im not a hypocrite.

Shocked by the responses to voice and gods word,
You can say in high school I was a nerd,
Football MVP and valedictorian man that’s absurd,
Wanna know my secret, ask me the password,
Stand on my own, not a part of the heard,
Forgive me for all my problems and troubles that have occurred.

The darkest secret you don’t know,
Is that im not motivated by the dough,
It’s the times where Im feeling high and low,
Sometimes it feels like time is slow,
The biggest crush to my ego,
Was when I had a 20-gauge ready to pull the trigger and blow,
Racking the shells, playing with the ammo,
The rest of my life I was about to forego,
I wanted to let go, because I wanna know
I write to share my story of experience, strength and hope.
In Recovery mentally and Recovering from substance abuse
JV Beaupre May 2016
Canto I. Long ago and far away...

Under the bridge across the Kankakee River, Grampa found me. I was busted for truancy. First grade. 1946.

Summer and after school: Paper route, neighborhood yard work, dogsbody in a drugstore, measuring houses for the county, fireman EJ&E railroad, janitor and bottling line Pabst Brewery Peoria. 1952-1962.

Fresh caught Mississippi River catfish. Muddy Yummy. Burlington, Iowa. 1959. Best ever.

In college, Fr. ***** usually confused me with my roommate, Al. Except for grades. St. Procopius College, 1958-62. Rats.

Coming home from college for Christmas. Oops, my family moved a few streets over and forgot to tell me. Peoria, 1961.

The Pabst Brewery lunchroom in Peoria, a little after dawn, my first day. A guy came in and said: "Who wants my horsecock sandwich? ****, this first beer tastes good." We never knew how many he drank. 1962.

At grad school, when we moved into the basement with the octopus furnace, Dave, my roommate, contributed a case of Chef Boyardee spaghettios and I brought 3 cases of beer, PBRs.  Supper for a month. Ames. 1962.

Sharon and I were making out in the afternoon, clothes a jumble. Walter Cronkite said, " President Kennedy has been shot…”. Ames, 1963.

I stood in line, in my shorts, waiting for the clap-check. The corporal shouted:  "All right, you *******, Uncle and the Republic of Viet Nam want your sorry *****. Drop 'em".  Des Moines. Deferred, 1964.

Married and living in student housing. Packing crate furniture. Pammel Court, 1966.

One of many undistinguished PhD theses on theoretical physics. Ames. 1967.

He electrified the room. Every woman in the room, regardless of age, wanted him, or seemed to. The atmosphere was primeval and dripping with desire. In the presence of greatness. Palo Alto, 1968.

US science jobs dried up. From a mountain-top, beery conversation, I got a research job in Germany. Boulder, 1968. Aachen, 1969.

The first time I saw automatic weapons at an airport. Geneva, 1970.

I toasted Rembrandt with sparkling wine at the Rijksmuseum. He said nothing. Amsterdam International Conference on Elementary Particles. 1971.

A little drunk, but sobering fast: the guard had Khrushchev teeth.
Midnight, alone, locked in a room at the border.
Hours later, release. East Berlin, 1973. Harrassment.

She said, "You know it's remarkable that we're not having an affair." No, it wasn't. George's wife.  Germany, 1973.

"Maybe there really are quarks, but if so, we'll never see them." Truer than I knew.  Exit to Huntsville, 1974.

On my first day at work, my first federal felony. As a joke, I impersonated an FBI agent. What the hell? Huntsville. 1974. Guess what?-- No witnesses left! 2021.

Hard work, good times, difficult times. The first years in Huntsville are not fully digested and may stay that way.

The golden Lord Buddha radiated peace with his smile. Pop, pop. Shots in the distance. Bangkok. 1992.

Accomplishment at work, discord at home. Divorce. Huntsville. 1994. I got the dogs.

New beginnings, a fresh start, true love and life-partner. Huntsville. 1995.

Canto II. In the present century...

Should be working on a proposal, but riveted to the TV. The day the towers fell and nearly 4000 people perished. September 11, 2001.

I started painting. Old barns and such. 2004.

We bet on how many dead bodies we would see. None, but lots of flip-flops and a sheep. Secrets of the Yangtze. 2004

I quietly admired a Rembrandt portrait at the Schiphol airport. Ever inscrutable, his painting had presence, even as the bomb dogs sniffed by. Beagles. 2006.

I’ve lost two close friends that I’ve known for 50-odd years. There aren’t many more. Huntsville. 2008 and 2011.

Here's some career advice: On your desk, keep a coffee cup marked, "No Whining", that side out. Third and final retirement. 2015.

I occasionally kick myself for not staying with physics—I’m jealous of friends that did. I moved on, but stayed interested. Continuing.

I’m eighty years old and walk like a duck. 2021.

Letter: "Your insurance has lapsed but for $60,000, it can be reinstated provided you are alive when we receive the premium." Life at 81. Huntsville, 2022.

Canto III: Coda

Honest distortions emerging from the distance of time. The thin comfort of fading memories. Thoughts on poor decisions and worse outcomes. Not often, but every now and then.

(Begun May 2016)
zebra Sep 2021
The countries with the largest ***** ***** length are:
Ecuador - 17.61 cm (6.93 inches)
Cameroon - 16.67 cm (6.56 inches)
Bolivia - 16.51 cm (6.5 inches)
Sudan - 16.47 cm (6.48 inches)
Haiti - 16.01 cm (6.3 inches)
Senegal - 15.89 cm (6.26 inches)
Gambia - 15.88 cm (6.25 inches)
Netherlands - 15.87 cm (6.25 inches)
Cuba - 15.87 cm (6.25 inches)
Zambia - 15.78 cm (6.21 inches)

The countries with the smallest ***** ***** length are:
Cambodia - 10.04 cm (3.95 inches)
Burma - 10.70 cm (4.21 inches)
Taiwan - 10.78 cm (4.24 inches)
Philippines - 10.85 cm (4.27 inches)
Sri Lanka - 10.89 cm (4.29 inches)
Hong Kong - 11.19 cm (4.41 inches)
Bangladesh - 11.20 cm (4.41 inches)
Thailand - 11.45 cm (4.51 inches)
Vietnam - 11.47 cm (4.52 inches)
Malaysia - 11.49 cm (4.52 inches)
~
Scientists claim that the size of the ***** does not matter, as long as the job gets done. But those scientists are probably Cambodian. If you liked my last list of the top 10 countries with the biggest *****’s, then you’ll love the list of the top 10 countries with the smallest *****’s. SO bring out the magnifying glass and tweezers, and let’s have ourselves a closer look.
~
Top 10 Countries With The Smallest penîses In The World or unhung hero's 

10. Japan
Researchers found out that the birthrate in Japan is so low, that adult diapers are sold more than baby diapers. The Japanese are packing a whopping 4.30 inches of sausage, I guess, if you can’t reach, you can’t reach, Sashimi anyone?

9. Sri Lankan men very well represent the size of their tiny little country., and their tiny little rooster. With an average size of 4.30 inches.

8. China
We have reason to believe that the Chinese were gifted with a clever mind, and cursed with a small *****, with an average ***** size of 4.29 inches, now we know why Bruce Lee was always so mad.

7. Philippines
Manny Pacquiao has been under the suspicion of using steroids over the years, and if that’s true, then his **** could very well be inverted by now. Cause the Philippines has an average size of 4.21 inches, now that’s a pretty small **** Pac man.

6. Taiwan
Taiwan’s home of lady boys and Alexander ****. But they need some more pay weight gee (Peh-oe-ji) in their pants with a ridiculous average ***** size of 4.20 inches. Women of Taiwan, I feel for you, but it’s okay, just book a ticket to congo.

5. Myanmar
As beautiful as it is, Myanmar, formerly known as Burma, is famous for their two kind of nuts. Betel nuts, and their little hanging nuts, with an average size of 4.19 inches.

4. India
The country who proudly shared its Yoga spirituality **** to the world, never shared the fact that Indian Men have a teensy weensy dickie, with an average size of 4.03 inches. Well we now know the truth. Namaste!

3. Thailand
home to the world’s largest gold Buddha, the largest crocodile farm, the largest restaurant, the longest suspension bridge, and the tallest hotel, I guess they’re trying to compensate for their national average of 4 inches in the ***** department.

2. Cambodia
50 % of the Cambodian population is under the age of 15. No wonder the average ***** size of Cambodian Men is just 3.95 inches. I’m surprised that Neverland ranch wasn’t built there. #RIP the King of *****

1. South Korea
You may have heard their fantastic K-pop, and you may be impressed with their Economical, financial and Military Growth, but I guarantee that you will never see South Korea the Same way ever again, as they hold the record for the nation with the smallest *****, with an average size of 3.8 inches of pure imagination, and you know North Korea can’t be much better, maybe that’s why they’re so secretive.
~

Hi Doctor.
I was wondering about the depth of the ******. I've read statistics that say that the average ****** is only 3 to 4 inches deep. This seems way too small to me, since the average ***** is considerably longer than that. Wouldn't that mean that most penises would crash into the ****** repeatedly during *******? Since this obviously doesn't happen, my question is this: does the ****** actually elongate during ******* to accommodate the entire length of the average *****?

Dear Ashley
DONT WORRY!!
Your ***** can be amazingly elastic and accommodating,
and if you're brave enough no matter how big, anything can be a *****.
Christine O’Bam Slam, MD
Documentary Poetics
Could be I’m on a mission:
Convince the entire world
I am the World's Greatest Living
English Language poet;
Of course, genius such as mine
Goes generally unrecognized until
The posthumous crowd weighs in.
And yet, wouldn’t it be nice?

• BEACH BOYS LYRICS-Wouldn't It Be Nice-A-Z Lyrics www.azlyrics.com /lyrics/beachboys/ wouldntitbenice. Wouldn't It Be Nice Lyrics-Beach Boys www.lyricsfreak.com›Beach Boys

Yes, wouldn’t it be nice?
(The Nobel Prize,
Tribute at the Kennedy Center,
A MacArthur Grant,
The Presidential Medal of Honor,
Reverent BJs from hipster groupies . . .
The Poet Laureate in his vicarage,
Enjoying my sweet twilight celebrity.)

