I wrote a letter to my 12-year-old self and
It went something along the lines of
“Love Yourself”
but counselling office posters read the same
things so I ripped it up.

See, I used to think that I could fly into the
Sun and it would feel like a warm hug, nothing
So drastic as incineration

Then I saw what could happen to pallid skin on
a hot day and my mindset changed.

I wrote a letter to my 10-year-old self and it
Was more like a warning,

(a red light is flashing, don’t fly into that tower)

Don’t let yourself become cynical
Don’t forget to call your grandmother
Don’t get so caught up in making money that
You’ve forgotten what it means to be a kid

You should be doing loop-the-loops around
That tower,
Roll upside-down, see your city like a bird.

Don red, bleach your apron, do something
Radical to it.

This has become the unsung song of your life

You’ve forgotten to live.

Go ahead Darling,
dolly yourself up,
climb up on your platforms,
tighten those jeans around
your nice lady-hips.
Spread some hot pink
on your ruby red lips.
I think you are the bomb!
O let me,
O please let me,
light your fuze
when your ready to explode,
ready to explode
with me.
It's incineration time.

Incineration
Decapitation
Mutilation
The Veneration
And Sublimation
Of a Freethinking nation
The Devastation
Of Liberty
Comes with the
Consuming identity
Of Religious
Indoctrination

Etymologically,
          paradise
is inherited from the Latin
          paradisus
and the Greek
          paradeisos
and ultimately an ancient Iranian root --
          pairi daêza.

In theory, paradise is a religious term. By that definition, paradise is a place in which existence is positive, harmonious and timeless. It is conceptually a counter-image of the miseries of human civilization; in paradise, there is only peace, prosperity, and happiness.
It’s absurd, though, how we provide ourselves with such a convenient idea, a carrot for all mankind to share in our relentless drive towards death. It’s absurd that we must rely on such nonsensical ideals to inspire us to adhere to literal, arbitrarily-dictated morals. “Thou shalt not do things we say you probably shouldn’t.
Except sometimes.”
“Actually, whenever, as long as you feel bad about it and spend a moment kneeling quietly and thinking something along the lines of ‘So, like, sorry -- my bad. It won’t happen again, unless it does.’”
The fundamental mistake here is attempting to delineate the existence of Man with an old book and relentless propaganda and childhood indoctrination and threats of post-mortem punishment, but more on topic -- why can’t one just live the right way without this kind of artificial motivation? It’s a juvenile concept that we’ve taken much too far. It marginalizes the human race -- “listen, Man, if you eat all your broccoli, then you can have dessert.” But what happens in this situation, when the dessert isn’t real?
What I mean to say is that maybe you should eat your broccoli because it’s healthy, and because, besides what society has attempted to instill in you, it might actually be tasty if you give it a chance.
Live for now. Care about people now. Because you don’t get anything afterwards; however cynical it may be, dessert is just a cold grave or a flame designed for whole incineration of your being. Paradise is now.

Oh, what I would give to be nine and benign
Because as I grow older the flow of concepts grows heavier
And swirls around me rapidly
Creating a whirlpool
I can feel the world pull
In the gravity of ideas
Given weight by words
That brings down birds

We look up only to see Jupiter
And we live on the Earth's back
Weighed down like mules by it's presence
Carrying conflicting considerations
Ideas inflicting incineration

The rain precipitating from the clouds in our minds
Develops a lofty humidity within humanity
And the leaves on the trees point downward
Erecting walls
To trap us in our gravity garrison
Plotting ways to crush each other
Time becomes the most effective method
As we wait to weigh down wanderers
With a point of view
In our gravitational pull
To make them our mule
Carrying our concepts
To strengthen our impact on the maelstrom

As our brain gets bolder
The water gets colder
But this ocean keeps spinning
Keeping the frigid water from freezing
And the gravity of what we think
Is the gravity that makes us sink

From concept cradle to gravity grave
Tranquil transcendence is what we crave

A lone dewdrop from heaven falling down and down, no idea where it shall land-

Would it be the beak of a bird, quenching its overnight thirst, diminishing itself for salvation?

Would it be on a red rose, waiting to be plucked by a lover for his love, wiped by the lovely hands?

Would it be the blade of a grass, perching atop, paving way to the eternal slide down to non-existence?

Would it be the stinky gutters, where a war rages: purity against the filth, a lone drop against the gust?

