Tantalized by the fractious limerence of a vestigial habiliment of the old order, we conclude that hypertrophy leads to a limbo where random permutations alloyed by the rickety limits of concatenation subsume concepts that are equivocal but populate the imaginations of newfangled art forms that jostle the midwives of rumination to lead to unique pastures that are intuitively calibrated to correspond to definitive unitary events in conceptual space that sprawl unexpectedly towards the desultory but determinative conclusion of a meandering ludic sphere of rambunctious sentiments cobbled together to either rivet the captive audience or annoy the peevish criticaster when they dare to inseminate the canvassed and corrugated tract of intellectual territory created ad hoc to swelter the imagination with audacious ingenuity that is an inevitable byproduct of lexical hypertrophy. In this séance with the immaterial realm of concept rather than the predictable clockwork reductivism of a perceptual welter that is limited by the concretism circumscribed by spatiotemporal stricture we find that an extravagant twinge of even the smallest tocsin in the interstitial carousel of conscientious subroutines compounding recursively to pinprick the cossetted smolder of potentiality rather than extravagate into the vacancy of untenanted nullibiety can spawn a progeny of utilities and vehicles for dexterous abstraction that poach the exotic concepts we fathom by degrees of sapience malingering in lifeless bricolages of erratic abstraction in manners useful to transcend the repose of abeyance and heave awakening into the slumberous caverns of still-life to make them dynamically animated to capture ephemeral events that defy the demarcations of wistful indelicacy of the encumbered bulk of insufficient precision.

Today we embark on a quest to defile the anoegenetic recapitulation of canon that litters the dilapidated avenues of miserly contemplation that has a histeriological certainty and feeds the engines that enable novelty but ultimately remain rancid with the stench of the idiosyncratic shibboleths of synoptic alloyed impoverishment that leads to the vast wasteland of cremated entropy that is a stained foible of misappropriated context interpolated usefully as botched triage for daunting problems that require a nimble legerdemain of facile versatility that we easily adduce to conquer the present with the botched memorial of a defunct salience. Despite the travail of scholars to retreat from the frontier into the hypostatized hegemony of recycled credentialed information, we often are ensnared by the solemn attrition of decay as we traverse the conceptual underpinnings of all bedrock thought only to dangle precariously near the void of lapsed sentience because of transitory incontinence that is contiguous to the doldrums of crudity but nevertheless with mustered mettle we purport that the very self-serious awakening to our hobbling limitations is akin to a prosthetic enhancement of ratiocination capable of feats that stagger beneath the lowest level of subtext to elevate the highest superordinate categorization into heightened scrutiny that burgeons metacognitive limber. Marooned in the equipoise of specifiable enlightenment countermanded by the strictures of working memory we can orchestrate transverse pathways between the elemental quiddity of impetuous meaning and the dignified tropes of transitivity that bequeaths entire universes with feral progeny that modulate their ecosystems with both a taste of approximated symmetry and a cohesive enterprise for productivity that rests on the granular concordance of the highest plane to the indivisible parcels of atomic meaning that solder together to exist as intelligible if strained by the primordial frictions guaranteed by the brunt of motion incipient because of the metaphorical inertia created within insular universes to inform sprawling conurbations of mobilized thoughts designed to reckon with the breakneck pace of the corresponding reality to which they explicitly and precisely refer to.