(Cue “Guys & Dolls” soundtrack: “What's in the daily news?
I'll tell you what's in the daily news.”)
23: Beheaded at Nigerian Election Rally!
Amanda Knox Gets Away with ****** Again in Italy!
Kung Pow: Silicon Valley Penisocracy Crushes Ellen Pao
German Crash Dummy Co-pilot Flies Jet into the Alps!
Hilary’s Emails Are *****!
Sierra Leone Ebola Lockdown!
Iran: Kooks with Nukes!
Sri Lankan President’s Brother Dies from Ax Wounds!
Saudi Diplomats Evacuate Yemen!
Stampede at Hindu Bathing Ritual, Bangladesh Kills at Least 10!
Simply put:  THE WORLD IS IN A STATE OF ****.

Perhaps it’s time we turn again.
Seek solace in poetry—
“Yeah, chemistry,” insists my Sky Masterson,
My “Guys & Dolls” alter ago.
Surprised? You shouldn’t be.
All poets are gamblers & moonshiners.
We polish our chemical craft,
Sweet-talking the distillation apparatus,
Getting us, getting at linguistic essence.
Cunning linguists are we.
(Colonel Angus, are you back?)
Oyez! Oyez! The gavel raps:
“The Curious Case of Sam Hayakawa.”
We open this hearing to determine
Whether or not S.I. Hayakawa—guilty of
Numerous crimes against humanity & other
Professional Neo-Fascist “entrechats.”--
Whether or not he merits a kinder, gentler
Wikipedia BIO.
(Wikipedia ( i/ˌwɪkɨˈpiːdiə/ or  i/ˌwɪkiˈpiːdiə/ WIK-i-***-dee-ə) Wikipedia)
We open this forum, focusing on his
Courageous stand against the
SDS & Black Panthers, part of
An unlikely coalition: The Worker-Student Alliance
& It’s rival, Joe Hill Caucuses.
Da Name of the Place:
(“I like it like that!” Hot Chelle Rae-“I Like It Like That” lyrics| Metro Lyrics www.metrolyrics.com Lyrics to 'I Like It Like That' by Hot Chelle Rae. “Let's get it on, yeah, y'all can come along/Everybody drinks on me, buy out the bar /Just to feel like I'm.”)
The name of the place: San Francisco State,
1968-69, the longest student strike in U.S. history,
Led successfully to the creation of
Black & Other Ethnic studies programs
On campuses across the country,
And, one could argue,
Gave the green light to
Osama Hussein Obama,
Our first Uncle Tom President.
But I digress.

ACTING SFSU President, Dr. Hayakawa—
Perpetual audition, the pressure on,
Feisty, independent-minded & combative,
Screaming at that skeevy student mob:
(Skeevy as in “He bought the thing from
Some skeevy dude in an alley.")
Declaring “A State of Emergency,”
Calling in the SFPD, whose
Inexplicable slogan says”
“Oro en Paz,
Fierro en Guerra.”
Archaic Spanish for
Gold in peace,
Iron in war, by the by,
For you holdouts,
Those of you who still
Think the “English First Movement”
Breathes life still.
I’ve got more news for you:
That crusade died long ago,
Locked up, dark & shuttered,
Bank Repo thugs, their thick
Neck muscles flexing from side to side,
Sashaying across the parking lot,
Like John Wayne on steroids,
Right up to the front door.)
The SFPD: San Francisco city fuzz,
(As they were known at the time) &
The California National Guard, as well,
Obstreperously, generously catered by
Governor Ronald Wilson Reagan,
(Early stage, Alzheimer’s at the time.
But still very much “The Gypper,”
Still chipper in Sacramento.)
Ronnie--keenly interested in
The Eureka State’s congressional clout,
Lassoes a seat in the U.S. House of Lords:
AKA: The U.S. Senate, SPQR.
It’s still hard . . .

Official Site - ******®‎ (www.******.com) ******® (sildenafil citrate) Rx Medication Facts; Learn more . . .

Still hard to believe that California was once
Rock solid in the clutches of the GOP,
Gripped tightly in the Party’s
Desperate talons. But the grip slipped,
Slipped in the slip-sliding 1970s.
It got harder and harder . . .

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Harder and harder to remind
Leroy & the rest of his ebony posse,
That it was Abraham Lincoln—
“The Great Emancipator” himself—who was,
Our first Republican President.
The Emancipation Proclamation:
That toothless rhetorical flourish,
Based solely on Abe’s
Constitutional authority as
Commander-in-Chief,
Not on a law passed by Congress.
It was just Abe blowing smoke
Up their ***** again,
Just an egalitarian blast from
His Old Kentucky past,
A youth spent splitting rails,
Busting his *** just like
Any plantation ******,
A stark plebeian commonality,
Too deeply etched to be ignored.
Poor Abraham Lincoln:
Probably a **** Creek crypto-Jew,
Neutered by the opposition:
His very own Republican majority Congress,
Another example of the GOP
Shooting off its own foot, right up there
With Mitt Romney’s "47 percent of the people,”
The rhetorical gaffe which cost him his
Second & final shot at the White House.
But I digress.

Senator Sam S.I. Samuel Hayakawa:
That inscrutable Asian fixer, is now U.S. Senator,
Republican, California, 1976-83
Pulpit-bullying his Senate colleagues,
Fiercely opposed to transfer of the
Panama Canal & Panama Canal Zone to
Panama: a diplomatic no-brainer; Duh?
Their freaking name is on both of them.
Senator Sam, obstinate & blustering:
"We should keep the Panama Canal.
After all, we stole it fair and square.”
And Hayakawa, later the driving impetus
Behind the Far Right “English Only” movement.
His co-founding an "Official English"
Advocacy group, U.S. English;
Their party line summarizes their belief:
“The passage of English as the official language will help to expand opportunities for immigrants to learn and speak English, the single greatest empowering tool that immigrants must have to succeed."
That’s how they sold it, anyway.
In sooth: just old-fashioned nativist
Anti-immigration hysteria.

Hayakawa: always the high achiever.
Hayakawa: The Great Assimilator,
Preaching his xenophobic Gospel:
“Immigration Must Be Reduced!”
Aryan rhetoric, of course,
A bi-product of radical authoritarian nationalism,
A movement with deep American roots.
Senator Sam: a Japanese-Canadian-American,
Always tried too hard to fit in.
Sam, comfortable in Chicago during WWII,
Not personally subject to confinement,
Advocated that Japanese-Americans
Submit to FDR’s 1942, Executive Order 9066.
“Time in camp, will eventually work to Japanese advantage."
Later, during the Congressional debate over
The Civil Liberties Act of 1988 . . .
(Passed the House on September 17, 1987 (243–141)
Passed the Senate on April 20, 1988 (69–27, in lieu of S. 1009)
Reported by the joint conference committee on July 26, 1988,
Agreed to by the Senate on July 27, 1988 (voice vote) and
By the House on August 4, 1988 (257–156,
Signed into law by President Ronald Reagan 8/10/88.
He opposed $reparations for WWII internment:
“Japanese-Americans should not
Be paid for fulfilling their obligations."
Some guys, I guess, would say, or
Do anything for Bohemia Club membership.
Plagued by night terrors, nonetheless,
His Manzanar nightmares, his vivid
Imaginary experience at other Japanese
Internment Sites: Tule Lake & Camp Rohwer.
Stalag (German pronunciation: [ˈʃtalak])
Stalags, infamous still,
“Stalags ‘R Us,”
Still palpable memories for
Issei ("first generation")
& Nisei ("second generation").
See: 323 U.S. 214. Korematsu v. United States
(No. 22: Argued: October 11, 12, 1944.
Decided: December 18, 1944.140 F.2d 289.
The opinion, written by Hugo Black,
Chief Justice Harlan Stone, Presiding.)

Hayakawa: a strange duck, of course,
But we mustn’t ignore his strong credentials,
And I’d like to disabuse anyone here
Of the notion that it was anything
Other than his academic record
That got his case to this Forum.
Oyez! Oyez! The gavel raps:
“The Curious Case of Sam Hayakawa.”
So begins this fractured Pardoner’s Tale,
This petition for forgiveness,
The Capo di Tutti Capi,
Presiding: the original Italian mafioso,
His Eminence--the Vicar of Jesus Christ,
The Supreme Pontiff
Pope Paparazzi of Rome!
Roma: the only venue large enough to
Dispense dispensation of this magnitude.

Hayakawa: everyone says his C.V. is “impeccable.”
But did anyone ever freaking Google it?
Just where did Professor Sam go to school?
Undergrad? The University of Manitoba,
Truly, by any Third World Standard
A great bastion of intellectual rigor;
Grad school? McGill and U Wisconsin-Madison.
He was a Canadian by birth,
His academic discipline was Semantics.
(As in “That’s just semantics,”
That all-purpose rejoinder in any argument.)
Professor Hayakawa, The Semanticist,
He taught us: “All thought is sub-vocal speech.”

•  The Use and Misuse of Language: S. I. Hayakawa: Amazon ... www.amazon.com/The-Use-Misuse-Language.../B000... Amazon.com, Inc. The Use and Misuse of Language [S. I. Hayakawa] on Amazon.com. FREE shipping on qualifying offers.
  
Hmmm? We think in words.
The medium of thought is language.
If you grok this for the first time,
Let’s stop to celebrate our enlightenment,
With a cultural nod of respect,
We salute our Islamic brethren.
Radical Islam: the new bogeyman,
Responsible for keeping lights on in Alexandria,
Paying the defense & intelligence bills,
Sustaining that sinister
Military-Industrial complex
Ike warned us about.
Hang in there, Mustafa, old buddy.
Like the Cold War, this insanity
Will eventually blow over.
Orwell’s Oceania will reshuffle
Its deck of global grab-***, and a
New enemy will suddenly appear.
Big Brother, as always,
In the full-control mode,
Simply put: on top of the situation.
So Hurrah!
Allāhu Akbar. “God is Great!
The Takbīr (the term for the
Arabic phrase: usually translated as
"God is [the] greatest.")

“All thought is sub-vocal speech.”
What a simple, yet profound insight!
Just a short hop, skip & jump to the
Realization that, perhaps, the clarity
& Power of our minds can be groomed,
Improved upon by mastery of—
In Sam’s case, anyway--the English Language.
Was this, perhaps, the germ of U.S. English,
The political lobbying organization
He co-founded, dedicated to making
English, the official language of the United States.
Hayakawa: a wooly conservative of his own design;
No wonder Governor Reagan loved him.

Dr. S.I. Hayakawa, a colorful and polarizing
Figure in California politics during the 1960s and 70s.
Can we forgive his daily afternoon naps.
Asleep on the floor of the U.S. Senate,
Leaving California so pathetically,
So ostensibly under-represented.
Senator Sam’s comatose presence at
Washington-on Potomac; the
District of Columbia.
A long time ago,
In a distant galaxy . . .
Far, far away.