Would it be on the web of a spider, when an endless wait begins, incineration by the cruel sun?

Their lives bleed into mine
What am I becoming?
As long as I'm bleeding in line
I can hear war drums drumming
I feel my purity and youth leave me
As their lack of couth feeds me
And their sweet tooth bleeds me
Until eventually I too am greedy

In this ****** atmosphere
Our ***** past is clear
Inspiring future fears
And hardened tears
Drowned by beers
And empty cheers
Through the years
Until we're here
As a ****** stranger
Head banger
Teenager
In Jesus' manger

This blight
Of life
As a simulation
Of assimilation
Into a nation
Of incineration
In a ****** mire
Lit by the fire
Positioned higher
I call my sire

I fidget in the cage
Of this pivotal maze
Called the Digital Age
I'm in need of healing
From this dark feeling
That I'm an innocent child reading
A book about a grown man bleeding
Always met with a hateful greeting
While sympathy is fleeting
Being replaced by our own jadedness
After living with those who hated us
We develop defensive thorns
Resembling demonic horns
To match public scorns

My first love
Drew first blood
And I couldn't halt the blood loss
Exacerbated by the mud toss
Of the sinister town crier
Exposing my heart's desires
So I said never again
For the bleeding to stop
When dealing with men
Is like meeting the cops
Aware that I'm defenseless
They start beating me senseless
So I become a judge myself
Part of the sludge for my health
I won't budge unless it's for wealth
Accepting the cards I was dealt

They bled into me
Now red is all I see
No way to get free
So I follow their lead
And choose to bleed
As they pray and plead
It becomes my turn
To cause the burns
That I had learned
When I was spurned
And lost my purity
Now blood cures me

Burn so brightly elements of yesterday
Locked in a peculiar orbit, they say

The largest star in any sky
Burning the hottest before it dies

The intense blue of sublimation
Black holes envy his degradation

Far past when molecular oxidation occurs
Into great fires smoldering for her

Countless planets revolving over
Hopelessly caught in his supernova

The atomic incineration of time
All through ionized helium lines

you remind me of the poem i wrote before i became confident in my writing, the one traced in smudged black-inked scribbles, soaked in tears, lathered in self-doubt that i crumpled up and threw away
and just like that paper lying in a state of disarray, no matter how many stanzas i write that outcompete that one i still see you hiding in the corner reminding me of my mistakes and naivety
i see you and i remember i can pick you up and try to fix you to make you into something that it meaningful to me again but it would be no use because your substance is still there and i cannot make a miracle out of a disaster
i wish i could pick you up and light the words you spoke on fire
i wish you were as temporary as a piece of paper
but you're a million sentences i've written that i'll never understand
you are the words i have not learned
you are the poem i started to write but never finished
you are the mistake i will never forget

you have entered the realm of life after separation.
gone are the daisies she tucked behind your ears. it’s autumn now.
you are getting older. your boots are heavy and your chest is heavier.
you were given something gleaming, but it isn’t yours,
anymore. you seethe in your own ache.
this is your first silver october. the blushing leaves have gone greyscale,
like an i love lucy rerun. they evoke a stab of grief between your lungs.
you have to rewrite the story of your life now,
go forward knowing that everything after will be somehow
lesser than her. no person will reach into you the way she did.
you are a lost girl. resignation is all you have left,
resignation and streets bitter with dead leaves, streets where you run and shout
a silent prayer of loss.

but then:
but then.

you are reciting a poem for a room of people and your words
belong to your body now. a deep glow has fallen over everything,
right onto a girl you’ve only seen once before.
front row. face open. taking in what you are saying,
your retrospective sorrow, with a particular kind of attentiveness
you have needed all along.
everyone is listening, but she is hearing you.
in that moment, when you are raw and earnest,
you think that perhaps there’s something different about
this one. how even when you are done, she still seems to be
hearing all the words you cannot say.

and then:
and then.

spring is thrusting its way out of cold dirt
and you are twisting and breathing and this girl,
this girl, she is one million ******* shades of red. all you can do is
look at her without turning away, as if you could do such a thing
even if you tried. maybe this is how rembrandt felt
when painting night watch.
full of thick, rich burning too immense for language to hold.
this girl, this girl in the midst of life after. this girl so good
she’s put meaning back into the messy coming of spring.

you have learned not to trust. not to believe.
to love with a window open, a hand on the door,
in case of incineration, ready to run.
but this girl, says your heart,
says the peachy light bleeding onto her lips and nose,
this girl is not like those who came before her.
you’ve been a stranger to yourself for so long, but this girl
is reintroducing the two of you, rubbing you raw with longing.
do you understand, you want to say to her,
how stunning you are.
standing there like that. in your sincerity and laughter, as it weren’t
breath snatching to witness. as if it were commonplace,
unexceptional. as if you weren’t the tenderest work of art.

do you.

