come on, we can at least compete with the asiatics of chinese or japanese speakers, like the arabs can compete with sanskrit, and admire hebrew skeletons.

come on! tom petty just died! this is not a
dawid bovie effigy, worth remembering,
it's harcore americana
and even i feel no mortal transcendence
momentary: standstill,
    he gave me more mornings worth living
through to an afternoon than davie ever did...
hand on my heart, come on
mary jane's last dance,
   or *i won't back down...
he was always someone to me as something
akin to a mix of chris rea & bruce springsteen,
and so i find myself woodpecker scratching
off a piece of writing,
  because, just because, i want to walk
in england so the cross is left intact,
namely the hospitalier cross of malta -
and i have a t-shirt with the cross,
and a word underneath stating: malta...
so i chicken scratch, woodpecker the letters
off with the index finger...
    i like the "compass" as it is...
     price dies, everyone goes mental,
david bowie dies, everyone goes mental,
tom petty, or chris cornell singer dies...
  i must have outdated tastes in music...
           because everyone just shrugs,
keeps their ground, and waits for
the next grey-mass massacre...
    mary jane's, yeah tom, call it like that,
it's still mary and juan in a ****** package,
like howlin wolf called ****:
      that backdoor man attitude...
you seriously can't conjure up more backdoors
than *******...
      and then the man who loved
animals said to his female ***** -
honey, i have my prayers to keep to,
and i feel no cruelty towards you
being argued, to survive the homosexual
apocalypse.... it's all dorthy rainbows
and ruby shoes from here-on-in...
   come on, tom petty just died!
          i can't be a matt hardy with liszt and
cigars and women and:
     i'd put those jerky twinkles in about
10 wheelchairs and call them
charlie chaplins subsequently...
       why this desire for women's attention?
i hate shopping! i can cook and i love
cleaning the house esp when drunk,
so, i listen to too much music and
the more female talk i'd hear from any
woman other than my mother i heard
i'd prefer the shout of a close range bullet...
and as brother aramis said:
the best advice? is to not give any advice,
just give the narrative, and
allow people to chip in...
           tom petty must died, along with
60+ others and 500+ others maimed,
come on stop tangling me in gambling,
that antithesis of prophetic thinking,
and that's true enough,
  gambling is the antithesis to prophetic thinking...
but tom petty just died, and all i get
it a **** in a hiroshima's worth of attention,
but when dawid bovie dies
i have to suddenly state my transgender
  orientation! not that i have any...
nonetheless listening to tom petty is like
watching back to the future...
   oh, right, you want the chemist
turned linguist tell you further via
indications -
                             dáwíd bòvié -
the ò comes from the automated diacritical
markings on iota...
without the dot it would have been
otherwise four times the acute...
oh wait...
  reminder...
               dáwíd bὼvιé -
                 and yes, i was hit on the head
by a swing as a child,
no wonder i have made an easy life
having complicated the language
as i have...
    but automating diacritical markings
as the english have, is just a lazy
explanation... to what's exactly pedantic
for the argument of arabic
                  equally perpetrated;
               ὼ = ó,
and a wild sensed comparison of
congregative attributions with a missing
father caron...
    for ὼ = o,
            as much as ó = ω.

odd, some of my family members have the
surname saracen written on their gravestones.

27

Today I turn 27,
Finding myself not feeling anything,
Recovery is a bittersweet ending,
Sobriety but a lingering telling,
It took 27 lines of ******* drugs,
Not the kind you may think off,
The kind we are so addicted to,
27 lines of the purest lies,
27 lines of the finest mistreatment,
27 lines of the most mindfucking self harming,
27 lines of the most relaxing coping,
27 lines of the most euphoric settling,
It took 27 contracts,
To realize that in this tale as old as time ending,
Is never too late,
To rule over a queendom,
Abandoned by the heiress,
A queen of a lonely poetry,
Fading in the vision,
Chasing fantasies,
Never seeing the clock behind her,
27 years to wake up from a slumber,
A self given kiss,
The curse is broken,
27 years of harcore lines,
The ones that only make you realize,
Delusion is but a poisoned apple,
The side effects but a reflection of the hidden mirror,
For in the end, my world is but an illusion,
The same you wake up to,
An actress of everyone's delusions,
Never given a chance to envision,
The illustrations of a scripture,
A tale written by a lonely heiress,
One that welcomes,
Foes that see the vision,
Wolves wearing sheep linen,
Their masquerade no longer hidden,
27 years of ******* lines,
Rose pink sunglasses the sweetest red wine,
27 years of the finest lines,
Why was it so hard,
To see what was left behind,
A world that is only mine,
Looking, looking, and looking,
For a savior wearing armor and diamond,
Today I realize,
The heaviness in my heart,
Heaviness of armor I looked past,
I had been fighting a war,
To protect what is so precious and not far,
The vision of a lonely child,
Made to closer her eyes,
So she would never realize,
She was the one she was looking for,
Shameless for is never too late,
To open the gates of heaven inside.