TEAR GAS.
Alas, long before he got to Washington,
Long before ever setting foot off campus,
He called for tear gas to
Disperse those pesky college kids.
I repeat myself for emphasis:
He authorized the use of tear gas at SF State.
Tear gas: a lachrymatory agent?
Actually, a potentially lethal
Chemical agent . . .
(Yeah, Chemistry!
To wit: Sgt. Sara Brown,
Referencing “Guys & Dolls” again.)
Outlawed for use during wartime,
Banned in international warfare
Under both the 1925 Geneva Protocol; & the
Chemical Weapons Convention;
“Tear gas:  a weapon of war against
The people. We believe that
Tear gas remains a chemical weapon
Whether used on a battlefield, or city streets.”

Thus, history will be your judge,
You unleashed tear gas on college kids,
So I wouldn’t expect a rep makeover
Any time soon, Ichiye-san, my ichiban friend.
Slavica Apr 2015
Ustajali grad
Smrdi na puna usta i
prazne želuce.
U pete grada urezane su
propuštene prilike i
strahovi sadašnjice.
Uklesali su ih drhtavi prolaznici
svojim nesigurnim stopama.
Kamo ideš, putniče?
Koračaju li tvoje misli sadašnjošću
ili prošlošću?
Ne srami se.
Svi smo mi manje-više isti.
Udarac palicom osjetit će i najtvrđa glava.
Ljudi zaborave trenutke
u kojima si mirisao.
Ne srami se.
Baš te pamtit će
ustajali grad.
2014.
judy smith May 2016
For the fifth year in a row, Kering and Parsons School of Fashion rolled out the ‘Empowering Imagination’ design initiative. The competition engaged twelve 2016 graduates of the Parsons BFA Fashion Design program, who "were selected for their excellence in vision, acute awareness in design identity, and mastery of technical competencies." The winners, Ya Jun Lin and Tiffany Huang, will be awarded a 2-week trip to Kering facilities in Italy in June 2016 and will have their thesis collections featured in Saks Fifth Avenue New York’s windows.

The Kering and Parsons competition, which is currently in its fifth year, is one of a growing number of design competitions, including but not limited to the LVMH Prize, the ANDAM Awards, the Council of Fashion Designers of America/Vogue Fashion Fund, and its British counterpart, the Woolmark Prize, the Ecco Domani fashion award, and the Hyères Festival. among others.

In the generations prior, designers were certainly nominated for awards, but it seems that there was not nearly as intense of a focus on design competitions as a means for designers to get their footing, for design houses to scout talent, or for these competitions to select the best of the best in a especially large pool of young talent. Fern Mallis, the former executive director of the Council of Fashion Designers of America and an industry consultant, told the New York Times: “Take the Calvin [Kleins] and the Donna [Karans] and the Ralph [Laurens] of the world. Some of these people had money from a friend or a partner who worked with them, but they weren’t out spending their time doing competitions and winning awards to get their business going.” She sheds light on an essential element: The relatively drastic difference between the state of fashion then and fashion now. Fashion then was slower, less global, and (a lot) less dominated by the internet, and so, it made for quite different circumstances for the building of a fashion brand.

Nowadays, young designers are more or less going full speed ahead right off the bat. They show comprehensive collections, many of which consist of garments and an array of accessories. They are expected to be active on social media. They are expected to establish a strong industry presence (think: Go to events and parties). They are expected to cope with the fashion business that has become large-scale and international. They are expected to collaborate to expand their reach, and while it does, at times, feel excessive, this is the reality because the industry is moving at such a quick pace, one that some argue is unsustainably rapid. The result is designers and design houses consistently building their brands and very rarely starting small. Case in point: Young brands showing pre-collections within a few years of setting up shop (for a total of four collections per year, not counting any collaboration or capsule collections), and established brands showing roughly four womenswear collections, four menswear collections, two couture collections, and quite often, a few diffusion collections each year.

The current climate of 'more is more' (more collections, more collaborations, more social media, more international know-how, etc.) in fashion is what sets currently emerging brands apart from older brands, many of which started small. This reality also sheds light on the increasing frequency with which designers rely on competitions as a means of gaining funds, as well as a means of establishing their names and not uncommonly, gaining outside funding.

The Ralphs, Tommys, Calvins and Perrys started off a bit differently. Ralph Lauren, for instance, started a niche business. The empire builder, now 74, got his start working at a department store then worked for a private label tie manufacturer (which made ties for Brooks Brothers and Paul Stuart). He eventually convinced them to let him make ties under the Polo label and work out of a drawer in their showroom. After gaining credibility thanks to the impeccable quality of his ties, he expanded into other things. Tommy Hilfiger similarly started with one key garment: Jeans. After making a name for himself by buying jeans, altering them into bellbottoms and reselling them at Brown’s in Manhattan, he opened a store catering to those that wanted a “rock star” aesthetic when he was 18-years old with $150. While the store went bankrupt by the time he was 25, it allowed him to get his foot in the door. He was offered design positions at Calvin Klein (who also got his start by focusing on a single garment: Coats. With $2,000 of his own money and $10,000 lent to him by a friend, he set up shop; in 1973, he got his big break when a major department store buyer accidentally walked into his showroom and placed an order for $50,000). Hilfiger was also offered a design position with Perry Ellis but turned them down to start his eponymous with help from the Murjani Group. Speaking of Perry Ellis, the NYU grad went to work at an upscale retail store in Virginia, where he was promoted to a buying/merchandising position in NYC, where he was eventually offered a chance to start his own label, a small operation. After several years of success, he spun it off as its own entity. Marc Jacobs, who falls into a bit of a younger generation, started out focusing on sweaters.

These few individuals, some of the biggest names in American fashion, obviously share a common technique. They intentionally started very small. They built slowly from there, and they had the luxury of being able to do so. Others, such as Hubert de Givenchy, Alexander McQueen and his successor Sarah Burton, Nicolas Ghesquière, Julien Macdonald, John Galliano and his successor Bill Gaytten, and others, spent time as apprentices, working up to design directors or creative directors, and maybe maintaining a small eponymous label on the side. As I mentioned, attempting to compare these great brand builders or notable creative directors to the young designers of today is a bit like comparing apples and oranges, as the nature of the market now is vastly different from what it looked like 20 years ago, let alone 30 or 40 years ago.

With this in mind, fashion competitions have begun to play an important role in helping designers to cope with the increasing need to establish a brand early on. It seems to me that winning (or nearly winning) a prestigious fashion competition results in several key rewards.

Primarily, it puts a designer's name and brand on the map. This is likely the least noteworthy of the rewards, as chances are, if you are selected to participate in a design competition, your name and brand are already out there to some extent as one of the most promising young designers of the moment.

Second are the actual prizes, which commonly include mentoring from industry insiders and monetary grants. We know that participation in competitions, such as the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund, the Woolmark Prize, the Swarovski, Ecco Domani, the LVMH Prize, etc., gives emerging designers face time with and mentoring from some of the most successful names in the industry. Chris Peters, half of the label Creatures of the Wind (pictured above), whose brand has been nominated for half of the aforementioned awards says of such participation: “It feels like we’ve talked to possibly everyone in fashion that we can possibly talk to." The grants, which range anywhere from $25,o00 to $400,000 and beyond, are obviously important, as many emerging designers take this money and stage a runway show or launch pre-collections, which often affect the business' bottom line in a major and positive way.

The third benefit is, in my opinion, the most significant. It seems that competitions also provide brands with some reputability in terms of finding funding. At the moment, the sea of young brands which is terribly vast. Like law school graduates, there are a lot of design school graduates. With this in mind, these competitions are, for the most part, serving as a selection mechanism. Sure, the inevitable industry politics and alternate agendas exist (without which the finalists lists may look a bit different), but great talent is being scouted, nonetheless. Not only is it important to showcase the most promising young talent and provide them with mentoring and grant money, as a way of maintaining an industry, but these competitions also do a monumental service to young brands in terms of securing additional funding. One of the most challenging aspects of the business for young/emerging brands is producing and growing absent outside investors' funds, and often, the only way for brands' to have access to such funds is by showing a proven sales track record, something that is difficult to establish when you've already put all of your money into your business and it is just not enough. This is a frustrating cycle for young designers.

However, this is where design competitions are a saving grace. If we look to recent Council of Fashion Designers of America/Vogue Fashion Fund winners and runners-up, for instance, it is not uncommon to see funding (distinct from the grants associated with winning) come on the heels of successful participation. Chrome Hearts, the cult L.A.-based accessories label, acquired a minority stake in The Elder Statesman, the brand established by Greg Chait, the 2012 winner, this past March. A minority stake in 2011 winner Joseph Altuzarra's eponymous label was purchased by luxury conglomerate Kering in September 2013. Creatures of the Wind, the NYC-based brand founded by Shane Gabier and Chris Peters, which took home a runner-up prize in the 2011 competition, welcomed an investment from The Dock Group, a Los Angeles-based fashion investment firm, last year, as well.

Across the pond, the British Fashion Council/Vogue Fashion Fund has awarded prizes to a handful of designers who have gone on to land noteworthy investments. In January 2013, Christopher Kane (pictured below), the 2011 winner, sold a majority stake in his brand to Kering. Footwear designer Nicholas Kirkwood was named the winner 2013 in May and by September, a majority stake in his company had been acquired by LVMH.

Thus, while the exposure that fashion design competition participants gain, and the mentoring and monetary grants that the winners enjoy, are certainly not to be discounted, the takeaway is much larger than that. These competitions are becoming the new way for investors and luxury conglomerates to source new talent, and for young brands to land the outside investments that they so desperately need to produce their collections, expand their studio space, build upon their existing collections, and even open brick and mortar stores.

While no one has scooped up inaugural LVMH winner Thomas Tait’s brand yet or fellow winner, Marques'Almeida, it is likely just be a matter of time.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney
Adeeb Waren Mar 2013
Coffee and cigarettes. Barbecues and ball games
An unordinary lifestyle. Is this the aim?

Doing 9 to 5's and friday nights with friends
Eating, being merry, drinking away weekends.

Routine is good. Routine is healthy.
This is the right thing. This is becoming wealthy.

Financial success. A roof over our head.
Three well balanced meals and an inviting bed.

