PARODY OF "THE DUCK SONG"

A duck walked down where the Democrats go
And he said to the man runnin' the show:
"Hey! Got any guns?"
The man said: "No, we just sell this *******,
But it's dumb, and I'll bet, you'll buy all of it!
Can we count on your vote?"
The duck said: "No."

Then he waddled away - waddle waddle
'Til the very next day...

When the duck walked down where the Democrats go
And he said to the man runnin' the show:
"Hey! Got any guns?"
The man said: "No, like I said yesterday
We just sell you *******, okay?
Why not vote for our guy?"
The duck said: "Good bye."

Then he waddled away - waddle waddle
Then he waddled away - waddle waddle
Then he waddled away - waddle waddle
'Til the very next day...

When the duck walked down where the Democrats go
And he said to the man runnin' the show:
"Hey! Got any guns?"
The man said: "Look, this is gettin' old.
I mean, ******* is all we've ever sold.
Why not give us your vote?"
The duck said: "How about... no."

Then he waddled away - waddle waddle
Then he waddled away - waddle waddle waddle
Then he waddled away - waddle waddle
'Til the very next day...

When the duck walked down where the Democrats go
And he said to the man runnin' the show:
"Hey! Got any guns?"
The man said: "That's it! If you don't stay the **** away,
you're a terrorist bound straight for Guantanamo Bay.
So give us your vote!"
The duck said: "Adios!"

Then he waddled away - waddle waddle
Then he waddled away - waddle waddle waddle
Then he waddled away - waddle waddle
'Til the very next day...

When the duck walked down where the Democrats go
And he said to the man runnin' the show:
"Hey! Got your Free Speech?"
"What?" "Got your Free Speech?" "No, why would I - oh..."
"Then one more question for you:

"Got any guns?"

And the man just stopped,
The he started to twitch,
He started to cry,
then started to *****.
He said: "Come on, duck,
Let's go to DC.
Talk to Obama,
So you don't have to harass me."

So they went to DC,
And Obama said “Hey”.
Tried to shake the duck's hand,
And the duck said: "Hmm, no thanks.

“But you know what I think?
And this is real as it gets
I think DC...
I think DC...
I think DC
is full of *******."

Then he waddled away - waddle waddle
Then he waddled away - waddle waddle waddle
Then he waddled away - waddle waddle

Feels like I'm fighting forever with these demons
Underestimating the toll it's having on my body
Can't let complications control me, just confuse
Killing the negativity could resolve this

Make me realize what I'm worth
Excite me with the possibilities

Harass me with profound positivity
Accept my unpredictable atrociousness,
Realize, realistically,  that I can love.
Dance with my emotions, set me free.

One million raindrops, sprinting along the window,
Chasing anything and everything.
It's sad to never hear the stories,
Ones that you will never know.
Like one of those raindrops,
I too would live a life of ignorance.

One billion raindrops, diving down
Proving to themselves that they would never drown.
While you sit l comfy in your chair,
Remember those ideas, that you could never share.
Talk about that past, like it's nothing more than the present,
Live your life to the fullest, don't ever resent.

Just know that everyone you pass,
Is undergoing countless problems,
Ones that hurt, shove and harass.
Everyone's fighting a battle,
That you will never, never know,
Like those changing raindrops, raindrops that change to snow.

the soul of Mother Nature
I am a natural born hater
I seek justice and freedom
a life of no illusions
and
no cops to harass me.

There's a distinct difference
between a Cynic and an *******;

One mustn't be one to be the other.

There's a distinct difference
between Criticism and Harassment;

One mustn't harass when critique is due.

We transgenders are not *****,
nor *******.
We transgenders are not tools,
nor autistic or *******.
It is not funny to spit at us.
Or stick notes on our back.
It is not funny to misgender us,
or harass and assault.
It is like we are a fish out of water.
Watching everyone swim.
As we suffocate and die.
See, we transgenders are just like you.
And you see,
We all speak it.
The truth.

it's etiquette, aesthetics in itself? a bit like: art for art in itself? who the hell minds calling etiquette an aesthetic movement, when etiquette only serves itself, rather than an aesthetic for others to observe an call for the: decor in oculus ex spectator... the concept of etiquette ***** sweaty salty ***** in the realm of aesthetics, it's principled for itself alone, and no one else... what it is is: absurd.

i don't understand why the english press
doesn't fathom polish nationalism -
i simply cannot fathom it -
  implying that polish nationalism is
tinged with neo-**** slurs is simply
unfathomable to me,
   might as well add:
at least the poles do not have the problem
to discuss ethnic-cocktails of
3/4 italian a quarter jew...
                   it's not out of bias -
i've lived in england for over 20 years,
i have not pledge a dual-national identity -
and i lean toward using english in
my cognitive realm more than i tend
to entertain using polish -
proof? i can't remember the months
alphabet in polish...
                    a week i can remember,
the nouns, but a year? **** me,
near impossible.
                     yet what bothers me is that
western journalism is afraid of:
not so much the nationalism -
          but the collectivism -
the uniform undisputed collective -
   what scares them is that in poland,
   there is no fringe movement -
   it's populist - they're actually afraid
of what an authentic nation looks like...
   this is not some ***-crack of an alt-right
movement, this is people coming together
without a dialectical impetus, or precursor,
it's a tsunami, an *******,
and for that: there's no chance to slander,
to pick out the weakest antelope,
the youngest, and apply the slander,
the naming, equating that person with
being neo-****... ironically in about 100
years they'll call them polish concentration
camps, rather than german concentration camps,
which is why i once suggested,
pull them apart, and ship them off to
germany...
                    neo-****** doesn't exist
in poland, what western cultures fear
is an actual *nation - a collective -
not bothered whether there is a worthwhile
individualism to be catered for -
put twice simply:
  for all the care for individualism -
western individuals have produced
   a stock of, rather, unspectacular
individuals...
                          this abhorrent politico
of defending the mediocre expressions,
hopeful for the ******* "golden child"
is exhausting - in the anglophone world
i'm either living in an insane asylum,
or a nursery...
      can't decide which...
    but if you look at the most
mediocre person in a collective?
    can you see any mediocre, can you
actually see it? i can't:
because the people have gathered,
        and the tsunami doesn't dismember
you into an individual:
  it dismembers you to align you
into a collective, and as a collective:
     you are a force to be reckoned with.
neo-**** slurs will not work on these people,
you have to gravitate to this conclusion,
when people are united,
they do not feel intimidated...
esp. when there's no ethnic-cocktail
to mind, pick and choosing paternal or
maternal heritage...
                 western journalistic turnip-heads
can't tell the difference between
healthy, collective nationalism,
  and fringe groups in their own
countries...
don't you ******* get it?!
of all the countries in western europe,
what country in the amalgam took an
existential "hiatus" from the history books?
which one became incorporated in
the trinity of prussia, austro-hungary
and russian?
  waiting for a ******* answer...
answer? none!
                        can you at least entertain
the idea that people are celebrating
their nationalism, because they have
regained their nation?!
        no? wait till you lose yours,
            you'll be ******* jack ****-a-boo
         in a few years...
   slurring these people as neo-**** is like
typing out that typical psychiatric:
false regression technique...
                  were you occupied by the nazis?
wait, i thought you said the israelis were nazis...
no i'm confused with this whole
   trans omni movement that branches
into ***, skin and tears...
                   it's simple fear,
that the centre of warsaw can be lit up in red,
and be filled with a cloud of smoke...
       emerging from the flares -
and that similar attempts in the anglophone
world are equivalent to:
  poached oysters,
                            under cooked potatoes,
overcooked spaghetti...
      pointless as an umbrella opened,
when shoved up someone's ***.

p.s. guess what, i'm not afraid of an individual
opinion,
                individuals harass and
mongrel the idea of bullying by
collective consent -
                           they have none...
and don't you think that any sport,
most notably rugby, is a simulation
  of *******, and the travel through
the ******? i guess most sport is,
but rugby exemplifies the ***** journey -
notably: they're passing an egg-shaped
ball.