We must singe surgically the filigrees that amount to the perceptible realities that transmute temperaments into the liturgy of routine conflated with the rigmarole of neural dragnets of reiterative quips in an elegant game of raillery with our supernal contumacy against the rigid authority of aleatory vagaries mandated by a dually arbitrary universe in a probabilistic terpsichorean dance with the depth of our dredge for subliminal acuity or the shallow bellicosity of common modes of glib contemplation characteristic of the basic nobility of improvisation. This basic interface with the world can either be mercurial or tranquil based on the interactionism of the enfeebled trudge of surface senses or blunt intuitions and the smoldering impact of the vestigial cloaks that deal gingerly with the poignant subtext evoked in the cauldron of immediacy rather than pondered with the portentous weight of imperative singularities of uniqueness derived from the plunge into the arcane citadel of microscopic introspection so refined that the ineffable drives we seek to fathom become amenable to the traipse of transcendental time that rarefies itself by defying the brunt of compartmentalized bureaucracies administered by the fulcrum of stereotypical notions of acquired gravitas imputed to mundane pedestrian quidnunc concerns that defile humanity rather than embolden the subaudition of gritty punctilios that show the supernal powers of the axiomatic divinity of sharpened sentience to reign with supremacy over the baser ignoble components of bletcherous nescience that leads to knee-**** platitudes that provoke folksy peevish divisions. We should rather orchestrate our activity by heeding the admonishment about the primogeniture of poignant sabotage buffered by the remonstration of innate tranquility and finding a whipsawed compromise of rationalization with true visceral encounters with the fulgurant quips of brisk emotions that grind industriously into amorphous retinues of the trenchant human imagination to either equip or hobble the leapfrogged interrogation of veracity and more consequently our notions of truth and fact.

When we see the hackneyed results of default ecological dynamics, we find ourselves aloof from purported transcendence because the whimpered bleats and cavils of the importunate masses result in a deafening din of cacophony because we strive throbbing with sprightliness towards the galloped chase of tantalization without the luxury of a terminus for satiation. Obviously a growth mindset is the galvanic ****** that spawns the imaginative swank of the pliable modulations of our perceived reality that, when protean, showcase the limitless verve of our primordial cacoethes for epigenetic evolution rather than the stolid and staid foreclosure of impervious sloth that memorializes the gluttony of speculation about fixed entities rather than imperative jostling urbanity that dignifies the brackish dance with dearth and the exuberant savory taste of momentary excess because it engages the animated pursuit of limerence rather than the exhumed corpse of wistful regret. Nature is a cyclical clockwork system of predatory instinct met with the clemency of the prosperous providence enacted by the travailing ingenuity of successive cumulative generativities that compounded unevenly and unpredictably to predicate a fundamental zeitgeist calculated to engorge the fattened resources of the resourceful and temper the etiolated dreams of the fringed acquiescence of a hulking prejudiced population of dutiful servants that balk at the diminutive prospects of a lopsided distribution of talent and means but slumber in irenic resolve created by the merciful hands of defensive designs that configure consciousness to relish comparative touchstones rather than absolute outcomes that straggle beyond a point of enviable reference to shield the world of the barbarism of botched laments clamoring for an uncertain grave from the gravity of the orbiting satellites of apportioned wealth both sunblind and boorish but simultaneously inextricable from the acclimated fortune of heaped nepotism and herculean opportunism. The intransigence of the weighted destiny of inequity is a squalid enterprise of primeval abrasive and combative tendencies within the bailiwick of the indignant compass inherent to the system that fathoms its deficiencies with crabwise and gingerly pause but airs a sheepish grievance like a bleat of self-exculpation but simultaneously an arraignment of fundamental attribution erroneously indicted without the selfsame reflexiveness characteristic of a transcendent being with other recourses to clamber an avenue to Broadway without malingering in the slums of opprobrious ineffectual remonstration against the arrangement of a blinkered metropolis of uneven gentrification.