A partner to care for and who cares for you.
So grow up, you dreamer. Get over your post grad blues.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.like any western, but unlike every western... the true grit... one eyed... it's not called: i'm blinking... it's called... the blink. the English language can never have... what is it... gender neutrality? the words are already gender neutral! the words in the English are neither masculine, or feminine... it's ******* to ask for something that's already in place! you know what obstructs the gentrification of words in the English language? how the sun is not feminine and the moon is not masculine? the articles... the English orientated their language around a-the        slightly missing the -ism... the English didn't create their language with a gender orientation of nouns, but other European languages orientated their nouns around gender inclusiveness... but you can't just... change the ******* grammar... call a triangle a ******* rhombus on a whim that belongs in the asylum... blah blah do ****... is this how civilized language is supposed to disintegrate into?! this is not religion... you can't simply replace grammatical dogma with heretical "protestantism" to gain something counter to 1 + 1 = 2, or a + t + t + e + s +t = attest... yes, confirm... what with that the politicians are doing in Canada... post-nationalism? post-nationalism, ensured with a post-grammatical structure of what should be the post-nationalist playground of the use of language? the two... together?! so... no nationalism, and no grammar... seems about the right time to separate the state from the state... and call the following dynamic: juggle act: catch one if you can! how can you expect to change the grammatical sub-structure of English?! nouns are not gentrified in the equivalent ontology of other, European languages! how can you expect gender neutrality... when the nouns of said language... are already gender neutral!? and that's because English is particular in the definite (the) and the indefinite (a) article articulation... this is the crux... the pivot... as to why nouns are not associated with either femininity or masculinity... which is why i didn't learn French in high-school... i was taught French from the rubric of grammar... i was taught the rules, before i was being taught to speak, and break the rules of speaking English... who the **** requires to learn a language, having to learn the arithmetic of lettering in the encompassing genesis of staging a craft of the linguist with, said grammar?! language is not universal... noun is no surd... verb is no integer... je suis is no 1 + 1 = 2... but like i said before... you're talking about pandering to linguistic retards... they might not be mad enough to enjoy the rainbow plethora of pharmacology... but sure as ****... they're linguistic retards... sorry, the saddest truth is... somehow... the most fun to attest in concurrence; oh right... that western, true grit... well... whether you're John Wayne or Jeff Bridges... one eye still intact? it's not a blinking... it's called the blink... no, and it's not even a blink... see how English is fascinating when singularity and pluralism enters the arena of the direct / indirect articulation? and to think the English wanted to debate a non-existent gender association of nouns that the French, the Polaks can have... but you sorry *******... ain't getting it!

so...

    a juggling act...

(insert a snigger)

   lindsay shepherd's
video: exposing grad school
(my m. a. experience)

and...............

         bon jovi's
blaze of glory

       bon jovi! wooooooooooooo!

god, i'm so stereotypical.
i should have signed up
becoming a side-burner
for some ******* Kentucky
redneck.

p.s. is stereotypical
synonymous
with predictable?
that's actually a genuine question
of, rather than answering the question
itself, answering the per se
curiosity; savvy?

so what is it... Bub "the blue" Clí 'n' Son?
***** needin'
to ****?
watcha gonna do Bub?
               hold up the, "spanker"?!

---------------------------------------

and some days, in england, and it's june,
and 10pm feels like 7pm in some other season
and it reminds me of the white nights
of st. petersburg....
   insomnia and ******* a girl for seven hours...
oh the ******* bit was fun,
don't get me wrong,
   i had to wait 2 weeks before she let me
do it to her in the bath...
****** ready... she was on her period,
but misguided:
  last time i heard...
            ******* on a period eases
the period pains...
      eh... gritty flesh bits on the rubber...
problem? what problem?!

    no wonder then: i hate drinking buddies...
people dumb down upon ingesting
alcohol, i'm talking: 2D objects in 3D space
akin to fern bushes in the 1st tomb raider
(black holes - a paradox,
   a 2D object spinning really fast in
an infinite 3D space... copernican east?
copernican west? i hope the rabbi knows)...

days like this, oh all the days like this...
when you wake up,
jump out of bed... and dance naked in your
room listening to KULT's
          brooklyńska rada Żydów -
two music genres i never got into:
punk and rap...
   well... "mediocre" punk...
   californian, the offspring,
  the usual suspects of the ramones,
*** pistols, stiff little fingers, mainstream *******...
ska... now we're talking...
hip hop contra rap: now we're talking...

such a beautiful day...
    a chestnut mushroom cream sauce with
snippets of turkey, of course the fresh parsley...
bay leaf, one clove, two all-spice buds...

    and... i'm really tired of looking up
h'america's ***...
    i sometimes thank god that i'm not
english for the sole reason that i don't have
to mind the "special relationship",
like i'm being owed or owning someone
for the respects of sharing the same lingo...

you want the other "special relationship"?
it began with Casimir III...
east... well: central europe...
eastern europe without borders,
purely geographic: is situated somewhere
in russia...
          borders condense...
last time i visited the home away from home
i found new music...
pablopavo i ludziki...
             the polonaise and the jews...
how many terrorist attacks in poland
while the islamists were having a funfair
elsewhere? gullible schvabs and swedes...
  (swabians, that's a slang for the ol' deutsche
deutsche back east - kacap ('tss wet snare
on the c) for the russians)...
       0...
                  funny (even)...
the map of recent terrorist attacks...
     and... the map of the spread of the bubonic
plague... a certain region remains
immune...
       even i agreed with my uncle:
better the catholic ******* than islamic
propaganda... mind you...
        sh'ite islam: thumbs up!
always pay due dues to the underdogs...
and if islam truly was a religion
to gobble up all other religions...
      a schism over such a petty affair
including Ali - the son in law of Muhammad
and Muhammad breaking his promise...

    oy vey!
     how else was i going to get out of bed
to dance naked to anything
but the ska song: brooklyńska rada Żydów?
what other option?
      black ox orkestar's bukharian?
                                             oy vey!
funny story from amsterdam...
me and this egyptian were sharing a hostel
room with these two germans,
who wasted 'shrooms on sitting indoors
watching h'american dad...

   we took a different route...
   he smoked, i drank, he had a bottle of
***** with him,
architect, i can't remember his name,
a keen eye for grand doodles in a notebook...
but then i decided to take a ****
after a few beers while he put
headphones into my ears and played
me le trio joubran's - masar...
        i even managed to attract the attention
of a dutch girl who seemed...
rather gobsmacked...
   i literally went into the nod-state
associated with ****** junkies...
but with eyes closed and mouth agape...
feeding off the ****** of the void...
i.e. the ****** of the void?
    when you're not chained to thinking...
the self disintegrates,
              thinking disintegrates...
and with the music: the void became
pulverizing me with vibration after
vibration echoing a chanced comparison
to a heart-beat mingling with
the fuzzy rippling and vibrating effect of
   the eye-sight of some insect...

yes yes... blah blah...
    boasting... boasting my ***...
am i here to feel sorry for myself,
to drown in my take on some perfect love
i could offer?
      no really...
               i've always had the two best
companions to begin with...
my shadow and a blank piece of pixel
paper perfectly coupled to my idle /
itchy finger-tips...
   well, a third: ms. amber...
                         i learned over a year ago
that drinking with familiar people
****** me off... drinking with strangers?
oh sure, great time...
the best times when drinking in public
are with strangers...
"friends" (fwends) are just too nostalgic,
they want to remind you of something,
notably some micro-aggression nonsense
of a past grievance...
                   don't drink with "friends"...
every time i did: i would wake up
the next morning *******...
cursing them, putting on a mocking voice...

me me me... oh poow meeeeeeeeeeee...
   *******...
               so? i learned to adapt in
liking my own company...
it's not much, but sure as **** beats
listening to a bunch of drunken, nagging housewives;
i'm pretty sure a man should have been
in that slot of the space between my
3rd and 4th pint of guinness;
alas! not to be!
Kimmy-Nichole Jul 2011
so this just in.
last night, after a grueling  day of nanny-ing, I went to  the davis consignment store and broused around   finding some numerous  cute tops and shorts as well as purchasing 2 new books to add to my reading collection ( i just finished the time travelers wife.)
so than  around 4pm  I  was heading to B st  where I   was meeting with my future roomate, who by the was amazingly nice and pretty and has a boyfriend and turns 21 in september. Im so excited to leave parkside apts - living in north davis is such a drag. Central Davis here I come  ( Ill be living   5 minutes to  UC davis, an amazing arbotreum, pools, the davis Arc and frat  row and party city. This is going to be the best thing  that has happened to me.)
So after that  I went back to my  apt  and as giddly as ever, called my mom to  tell her my amazing roomate  news.   ( mY moms finally really proud of me. I am working 2 full time jobs as a nanny  from 8:30 am  to 2:30 pm than my night nanny job  4:30 pm to 5:30 am except on wed thur fridays.)
so it being my night off, i   figured why not go out.  so my apartment neighbor whom i met at the gym friend jesse who is 29, studied as a foreign exchange student in finland for a year, gotten a dui, is a davis townie, went to a  college called will-am-eit  and was in a fraternity out there. he is fun to go out with and bar hop in downtown with; the last time i was  out with jesse, i went to a bar called sophias than later on met up with my ex crush who is this charming dbag from winters named chad and got fun drunk. Well in aims for that spirit again we started off  by drinking and laughing at my apt . we decided to go lay out by the hot tub  and drank beer  being sillly kids. we decided to hit up downtown davis for this bar called the grad. It was beach themed  country line dancing night. Yeah , being alone because  your friend is off showing off his line dancing with precision kinda moves and meeting line dancing babes in bikinis ...awkward for sure. so amungst bying my own 2 beers which were hand picked by my big  and sure of himself bartender, which eventually  led to my  very  interesting night of drunken madness. It kicked off on as previously mentioned on the way to the grad which lead to me leaving with this older woman in a cab to another bar that was supposed to be more enertaining.  I ended up forgetting my id at the grad, my phone was dead and to top it all off  i didnt know anyone s number at the top of my head.  i decided to take matters in to my own feet and chose to hoof it back to my apt on f street. god, what a long and stupering night that was.  when i finally made it, out of exhaustion and drunkness , i  collided onto my neighbors couch still in    last nights outfit. karla  woke me up at 7 :30 and i showered  feeling super ****** and groggy , i couldnt eat or drink. I had work at 8:30. not feeling so hot, i was slowly getting through the day. the kids and i all layed on and under blankets and stuffed animals, and i told stories. it was really cute and relaxing. i love those kids.prior to that i threw up. after that it was time to drop off timothy at therapy, than abigail and abraham at speech therapy. I threw up in the bathroom, and on the sideof the minivan in front of ruth and timothy. ugh.    
so  than after i talked to my neighbor  slash ex boyfriend patrick about getting in connection with a a herb that helps me feel better by increasing my appittie and helping me sleep. he provided wth that special  herb. while sitting and smoking, i felt the spark that we used to have. i confessed to sleeping with a guy i met in newport two weeks ago on the fourth of july when i went back home. patrick told me he has hooked up with this slutty townie girl, and i wish them both std free happyness.

here i am typing away , getting sleepier and sleepier. Tonight will be a  early night indeed. i love my new spirit and i love who i am. i love where i am going. i will not exceed more alcohol than my tiny light weight body can handle.. Well it feels good to write. i know i must get back on that writing more often. until next time,
-Kimmy
Timon chukwuonu Dec 2017
OVE
Ove
    As love remove the glove from my eyes like  dark See's the light
In the journey of disprove by true love
So as fox glove can not hold a ladylove from the light in mourning love over me
In a selflove state
I began approve my love with reprove pains in my eyes,
I switch.
Oh your love is sad ,she said "badlove is not mad ,"he replied"
So ,farfad people had no love by their dad
JUST to be grad that my hands is on a footpad or a lush
No love on ove.
Love, attitude towards it
Auroleus Oct 2012
Once not long ago
In the vile state of Utah,
An evil wizard
Impregnated a feral cat with
Mormon seed.
In no time at all,
A litter was born
And all of them died
But one–
Mittens the Kitten.