Written 03.27.16

I am the boy who sits next to you in class. I glance sideways at you more times than you catch me, and we share laughs. I criticize your taste in music; it’s too loud and angry. You just smile and turn it up louder.  I am just the boy who sits next to you in class.

I am the one who texted you first because I had seen a movie that reminded me of you, and I told you about it as I watched the fireworks from the top of a parking garage on Independence Day. I am a friend, but I am not someone to whom you would tell your stories. I am the one who texted first.

I am your friend, and we spend hours on end, texting or FaceTiming as I harass children on Club Penguin and you scold me for being so mean. I am your friend and we send each other BuzzFeed quizzes and YouTube videos. I can tell that you like me but I can’t tell why. You are so much more fun than I am. You are much louder, and better at everything. But I am your friend.

I am the voice on the other end of the line when you don’t think you’re going to make it through the night. Days are getting shorter and nights longer and I’ve become the person you tell your stories to. And you tell me all of them, through tears or laughs, or both. And through tears or laughs I listen. I share with you my stories too, but for some reason they don’t seem as interesting, or important, or funny. You are more than me and I feel like you want me to be bigger. But I am the one who makes it okay.

I am yours. Now we fall asleep on the phone every night, and tell each other “good morning” before we open our eyes. You are with me all day. You are my everything. I do not show it, because my father taught me not to. But you are mine. And I am yours.

I am the one who makes you happy, and I take these months for granted. I do not know that in less than 4 months you will be packing your bags, screaming that I never do anything to make you smile. I take you for granted, and it is the biggest mistake of my life. But for now, I am the one who makes you happy.

I am the shirt that you only wear because it’s comfortable. You don’t necessarily like the way it looks, and you don’t love that it’s a little faded and a little small, but it fits you well in the right places, and sometimes makes you feel thin. You tell yourself it’s your favorite shirt anyway.

I am the one you need. I am the one you love. But I am not the reason you get out of bed anymore. The reason you get out of bed is the hope that maybe today will be better. Maybe today I'll do something right. I am the one you need, but I am the one who lets you down every day.

I am the stuffed animal in the corner of your bed that is falling apart, but you can’t throw it away because it has seen you at your worst and you would miss holding it.

I am watching us disintegrate as I stop being the one you go to, because I am so unreliable. I can only offer you words and you need more than someone who is just good with words. You need someone who can make you feel like you’re on top of the world, and that someone is not me. But you desperately want that someone to be me. You tell me you love me, and I answer quickly I love you too but each of us doubts the other, and neither of us believes ourselves.

I am listening to you suggest that maybe we should like... take a break and neither of us knows how long this will be, and neither of us knows if we’ll ever come back.

I am still telling you goodnight, and I still walk you to school because I still love you. But I am realizing that you better off without me, because you stay out all night to avoid thinking about me, and you don’t like coming home anymore because your bed reminds you of me. But I still hold on to you because I can’t bear to see you go.

I am just your bedtime story, whispering into the phone when you can’t sleep. And after you fall asleep I whisper my feelings to you, because I’m not allowed to speak them when you’re awake anymore. I am just your bedtime story because that’s all you need me for anymore. And that’s okay, because I don't need you to love me back, I will make sure you fall asleep before I close my eyes and I will call you in the morning if I haven’t heard from you yet to make sure you didn’t oversleep and I will still call you baby but only after you fall asleep and I will still kiss my hand before I hang up the phone and I will still pick you flowers and buy you donuts and walk you to school and remind you about the vocab quizzes in english class so you don’t **** yourself cramming the night before and I will continue to listen to the music I used to criticize once upon a time, long after you stop thinking about me. I will continue to love you and I will continue to be your bedtime story if that’s all you need me for.

I will forever be your bedtime story.

Written 08.21.16**

I am rereading these words and am made sick by the pathetic, desperate clinging words of my former self, less than 6 months ago. I tell myself I will never fall this deeply again, I will not lose myself to someone who stops appreciating me. I will not destroy myself anymore. I am healthy, and I am not ashamed of my emotions anymore.

"aw,
why don't you
smile!"
the man says,
looking at me.

"c'mon,
you old thing,
fly!"
the child says,
kicking the dead bird.

I'm not going to smile
to look pretty for you
a sight to see
a sight for sore eyes
I am not
a dog.

in my
abusive
relationship
my ex would tell me
every day
to clean his room
clean the basement
do the laundry
if i didn't
I was treated
like a bad
dog.
made to look at the mess
but
it was not mine.
many times,
when I did
my
job
it wasn't sufficient
"I *******
HATE
CLUTTER"

clean it yourself,
then.
but no,
I did.
even when
I didn't like you.
even when
I hated you.

when I was 19
at the bookstore
a man
told me to get him
a card,
could have reached it
himself
could have done it
himself
guess I misheard him
and got him the wrong one
"are you stupid?!"
in his thick
accent
"stupid girl
get me
a napkin.
throw it out
here,
throw it out
I said"

you can't be any
good at video games,
you're a girl.

you can't be
bisexual
you're just doing it
for attention.

you can't
wear that
and expect people to respect you
expect people
not to harass you
expect people
to think you're smart
expect people
to not think you're a
****.

IF
I am a ****
for being confident with my body
for being comfortable
with
my sexuality
for being open
about
my orientation
for enjoying
***
then yeah, I am
I am not ashamed
of any of those things
and they do not make me
less of a
human.

don't
tell me
to smile.
don't
tell me
what to do
or
when to do it
I will do
what I want
whenever the ****
I want


I won't
smile.
I will wear
tank tops
and makeup
and beat your ***
in every video game
make you feel
worthless
I will
speak my mind
have opinions
morals
I will
read literature
learn
educate myself
educate others
I will
have ***
with whomever I want
safely, but
without any shame

I will
be
human

You made a cage out of
your rules and your ideals.
You picked me up
and you locked me in it.
I’m caged.
I’m slaved.
And I’m lost.

BUT

You can cage my body,
not my thoughts.
You can dictate my actions,
but you can’t manipulate my mind.
You can exert harass my body,
but you can’t compel my soul.


Your cage can’t tame this free spirit.
Your cage is too small for these huge wings.
So, I will break free
and fly into the open.
And I will Fly high
as high my dreams go.
And before you know,
I would already be flying way high for you to reach.