Did you know that if you rub the ends of your hair together it sounds like static.
That if you fold the folds of your mind so far that your eyelashes brush the floor then you've covered yourself in mascara and dust,
And if you pull the ends of my heart to the darkest parts of the universe then you will never compare to
The collapse of my stargazing selflessness.

Sometimes I go outside and breathe the breeze so far into myself that it becomes
Ice and yet, when I breathe out I feel the
Steam of my failed attempts to boil.
I've tried to commemorate my actions by lining pieces of grass one after another along rivulets in asphalt but then I ask myself do
Ends ever
End?

The dirt on my fingerprints has morphed into calluses from the amount of times that I have tried to erase my self-worth however,
I am still worth the amount of times I have captured lightning inside of rose petals on a 35 millimeter film screen but that amount is,
Never.

I will never feel the hair on my face that I have allowed to curl out of self-pity and tell myself that
Everything happened all right because I,
I am laying on the vast expanse that is my morality
Waiting for the stars to sink into my stark ribs and
Vanish into what
I never was.

When I die, I don't need any roses
I could have smelt them, while alive,
marvel at their amazing beauty
while I was still alive.
When I die, I don't want any music
It's been tormenting my soul far too long
and my heart's been bleeding oceans
while alive.
When I die, don't wipe any tears,
You could have cried a thousand times
whenever I did - in your absence
while alive.
When I die, I do not want a grave
Nor a coffin,
I've been living in a box all my life.

Just light the fire!
Let it burn my flesh.
It has burnt all my soul already.
Now - let it finish up what it started
- while I was alive.
Then, don't bother to put my ashes
in a beautiful urn,
it is a box as well..
no matter how bright - still a box.
Just leave my ashes right there
so that I can rise again.

Piercing your eardrums
Cower in fear as you hear
the deafening howl of a hellhound
Echoing of deathbrought crying
and screaming of banshees
Body burned from the inside
incineration by the infernal flames
burning from the black flames of hell
While being immobilized by
the cold lifeless kiss from death

Pain?

None come close
to that feeling
when you find out
that your loved one
loves someone else

Come and tell, what do you fear?
The end is indecisive, trapped between now and coming;
But let's see it close, it leers at you, we want to hear.
What do you fear?

A man's rise, we see; the incineration of stagnant fears,
the will to understand what was once to hate.
A long path remains, but we see a man's rise, near.
So what do you fear?

Do you despise the bonds that keep you strong,
do you loathe the lives you must forgive?
Do you feel alone amongst the lovers, who show you how to live?
Can you speak, fool, can you speak your mind?
Do the shadows of time deceive you, as they have done every time?
Do you dread the betrayals following to your pyre?
Tell us, why do you cower?

Do you deserve the warmth, the conditional unconditional?
Do you feel pity for those who see not your visage beneath the mask?
Your treachery in friendship,
Your misogyny in love,
Your refusal to see answers to the turmoils and turbulence, to accept, to ask?

Do you fear that you'll hurt them,
and they won't understand?
Do you fear your solitude falling through like sand?
They see your isolation, they pity, they help;
they know not the darkness you call home yourself.
You love them, you cherish, you help, and you leave;
you know not of the ashes smouldering in your wake.
The scars dealt by your denials, too deep to conceive.
The hands that remain, you stay too weak to take;
The ones you choose to spurn - aye, yet another mistake.
You embrace the destiny of a lonely fire, with no warm breath to keep you near;
You've fought to love the isolation, so tell us,
Is this what you fear?

The bride wearing the veil walks away
The evening star peeps
Her face is full of smiles
Heart becomes passionate by looking at her.

In the house by lighting the evening lamp
Covered with her fringe
Her bashful and timid glance woke up trembling
However, the hand is extended.

What a line on the silent face
Nobody understood
She is tired of the illusion of home
At the same time incineration in the heart.

Let me be the first to warn you:

I am wildfire and catastrophic destruction,
I am consuming fever and searing passion,
I am possessed by infectious radiation, a contagion
for all things surreptitious and sacred.