Mittens grew up with a sense of entitlement
Because the evil wizard filled his head
With the Mormon scriptures.
When Mittens would catch and **** a mouse,
The evil wizard would pet Mittens
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

In the evenings,
Mittens would enjoy a bowl of warm blood.
Sometimes it would coagulate,
But Mittens loved his blood.
He lapped it up
With a a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

The evil wizard was a Harvard Business Grad,
And since feline-humanoids were not accepted
At Harvard Business School,
The evil wizard taught Mittens
All that he knew.
Mittens soaked up the knowledge
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

Some years went by and Mittens
Became a successful business owner.
He would lap up bowls of
Other people's business
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

Fast forward to the present tense
(My personal favorite tense)
And Mittens is running for president.
He uses his magical smirk to cloak his lies
So that naive voters might believe that
They should vote for this cat.
He smirks and he lies
With a vigor that is borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.
Harold r Hunt Sr Jun 2014
The Day after grad.
The day after you grad. You get home not knowing what to do.
Looking through the newspaper.
A butcher, a baker, a Hamburg maker.
No plans at all but just had to call. Mickey Ds or the cow king. They say jobs are good.
I walk the floor I just can't do it no more.
Dam I want to go back to school.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Axt would I, I sed yah soyam

Signing a song played in the white noise that surrounds me

nights like these past 7043,

Who chounted en chant em, enchantemgood

So no we are at what is a befinning place.
beginning (90's too ****, U2 too Northern Euro,
Green Day, Coolio,
Noise to a message dying to be heard
welcome to another
imaginary garden in an ever expanding mind

field of unthinkable things,
back then

we have whiteout but it doesn't work here

My culture had near simultaneous eruptions of supermarkets

and Fords.

This guy, his culture had near simultaneus disruptions of progress and
interruptions of information
some os were lost in the middle synchrony
instance if I cationic plus or minus
simaltan

Oh, I get it. You, dear reader, have been
out of it.
We went public with the entire plan for public
key distribution,
through six palanced stacks of energy stores

Chakra, chi, science make ya think eh. Polarize, see

everything groovy --no
[contemprayery idle intense ify AI keep us current]

lie, good, no lie is always safe. Don't wanna stumble any souls.

I was mentioned, my being a speaker in a story, I was said
to have said something, upon a time,
on the cover of the Rolling Stone,

I witnessed a lie being told and said my ears weren't garbage cans,
like a brainwashed cult

no, **** I was a cultivated follower of a confessed
follower cultivator.

I bloom when I imagine being treated as a mushroom,
I never paid much attention,
I never felt
insane
but
I can imagine
wee whatifs crept in… aha

The Olde Deluder, Satan, Act

that, a tiny gleam, a single ATP gone ADP

but there was light. A story I lived is now being told
without me,
oy vey Jah knowaddamean.

There was a wiseman, who,
by his wis-dom saved a city, and no one knew
that same wiseman's name,

proverbs are intentional games, the rules,
hiding a thing, done by God, glory ifies him
seeking out a matter, done by a being translated king,
transmutes that seeking into honor

Honor is hard to compare to the war flavored twists,
knots and tangles where woof and warp held

long long long before war was imagined, honor was.

A medal of honor for valor, what does it mean?

Leonard Wood got one. For his part in solving
the Apache problem.
He also,

Flash I had my wires crossed, in a way, it may
enlighten.
You see, I had thought that I had read Leonard Wood,
be cause I had imagined he was in New Jersey, but that
was Lord Amherst, Jeff

He tweerted ( wrote in a letter on paper we've a fact simile):
"to try Every other method that can serve to Extirpate this Execrable Race."

From <https://www.umass.edu/legal/derrico/amherst/lord_jeff.html>

Could be the source of the whole shores of triple ease retirement lure/trap/moneymoneymoney makeit fakit

I asked once, who's to blame and whose to blame,
samesame came an answer, I sware, quick as

next, twixt being and being possible,

realize

we do change things, in time, which,

if we can agree, is limited for us,
to now, no thens behind

mere, mere, mere ifs and whens ahead

be

--so there's been music all along
life's the song

skip a decade, like skippin' a grade

grad Harvard at a prepubescent 12

If I had a Hammer time, one message

one valiant try to be will smith,

Live and Learn, old man, say the dude on the radio
in he's hammaheadphones, cain't touch

Bomb. Jesus lent me Jael's hammer,
radioman nailed it.

If I had a hammer was the prayer,

MC, he was the Godsmacked nail in the coffin

Dark inside gothish messages hurgle and gurgle
guts twisted in freak pride love hate list lust

dichotomies of choice in ever learning
good citizenship worth honor and glory

of the sort men dare to die for, facing darkness,
the NULL set ***** and ***** and *****

This ain't gravity tuggin me,
this is that monster who lives forever in top forty radio

When/then Radioman emerges, Like the Mighty Quinn from

deep beneath Gibson's darkest ever imagined ICE wall…

What's on? (ellipses, do those mean POV shift or selah?)

I forget, s still all alchemistry t'me, if allyagots ahammass,

realize, if it matters, t'me, bubble bustin' need no nail.

I gotti'd a hamma, gonna hamma in the moan

O.G., mighty man of valor, where'dyew arise from?

We, the integrated us, non autonomous, inarrogant
We were dancin' to that I'm a Loser, Baby

so why don't cha killme, knowwad i'msayin

This old man been wandern in the desert far far far
side the madding crowd
making minced
meet
broken spirit. we goin together to a re-pair place

at the center of you'n'all you know, yo bubble but

--- everlearning everclear outlawed, good lawed
--- moon shine spiritment lauded out loud
--- the world all ways works when a garden is

beyond the pale,
Irish
rye whiskey, wheat bread liqui
if I were an
old gay ninties guy drinking ***** laudnum
singin'

on the corner with the hourus girl's c

Making the Con Next Ion, watchathank,
is it The Nineties A to Z , ending wit, it’s a hard
knawks life, or

a Bohr-TED talk or
a video of Schrödinger's  
verdamte dead cat?

Or am I surrounded by so great acloud of witnesses that some times I spend

simply hummin' along, life's beat me to the ground,

which gladly,
I'm so glad, I'm glad, I'm glad which

loses its meaning if you never experienced such a fall
ending in absorption of it all.
Ginger Baker, slam that cymbal, CRASH1

Life, in every key, there's a clue. Some where,
there's a lock on a true thing we need

to, eventually, know all things.

Keywords lost givitawaygivitawaygit it back tenfo'

Black spirit-filled tongue talkin' grandpa friend of
Johnny Walker, Red not Black,

He challenged me ye see. I recall what was on TV.
Nixon sayin' he,
honest he,
anti-****** he,
bombin invadin he was Notacrook, the super hero
he imagined

Bio is building energy, all the time does is
test the effort.

Is life lived this way worth the effort?
if/then/else

Who chose, integrated me, all the masks and voices I have accepted as ideas that can have apiece of me.

BTW, kids, even if an angel of light asks you to take a little piece of my heart, don't

yer killin me and I know where the next story started,

you are lost without me, fretnot, I'm the way

I heard that, that's no claim I mist'tok as my response.

Deeper, are we absobbing any thing, deeper tincture
of time, t'me see

POV
SameYesTodayForever (SYTF) protocols have been in place, as far as we know,

since words made sense naturally, eons ago, at least.

If you want my future then forget my past
musing medium messages sayin

what the hell? A game, you sayin' life's a game?

Ja, was oder vice nicks versus universal soldier godlet

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

I woulda danced with wolves to have changed
one mind that followed me

beyond that point,
no return, is such a mortal POV, you see
as far as you cansee

Deep. the gem. all the meaning ever was was
in that gem.

Dare me for no reason? Is that reasonable,
ration my tears to test my mettle

I went mad in 1995, have I made that plain?
Things crumbled around me for ten years,

I was helped by hoping I knew a truth about those
manifested imaginary gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and the meaning og every mystery unknown to man

eh, say again
gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and the meaning OhGEE every mystery unknown to man

lies lies lies they all were lies lies lies lies

I told you so, and it is still sweet to say
you know

You heard it all before, greatest test story ever told.
That was no test.
this is.

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

Epic stories deserve more than mere words,
but, you know, click,

words are what we make things from.