Finally, the cage is broken.
I’m free.
I’m alive.
*And I’m Un-Caged

The Cons fed no rations...hahaha

The house breaking Burglars are Chris, Joan, Tom and Kelly
Ably assisted by Jim and Cindy, the black and white *******
who broke up their families, move in together, to **** each other
Life's too short, forget abandoned spouses, what the hell, ok
Then there's Linda, who's had three husbands in ten years
all leaving after a while, leaving her with two kids
to look after, what a palaver, where's a true lover
These ******* ****, use and take then do a runner
Her trust in ******* men ruined to pieces and no nookie

All dysfunctional lives, full of pain, angry at the world
Yes we're in Limehouse, but do we have to **** sour juice
They're all seeking to vent, seeking revenge for their miseries
Look that couple upstairs, always bright, styled like Vogue
neat and tidy, full of laughter, going places, yuppie cts
See quiet husband, walks like Bowie, with a kin of **** swagger
And the wife so cute and petite, drives the shiny Red Mini
He ***** her every night, I hear them, I tell you
Their skins glows, shines like the sun, too happy by half

Chris the Scot married to strife and bother
The criminal life is such wahala, police here and there
its hide and seek, no money, no nookie, no nothing
Well OK, there's Tennants and Special Brew to drown the blues
****** hubby again in Wormwood Scrubs serving ******* Majesty
Tom ain't stealing as much as father, have to beg next door again
Joan is ******* and ain't making no money, now in the duff
only fifteen, by ******* Nobby, from the Young ******* Socialist Brigade, Kelly is also ******* and only twelve, what a life
Ahh ....  life on the Estate is life in *******

Listen you all, here's the deal, here's the number
Those ******* Happy couple at number fifteen
Why ain't them struggling like us all, where's the cushty
You don't see them carping, the ******* are loaded,
Them knobs have it all, smiling and laughing like *******
Let put some fire up their *****, let's teach them street life
Hears they think they are royalties, let tax their ****** *****
I'll be the lookout, you kick in the ****** doors
Liberate their valuables, we'll all have a party

******* Nora, the quiet man has blown a frigging gasket
Says he gonna tell all we are crooks, gonna evict us, the fool
Go get the posse, go put out a contract, a ****** for the jump
We are Eastenders, born by Bow bells, and we look after our own
How ****** dare the toffee nosed tory, says I should go get a job
as if, working for honest gain is our thing, ****** idiot
Yes mate, the boys are out, the contract is on
Let's see Jackanory tell us a bleeding story
Hero to Zero is now playing at Roman Street market

Break them up, mash  them down, ruin their lives
lets play 'trading Places, see how the cts feels
I already see cool man strung up. dangling on a rope
How dare they live happy and comfortable
two wages, car, dining out, new attire every day
Come on Jim, Cindy, Linda, all go get your mates
There's work to be done, no time to play
We are the TUC, that's Thieves United Confederation
And we've got the ******* Red Boys in the Team

It's down Tobacco road for Mr Tory, the bleeding ******
Ain't no more laughter, we'll put them in the gutter
Lie and slander, defame and harass, topple Saddam
Get the ******* Red mill going, its round Robin time
How's yer father,  no more mate, not ****** likely for a while
Yer only leg-over is gonna be legging it to the Social Security
Its Dole time, pain and miseries for you sunshine
Sing a song of hate, pariah on a roundabout
Yer marathon man now mate, come meet the Red Devils

Here, They need no ******* introduction

Light snow. Warm blanket. Helping. Typing. Looking outside. Looking inside. Warmth. Gross. Sticky. Old. Unattractive. Alone. Looking into a window full of people who can help you. Alone. Not trusting yourself. Cars go by. Quickly. Alone. Every mind and every car. One. The life a snowflake lives as it falls. Gone. Looking into someone's eyes. Running away. Wondering what someone sees in your eyes. Wishing its what they want. Wishing its not what you think. Alone. Not trusting yourself. Hoping there's a different life ahead. Some time. Possibly in the near future. Alone. Times of feeling with other people. Together. Not trusting yourself. Lying. Rejecting. Foolishly complaining. Alone. Snowflakes moving upwards, back towards the sky, because of the wind. Unrealistic. Calm relaxing music. Fear. Alone. Not trusting yourself. Multiple voices telling you to do different things. Together. Alone. Being stuck between survival options and dying. Alone. Wanting to call out but doubting the purity of your own intentions. Knowing everyone else has a life that is not yours. Knowing everyone else has a life that is full of things they want to do. Independent. Without you mostly. Mostly wanting to not bother anyone. Alone. Not trusting yourself. Asking for help indirectly. Making sure that the person has a way to back out. Escape. Pretend they can't see what is happening. Not seeing what is happening. Not trusting yourself. Alone. The ground that looks unaffected by the snow. The ground that stays and is sometimes buried, but it always comes back. Even. Fair. Thinking about how many people feel. Thinking about what people feel. Wanting specific things. Wanting to talk to specific people. Having trouble trusting people. Not trusting yourself. Alone. Sitting. Music. Typing. Nothing. Papers. Time. Life. Together. Snow. Trust. Ground. Trees. Harm. Fear. Running. Escape. Annoy. Harass. Pretend. Turning. Playing. Focusing. Trust. Away. Fear. Together. Alone.

there would be blank canvasses
empty words
silently echoing the pages of poems not written
of narrative never revealed
from muses overwhelming
spirits overflowing
onto sugar coated melodies
woven into lyrics that
pester and harass and permeate the sacred space of minds

there would be blank canvasses
empty words
of delicate curves or hips, wide like sandy beaches
immortalized  by brush strokes or camera shutters
empty panels of superhero legends forgotten

there would be blank canvasses, empty words
of no church praises hollered over holy rollin piano riffs

but most definitely, most importantly,
there would be blank canvasses, empty words
and
hands that never itched
to craft golden scrolls onto the haggard loose leaves
residing in sharpie stained notebooks
and great wisdoms never told which ****** great minds
moves great minds
with melodious lyricism
which haunts souls
taunts souls
with the burning questions of shoes and ships and ceiling wax

there would be pens never emptied dry
cultivating piles of paper ***** with half *** rhymes, rhythms, and washed up metaphors
muses would never possess individuals
sleeplessly seeking to fill up forests worth of leaves
after suffering from the doldrums of writers block

blank canvasses, empty words
in a world without art

When,when did it become alright to harass people that are different
When is it ever alright to harass anybody whether different or no
Let me ask you something when was the last time you got harassed or pushed around, did it feel good no did you want to do something about it of course but did you no why because people say your not so you don't iam no saint I've been harassed before and didn't do anything about you know what II did that was better nothing nothing not because they said i wouldn't but because i knew if i did it would only cause more trouble for i am not saying walk away every time someone confronts you but stand up for yoursef once in awhile or everytime if your a trouble maker

Every time you don't stand up for yourself it's like your beating yourself up along with them

I think you confused your job description with that of an ex-lover.
You were supposed to break my fall, not my heart.

You smashed it into pieces,
Left me shattered and alone.
I have never even broke a bone-
Only a few minor tears.
Until that moment
You left me standing there.

You went and ruined my winning streak,
Left my festering wounds bare
With nothing left to heal-
Insides exposed and eroded
For some unlucky soul to clean.

Build the preverbal wall higher and higher
With every word, every message.

Release your beast
To mess with my head again.

Hide behind email
And call it a relationship.

Stare at pictures on your screen
And pretend to know the real me.
Make up stories
That you start to believe.

Harass my friends
That you tried to deceive.

I don’t deserve a father like you,
You don’t deserve a daughter like me.

You want a happy family?
It seems you’ve found one.

You made your choice
The same way you’d make a bed:
quick and without a second thought,
pick up, throw down, and move on to the next.

Finally face it, you made your own decision
So lay in it.