I will vacuum the oxygen from your gasping lungs,
blister your lips,
and plunge you deep into my inferno.

I will gallop as chopping thunder across your oceans,
etch lightning streaks zigzagging behind your eyelids,
and illuminate veiled dimensions of your incandescent spectrum.

You will know me,
in flares sparking your night sky
into snapshots of opalescence and shadow.
You will know me,
in relentless flames licking your woodlands
skeletal and hollow and barren.
You will know me,
in remnants of cinders, ashen palms,
and smoky ribbons evaporating through your skin.

I am celestial pyromaniac:
daughter
of Hephaestus and Artemis,
incubated
in the womb of a supernova,
birthed
in the creation of Andromeda,
purified
by internal cycles of eruption,
hurled
through the cosmos by shooting stars,
magnetized
to earth by gravity and destiny, carried to you by entropy and choice.

I am volcanic and heaving
beneath the crust of the planet.
I am ultraviolet hallucination, I am firework destruction, I am spontaneous combustion, I am electric incineration, I am smoldering embrace, I am all things cataclysm and rebirth, interlaced.
And when I pierce molten and ecstatic and untamed
through your reality, you will know
what it means to drown dancing in flames.

Flames will fade too,
Burn bright and hot until a smolder
Until fleeting breaths of wind or water
Put out it's last embers.
And I, I am this fire
Ceaselessly burning,
Incandescence,
Flames twirling,
Dancing as if nobody had extinguished me yet
Until someone does.
Until the water is splashed
And my fire dies.
But as oxygen is to flame,
Willpower is to determination
And my embers will not be put out
I will burn what has given to me until incineration.
I ingest this wood, these obstacles,
As a hungry child
I engulf forests for breakfast
Because fire is natural
And you cannot tame what is wild.
You can douse the coals after my destruction
But I can rip through your town
I will sear your very existence
To the ground.
I can be put out, as if I was never there
But the grass around me
And what I have left in my path
Is not the same, nor will it ever be.
Oh yes, embers die, too, you know-
But keep in mind that while you may strike the box,
I'm sure that you never lit the match
With the intent to start a fire.

They raised me to be who I am,
And I could never have been any different.
They spent countless hours nurturing me and cherishing
Every achievement throughout my life.
I loved them so much, and I'd have done anything for them,
Will still do anything for them, because I knew they loved me back.
Until they pushed me away from them,
Sent me falling through the sky and got the hell away from me
As though I was nothing to them anymore,
Never had been their little boy.

And I fall through clouds like they don't want to be near me,
And I fall until the details below me come into focus.
I cry when I see the city, the buildings, the people.
I cry because I know now why I was created.
They come closer to me as I move closer to them,
And I can feel my insides start to churn,
And then it burns before I've even reached the ground.
I'm blinded by the brightness of my own incineration,
And with my last thoughts I beg everyone below me,
Though they can't hear me under the roar of death,
"Please don't look at the light."

I Warrant that thy lack of care
Is bound within a hard restraint,
Bound within thy calloused fist
To disavow convention’s taint.

I Warrant that thy steely eye
Hath fixed upon the prize of yore,
Hath disregarded consequence
In disinterring mankind’s law.

I Warrant that thy wall of pride
Hath steeled thy arm of self regard,
In keeping thy  momentum’s rush
From dissipating conscience hard .

I Warrant that the breath thou breathe
In  staling air of all contrite,
Contaminates the very heart
Of those who roar “Seig Heil” to *****.

I Warrant in the dead of night
When phantoms stalk thy peace of mind,
Incineration souls aflame
Might cause thy yellowed  teeth to grind.

I Warrant that through centuries
These ghosts shall ride thy spirit hard,
And man shall weep in horror when
He looks upon thy cruel regard.

Marshalg
Warrantor to an indiscriminate other
24 February 2012

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

When she runs out of hydrogen to burn, she evolves off of the main sequence, climbs the sub-giant branch, and becomes a red giant. Her helium core will continue contracting and eventually, ignite.*

Of humble beginnings: birthed in light.

The surface of the sun expands, cools down, turns red. Death of a low mass star. Above the wooden clouds. Whittled to form a sketch of a sky, screaming to be perceived.

Monuments to an era
With less fabrication,
And more speculation.