Tell me your stories,
she woulda seemed to whisper, woulda drained me drownd me
in just if I'd love linked

to the money machine of your dreams

had I not rode the grey dog outa Nashville,
back in '82,

I'da missed seein' flyover country that feels like mine,
when I take this POV.
I wandered into a sattelite radio 90's A-Z, kinda like those histories of philosophies old people listen to when they're ******. Oh, the moonshine experiment worked, FYI
Brittany Wynn Mar 2015
For every night we've spent sitting on loveseats
crying about mistakes and burdens promising to haunt
us for the rest of our under-grad, I could've gotten a humanities
degree two years ago.
Mike Bergeron Nov 2011
The other morning,
As opposed to this one,
(There was indeed
Another morning)
As I walked the
10 1/2 blocks to work,
I passed by a playground
Full of post grad
Parents who dress
Real nice
Real fashionable
And all of their
Children who are
Dressed the same, in
Non gender specific
Garb, because it’s
2011 not last century
And they run and
Scream and get
Their thrift store
Clothes all *****,
They laugh and I
Hear crying
And reprimanding
And ‘good job!’
And I can’t help but
See the future in
These kids, with
Their well adjusted
Parents adjusting
Them well to the world
And making sure
They follow all the
Advice in the hip
Parenting and child
Psychology books they
Read, and I see
Among the smiling
Innocent faces
Yet to be
Drug addicts
Wife beaters
Alcoholics
Strippers
Drunk drivers
Liars
Cheaters
Thieves
Heartbreakers
And the occasional
College grad
Who will be well
Adjusted
And will adjust
The child they have
At 34
Very well to the
New society
So that
Child can become
A date ******
Or a car thief
Or a vagrant
Or maybe a college
Grad who
Will be well adjusted
And adjust their child well.
Our children are the future.
Go to school, kids.
Adjust.
Nicole Sep 2018
Dear Me,

I love you and
I know I haven't been fair to us
For most of our life really
I tend to let others lead me
Sway my desires
And otherwise dictate my life
I think I'm afraid to admit that I'm real
That I'm alive and a person
Due to our ****** up past
But that's not an excuse anymore
There are good things in life now
Top surgery in November
Our job has picked back up again
And we're experiencing grad school
I understand that life is scary and
That nothing seems good for long
But we can move towards happiness
Choose to see the good in things
Stop complaining and
Focusing on the bad things in life
We can grow together
Find ourselves
And finally find the best way to be happy
OUR best way
We got this
I love you

-Carter
I've been spiraling really badly lately, but I know it will get better and that I can make it better with time.
Malcolm McGill Jun 2013
laying horizontally is an eastern
yoga relaxant for food babies.

I learned this while running in Chinatown
with stolen cash after a mob dinner.

the bodyguard knocked me out and my
stomach felt great as I layed their on the street.

aside from the headache,
and the mild Head-On addiction

I was fine and very sleepy.
M E Sills Nov 2011
I

If I were a poet
I would compose beautiful line
breaks and elegant stanzas.

Similes would be ******* scattered
with alliteration like
stars against a sunset sky.

My tone would be of reason
rather than innocence.
I would refuse to analyze
the meaning of death in literature.

              II

Fortune cookies would be my mantra
and life would be a wiggle
instead of a struggle.

I would pray five times a day
to my journal
most benevolent, ever-merciful.

My poems would not be of peace
of war
or (you)nity
or them here Amur'cans.

              III

My form would be indifferent
and probably never earn me awards
or acceptance to grad school.

Fondness of (parentheses)
may get me compared to e.e. cummings
or completely dismissed
if I were a poet.
Brandon Halsey Jan 2012
This is one of those serious poems
And yet it has nothing new to say
But the poet needs to keep himself busy
And writing seems to be the easiest way

The poet rises up on his soapbox
Because he works better from an elevated height
He screams about organized religion, politics
And stripping away of our basic human rights

Like a magician with a classic misdirection
The poet wraps his moralizing in purple prose
He hits you over the head with one simple point
That he’s forgotten more than you’ll ever know

Around the time of the nineteenth obscure reference
The reader is in awe of his far-reaching knowledge
Then the poet overuses polysyllabic words
Just to prove he went to a good college

And the poet keeps filling up the notebooks
Even though he should have stopped long ago
But the publisher agreed to pay by the word
So unfortunately, there’s four more stanzas to go

Quickly, the release date approaches
There’s one printing, then two, then three
And the poem becomes a hit in coffee shops
Recited by grad students in between bites of biscotti

His face now graces the cover of every magazine
In an explosion of exuberant media admiration
Dozens of talk show appearances are scheduled
For the newly crowned “voice of our generation”

The publisher decorates the dust jacket with blurbs
Complimenting the book’s “dangerously original rhymes”
But it’s nothing more than passing hyperbole
Gathered from a glowing review in The New York Times

Now thousands grasp the paperback edition
And eagerly await the feature film adaptation
Meanwhile, the poet hunches over his typewriter
And commits more sententious literary *******
Chuck Jul 2014
His name is Zachary James
But he's shouted at by many names
Running man or crazy jogger
Pushing all he needs in a stroller
Dodging cars like a game of Frogger
His passion for running is a benefactor  
Of his compassion for humanity
Running across the country is insanity
Knows politics better than Sean Hannity
A motor city kid and an Eastern Michigan grad
Thought he'd run to correct a world gone mad
Our paths crossed on the vicious highway 322
If you're lucky, fate will send him your way too
I'm proud to host such a fine young philanthropist
But soon he'll run off into the mysterious mist
Yet he will jog on proud and steadfast
With our help reaching his goals at last
Run for the children and for the love of running
Run for life and eternity hereafter coming
He is running from NYC to San Fran to raise money for children in poverty. Please help him on his journey if possible and/or help him combat childhood poverty. His website is compassionrun.org. And you can follow him on Twitter: @mrjubjub.
Yenson Aug 2019
What failures
oh the failures of leaving home at seventeen
of living and thriving as a minority foreigner
of working and studying to post-grad levels
of maturing wonderfully and being up and decent
of loving and marrying and creating a good home
of no crime, no debts, not a drunk, not a player
of no stained reputation, no borrowing or theft
of being easy-going, nice and friendly, an all-rounder
what failures
the failure of being successful and capable in grace
the failure of doing so well a white neighbor burgled
the failure of saying that's not right, you're rotten thieves
the failure of standing up to bullying thieving mobs
the failure of being gangstalked and destroyed
the failure of being an educated professional black
the failure of being a solid, courageous, wholesome man
the failure of knowing you can't do wrong and get by
Ladies and Gentlemen
these are my failures
Its all there in black and white
its the failure of being a minority
In the british democracy of the Socialists
for it is greed to work hard and be successful
its a failure for blacks to aspire and do well when your white
neighbor is a drunken, welfare dependent waster and thief
And Blacks beware, for if you dare tell them to go change
you will be stalked, hounded, smeared, defamed, humiliated
harassed, bullied, slandered, sabotaged, and basically driven to
suicide or a breakdown
They manufacture Failures to reflect their own failures
They call it Trading Places and dish it out to 'Uppity' Blacks
Hey, listen now

You can't be wrong and get right
No matter how hard you may try
Anything that is in darkness, must come out in light
For you can't be wrong and get right

Now if you tell a little lie and think you get away
Cheat a little bit, then you will have to pay
'Cause when you think it's peace and safety, my friend
Sudden destruction's your end
Lauren Jul 2019
I find myself paddling against the current.

Those ahead ask why I am falling behind.
Those behind don’t see how every stroke wears me down.

It takes everything I have just to stay afloat.
"We began this race after you and have already overtaken you, how pathetic."

I want to give up.
"You have to keep going, you’ve already made it so much farther than us!"

I want to be better.
"Then BE better."

I don’t have the strength.
"You wouldn’t have made it this far if you weren’t strong!"

I worry the current is stronger than I am.
"It is no stronger than ours surely."

My canoe strains against the pressure.
"Your canoe is a GIFT, you mustn't waste it!"

I close my eyes for the briefest of spells, try to steal just a moment of rest.
As I reopen them… I realise that it’s gone.
My goal. What was my goal again?

I have been paddling in this current so long...
Where was I going again?

All I remember is the agony of each stroke,
The words of condemnation for my failures
The presupposition of my achievements.

"You’re a disappointment, you should give up."
"If you give up, you will be a disappointment."

"You’re not good enough to be here."
"You’re too good not to be there."

"Look at your failures!"
"Focus on your accomplishments!"

My canoe breaks, and I am plunged into the icy waters of uncertainty.
I have forgotten what my own voice sounds like.
I need to hear it.
I open my mouth to remind myself, but nothing comes out.
Instead, the current consumes me; inside and out.
What could have been and what could never be are gone.

I am gone.
Joshua Haines May 2014
Caged organs never sounded so beat
Bone marrow around the brass meat
I'm a toxic lover with love around my waist
And afraid of poisoning, as you taste waste
Cleaning toxins out of my sheets with chemicals.

(commercial break)

Ay-yeah-ya-yeah-yeah
Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-wa

Breathe me all the ways to stay away
Blood on bathroom tiles that run for miles like crimson Niles
Just stay

Ay-yeah-ya-yeah-yeah
Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-wa

(Okay, we're back.)

Coals in your cold coat holes
I know you're happy now
I hope you're warm with fingers intertwined
within the future in your ribcage
feel your organs to know you're alive
your heartbeats beat because of a stolen car.
I feel-

(change the station)

Drive me, my baby. I'll turn you out in time. Don't you recognize
you're the only thing I want in sight. I could change your-

(change the station)

You're the one for me. You are my-

(change the station)

I hope you like it like you love it when you should like it because you love it without liking it with loving it within loving and without loving with love and without like because liking is love and love is liking what is liked to be loved within and without. Here's God with the weather.

(change the station)

Green and cotton, that's a lovely chair, I could make love from over there
without a percocet. Un-un-un-un.
Touch the eyes that boil within; you find me nice but I'm not applicable
because I'm a lonely boy without a dog.
And I,
am
God.
And I,
am
God. Nod.

Sugar sweet, silver sweep,
I could touch you in familiar places in unfamiliar ways
I get lost in the boulevard of a sweatshirt
And I,
am
without.
And I,
am
without. Route.

Mhm, that's not a smile,
that's a thirty-foot crocodile
waiting to take a chunk outta my heart.
Art-Art-Art-Art-Art?
******* in separate dreams with the same meaning,
blood boiling in coffee pots and soldiers
without a cover.
Tame me like a child in uniform, from the universe.
Cake drugs like it's an icecream cone. Jesus loves you.
**** in another room
to feel the same.
**** in another mindset
to feel sane. Train.

I'm not a river of veins suffocated by milk skin,
to be without a busted lip is to be kissing without pain.
And to be your God
is to be ******* insane. ******* in a bathub.

Mhm,
you're a painting within a crooked house
inside a straight housewife's flamboyant blouse.
You're sippin' on God and Orange Julius
without a straw.

Ripping out red ribbon rays from rayon replays of a river in ruin
really what did you expect to do with that sort of information
I could cancer caulk chalk with every other walk
to seal your home without home inflammation.

Jesus on a candle clock, with a nail in each hand of the hour
I feel nothing but sugar shame when I sail past his shower.
And I,
am
without remorse.
And I,
am
without remorse. Force.