Bask in your pride,
In the company of your sweet new bride.

Bask in the sun
While your soul comes undone
With sorrow and regret.
Then just push it all onto me-
Pretty please.

Give me a reason to hold on to the scrap of crap that’s left,
Something to call my own,
Something positive to share-
A fun story
Of a father’s love for his daughter:
How he rose from the ashes
To save her
From this life she’s drowning in.

I pray you pull a Peter Parker,
A pleasant surprise-
'My dad the hero'
Come to my rescue at long last.

Whisk me away
to a warm and sunny place,
where it rains sugar drops,
and not a hurtful word is spoken-
then, only then, will the spell be broken.

My heart put back together again,
our relationship on the mend-
the air filled with laughter
time to wake up now Alice
from all these nonsensical dreams
no happily ever after.

When a white woman is victimized they'll scour the streets, fan out, stop,
harass, detain, arrest any black man. Anyone they can finger for the crime.

They say things such as they all look alike or something to that effect.

A black woman is abused they'll look around, see white males everywhere but they cannot find any suspects? None of them fit the description.

Why is that?

Yeah, that's right, it is because they all look alike! Too many of 'em. Can't arrest everyone now, can we? People have rights!

Yep,
          I suppose they do...



As long as you consider them,
                                                        "­p­eople,"  
                                                    ­  ­                         -they have rights.

226

Should you but fail at—Sea—
In sight of me—
Or doomed lie—
Next Sun—to die—
Or rap—at Paradise—unheard
I’d harass God
Until he let you in!

Jiminy Cricket needed a sport
That little Pinocchio could play
He didn't like tennis, the shorts were too short
He didn't like skiing at an Alpine resort
He didn't like squashing in a little squash court
He didn't like pigeons or clay

He dreamt of a game with a bat and a ball
A game that could last all day long
Where all would be welcome, the short and the tall
Where language and creed didn't matter at all
Where it could be played from the spring to the fall
A game for both weak and the strong

He pictured a game that was played on the grass
That all the young kids could enjoy
Where boys stood around, there was no need to pass
Where scoring was easy and points would amass
Where no one would notice or try to harass
A mild mannered small wooden boy

With pencil and paper, he had so much fun
Designing his very own bat
He wrote down the rules so they'd know who had won
With six points for boundaries and one for a run
And proudly admiring the work that he'd done
He decided to call it *"HOWZAT!"

The Ding Dongs at the T.S.A.
decided as of yesterday
frosted Cupcakes aren't allowed on Board
flights domestic or abroad.

They employ the dumbest of the dumb
To harass us as we go and come.
Miss Liberty must be dismayed
to be prodded, strip searched and X-ray'd.

Thus the Empire extends its claws
through privacy invading laws
They won't repeat Marie's mistake
encouraging people to eat cake.

858

This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life
I mention it to you,
When Sunrise through a fissure drop
The Day must follow too.

If we demur, its gaping sides
Disclose as ’twere a Tomb
Ourself am lying straight wherein
The Favorite of Doom.

When it has just contained a Life
Then, Darling, it will close
And yet so bolder every Day
So turbulent it grows

I’m tempted half to stitch it up
With a remaining Breath
I should not miss in yielding, though
To Him, it would be Death—

And so I bear it big about
My Burial—before
A Life quite ready to depart
Can harass me no more—

An uncompassionate crowd of 20,000
are tensely sitting in a stadium
bloodthirstily waiting for a cruel spectacle
they call a ‘bulllfight’
which is actually a ‘bull-harass-and-****’.
This brutal bloodsport
is celebrated as a national artform
in Spain
so the matadors (bullfighters) strut around proudly
in their suits of golden thread
to loud cheers and excited applause.

The bull, frightened suffering,
is harassed and killed in three stages:

The first stage is called ‘tercio de varas’
‘the lancing third’
when armoured-horse mounted lancers
use a long sharp lance
to spear the bull behind his shoulder muscles
to weaken the bull’s neck muscles
and begin the bull’s loss of blood;

The second stage is called ‘tercio de banderillas’
‘the third of banderillas’
when the matador attacks the bleeding-weakening bull
with banderillas (sharp barbed sticks)
stabbing the banderillas above the shoulder blades of the bull
to anger and agitate
the frightened bull fighting for his life.

The third stage is called ‘tercio de muerte’
‘the third of death’
when the matador baits the bull
with a red cape
then stabs the bull with a steel sword
aiming for his heart
but often missing
leaving the bull suffering multiple stab-wounds
bleeding, slowly miserably dying.

I wonder
when will this barbaric bull-harass-and-****
be banned in all nations?

Captured in the psych ward part 28


You see the HDU was celebrating it's
Annual celebration, you see it has been a year since Ron first opened this HDU and BJ Harrison was still stuck in solitary wondering why was he in this HDU but that was obvious of all the problems he has caused here, mind you Charlie was in the middle of helping celebrating the annual event and yes it's going to be a great barbecue lunch with heaps of salad, and Charlie had heaps of ideas of what salads that they should buy, and Ron got our of bed and had a shower and got dressed and also bought his outfit he wore for the opening and then he went to the corner where fran and dans was and because Ron was visiting grand children and he noticed that the shop has gone and he went over to the other side of the road to wonder if he is on the right corner and the man in that shop said they were busted for selling spiked food and Another thing too it, the public health inspector closed the place down and Ron asked him if he sells coffee and he said, we don't really open till 10-30 but I can give you a take away to take with you and after leaving there
Ron went to the hospital and had. coffee in the cafeteria and also had a vanilla slice  and had a chin wag with the people in there and one of the cafe workers said. Did you know it's the 1st anniversary of the HDU today
Did you know that and Ron said yeah, I remember that day like it was yesterday and we had Charlie Chaplin and I remember having two kids and those kids have just wanted to watch TV and Patty Roe who says he is George Washington, well he loves being loved and mind you all the nurses like him and also I normally go to fran and dans for coffee before hand but it ain't there no more and the lady said fran died
And dan moved to Adelaide to work in the Adelaide crows football club
Near Aami stadium and yes Ron said yeah it will be hard but people  move on and then went down to the HDU to clock on and say hi to the patients
And then say that the party is on this afternoon after the BBQ lunch and he went to solitary to visit BJ Harrison. And BJ said now buddy
Am I allowed to be a part of the party and Ron said yeah but you must behave and not annoy any of the other patients cause they see all here for their own reason and they made their own mistakes and if you do that, I might let you out for at least lunch, and BJ said ok I will promise I will harass bill once and Ron said, if you harass bill you miss lunch and then when the. Men came out to the courtyard to do the BBQ
Ron let everyone know and let BJ out but he had to be Chained to a
Officer but he will still enjoy the party, the whole thing and everyone including Ron were sitting in the courtyard and having a dip in the little pool yeah this wax a great party
And songs were sang, the songs were American pie and bohemian rhapsody and don't be cruel and also they had a punyata and BJ had the most power and got the most lollies and chocs and the BBQ had sausages and steak and skewers
And heaps of great salads like pasta and potato and coleslaw and the drinks were non alcoholic fruit punch and then the party went on till 5 pm and Charlie spiked the punch with his cough medicine which contains 5% alcohol and then Ron gave hey medications out and went home to leftovers and fall asleep in front of the box


Sent from my iPhone

Take my hand and walk with me darling
For I have a story to tell you
Its one of the past, and of the future
Concerning the longevity of a night
And the brevity of a decade

The story starts off simple enough
Boy meets girl, and he is captivated with her presence
Though his eyes rest upon her for but a moment, that moment is the longest of his life
And nothing could ever be the same after
For when you find your other half, you feel empty until unity

The backs tory is a bit more complicated
Girl meets boys, over and over again
Searching for that perfection, floating in the clouds
Eventually becomes jaded, for all of the bad men in the world
And she is damaged, bitter goods

Our protagonist stands up and rushes over
Tapping the ******* the shoulder as she passes him by
I'm  sorry to bother you miss, but I couldn't help but say
Seeing you has made it the most beautiful of days
And though it may sound strange, I feel like we were meant to know each other

She surveys him with cynicism
Wondering what she did to have some stranger harass her
And as she looks at him, scathing rejection on the tip of her tongue
She sees something in his eyes, something pure and intriguing
And she instead finds herself asking, fancy a drink?