Four hundred exhalations between ten million years of innovation and instant incineration. Goddess of life itself. Betrayal. Though her temperament lacks spite.
And is Wrought with inevitability. Everything evolves.

Visual constants.
All that is exalted. Our stagnant star suffers, a main sequence departure. Reincarnates herself. A hydrogen Lazarus. Painting for us a portrait,

Of a humble ending: death by light.

Lambasted by the bushwhacking shambles of potsherds burrowed beneath enchanted rhapsodies of sunken Earth lurks a might unleashed by the preemptive dirges of Heaven
Shattering the weight of mismeasure adaptive to apt remarks of conservatory stellar repartees gilded in the flombricks of insuperable gammon wed to the divorce between mammon and guardian treasure etched by revets of colorful nuance but colorblind fortitude chalky yet with scattered sound blinking in the wink of intelligentsia a thousand parsecs of understanding in milliseconds of orbit
The periphery of forgotten stars bereaved but informed of circular axioms of axiolative thermolysis bellowing stoked smokestack locomotives of hibernal clairvoyance dare to wonder beyond limited or enhanced pulchritude the denizens of thievery stolen in a flashbang grenade of a new Grenada of fustilugs gabbling in flushed rosy red tongues of frenzy or aplomb what lurks beyond centurion sentinels of robotic half-witted half-baked semi-cooked bludgeons of cruel insensate irony withheld by vulcanized drapes of curtailed curglaff fashioned by kneaded distance and suspended for heaved awakening at riometer’s knock barnstorming the crude churlishness of the foreign at trespass of the inane scaled down by infamies unstated and flanged to appropriate provisions of measure that conquest lurks behind recess and all is grafted from the callous pachyderm skin of absolution cozy to remedies but aloof from necessities of pang and Tang rollicking magpiety like a rotten pastime aged past its due.
Yet the batting average of the uncanny visitor undaunted by glaring photogenic record balks at precedent and aims to lollygag his chicanery roundhouse above the ricochet of enamor to whilded terminus at circular diamonds soaring illimitable skies boundaries to another nothing beyond the past of something worthy of pearls piggish in appetite for oysters to inhabit
Yet these cloistered vacuums between the pleonexia of the avarice of retches of chyme and the digestion of complete guarantors of shielded heterochrony wassail on dreams Titanic and sunken living repeatedly in revised stereodimensional waves of registry beyond fundus hijacked by towering dimensions ulterior to the profaned foresight of the wretched dimensions of reprehensible coteries belonging lost even when fetched by glimmers of the profound.
The riches of aberrant mobilized fleets swung into tether pole centripetal flictions of swarpollock surpassing credibility and peace surmounting mountebanks of petty finicky itches of cretaceous extinction mapped to qwersy frugal mathematical jokes recoiling at rebarbative manifest destiny belong to the records of soundracketeer trivialization of malleable gold fashioned from Whisky Bar encounters with goldmines ascertained in magic by the suspense of upholstered dramaturgy lurking beneath tall crestfallen visagists who toss and bandy about in tempests of curdacted flow emissary and envoy to flajousts emergent from the verdure of aboriginal machinery fumbled by human ergonomic chicanery espoused by asylum rather than touted as marksman prestige flippant by inordinate gavels ****** asunder into delignated copper-brass keys of foreboding prisons on sinking ships for counterfeit litanies of bogus warning meeting inclement poverty to a drawn sine in the sand vacillating on purpose but intransigent in declension.
Starlet gnashes of odontoloxia wavers of tangential tendentiousness escaping the orbit of enumeration by sly remarks surprising the elective prerogative for convergent autumn to skittish paces of fast-forward beating the brumal bears in their gelid lollygag reminders why the 2nd protects the 1st and the primacy of interposition is the immediacy of flexed muscular DeLoreans cavorting with fringes of unfurled destiny in flashbang instants between the space among malingered pauses among secondary waves of betrayal shift the curious rip tide of stretchgraves too ennobled for widescreen yet narrowly faint in their promontory illusions as mantelpieces of emblazoned scarlet A’s for nothing more than a tempestuous flair with stigma but simultaneously the realization of true dreamy blues escalating around tensions finessed into ****** before drooping into the droll 1850s as the balderdash of detriment belonging to the salvo of picturesque still-life expressionism dripping troudasque in antiquity with flairs of impertinence celebrated more by melodrama than by billows of industrial hinderbaggle toxic to the stated alarmism of trinkochre preventing treony by the warbles of songbirds hemmed in by bushwhacking galactic police forces of granted licentiousness for backbites in the feral canine drollery of aged literacy chosen over youthful foofaraw belittled by retches of attentive brevity rather than protracted obtuseness: neither ideal for the gravity of aborning centuries