We flicker sometimes between the strategic drivel of appeasement and the candor of audacious imprecation of the culprits of indignity or considerate nutritive encomium of the beacons of ameliorated enlightenment because we often masquerade a half-witted glib consciousness lazily sketched by the welters of verve alloyed with the rancid distaste of squalor and slumber on the faculty of conscientious swivels of prudential expeditions with an avarice for bountiful considered thought and wily contortions of demeanor that issue the affirmative traction of adaptive endeavor to cheat a warped system for a reconciled peace and a refined self-mastery. We need to traduce the urchins that sting the system with pangs of opprobrious ballyhoo and the effluvia of foofaraw that contaminate with pettifoggery and small-minded blather the arenas better suited for the gladiatorial combat of cockalorums tinged with a dose of intellectual effrontery beyond the span of dogmatism rather than the hackneyed platitudes that infest the news cycle with folksy backwardation catered to the fascism of a checkered established press that urges insurrection while tranquilizing dissent against the furtive actions of consequence hidden behind the draped verdure of pretense whose byproduct is only a self-referential sophistry that swarms like an intractable itch to devolve the spectator into a pasquinaded spectacle of profound human obtuseness that pervades malignantly the system of debate until the reductionists outwit themselves with the empty prevarication of circular logic that deliberately misfires to miss the target of true importance because of the pandered black hole easily evaded by creatures of high sentience but inevitably ensnaring the special kind of dupe into a cycle of bellicose ferocity of internecine balkanization. The vainglory of the omphalos of entertainment is also another reckoning because it festers a cultural mythos of glorified crapulence parading a philandered promiscuity with half-baked antics that gravitate attention and the lecheries of gaudy tenses of recycled tinsel alloyed by debased aberrations of seedy grapholagnia that magnetize as they percolate because of the insidious catchphrases embedded in pedestrian syncopation that ignite retention and acclimate to mediocrity the sounds of generations discolored by faint pasty rainbows rather than ennobled by majestic landscapes of ignipotent mellifluous sound that stands a supernal amusement still for the resourceful trainspotter.

Despite the contumely aimed in the direction of contrarians for deviating from the lockstep clockwork hustle of stooped pandered manipulation that peddles the wares of an entirely counterfeit reality, I stand obstinately against the melliferous stupefaction of entire genres of myth and subcultures huddled around the sentimental tug of factitious sophistries regaled by thick amorphous apostates that cherish the vacuous sidetracked spotlight with fervor rather than pausing on the enigmatic querulous inquisition about the penumbras that lurk with strained effort beneath or above the categorical nescience of the shadowy unknown that often coruscates with elegance even in obscurity. I fight with labored words to spawn a psychological discipline that invokes the incisive subaudition of the pluckily pricked exorcism of true insight from the husk of buzzwords that constellate auxiliary tangential distractions from the art form of psychological discernment that predicates itself on the concept that the rarefaction of rumination by degrees of microscopic precision enables the introspective hindsight of conscious events that can be parsed without the acrimony of cluttered conflations of the granular prowess of triumphant ratiocination that earns a panoramic perch with the added luxury of perspicacious insight into the atomic structure of the rudiments of our phenomenological field and the abstractions that linger beyond perceptual categorization. When we analyze the gradients of anger, for example, we can either be ****** into a brooded twinge of wistful resentment or we can decipher that through heuristics designed to cloister the provenance of subconscious repose with ignorance there exists a regimented array of tangential accessories embedded deep within the cavernous repository of memory that designates a cumulative trace of compounded symmetries of concordant experience immediately perceptible because of the tangible provocateur of our gripes and the largely subliminal tusk that protrudes because of primal instinct that squirms with peevishness because of the momentary context preceded by the desultory churn of smoldering associations swimming with either complete intangible sputtered mobility through the tract of subconscious hyperspace or rigidly fixated by an arraignment of circumstances with propinquity to the deep unfathomed flicker of bygones receding or protruding because of the warped and largely unpredictable rigmarole of constellated spreading activation.  
When we examine the largesse of the swift recourse of convenience we forget by degrees the travail that once bridged the span of experience from patient abeyance in provident pursuit to now the importunate glare of inflated expectations for immediacy that stings the whole enterprise of societal dynamics because it vitiates us with a complacency for the filigrees of momentary tinsel of a virtualized reality divorced from the concretism that used to undergird interaction and now stands outmoded as a wisp beyond outstretched hands straggling beyond the black mirror of a newfangled narcissistic clannishness that shepherds the ostentation of conceit to a predominant position that swaddles us with fretful diversion that operates on a warped logic of lurid squalor and pasty trends becoming the mainstays of a hypercritical linguistic system of entrapment based on the apostasy of candor for the propitiation of fringed aberration because of the majoritarian uproar about touchy butthurt pedantic criticasters with a penchant for persnickety structuralism. With the infestation of entertainment with the ubiquitous political cavils engineered by the ruling class to have a common arena of waggish irreverence we forget that sometimes the impetuous ****** of propaganda is cloaked by the fashionable implements of a rootless time writhing in a purported identity crisis only to gawk at the ungainly reflection of modernity in the mirror and remain blissfully unaware about the transmogrified cultural psyche that feeds the lunacy of endless spectacle based on the premise that one singular whipping post can unite an entire generation of miscegenated misfits looking for commonality to team up against the aging generations that cling to the sanctity of cherished jingoism against the intentionality of a revamped system that malingers with empty promises using exigency and legerdemain to obscure the mooncalves among their ranks that march on with quixotic dreams that tolerate only the idea of absolute tolerance and moderate only when feasibly permitted by the anchored negotiation of the fulcrum of totemic governmental responsibility between factions that wage volleys of invective at each other to promote a binary choice of vitiated compromises of mendaciloquence that ultimately endanger the republic with either the perils of hidebound conventionalism and nativist fervor or the boondoggles of fiscally irresponsible insanity cloaked with rainbows and participation trophies. Reproach can be distributed to both sides of the aisle because ironically in a world where gender is non-binary the most important reproductive ***** in the free world is a binary-by-default despotism that polarizes extremely ludic fantasies on the left met with the acrimony of the traditionalisms on the right that staunchly resist the fatuous confusions of delegated order only to the sharp rebuke of the revamped political vogue that owes its sustenance to a manufactured diplomacy of saccharine lies and ubiquitous lampoons that are lopsided in the direction of a globalist neoliberal bricolage of moderately popular buzzwords and the trojan horse of insubordinate flippant feminism that seeks to subvert through backhanded manipulation the patriarchy so many resent using lowbrow tactics and poignant case studies rather than legislating the egalitarian system into law using the proper channels. I myself am a political independent who sides with fiscal conservatism but libertarianism in most other affairs because the pettifoggery of law-and-order politics is a diatribe overused by sheltered suburbanites and red meat is often just as fatuous as blue tinsel and sadly in a majoritarian society the ushers of conformity demand corporate divestiture in favor of an ecological system of predictability rather than an opinionated welter of legitimate challenges to a broken system of backwards partisanship and wangled consent. Ultimately, I remain mostly apolitical, but I am a fervent champion of the mobilization of education to a statelier standard that demands rigor and responsibility rather than the chafe of rigmarole that understates the common objectives of humanity and rewards conventional thinking and nominal participation to earn credentialed pedigree when the bulk of talent resides elsewhere.