Life can be incredible sometimes
And the boy can't believe his luck
Good fortune like this only happens in the movies
But he flashes a smile, and takes her by the hand
Said come, lets have a good time

Trailing slightly behind him, the girl feels a sense of awe
Because she had learned to repel any sort of human connections
Yet here she was with a boy she just met
Off on a date she hadn't expected
Inexplicably happier than she had been in ages

That night seemed to last forever
They sat and talked and laughed
Two souls connecting instantly
As if they had always known the other
And everything was right

They go their separate ways that night, promising to keep in touch
As they lay down to sleep alone, they wish nothing more than  to be with the other in the morning
And with a flash, they wake up
The man and the woman, together in love
With the years that passed by far too quickly, an the moments that seemed to never end

It is for no ill will, no caprice on the part of fire, but for love. Man wakens fire from sleep, feeds her, cares for her, and keeps her alive. And so she smiles on him with friendly light, warms him, whispers to him mysterious songs, and drives away all that would sting, bite, harass, or harm. For as man loves fire, so fire loves man and delights in his company, all the more in wild and lonely places.

Little boy, I wish you could learn
What you’ve done wrong,
But I am afraid no one will ever put you in place
Well into your adulthood.
Little boy, I hope you learn.

Where are your parents now?
Letting you sit at a park
To torment me, someone twice your age.
You stand here now to harass two girls
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
Your voice echoes with me, permanently.
While you have the freedom,
To move along with your life and forget.
Your comments about us are disgusting.
They surround my skin like the sticky summer air
And leave me feeling gross.

Do you ever think of your mother when you say these things?
Maybe your sister?
A friend?
How could you treat a girl like this
How could you not think of them getting treated in this way?
I guess you’re just a little boy and don’t realize.

You must have learned this behavior from someone in your life
Maybe your father?
A brother?
A friend?
How could you have never been thought better
Has no one put you in place?
Told you this isn’t okay?

Little boy, I hope you realize it is it okay to tell people to make out
That it’s not okay to sexualized women
Minding their own business.
That it isn’t okay to torment any stranger,
or any person in your life for that matter.
Little boy, I hope your learn before it’s too late.

786

Severer Service of myself
I—hastened to demand
To fill the awful Vacuum
Your life had left behind—

I worried Nature with my Wheels
When Hers had ceased to run—
When she had put away Her Work
My own had just begun.

I strove to weary Brain and Bone—
To harass to fatigue
The glittering Retinue of nerves—
Vitality to clog

To some dull comfort Those obtain
Who put a Head away
They knew the Hair to—
And forget the color of the Day—

Affliction would not be appeased—
The Darkness braced as firm
As all my stratagem had been
The Midnight to confirm—

No Drug for Consciousness—can be—
Alternative to die
Is Nature’s only Pharmacy
For Being’s Malady—

Patristic Excerpt
John where made Patristic delays on the island in Christian times by building numerous panagias decorated with mosaics. They enter the port of the island walking in wild revelry after being greeted at the port. At dusk they arrive in Jorió finding the Venetian castle of the knights of the Order of Saint John, completely covered in blue olive oil (a phenomenon that had been caused by the previous visit of Etrestles and his entourage) In the same way, they make an antechamber to the northeast finding the Grotto of the Seven Virgins or Nymphs, whose satire succumbed to some incredulous neighbors, hiding some of their minor daughters after denying its consummation. This is not a minor legend told of how seven young girls disappeared into the cave when fleeing from some pirates, noting if it could be so, also the clues to find Etréstles that he had recently been here in frank search for his ghosts. “Behold, all this paraphernalia of bilocation was accentuated by the god Spílaiaus creating immediacy with all the times that they wanted from the present, and the future that is exclusive to the Itheoi gods” Petrobus the Pelican goes back to the colonies of his ancestors, he wore gold rings around his neck, and had no contact with his native colony since the last day they helped the fields with water due to the lack of fresh water. It is worth noting their property of converting salt water into fresh water but even more the quality of Petrobus in addition to where they step on its paws, everyone will shine and rejuvenate. It off-centers its wings with allotropic dyes that made it turn colors in addition to strengthening and lightening its body during long periods of flight, and lifts its angular bag and takes vertical flight to meet Reader and Vernarth again in the Early Christian Necropolis of the burial chapels, here they meditate with the god Azofar who levitated above them offering their submission to the wind that flows with great power under the catacombs pulling and moving spirits that wish to relocate with their placebo presiding over their doubts. They leave the port boarding a Triaconter that would take them to Kinaros before the night falls and is seized by the coastal fog, not resisting the rope that holds a ship, whatever it was many times these ships were maneuvered by rowing sailors but this time it was only consigned for them, it would only move without anyone intervening, only the eternal wind that kind will take them to the island of Reader's progenitors. On the transparent waters sailing in the Triaconter were the three, Vernarth in the Petrobus bow on the main mast of the sail, and Raeder beside him a few meters away remembering his parents when they emigrated from this island? The name of the ship that was named as “Eurydice” in every certain space of advance they approached the macaroon to empty the tears that this Nymph emanated through her half-open eyes, she would take a rag of the holy cocoon and wipe away the effusions that must have been more for some reason that he would want to know…? Upon arriving in the vicinity of Kinaros, a rainy cyclone hit them which lifted them above the surface of the island when they were less than 5 km from arriving. Vernarth takes the Xiphos's sword from him and cuts the ropes then Raeder noticing that they were at serious risk of being shipwrecked, tells Vernarth to get out of the ship and quickly runs to the bow covering the eyes of the Mask of the Eurydice and leaves the ship.