Candy-coated ***** candidly corroding colored coats into capes
callously creating cowardice,
can you be more?

I have a way to remove myself from great events
and a way to sell lies wrapped up in honest packages.
To be without and which way would you run with me
if I were not a twenty-three
in your eyes,
meteorological decline.

And the winds
carry
me home.
And your eyes
carry
me home.
And your lips
carry
me home.
And your hands
carry
me home.
Home again.

(change the station)

Bone marrow
in my back
touch me, I wanna feel
Give it up
Give it up
I want to make love in love
I want to die and donate
a part of myself
my backbone, lack thereof

(change the station)

Tie a noose around a highschool grad
attach to a college rule to rule how to think the same
because a couple of IDs and free games
help you understand how you understand how you understand
how you understand how you understand how you understand

Dreams.

Whoops.

****.

Two twenty-three inside a church for me because God doesn't have
a responsible doorman, just an abused son and a plot-hole plan.

(change station)

Save the opera for the quiet drinks
I wanna think, I wanna think

(change station)

Sonic tendencies
suicidal sound
My heart is left in a bone,
bone marrow
I'm a broken calcium stick
surrounded by health
I waste away
Waste away for you
Oooh,
I love.

I tried to stay my overstay.

(change the station)

Bronze your lips, I want to kiss you green.
Wait. I could be the best.
Don't walk too far because it feels like walking away.

(change the station)

Super fast
in the past
Emily Marie Jul 2015
"You aren't going to find Mr. Right at a bar"
That is what I am told
Of course I believe it
Where else shall I meet him?
Should I wear my hipster dress and sit at the local coffee shop,
Drinking herbal tea from environmentally friendly cups,
And hope the man of my dreams comes up and says,
"I love that book also you're intelligent and gorgeous and will you go out with me?"
No time for lounging at coffee shops
So maybe I'll frequent the....
Nope. Can't think of anywhere else.
Back to the bars I go!
Lily Taylor Oct 2016
Disgraceful,
I'm against the course of what is right
and what's wrong.
I see day by day
as something to ride along.
I know a future should be present
and a goal can be set,
but when I'm back into school
My mind just resets.
Every day with no cause
all information retrieved
I suddenly lost.
All the inspiration within
does come with a cost.
Another waitressing job
In a town that's forgot.
beautyshesmear Jun 2016
slap the box and
call me poison-us-
with fight songs,
not our trees.

The leaves fall
halo-like the root
ground angels that
they are.

Thats something
im gonna say I remember
tires, pavement and small
wet kisses.

Tired, paying and seams
of brain, hitting the floor
dancing. Dancing.

Dance, prance, stamped
on the back of my neck,
nicknamed. Self-proclaimed.

And,
I probably wont remember your name.

The game is in the tough turf,
rough birds, reads yellow on
red, branded
Crimson at birth.

I heard it the first time…
Denny Chimes. I got
soul,

but I am not sold, here.
You no arts kid.
You ***** breathed skid.
You ******* no color bid.
You wise eyed pig.
coonass roux grit rig.
pompous junk drunk jig.
keg king fit for fear fig.

God is in the pavement,
and the Bible is on my belt.

And I cant STAND the fact that
you need help.

roundin up the wheels
of my drinks in hand
till the cows don't come home.

I dont want to be alone,
sing till the loam becomes sand.
And its quick,
to fall far from plan.

You're skinny and you misstep,
but I kept the ideas on head,
not a.
I walked down that sidewalk,
liked I owned the place.

And I did,
when I was not the case…
I screamed at your window,
a few months later.

I hope you heard me.

I DONT CARE IF YOU’RE A STAR!
did you hear me?
My skin may bubble,
but its not allowed to scar.

And it doesnt
because I said so.
If I could go back,
I would heal from you.

Blue.

Loves in
two,

more
than
two…

less than two.


One.


One decision I did not make,
changed my fate.
a date.

Now labeled and baited.
again and again
and again.
Tell me of my sins.

I wanna smash that
bullet between your ears.
Its been jamming around for years.

You wanna root my fears
in what is up here,  perhaps
appears
before mirrors.

shards halfway into you,
we broke through and became one.

Tears, terrors,
and pinkie swearers before God
(waittryitagainImeanit)
BEFORE GOD…

I love you.

Above all,
I adore you.
implore you,

to see this,
in true
living
lovers.
Count my confessions
one
two
three
its too many to say
what I ran from,
but,
I can name the cracks
in the concrete
four
five
six
I didn't pick up any
thick licks of honey
ringing the horns that
sounded the years
of long bad ticks.
I don’t have
     any
new tricks
seven
eight
nine
im fine
ten
and I've hurt you again.

Thats a lie and I just might win.

sly over there, a violin of concocted *** coils
of Cmon— let me hear that again.

Your songs are lucid and the spit is acid.
Thats why I became his main assettttttttttttttt
tttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt
t t talk is cheap
but my body is cheaper…

You looked at me that way,
spinning my hay for whats its worth
and at least
you fed it to your horses.

everything runs its courses,
the forces
carry my wheels packed with my life
in a bag.
Jet lagged from flights to hell
and back-packed ready
to see my God in the pavements— away close to home
with the Bible on my belt.

I felt
the tilted welt
split its rock
and crumble tumble down my throat
into my gullet
swift like velvet, memories tell it…

That my fiction is now Non,
and the friction is gone—down the road


with me.
been awhile, good to be back.
Alexis J Meighan Oct 2012
Unknown, conceived, and unaware
His first breath, his first words
His first steps, his first girl
He screams from hunger
Teary eyed and bawling for his mother
The world seems too big for his tiny hands
But in his lifetime, the world would be in his grasp
First day in class
Alone
Learning the basics
The path walked by legends, scholars, and warriors
Shapes colors and words
A long time in no time
First kiss the prom night
Life long friends then grad night
His first love, his first wife
His first child, his first highlight
First loan for his first home
Stock market on the rise
He takes full advantage
Market crashes
And they manage
Business man with business plan
Older brother, caring friend
Loving father, devoted husband
There for his child's first breath
His first words, his first steps
The day would come when he would pass
Now the chance
His first born from his first home
Raised to be the man he was and so much more
He followed in his fathers first footsteps.
Once follower now leading
Repeat these example for words are fleeting
From next to next
as is man

-Alexis J Meighan-
Annie Ramos Sep 2012
Spread thin
I feel as if I’m being pulled in every direction
I've never been more stressed in my life
Exams coming up, on which my livelihood depends on
But that’s not the end
It’s actually just the beginning
I have several projects due within two days
Ones I haven’t even started
Papers to write
That are half worked through
Lessons to plan
That will probably go horribly wrong
Bills to pay
And no job
I don’t even have time to study for those exams
The ones on which my future livelihood depends on
Exams I can’t even afford in the first place
And will most probably have to retake
….A third time
So yes, I’m feeling anxious
Spread thin
Very stressed, and badly needing it to all
Stop
I think the title speaks for its self. It's how I'm feeling right now yesterday and tomorrow
Sierra Scanlan Nov 2017
tomorrow's thanksgiving,
i've been trying to avoid
thinking about this day
for weeks.

i've lodged the thought of
it out of my head,
i've buried it away
but i can no longer
avoid it.

i don't want to
stare at an empty
place at the table.

four plates,
four forks,
four spoons,
four knives,
four glasses,
instead of five.

having to fill the silence
with questions about
school and post-grad life,
to steer the topic away
from how empty and sad
we feel without you.

at some points,
seven months
feels the same
as one.

time physically passes by,
and the next thing i know,
it's been seven months
rather than three.

it feels subjective to me,
i've been waiting for time
to mend me and my
hurting heart
but the day hasn't
come.

living with the loss
of you will always
sting,
even if it's just a bit.

i will stare at
the empty place
tomorrow and wonder
why you had to be taken
from me.

i give thanks for the 21
years i had with you
but they'll never feel like
enough.

do they celebrate
thanksgiving in heaven?
n stiles carmona Apr 2019
(No puedo hablar la lengua.)
I cannot speak my father's native tongue.
(No puedo hablar suficiente...)
At least, not enough of it to get by.
(...no entiendo, lo siento.)
The body I inhabit feels like foreign territory.
(No lo se.)
My grasp of it ends here.

I. OTRA VIDA

Dia de san valentin, 2000: mi padre aprendió inglés por amor; voló a través del mar Mediterráneo. Él tiene miedo de los sonidos cuando trata de hablar. Pero él lo intenta. Él habla casi perfectamente -- mientras, estoy teniendo una conversación uno-a-uno con Google. Es vergonzoso.

I recall two or three trips, max. There's a blend of urban and natural that's a haven for the eye -- the buildings themselves are seduced by the sun; divine blends of amber, tawny, white. Classically Romantic. That nighttime humidity fogs up your lungs and makes it feel like a hug. There was a time when we were poised to move back there - and in Dad's case, another, nearly leaving without any desire to take me with him.

My makeshift home is built upon stereotypes: orange trees, olive oil, generous glasses of vino. Pienso qué un otra vida where I'm stood on the beach at dusk, with heavy-lidded eyes and ears attuned to cicadas and rolling waves. This is narcissistic lust for the woman I could've been - she is all smiles, bilingual, peace embodied. Those are the nights when I'm not careful: she leaves my bed by morning.

II. ESTA VIDA

To mourn the "what ifs" shows a lack of gratitude for what is, and god, what luck! For inglés to be the second most-spoken language, de-facto "centre of the universe"! To migrate most anywhere and get by; for the Western world to be coerced into Anglophonic bliss since tourism makes their ends meet!

On a holiday, I clam up ordering "una batista fresa" and get a taste of how my father feels. José Francisco: his colleagues call him Frank, in the same way I shun my legal surname because a Spanish 'LL' is too hard for others to grasp. I reek of privilege - post-post-Franco, white European, playing with my non-language behind closed doors. There's private delight in a rolled 'r': momentarily, I'm local, not a mere faux-foreigner appropriating my own heritage. Ironic - he tries to be "less immigrant" whilst I've got the fortune of trying to be more.