It’s a puzzle
thinking what is salient
complications become proliferate

Hands on quarter position
evoking my inner senses
too late in one’s niche

It’s my inhibition
brought me in subliminal
My entire life,
without her presence

Cumulative heuristics
with other girls
and other boys
drawing some vague experiences

And I just thought
we can’t hold on
together
but we can move on

It’s crazy as I think
of you and me again
upon my emotional scrutiny
You're my drama.

Eskimos have a Gazillion
words for snow. We have
teraflop words for coffee.

Wikipedia it!
But don't get distracted
by the Tales.

Recounted stories of empires
held together by zeitgeist brand,
a belief, a set of ritual,
buying in bulk, a role of thumb,
opposable heuristics.

They've clustered history
in bunches like expanding
matter, as if it matters
who was king or Augustus.

Empires & civilization
held colloidal by the quirks
of geology and brand
feeding food-forward
with ritualistic sacrifice
in Megazillion iterations.

From Fertile crescent to Nile
Valley silicon, when we bind
ourselves to brand,
and move in belief,
secure in synchronized stability,
then comes the rubric cubes
miraculously built high
upon slave backs, holding
pyramidal server tombs.

I took a class in psychology,
But who could ever hope to know
The inner wanderings of a lost soul,
The mechanisms making you tick,
You, conflicting conundrums and
Cautious contradictions...
You have classically conditioned my mind
To fumble over your chapter,
With your classical ways..
Heuristics never applied to you,
You are Freudian; hopelessly undefinable
And impossibly right

When I was young I used to lay and think of having my very own queen,
You know the kind of girl that just makes the scene.
Well I found her and who knew I would find the fairest of them all right down the hall,
An amazing woman with such characteristics, courtesy of heuristics, not ever sadistic, materialistic, or a simplistic statistic, she is so surrealistic, I can’t believe how lucky I am, this ballistic, artistic, socialistic, purely holistic, expressionistic soul that makes up the composition of her life’s position, makes me wanna transition, and prostrate myself to her submission...