Yet we dally in convergent esprit filibustering rhymed cadavers of cadence for prurience in ebullient parvenu damsels vacant from the setting but entranced by the galloping herds of buffalo formidable with warmth because of death and locomotive drive-by shootings Daphne wouldn’t miss.
Yet what Mission Impossible has a BioCyte worthy of henpecked ransom and detached villainy of a trespassed appendix bursting in the Young crowd much to the awakened dismay of the colored affront to black-and-white hubris finicky in oligochrome yet fainter yet than stellified bronteums burgeoning in generativity separated by inherent gulfs of heterochrony balking at submissions fished by loaves of interest in the hambasket of aswallone fractious to redshort individualism in the subhastation of Jurassic prowls of replication hibernal for millions of extinct permanence scowling only by the mandibles of crackjaw Samson yielding his jaunty hair to flummoxed Cutthroat Collapses trimming yardstick furloughs of pleckigger for demotic flavork above fishy warbles of tilted pretense vagrant to everybody simultaneously renowned for arrested cacophony but bridled by few examinations barnstorming teetotalers with haunted patrons of aged wine speaking redivivus in contemplation.
Measured glare radioactive to lizards beneath Mojo Grooves monikers fielding “fly away” as transcendental harpsichord anagrams filter through lavaderos of hackneyed nockerslugs berating illusion for conflation in the influx of dacoitage among Vikings who swim flanked by sonic blares of innocuous dolphins floating dead by the carnage of bloated whales and ridiculous spates of welter above conscience ragged with tetherball futility.
Sparring with engastrimyths sapping the sapwood of sappy banality for toonardical lullabies that pacify opposition more than the Pacific is internecine to volcanic tirades of seismotic jolts of burgeoned awakening I vanquish petty sneakthievery with the unspoken power of a Tweed that masquerades not on ******* but on virtual rhymes cascading throwaway brown-brick fifties collapse on Dagon armed with gnashing poise against guttural gubbertushed victimized flippant fantasias arrayed to brook the decrepit streams of my elevated retinue for staged intrepid barnstorms against phony assassinations to prove petty Edison powerhouses clairvoyant in even their specious participles of quantum irony decisive in fliction marveling at sensible conveyor belt beltways infested by sluggards of inferior hives contrary to every inclination of self-edified skyscraper invented by the mettle of industrious man
So swanky in boast but gingerly in insightful discretion I careen ping-pong victories into a plevisable fortune of Bubba Gump wealth and Fortune Magazine ostentation as the ringleader in Barnum’s neutered circus that never spays a single sword of creation in the barnacles of progeny and progress frogmarched by cruelty and vehement in suppositions of craven popinjay popples of a whangam metropolitan artifice tinsellated with angles of trim prance above suburban ecstasy in transcendent flash and peerless reaches of stratosphere above mundane plaid macaroni witeless in the sterling grace of foreign domestication of livable conditions abiding by aborning stardom.
Harriet Tubman flowers on the bedside of ****** seances of 70’s Parisian cafes gerrymandered by hobohemias of herculean heft squaring account with encompassed brevity in byword dazes with ***** futures yet to court the cordial consensus in dodged drafts of fumiduct riots bailing upon New York Time for 44th street colored incineration of an orphaned Africa embodied in a totemic titan with reninjuble peerless majesty compromised by a frapplank in immodest incisive harpricks of fumbled swerves against the original proclamations anniversary to Boston Indians revolting against Manifest Destinies magnified in incidental clarity by bestowed churches fuming with rampant clairvoyance tamed by the grisly realism of intermittent thaumaturgy swaddled by the reconnaissance of eventual warps blistering in milliseconds to overturn the ultimate row that the mire always wades through in impoverished egestuous profligate convenience of hamstring declension against chary mettle in scruples by elementary riddles in precise junctures of sanctity the bodewash of slick partisan gibes of a puppet show vampire avenging Sarah Marshall. Harriet Tubman is an overblow of subniveal pickets of defensive clarity to immemorial churlish katzenjammer of a protracted flux capacitor dynamos in abolished feral groves of bohemian legend rather than ignoble rhapsody flirting with apartheid’s chosen engineers whittling an indelible scourge of hatred rather than a revived simian immunity scalded with potboilers of sveldtang water scorching like Helsinki after Stockholm goes up in conflagration over bonanza of wednongue dative duress in impregnated purpose skanky with ministered drivel of doytined attempts to flicker a switch exorcised by the integrity of neuroscience besides an intransigence of exuberant interruption of warped logics of pataphysical coarse arenas for submerged vapid Yellow Belly Pie Slingers aimed at 7/11.