With an epic metaphysical tendency, he acclaims his magical steed Alikanto..., he flies over the ship and picks them up, and Reader takes hold of the rings on Petrobus's legs reaching the mainland consecutively. Kinaros is a land of fishermen and farmers, a long-lived land and ancient inhabitants who do not age; here there are no cemeteries or monuments, there is only eternal spring for those who can be grateful for a place that gives them peace, and melancholy love for those who do not live there. Here from this bountiful land come the Raeder Parents, they migrated to Kalymnos; being this land the one that saw his birth and immortalizes him so he remembers…: “In the islands of the Dodecanese, subdued by the carmine dew that falls at dawn on its crystalline waters, important archaeological remains and cenacles appear on the sand or gravel beaches to compete in athletic leisure, Raeder ran naked after the outfits of which his mother had made him. He was permeated by crystalline Byzantine, architectural and medieval monuments due to long Venetian dominations in his mannerisms what unite them to these islands is their history, and their occupations: that of the knights of the crusades to that of the Turks, the Italian occupation to the Greek annexation with their volatile outfits useless to dress up, Patmos is very popular among pilgrims from the moment his work was raised in one of the caves on the island of San Juan Evangelista, the disciple of Christ writing the Book of Revelations. Astypalea is the westernmost island of the archipelago and has Dodecanese Cycladic architectural features it is also related here in the Novel of Etréstles of Kalavrita matter of his victorious boast to Patmos when he resorts after the reverie with the Laziko Dance that was held by the little finger and circulated in commemoration of the stripping of the rebirth of spring with the Sousta del Dodecanese. These dances were engendered in the infra-ocean floor of the Ionian Sea, generating the power of the ethereal emanation of Etrestles from Kalavrita by daring to put Eclectic confrontation to the invisible portal of the Evangelist Saint John in his sacred basaltic cavern in the Patmos archipelago (Koumeterium Messolonghi, Chapter 16 - page 114. Editorial Palibrio-USA) (Koumeterium Messolonghi Chapter 16 - page 114 Editorial Palibrio-USA) It is also related here in the Novel of Etréstles of Kalavrita matter of his victorious boast to Patmos when he resorts after the reverie with the Laziko Dance that was held by the little finger and circulated in the commemoration of the stripping of the rebirth of spring with the Dodecanese´s Sousta. It is also related here in the Novel of Etréstles of Kalavrita matter of his victorious boast to Patmos when he resorts after the reverie with the Laziko Dance that was held by the little finger and circulated in commemoration of the stripping of the rebirth of spring with La Sousta del Dodecanese.

In the Chapel of Ministers: They were seconded by the high representatives of Kalymnos, among them the curious immortal serpentine Raeder son of native Kinaros farmers belonging to a clan group of six small islands and six small families. Some islets used to boast the genealogical beams and challenges of Antigone, and documented inspirations found between Leros and Kálymnos in the east and the Cyclades islands of Amorgós in the west. Raeder always got up before dawn on his window sill there always appeared a petite blue bonsai Pelican he called Petrobus, in the mornings he would run beating this Olympic bird in a fast dispute sometimes he was not able to say goodbye to his bird friend because he ran so fast that the days used to be weeks in a row, while Petrobus puffed through the Ouranos with his Hellenic Artificial Intelligence elytra, with his hyper exhalation he moved great rocky crags even moving and disorganizing the geographical nomenclature of these twelve polygon islands between the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. The lesser known and immaculate islands are Leros or Pserimos, while Rhodes and Kos the largest and most cosmopolitan islands are the goal of the migrated Blue Pelicans throughout the year. Before returning to his house, Raeder stretched out on grasses sheared by the heels of Petrobus's migrates and his henchmen in this grass dancer I could feel the dances with the gag dance bread vibrate through his arms in all the rumps of the maidens in the Sousta dance running after Petrobus with his golden mask and hanging from the wings or legs of his bird (Wings Mate), the art of flying with golden magical birds and his Ancient Mama Antigone to Raeder when sometimes he was flying by the legs of Petrobus, he thought...:

“My land… a thousand times I will lift you up with my arms, do not doubt it, my arms believe it… Oh, my venerated Ionian I will do apnea to please you a thousand times to become your Ionian molecule… Wind of Kalimnos himself…, I will make the flute an Ode that runs through twelve perforated epitaphs with my ancestors in the Dodecanese sleeping paroxysm in the panagia where I was baptized for the ninth time! And in the fatuous lavish fire, I will put the ceremonial ribbon of the Sousta Dance in the nap in the new migration of my transparent Pelicans….”

Raeder tells a visibly emotional Petrobus about imagining crying with his imagined friend. "Little Raeder of the Dodecanese" he utters to his magical imaginary friend; Petrobus, what else was missing from ground breadcrumb paste for next winter…? Petrobus, distracted and not looking at him tells him…, only placing his web-footed Hellenophile leg on his other equal…: “Fear nothing Raeder, God does not coexist! ...Now He and you are the same. With your arms you will be able to lift the sphere of the bare earth and reconvert it into a Healthy Earth of Milk and mead of our Kalymnos that runs like a quagmire through the mountains of your Life converted into a new House dressed in a new house” when Raeder finishes thinking…, Vernarth tells him that they had to sail to Patmos, curiously Eurydice's ship was in the bay, they believed that this ship had capsized and sank somewhere in the wide open sea of ​​the Aegean.
The three on boards the ship Eurydice, Alikanto stays in Kinaros batoning very well guarded by peasants who took great affection for him later he would join him on Patmos for service and trades pantry to Saint John the Evangelist. Alikanto will take a great contribution and role in the prophecies of Vernarth on the Isle of Patmos, just on board the Eurydice and surround themselves with a climate of seclusion and peace on the ship, not so far behind were the Cyclades and part of the Dodecanese he was full of vitality, he completely covered the Triaconter it was late and the moon was beginning to dress the deck with phosphorescence, Raeder and his little Petrobus were clearly exhausted deciding to sleep right there on the deck. He was also relieved of emotions after so much experimenting on the islands, as well as not being able to find his brother Etréstles to prepare to rest in her poetry, almost falling asleep he sees that from the bow a very quiet female figure approaches him with her lost gaze, and stands up seeing that it was Eurydice who was in front of him. She had her bandage on her eyes still approaching her and says Eurydice: “Can you remove the tape…? Only you can do that! Although due to this subtlety of yours in attention to me I tried..., of course, I must be able to recover my subsistence and its mobility as an indissoluble watercolor. Vernarth says; “In my narrative we know that Eurydice was a dryad, being the wife of Orpheus as a poet and musician. After evading Aristaeus´s harassment, she would now take refuge in a shipyard in Amphipolis and hide on a ship. She escapes with great speed and fear, as her heart only belongs to Orpheus, as she flees, Eurydice is bitten by a snake and dies, Orpheus, disconsolate, cries for her and her desperation finds no consolation, so he makes the risky decision to go in search of his sweet and beloved wife to Hades, the land of the dead. Vernarth longs to revive her in her comparative fable to her sweet song and her poetry, Orpheus managed to move Charon who lets him cross the River Styx, the boundary between the world of the living and the dead. Later, also with his artistic abilities, Orpheus manages to convince Persephone and Hades to allow him to take Eurydice. The subterranean divinities agree to be taken away but Orpheus must promise that he will not attempt to see his wife until he has brought her into the sunlight, so as agreed, Eurydice followed Orpheus on the way to the light, and at the moment when they were about to leave the dark depths, Orpheus had doubts thus, he began to think about the possibility that Persephone had deceived him and that Eurydice did not come after him, so he could not bear her temptation and turned to look at her and confirm that she was coming with him. When this happened, Eurydice was dragged by an irresistible force back to Hades. Orpheus, desperate tries to go again to rescue his beloved but this time Charon does not allow it, at this moment the god of the Genus Itheoi Aiónius clings to the purity of the distilled water pretending that Eurydice was going to the underworld, but the mirror flash of Ibico 1 would bring Eurydice from the darkness to the parallel world of Orpheus and Vernarth. Here Kaitelka and Borker (Semi Itheoi, concur in total harmony with Demeter, Persephone, and Hestia bringing from the labyrinths the rusty chains of Prometheus and Vertnarth that were wandering through infinity) Orpheus when he doubts is more than divine doubt, it is submithological human doubt that cracks the recondite doubts and trigger the valleys of perdition in the jungle dense in roads without being able to follow, especially if I personalize it in myself, said Vernarth. According to Vernarth giving ears in this magnanimous moment of what was narrated by herself, it represented Eurydice fearing being left unattended under hell, fleeing to Thrace to the port of Amphipolis, then boarding a ship stealthily entering being discovered by a captain later. She runs strong escaping from the officer and jumps overboard, the officer searches for her vehemently for several days, remaining buried in the holistic totally under a complication plot since a sailor had recapitulated her in a passage of this mythology that could take live life and action on your boat. Days go by and this Triaconter ship is whipped by the Persians on a disastrous day, everything frolicked from large figures to consider as well as fleeing from the Persians before an impartial and just intensified attack from the enemies the Triaconter is adrift. Eurydice follows in the footsteps of this ill-fated boat and then boards it again. “In the eighth month of navigating fully, she is discovered by Aristeo, She takes the start of a terrifying heart because she feared what could be born from the ship; perhaps become a subjective fear! She realized that it was not real and she understood that it was an anxiety of profuse delirium”. But it was too late for she hid in the bowsprit on her way to the bowsprit, with the decaying line to the figurehead she stays silent, tries to remove her feet and can't remain thus captive of the ship bound to the figurehead, provoked only by herself not by her as a divine Nymph but by the fear that haunted her like a viral fear in her own and her delusional fears. Vernarth, hates himself and tells Eurydice: “If you wish, I will jump overboard and be swallowed by the sea, and so I can find the oppressors who harass your persecution. Just tell me and I'll jump to save your reckless shattered fate. Only the existence that is nothing more than Bravery will combine the power to relieve you and free you from your chains.”