...and so I did, I let her in to swim through the thoughts in my brain, and like a broken water main they gush feelings and emotions freely unchecked but she doesn’t need to hit the deck, she stands stall, weathering the squall, she’s my wall, she’s my leopard print baby doll.  She sets me straight, inspiring my urges to create, always a reason to celebrate when i’m with her

She cuts through my life with a concern and care sharper than any knife,  Peeling through the layers to my core, *** man when it rain man it pour, and she catches the drips and drops  as they fall right through the door, and of her I could never ask more, she is the perfect score, the one I adore.  We soar...  

...and together our dreams take flight, you can’t cop this kind of height,
up and beyond far out of your sight, we don’t fight, we play, and I wanna hear what she’s gotta say, Everything wrong, and everything right with her day, how are you doing?  When’s your next play?  And if I may I will, the best image even if its still, is of her, lying on my chest, which is where I want her nest,  with her head on my heart,  she hears the rhythm of my soul as it rocks her to sleep, while I lay in thoughts so deep, and every once in awhile I just might peep, at the face directly below mine, that constant state of grace, life’s sunshine.

do i think of interactions myriad
that crying causes when giving tears?
do i analyse my emotions and period,
the synaptic connections between the ears?

why then do i separate earthly rumble,
the earthquake, volcano, the earth crust crumble,
from the inner sigh that permeates
the earth's gyrations' dire straits?

why are we deaf to the inner language,
the pain, expression, the spiritual anguish,
why do we dwell on science, logistics,
on physical mechanics, theoretical heuristics?

one tear, it is said, in the sea is shed,
a tear of pain of all mankind,
a tear of pain as blood that's bled
from carotid vein from heart to head

that tear causes the mountains to tremble,
the typhoons, tornadoes, and earth dissemble,
it's a tear of fear, of fright, of dread,
a tear that fears that love is dead.

it's a tear that waits, that longs to hear
the beating heart of humankind,
that's still awaiting one single tear
from human heart and human mind.

A tear that one day will turn to delight,
when man embarks on bold emprise
to seek the G-dliness that's in full sight
if only humanity would open its eyes.

Lost in contextual warfare
We truly have no word to spare
If we should ever get a clue
On what we believe to be true
Matter of mind, remind later
Learn to spell out endless chatter
Wouldn't mind bending heuristics
Around unfortunate metrics

Another morning to reset
The pawns on which the sun will set
And some times feel like providence
Made so you could tell evidence
Morality monopoly
Lobotomized territory
Hide luck beneath the thinking feed
Be mindful of the word you breed

Asteroid O’Belt Sydney Junction (Beer in Bar-Alley)
With the right words, you can make music on any planet of spatial arrangement. Dark matter keeps the balance of eccentric space, where a blue-suited handsome man, shines; however blackholes lurk to turn Spike Spiegel into a dream where he lives. Is it a dream or has he ever felt more alive than being back in the action with the moral courage that threatens his very existence Don’t forget he has a gun strictly for assurance. With warships, there lurks a year in 4050. 2000 years in progress, we may have evolved in terms of interactions. Fast forward, there are different people in whole new worlds. Like epiphanies, these characters take their place in the chatter of a celestial crowded cinema in downtown Shinichiro street.
The doctors chatter with dark undertones and hushed intentions:
“Well, it’s not like the phones are cheaper. Ever since we got their first. The phones have come sooner than virtual intelligence take place in this ghost.”
“The ghost seems to work actively.”
“Seems to be shutting down in fact.”
Shadows cast on the processes of entropy there many optimistic pursuits for the present.
But, in this modern civilization, what do we have the battles and gambles among the bounty hunters interested in staying in the loop of where the money flows. But, the real artists are the creators in this desert of opportunity.