Broadside bruisers aim at fracked 80s heyday like a Hey Bulldog reminiscence on a quaint suburban joke of alien freebooters in Franc Swiss gloss swanky on the spot of frapplanks endless in retired liturgy of surpassed peace amicable to truces among the pragmatica of checkerboard pastries willful in array backing sentinels from rearguard hindsight to flank the motatory missiles of target from ransom built like fortress of immutable graves lost to the celerity of the outpaced spectral wonder of teenage flights and hegiras into recessive parsecs enamored by a stage-fright of recocted astral wonders plasma to the ears of a strange foreign abode hospitable to most heaved alacrity sidewinding into effigy and the crumples of used demise recycled twice by intrinsic spirituel flocks of engulfed eagles spooning the pristine littoral waters of precision in nexility
Stayin’ Alive cackles resound in the hallowed furrows of a neat daydream in a scattershot imagination screaming to make myths sticky pigment rather than imbroglios of intaglio filibustering cohesive firm firmaments flexing with windfall at princely surprises cobbled from chocolate-box chariots of brisk elation shoveled by the conglomerate of prim-looking star-crossed unbuttoned snoozes with glamour in the corsair sojourn beyond the space emergent from stardust tinsel and glowered vindication of self-engineered huffs of vulpine vainglory touted as preeminent above dodgy 70s swerve in the vibrant kantikoys of covert tenure and flickers of swandamo glitterati borne of triumphant dimples on immaculate refraction.
Yet lingering on the precipice of aboriginal unity in disjointed sejungible frames of vernal restive residence decaying with anthill colonies of demarche the cadence lost to gyrovague trinkets balks from corridors of Pacific  Avenue peace that is the cardinal to the priests feasting on militias of rentgourge evicted from their own leash of lease ruffled in the plumage of horizontal margins folded into origami zenkidu gullible on Raptor estrangement chained to the rhythms of parsed sparse rumbles of the rhombos without a complexion intended for sparkled starlets doomed to regular tides in swollen tsunamis of soft-spoken surrealism the providence of aimed dreams of drastic marvels beloved to impregnate a verdant cadence latent by faltered seamstress elopes flickering for caress in the duress of finesse.
The quaint drawl of scrabbled runes of rumbled rumination streaks like a quivered acerbic winsome peacock jagged in the parlance of henpecked peak beyond the reach of the highest teacher that ever had the privilege of tutelaries spawned born to teach in Steppenwolf rhythms of rugged heavy metal impeachment yet ripe enough to preach. The last juggernaut is vile bereaved of yets to become the blemish on risky flambeaus overrun by crackles fuzzy in written retch for sudden bursts of volcanic speech.
In the quagmires of serrated heavy leaps I stroke the frazzle as the choir reaps the grim proclamation gilded by sentinels of majestic Challenger Deep burrowing tunnels of coltish ploy dilettante to all his curated adoration that toys with the children of majestic modesty ever so fractious as to balk at the priggish calumny of retinues of the tired coy rampant in emasculated spayed days of stranglehold filigree geometry bent on noisome bleats prone to annoy
So I leapfrog the redundant hackencrude fawn of gripping spectacles of alpenglow summits on acid at dawn foaming with betrothed pumice on borrowed past from potentiated future belonging once to a man yet always bred to prefer fairer damsels sprinkled with a hint of germane Soy saucy to the Bossy promenade to an Islander born and bred.
Guilt like Gravity gilded into spacious trailblazed glory sent seminal and said loudly bowdlerized the pasture of hidden thickets in sparse backwater chavish remanded by fisticuffs of elapse travail in artistry fundamental to rhapsody in distant milky affection jangling high plaudits of auditoriums of the delicate audit bulldozing fraudsters colored by defected records set ablaze in seminal disco becoming cordial homes for shaken residue blushing in crude crass mass the inertia of the classy beyond recognition without flashbang clashes of cultural class glimmering to faltered waterdrips of palatial mischief in correct lens for froward recalcitrance of jittery stash hidden in dacoitage by the police that knelt on incinerated livelihood predicated on chauvinist cash for departed untouchable caste of radical haste too blinkered for internet barnstorms limited only to lurid copy-and-paste regimented for revolution damaged by the loneliest orchestra of refineries of an alien taste.
We crack skulls against ossified hulls riveted weakly to iceberg submarine bulge battled in wars past always to suppress greater travesty yet divulged that Barbarosa was an insider coup expunged by remonstrance against finicky postulate brayed from deranged heirs to a disease of relish quartered by blue danger dancing with shadowed emancipation librettos finkly in tripwire terms of routed inefficacy killjoy to seanced second guess prisms of rootless flimsy accusation wagered by pathetic overstatement in hypenstance trimmed by the crimson paint of a glowering silk woven from dramaturgy belittled by grasp if not by locomotive passerby pause wicked by subversion inclined not to dismay by oriented by nefarious rage of flagrant hapless scrimshanks in prowess sued by process and refined by progress never erased by a five-second glower by the sentinels of parlance intrepid by desiccation to supervised superstition bemused by abundant gray twists of turnverein pillory.