What bothers you tonight my lady?
A pale look, and your charming
fading.

Hide behind shattered silhouettes,
and the veil of thin moisture,
yet
still passively tempt my mind,
allure my heart.

Oh, my lady,
my lady.
I'm whispering,
calling your name inside me,
as if thus
i could satisfy my greed
to claim you as my own,
to keep everything about you
forever within.
But what is forever to me?

I'm merely a dayfly,
no better, no worse
than any other of my kind.
What can i do
to draw this fair lady's attention,
and maybe even
to win her favor?

She looks upon me,
looks upon this vast land and sea,
since millions of billions years
before the first of us
ever walked this earth.

Our times,
nothing but a peaceful and swift glimpse
in her serene eternity.

In this way you watch me,
in dew and mist and frost and dust
you watch me.
Watch my suffering,
my struggling,
my striving,
and inexplicable madness
in the name
of someone high above me.

Your everlasting peace drives me into lunatic,
i behave like human in daylight,
and animal
under your livid glow.
Your mercy and generous,
both a holy gift,
and a deadly poison.

How can i walk in the darkness,
without you casting sunshine upon my course?
How can i keep my direction,
without you following me through
the garden of forking paths?
Yet upon the soil of this courtesy,
grows the sprout of appreciation,
ejects the trunk of dependence,
spreads the twigs of desire and hunger,
eventually,
the canopy of hatred.

This is how your charming made me
starve, thirst
and blind.
I look up to the atlas of clouds,
my stars are mercury and illusory.
i lost my course,
as every course leads to you.

In what possible way
can i end this story in serenity?
No matter how much i suffer,
how desperately i pray,
you feel not a slight touch.

Of course you should be indifferent.
What enormous harass would be
if you hear my prayers,
days in, days out;
and those of many others alike,
from deep ancient caves to far future dimensions,
generations kneel down
again and again
in front of your amazing grace?

Swigging from your elegance,
an incomparable pleasure,
yet a doomed tragedy.
In such a tragedy i carry on,
without a blink of eyes,
without a second of reflect,
like Icarus towards the sun,
a moth before a camp fire,
heartily breathing in your blazing felicity,
enjoying the pain
from burning.

What is life
without agony?
What is love
without persistence?
Having your shadows ironed in me
is more than satisfaction.

Someone
just enjoy this lifelong pursuing.

:)

The Police you fear.
You’ve feared them since you were five,
Mother always telling you as such.
You’re not breaking the law at five, right?
If you did, then you’d totally deserve whatever they’d do to you.
After all, they only go after people who disobey the law!

The Police you have nightmares about. Frequently.
Do you speed in your dream? Seriously?
How is it that you commit crimes in your dream?
If you don’t want to be ‘bothered’ (or as some intellectuals put it, murdered or killed), maybe just follow the law??

The Police give you pause every time you see them while driving.
The Police cause your heart to pound, your fists to clench the wheel,
And you to immediately slow down to 10 mph below the speed limit.
Really?? C’mon, now you’re just being dramatic.
If you’re so freaked out by them, maybe not speed so much?
Unless…you’re hiding something in your car?
You’ve got brown skin; you act all afraid of the cops…
You probably have drugs on you. You seriously deserve to be searched.
Just kidding! Although, I’m sure some of the white people you tell this too might actually believe it.

The Police you fear at the airport, with their K9 dogs on leashes.
It does not help that your stupid acne medication smells like ****.
Or…Maybe you just have **** on you?
You know that the dumb dog probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
But hey, at least it doesn’t smell like rotten eggs!

The Police you have to create a lot of strategies around,
Like a football game,
But instead of winning,
The main goal is not to get beaten or shot to death!

The Police have harassed your dad a lot.
You’re always told how you’re a shade or two lighter than him.
But hey! At least you’re not darker!

The Police harass your dad at work and off work.
But if he didn’t want to stop, maybe not wear a LG uniform and drive in a LG truck!
No wonder why they stopped him and asked what he’s doing!
He’s so suspicious.

The School/University Police has never once made you feel safe.
You freeze up like a deer in headlights and force yourself to move.
You keep your head down, not maintain eye contact,
But maybe in order to make it really clear
You should wear a gigantic “I AM NOT SUSPICIOUS SIGN”.
Do they sell those on Amazon?

Maybe you can take a look online?
Maybe that’ll help your whole…’ooh I’m so scared of cops thing?’
Whatever you do, get some help.

Wonthelimar, in the last transmigration that he planned from Nyons in the cavern on the eastern side of the Rhone, surrounded himself with mountains that dwarfed them with promiscuous caves of the Eygues. From these buckets as a margin of power and go referring to the nocturnal wind of the Pontias; created his fundamental tool of attraction of the Mementos de Cartography of the Seleucids, decomplexing the logistical notions of the Diadocos after having resuscitated and liberating Alexander the Great from a Cartesian Underworld in the manner of apocryphal late Aristotelianism, mechanizing existential dualisms of Hades with formulas and psychotropic and geometric tricks, licensing them theologies of habeas corpus, coexisting in the first instance with Etréstles de Kalavrita who would establish the term of definitive transmigration of Alexander the Great, so that between the Diadocos and Wonthelimar they would contend the final and disciplinary action to revoke the high arrest, transhuming the sovereign as Macedonian next to the Hexagonal Birthright finally very close to Saint John the Apostle and Vernarth in the vicinity of the Megaron Spilaion Apokalypseos.