“Woah, Spike.” – Spike hynogogically resuscitates from his cybernetic sphere
“Wake Up.”- Jet
Presentation matters but, the old technology rumbles in the cosmos among the old cosmopolitans you’ve had in your fruitful day at a casino of blackjack and bounty hunting. Somehow, Faye Valentine comes with a bang and a bad gun in the back. Holstered but focused on the game.
“Fold the chips, for you?”- bent slightly over the steep end of gambling. Mrs Valentine can’t seem to get out her mind her job as dealer for Table 2 in a hexagonal room of full-scale gambling operations.
Clearly, absorbed in the rattling crowds of these snakes in the rabble. Or maybe there are actually snakes. ***** it.
“Raise.”- Dewey Striker
“See that’s a million.”- Faye Valentine
“Let’s hand it to the strong gentleman for his courage, but, exciting game of Woolong and Woes or simply Poker”- Table 1
“Nowhere as good as these drinks are in Jupiter. If I win, I’ll write it all down in my journal.”- Table 2
“Probably, better to put myself out there at the right time. You raise too.”
“Earth’s building itself. Well, people are the same.” – Table 1
“Oh imagine, if we had more planets to destroy.” – Dewey Striker
“With that, money? Yeah, baby. Write down a cheque next time.” – Faye on Table 2
“To **** the one among us, who has whereabouts about a notebook that had all the people who have been linked to the death of Spike Spiegel killed would take us years.” - Faye
“What!” – Table 2, someone wins
“Nice try, but, that book’s all the history remaining of someone I knew.” – Faye Valentine says daringly.
“The notebook stays with me, until you have enough to buy off the notebook. I’ll start with 100,000 woolongs. How about that, missey? You know the notebook of all the accomplices that ever worked with a Doohan.”
“Do right honey, you’re lucky you’re in the right room. I need the information and I’m a rich gal.” - Faye
Spike and Jet in Discussion:
“Apparently, Vicious had barely managed to finish him off.”
“Do the others know?”
“Faye remembered, but, let it go.”
Recluse in Exclusive Reminiscences (Part I)
Jet & Spike completely lost in the intricateness of the bounty-hunting. Might be a terrible idea to eat bell peppers and beef. But, if you’ve got an aching stomach from ton of drinking and stairwell trips, you’re gonna have a hangover. If the Prairie Oysters were still not his thing, only thing that changed is that the more he drank, the less he liked the planet. For his favorite there had to be a special occasion like a bottle of the finest whiskey that the joint would serve from the golden days of heart-warming company in the heart of this Japanese place.
“Oh but there was one time. When I ate…”
“That was long back 4001,
Commandeer and imagine my surprise when the ole Siren, Jet. That’s his name; there was a need to rename Spike Spiegel to the old school be-bop that pretty much enriched the video star. There was a bomb, I don’t know what happened; there are piles of rubble and pretty much every bounty hunter missed it.
“Says, he wants to destroy a planet. Somehow, there’s some secret stone interwoven with the need of the hydrogen-powered machinery to change the deuterium in the accelerator.”
“Well, we could use the quantized possibilities and run an algorithm with the specific plasma type.”
“But, that would mean we would have to bypass the gravity field blockers.”
Simply put, there was some riff-raff about the bags in the first place. Kept them off the scheme of people who were idiomatic in their habits, and that seemed to do the trick.
“Well, the Francium is resonant with the cell rejuvenation heuristics.”
"So, go to Pluto. Where do I find the little kid? After since I got to you. The dog."
"Spike, Faye's not welcome. Leave her out of this business."
"We made it clear, but, no parting ways unless we find the guy who erased her memories."
"Yeah, maybe you could contact her. But, let's keep it straight."
"Fade into the television; before the victory is yours. Television is on an old couple of people who have coffee and beans; saying them both remind me of all the people I owed at the hot-dog store we just passed by."
"Might be a good idea, right?"
"You think so?"
"Yeah."
"What about Faye and the little kid."
"One of the most annoying kids. He'll find us if we surface on this awful map of nowhere."
"Well, we are on Jupiter. Everywhere is nowhere here."
"You've been here a while."
"The days get longer, each time."
"Yeah, what about the weather? Always turbulence in the skies. ****, it’s cold."
“We’re on the moons, Spike. We have air-heaters in our lousy, ******* spaceship.”
Jet, do you ever maybe wonder giving us a visit, here on Pluto. It was the farthest planet I could think of. Changing my life was great. I won't meet, and I'll remember you as a person, a stranger now in my own paralyzed heart beat. I can't feel my jobs get any more exciting. Vicious happened long back. God knows. Now, we steal back from society."