I was born into a universe of possibilities. A million options feel like fate -- screenwriter, Oxford grad, Spanish barmaid-or-waitress-or-I'll-take-whatever -- each unchased path is a reminder that, somehow, I'm choosing wrong. I've never perceived myself as small (ex-tall child, "ex"-chubby kid with a head outstretching the clouds, first of the eleven-year-olds to grow **** and got gawped at like I'd grown an extra nostril). Outside this hall of mirrors, I am tiny -- too small to have this many dreams -- manifesting as terror-borne paralysis because I want to do more than I'm built for. Solution: aim smaller or grow up.
half-whiny, half-dreaming. i don't normally rely on google translate - i'm trying to self-teach with duolingo (occasionally enlisting grammatical help via dad).
L A Lamb Sep 2014
Call me an alcoholic,
Druggie, ******. I am none of these things.
I have my fits and fiends of wanting **** and wine, but
I am fine.

Have you ever written letters you don’t send?

I don’t think it was really unfair of me, but there were certainly better ways. It might’ve been easier if I’d said no—a jab to alert you of the no-ness—but I wanted to say yes, even though I knew I would possibly say later “I can’t”.

I’ve liked you for a while. I denied it for some time. Even though we dated briefly and it seems like smoke now, it validated the summers we spent together. Even in 2011 I liked you; last year I did and was scared to; this year I let it happen. I couldn’t control it. I saw you and wanted you, I had to; I had you. You were more than summer ******* and we both know it. It was hard to say and acknowledge though, because summer things come up. You’re not like other “lifeguards” I “******” though, and I know I’m not just another lifeguard you ****** either. We’re friends. We were something.

I’m sorry I left suddenly, rashly and didn’t talk to you for a week.. but I know you’re not emotionally weak and you dealt with it even if it confused or surprised you. It was a defense mechanism on my part. I wouldn’t have known how to approach you or maintain a long distance relationship, especially since I’m living with Rachel.. of course you could’ve visited, but it would’ve been uncomfortable once you left and we both know that. This situation has already been mapped out and I think we both knew the outcome of this fall. We’re friends however, well, I actually value you as one, and I would like to see you and hang out. Maybe I’ll hit you up when I’m back in the area—if you want to see me, that it—and as I said, if you’re in Annapolis and want to go out some weekend that’s possible. I wouldn’t even have to stay with you if it were too much; I could hang out with Katie. But either way would be fun, I think.

So I didn’t want a relationship. Yet here I am, trying to communicate and write you… yesterday was weird. I realized an entire week had passed since I left you and didn’t say anything. I wanted to write you. I texted you to make sure it was okay. Maybe you thought it was a bit ****** up or maybe you weren’t phased, but either way I’m sorry I left like that. I didn’t know how else to leave.

Please know, however, that I wanted to be your girlfriend, even if it was just for a little bit of time. I used to think dating you wasn’t even something to consider because neither of us seemed to be interested in a relationship and we are the type of people who don’t usually get attached. I have problems with that. And right now I’m in an awkward situation here because I told Rachel I don’t want to have *** with anyone right now—which I don’t (Salisbury is STD and I’m clean, plus I’m kind of emotionally drained and even though *** is physically fun it brings a lot of baggage.. not that I’m attracted to anyone here anyways but this fall is about ME and getting awesome grades/working on grad application stuff/trying not to lose it)—and she is included in that.

I did have *** with her when I came here though… I guess it was “I missed you,” ***, or “I don’t want to feel with emotions regarding Drew so I’m going to ******* as a distraction” ***, or maybe even “I wonder if we can just have *** as friends without any relationship ties,” ***.. which can’t happen either. She likes me still, or loves me, or whatever. I don’t know how because I’ve been so emotionally distant but I guess she misinterpreted me being nice/being down for *** for still caring about her that way. Between finishing my class, worrying about working and being around her (just her for now, the other roomies should be here next week) I’ve pushed down thinking about you because it was hard to. I remember last year and how it was then, too. Things don’t seem to change much.

Rachel asked about you. I told her honestly. I told her that I couldn’t attach to her the same and that I liked you and I’m sorry I hurt her this summer, but last year she got a boyfriend and I had you.. then I left and she still had him and I wasn’t sure how you felt, but I met Ben and when I realized it wasn’t the way I perceived it to be in my head she was there when I was alone and vulnerable. It took her a long time to admit she liked girls but I’m over it with her, honestly, even though I find her sexually attractive.

When I talked about you, however, she said she would get whatever needed to satisfy all aspects of my bisexuality.. but I told her there was a difference in the way it feels to be with a man, and I thought of you—your warmth, strength and ability to excite me with such passionate heterosexual compulsion.

My mind is so ****** right now. Both of you are part of my past and present although it’s different. I’m not going to sleep with Rachel, and I’m not around to sleep with you (not that you would anyways—although I’m not sure you wouldn’t if the moment was right) so I’m not going to sleep with anyone. *** isn’t always just *** and I am in a situation now where I’m being influenced by feelings and ****** ties and I don’t want any with her. I think about you, though, and it’s easier because I’m not around you but it wasn’t very long ago that I was. I guess I took it for granted. It’s really over now since I’m not coming back to PMSI, but it at least made me happy that I could validate the way I felt towards you. The last boyfriend I had was three years ago, and, besides Rachel, I haven’t been in a relationship. It’s hard for me to like people sometimes, and I don’t know if I can like anyone fully.. that’s why I didn’t want to try with you, really. I didn’t want to lead you on or give you expectations of how our long-distance relationship could’ve been, but I want you to know that I still like you and will have to eventually get over you, but I am going to let time do that instead of distracting myself with other people—that’s what I used to do.

You told me once I was a void you were trying to fill.. I don’t want to be that. I want to be a piece that something can be built on; I want to be an experience on which you can reflect fondly and acknowledge that, although brief and often unclear, was real. You influenced me, shaped me and changed me, for the better, I think. I think we’ll always be cool and I’d like to keep in touch and see you.. but I understand that things may not be as casual regarding the way we act towards one another.

Otherwise, things are okay. I’ll have two jobs this fall, five classes and hopefully a bit of time for chill activity to maintain my sanity but I don’t want to be with anyone here. There’s no way I could. Rachel asked about us.. I told her I didn’t want to talk about it with her. I don’t. I hope she moves on but she’s in her room currently hanging out and I’m doing the same. It’s nice to have time alone to think. I can’t help but feel bad for her.. but feeling bad makes me accessible to her—which I need to stop.
Vernon Waring Oct 2015
SUNDAY, JUNE 7...

I fell between the cushions of his super-comfy sofa
with pretzel salt snuggled between my pages.
Another sign of disrespect for inanimate objects
includes cat ***** stains that now soil my beautiful
maroon leather cover embossed in silver with his
initials. This guy is very mercurial, very spontaneous.
He just started a brand new job last week and he's
decided to leave it because it's "just not" for him.
He's planning to move away to another city, reinvent
himself - and revise his resume -  so he can next
fit into a blue chip job he's never held at some Fortune
500 company he's never worked in...and probably
never will. He's also planning to magically "become"
a Wharton grad which he knows will require a very
attractive resume sure to score points with head
honchos, much more impressive than the associates
degree he actually acquired from some obscure
community college in Jersey. He also plans to "create"
a wife and two kids. Employers, he believes, like
a family man, not a bachelor with a roving eye. Family
men get raises, promotions, they move up, they fit in.
This guy knows no boundaries and he's got it all
figured out. His fictional alter ego will escape detection
because he's pretty certain most companies never
really check the backgrounds of potential employees,
but he qualifies all this by confiding that such a generalization
may not be 100% true.
________________

MONDAY­, JUNE 8...

He has yet again changed his mind. He's not going to
leave the job after all. Some big shot at the company
complimented him on how quickly he's learning the
ropes. Looks like that career renovation is no longer
on the table. And one of the new hires - a redhead
named Lisa - who started the same day he did asked
him to join her for lunch. He digs the forward type so
he says "yes" and it turns out they clicked.
________________

TUE­SDAY, JUNE 9...

****** Day for me! He's now decided to forego any
more diary entries although he refers to me as his
"journal" - obviously a more butch designation than
the antique genteel "diary" of years past. He's decided to
stay on the job, stay focused, blah, blah, blah. Being a diary
is no walk in the park. I've given him all these pages
to confide in...I've given him an outlet for his deepest
thoughts, his wildest dreams, his secret desires, and now
he's ditching me like a cheap suit. (Pardon the cliche.)
Excuse me as I prepare for the old heave-**.
Ingratitude is always a *****!
Cyril Blythe May 2015
24 is an age of paradox. A type of 'adulthood puberty' full of change, hair in strange places or colors, and a continual battering of unprecedented demands and expectations.

Conversations evolve. Your phone calls with parents and family become more frequent and important than ever before. They also consist of bites "Your mother and I were married at 21" "How are your savings going?" "Taxes are due on Tuesday" Something involving grandchildren rears its head weekly. How you talk to friends changes as well. The college friends no longer talk about hilarious nights at the bars-your conversations center on reminiscing, planning trips to the mountains, and genuine encouragement. Scotch and Gin have replaced well drinks and Evan Williams-thanks be to God. If you are blessed to have good friends from high school and eras prior the conversations are a combination of dreaming about the far future, checking in on aging family, and an underlying theme of ******* about work.

Making new friends is ******* exhausting. You are all lonely, craving to be known deeply. Liz Lemon screams the mantra of 24, "Yes to staying in more! Yes to Netflix and night cheese! Yes to drinking a beer alone!" Even the most extravagant of extroverts start to value solitude. This is not bad. This is a sign of growth. Herein enters the necessity of balance; commit to investing in those around you and to investing in yourself.

Parents told us "You can be the president! Fly to the moon! Cure cancer!" Those time-stamped conversations are over a decade old. We settled for status on campus via greek life, leadership positions, or achieving a 4.0 GPA. Post-grad none of us are president of anything nor have we walked the lunar surface. For most, a 5 digit salary without benefits equates our level of success. Some have babies or marriage bands, some have masters degrees. The awakening of 24 is sharp. After two decades of being promised we will all achieve the best, we walk in a daze of wondering if we have failed. We have not. Yet we feel the weight of failure. There is much ahead.

At 24 we learn that the promise of the "much ahead" is not guaranteed. Death becomes terrifyingly more constant. Friends, grandparents, teachers, even ones younger than us seem to be dying at a more rapid rate. This is new and it is terrifying. It teaches the importance of community, conversations, and creating.

We may not yet, or ever, be president of the USA. But we have lived enough to know what skills we enjoy and what talents we harbor. The importance of using them rings deeper than ever before-it resonates in our bones. The joy of a well prepared dinner, a thirty-minute watercolor creation, or a blog post your three followers may or may not read in its entirety is a joy worth the effort.

At 24, we are in transition. We are beginning to admit certain unalienable truths about this world and ourselves. We are beginning to really become.

— The End —