The generals of Alexander the Great shared his legitimate Ark without royal titles, they were Perdiccas, Antipater, Craterus, Eumenes de Cardia, and others like the satraps who came to be proclaimed as kings; Antigonus, Ptolemy, and Seleucus. Residing the most substantial in this parapsychological saga in Vernarth; his brother Etrestles de Kalavrita who seconded and predestined his monolithic and constituent sovereignty of Polis, for the purpose of ruling and raising his Kopis and Xifos in the independence of aldehyde and alcoholic carbonyl residues emanated from the ferment of the Backhoi and Nepente, depositing LSD in substantial amounts. to align himself with Seleucus, and materially present himself in the sphere of Patmos as two representatives of both empires, one ancient Christian and the other Panhellenic, placing himself in that totalitarianism of Seleucus over that of Alexander the Great who was splendid in the cosmogony of a king similar to David of Judea, solvent and illustrious in the conception of Apological dynasty and identity, of Zeusian roots and of eternal numeral politics. In the quantitative of the champion of Alexander the Great revived on Patmos, the Mashiach of Gethsemane will continue to be deified with such a signature of both in ****** skies in two absolutist emperors and of dogmatic differential Pythagorean, propagandizing both dynasties with domains in regencies and different latitudes of the conceptual decision. Base, to refute proposals to follow them in part of anti-Alexandrian perplexities or opposed to marginalizing himself from following them after they abandoned him in Babylon. This was sensed in the confrontation between both forces of univocal polarization, for the good of one and the bad of the other of having to distract them from the proposal to enlist and harass dethroned kings on purpose from their deaths and revive them in others than in their own court of observers and bosses, they will only exist in the empty temples and idols without dates to know to avoid and in prevailing dates that will not happen.

Seleucus says: “Khaire my Commander…, unite the divine sanctuaries of Apollo, and take up the harangue of Tel Gomel with us disunited and lost by you. This dating will remain in the offices of reforming Macedonian armies and we will both command our generals in the Panhellenic dynasty, overall the heavenly armies that you will ever have here with fragile oracles confusing your divine blood! "

Wonthelimar, already manifesting from Nyons, lightened his Bucephalus bases, having a great somatic affinity with the bridles of Alexander the Great's steed, unraveling here a great mystery in his parapsychological regression directed from the cavern of Chauvet.

Wonthelimar says: “I have been confined with early Neolithic alloys, here I have dwelt livid among all your intrepid adventures channeling the axons and sketches of manifestations of superior cause and effect of correspondence of the ages and their Aeon and paleo-uncrossing precessions of you and your new death, from the Ardeche river together with Medea and Hypnos, among all of them being aerial, visionaries and northern lights who traveled to my redoubt to spray them in river waters, on the night of Agios San Ioannis. The gorges that swallow the seal of the Pontias, make rivers form with their name since the bulk of their waves of gusts are grandiloquent and robust like a gaseous river that becomes hydrological in larynxes where the wind is astonished when entering the concavity that it is wasted in its nature of time and qualitative content. Unusually I have been the progeny of organisms of rapture and cytological drama, in each one that is represented in these walls in which they are trapped next to me as tricks, and radiocarbon tricks by these vicissitudes, and of their actions that have dated my radiation of radioactive carbon in these caverns and so-called fourteen carbon spaces, for more than fifty million radiometric years. I lived here with my parents until as a child I stayed with my godmother, but one day my father did not return. From that moment on I became after the anticipated axial carbon, to keep myself as a torch in the caverns to see where no one was light but me, only of someone who was more than a dawn to illuminate what they wanted to know in my organic depressions, my trident of dating and carbon, by my parents and I in incisive philanthropy staining all the walls detesting the otherness that made me move towards a Wonthelimar; with dated apparitions and curtains that behind them always like gargoyles appeared before Hypnos, and then Medea, taking me as a child with her hands. When they left, I was left alone and patiently waited for them, when they did not return in the harsh winters they would send me Gerakis Falcons, to deal with your pain my lord Vernarth. In this field, I live, but now I am on my way to grasp the horns of the ibex, which took me to their lair with their goat colonies to give me milk and ursid ***** herbs that shielded me from a lethal genre, although not every day. Remain so. The lord that you will be now is the reflection of the bodyguard along with his ibex that will cordon off your rebirth after leaving the traces and rods of your bone marrow, spleen, and glandular that now belongs to me, to take you to the coldest waters that run inside me since the last ice age. The interference of the Diádocos tried to convince Alexander the Great, this is already a new rock piece to represent him in numismatics, walls, and ceramics in a predominant and complacent way of historical, shamanic record and of astonishing parapsychological fold that I have projected on the walls of Chauvet without your consent "

The new turn from Nyons to Patmos was one of the seizures and ecstatic agonies, for a former little prodigy boy and son of an Íbez and a Bucephalus named Wonthelmar, who comes to rescue the entelechies of someone who was an ignorant man who carried in his arms his divine death, without knowing that before she was eternal life waiting for her in the Katapausis, after building the Megaron and negotiating with Seleucus the evolutionary stylistics of the resurrected Alexander the Great in the flames of the candle enlisted in the night lanterns and united with Saint John the Theologian. Seleucus' talks will be one of the stubborn and ****** visits to persuade and catechize his major general, in periods that do not elapse in real-time, and that will be the fatal fate of his obstinacies because Vernarth was already a prodigal son of the Duoverso-Universe., whose basal was unparalleled in attacking their ideals and hegemonic settlements of the material of minimal cause and effect, a wonder of worthy to lean on invisible gods who at a great speed never seen before..., trafficked in front of every gap or shoulder of their destiny, wandering under a pendulum of a sword and under the support of the farmer, who held prey and meat between a lightning bolt and an elder that supports him, cushioning all earthly sufferings, even more coming out from the silence and the most hidden isolation of those who dare to release from the vaporous darkness of Chauvet, Wonthelimar, already forging paths and ups and downs from where no one comes or goes.

I puzzle you as I try to avoid stepping on the cracks of the

cobble stone streets of Paris and raise my camera to my eye to

frame a picture of the Pont de l’Archevêché and catch

lovers eating each other’s faces out in the left third of my shot.

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Can you say “très dégoûtant”?

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I harass my family for days about how we need to purchase a lock

from the vendors of Paris and eternally inscribe our family love onto it

with a black Sharpie from America, that would mean the world to me

and they shook their heads, not understanding why I was so enthralled with this

notion of love.

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They didn’t know I was falling out of love in the city of love and locking my

nineteen-year-old heart’s impressions onto a bridge, but with our family name on it like a mask to cover up the unreturned love that burned in my chest each day

for two months while I wrote poems to forget him.

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It is not until my parents leave my brother and I to wander about the Musée d’Orsay

on our own tick tock desire and dollar, where we take in the sun set and clock frame

I can recognize from a black and white photograph my mother took when she came

and I almost trip over the rope that protects a Monet—

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“Excusez-moi!” I almost scream—

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that I instigate a scheme to leave my mark upon Paris.

By the second to last day of our trip here, I find myself

finally sure that lover’s pain is all too real but

family blood is the only thing that escapes that scrape.

I want our name on the locks of this city, where people write

the dates that they have placed their love on the bridge

and occasionally admit a second date onto the lock

when they come back with their continued lovers.

And it is the most wonderful, lovely secret ever shared with me,

I think, as I peruse the sea of locks on either side of me, later that night,

my brother and I take the lock and key purchased for three Euros and write

our names and date on one side, leaving room for my mother and father and

other brother to find themselves and their love and put it on the lock too one day.

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Then, we threw our key into the River Seine and I walked away

with my mark left on Paris.