"God only knows." - Jet, baffled by no name of the planet
No name was given; however, that made Spike rather elated with the heightened discussions happening on Mars. There the assumption they made about their friend had concluded on Pluto. Here on Jupiter, you are always working with the better people to make a living. Too many moons, and further than the Asteroid Belt still lies the interstellar galaxy all beyond our amazing stipends. All of them, owe it to themselves, bounties are perfect to fill your midnight blues. And nothing to snack gives you the existential jeepers. Better smoke before evening kung fu time before you flow like water into the background of the Bounty-Hunting business. Once you're dead, you can't come back alive, but, freedom is a specious young kid floating in space and hacking your whereabouts. He’s about 19 years old.
“Your friends would be proud of you.” – Edward seems to have beat a chess grandmaster. The same old adversary from the blues of the old loss. Edward, you’re smart. Figure out, where’s Spike.
“Spike, where are you?” – Dewey Striker
“Can I help you?”- Faye Valentine
I suppose we must have misread the situation, but, the cross and frowning kid is not your f
Holding up a picture of Spike at the beahc.
“I wonder I should go back.” – Faye hurrying to her Casino table
Pack your bags and umph
You’re leaning into yourself, and the legs feel fine and the peak of my appeal seems to be, my whole package. But, even a gun couldn’t save him from someone she thought she lost forever. Spike was the only person in the galaxy who she knew was dead for sure. You can never tell in such a large galaxy, but, there are better views of sunsets in Venus. Did I want to die? When I knew he died in the fire of bullets and completely riddled by a long series of hovering flashbacks.
Story Part II (Continued Clueless And Moving)
The windows must open to a better life. Spike’s hungry.
“Well, your smokes are in the bag you carried. Didn’t bother stealing a single one of those Macintoshes you got from that place on Earth.”
“Jesus, man what part not touching other people’s stuff, don’t you get?”
“The part where it concerns us paying for the food stamps.”
Spike quizzically asks “Do they still do that?”
“Jet, don’t tell me we’re living off the previous million we had in woolongs. Not some ****’s mushrooms this time.”
“By the way, forgot to tell you. The recorder is on, I decided to get one of those VHS tapes.”
“Yeah, about that?”
“Hmm.” –Jet
“Faye got kind of emotional on the “day.”” – Spike
Government data shows that you two are bounty hunters. Those passing wormhole customs need to pay a price. See the sign.”Await your turn. Or pay up your woolongs.”
Jet yells at Spike, and seemingly hastened,” Seems like we have to pay up.You guys charge a grand for this?”
“You mean we didn’t come for more questioning?”- Spike
“Well, Spike we have to stick to what the customs say. And sure every single woolong counts as a bit of developed product. How about Mr. Agent? Do we get a free pass for a good ole’ blues gig?”
“Mr. Spiegel, please explain to your friend over here. You cannot go without the code for the customs department.”
“Spike, Faye gave us some sort of code in the back of the letters.”
“Seriously?”
“How did she know I was alive at the time?”
“Well, I told her you wouldn’t have survived the bullets. But, you could escape from the bloodiest gunfights in the history of this team.”
“Mr. Spiegel, I wonder if you would be caring to ask the services of our executives at your cryogenic storage?”
“How do they know, Jet?”- Spike
Turns out, the cryogenic patients are monitored. This is a sacred bond of servility to a life beyond the mortality of humanity and immorality of society. IN the end the immortality and the authenticity of your identity lives on. They called it the “Ghost.”
“Do they know about G.H.O.S.T?”
“Mr. Spiegel, we are getting late. Can we please finish this easily without involving organizations of vast power and affluence.”
“Growth of Hyper Oscillating Specimen Testing”
“Wait, what?”
“I mean we have to get out of here fast and we do not have time before Vicious comes and kills us.”
How We Escaped?
Basically, we turned to our best instincts as to whether a secret lurked behind the planet’s corrupt system. Jupiter had become a place of leisure, but, the alcohol was getting to our minds.
“Yeah, we checked names.”
“We checked faces, and no sign of those doctors.”
“The dream doctors seem like real nightmares.” – Jet
“Good one, Jet. But, having the nerve to ask the customs agent about Vicious really put him off.” - Spike
“Oh, man. That scared him.” - Jet
A cold beer was opened, and what happened afterwards is unreal; and as we approach our planet Pluto. We follow the invite, and the code is some sort of invite. If it was going down, me and Spike were gonna be there for sure.

“Well, the Francium is resonant with the cell rejuvenation heuristics.”
"So, go to Pluto. Where do I find the little kid? After since I got to you. The dog."
"Spike, Faye's not welcome. Leave her out of this business."
"We made it clear, but, no parting ways unless we find the guy who erased her memories."
"Yeah, maybe you could contact her. But, let's keep it straight."
"Fade into the television; before the victory is yours. Television is on an old couple of people who have coffee and beans; saying them both remind me of all the people I owed at the hot-dog store we just passed by."
"Might be a good idea, right?"
"You think so?"
"Yeah."
"What about Faye and the little kid."
"One of the most annoying kids. He'll find us if we surface on this awful map of nowhere."
"Well, we are on Jupiter. Everywhere is nowhere here."
"You've been here a while."
"The days get longer, each time."

I’m sorry
To the broken ones that I disabled with words
To those I subjectified, objectified, hurt
Forgive me
I am an ungrateful child confused by the works of the world
I have no excuse for shame and distrust
Or the crazy actions, sprawled all over that I have done
Forgive me if you must
For I have no excuse for my misled intentions
Why? You may ask…
I am not the good but a bad part of the world
I am the hateful habits people hide away
I am the monster that I see under my bed
I am sorry
For pain and evil that happened to guard you
For it was due to me that you’re happiness hides
For it was due to me your insecurities lie
I am sorry for everything
You were meant to shine
Just remember the words that have been spoken, actions that have been done
They are just sounds, and letters combined to make unfortunate combinations
They are just small parts of heuristics that were triggered by memory in a monster’s mind
You are nothing of the sort, you are special
I am truly deeply sorry
I hang with the pain and discomfort I have cost you all through my life
I hang with the uneasiness that I feel when thinking of the past
I feel the pain and sadness I must feel, what I deserve to feel
I promise you I will not inflict harm anymore
My presence shall not make a mark in this unruly world
For I am a ghost, my past haunts me and my future seems but a bleak empty void
Filled with rotten hopes and dreams
Filled with memories of injustice filled with mistakes and broken promises
Please forgive me, for I truly am so sorry
For I deserve the tortures of the world
I deserve the hauntings of evil and torments
I am but nothing, my words that I speak mean nothing
Please do not listen to someone who is worth nothing more than the air they try to grasp
Please do not be hurt by the person you saw
For she is dirt and you are the foot that tramples over
Please with whatever left of my goodness and heart I have left forgive me
Accept my apology if you are able
I speak with the salted water and healing cuts that have been inflicted upon me
Please for I am truly very sorry

Negation , as a verb
as if there is something to be done
and something to do it
but we all know the nots are already there

You want metaphor?
I point at the shadow of my finger.
The baby opens its eyes and is statistically bathed
in the dim light of Andromeda.
The inkless pen scratches out it's words.

I see, you want the plausible?
The heuristics bores you?
I personally, am standing before this specific tree
on this specific day
and I am staring defiantly towards this specific twig
waiting to see it grow.

It 'aint that I'm teasing you
it just that I've never known a better way.