Internally we see the thoughts of grown incineration
A challenge of the right for pure chaotic contemplation
To replace the patterned reverberation of the status quo
Into the things we strongly talk about and often burn to know
Not the fodder that wastes the precious ticks upon the clock
But those of substance that provoke intense curious thought
No more sticking birded heads into glowing TV filtered sand
Now is the time to hold ****** dreams inside your very hand
Gone are the days of holding smoldering feelings in silent
Now we see the weaknesses and now we see the triumph
For we each imprison the Brightness that burns in the ever dark
Forever-hunting shadowy places just to bring a light's spark
We fight unto the darkness to remain inside the light
Within the very soul of us, not merely day or night  
As we try to fall away from dark world bent on decay
We bring the light by eating spoonfuls of sun everyday!

hey again you lovely sun.
my love and captivity
has begun.
immovable to your disposition,
I cannot get any closer.
immovable to your glare,
does my passion deem me a poser?

your dichotomy of warmth and incineration
to the cold soul you cause me to be.
you take me for granted
and many others fall to your gaze;
my love for you is in a daze;
your warmth carries me away.
needless to say,
I need you.

do I dare move to farther poles
in darkness cold,
just to satisfy my churning heartache
for your beauty?
the heat inside is anything but sinister
it's what makes you alive
in my eyes
your uncaring rays to fellow garçons
burn my retinas.

a star among myriads
you only matter to me.
you're all I need.

The sun wants to eat us all
The sun wants to eat us all
It would have happened quite some time ago
If the Earth wasn't quite so small
The sun wants to eat us all

It paralyzed my love, as
She stepped in view of the sun
I ran to save her, but I fell myself
Is my spirit strong enough
Is my spirit strong enough

I panicked at the thought that
You might lose your light
I was aware that my body was there but
Yours wasn't by my side
Yours wasn't by my side

So I pushed my arms
And legs to the limit
I was traveling at light speed
But couldn't do anything to
Bridge the galactical gap between us
I couldn't keep up with you
It’s like you travel at lightspeed too

We flickered off and on with the
Enormity and heat of the sun
Then her outline flared as the fire and air
Overcame everything she was and
We were muddled up in the sun

It was a fiery faceless sea
But there’s a part of you I recognized as me
That made incineration feel like ecstasy
You did away with my egoic truth
I was content to think I’d be consumed
                  
Until out of the miasma as two beams of light
We sped through outer space to what we left behind (as us)
Instead of the intensity of being one
We chose the selves we couldn't stand to lose
Not to the fear of our impending doom

Coming out of this mood emotionally,
Praying devotionally,
Couldn't sell myself because I'm soul-lessly cheap.
A token for my innonence, repented my sins again,
Sinister events, waving my pennant so grant me my wish,
Make me a kid, cause I disapporove of my independence,
This intelligence was a propaganda,
These moments aren't sensible,
This status isn't credible,
I'll take cents over the million views,
So help me get through,
The evaporation of my presence.

we always seem to want or be in want or having something anecdotal, if not witty to say, and we rarely have the opportunity to say it, but more chance to write it, with the allowance of it being by nature synchronised to the least favour of it being said in the first place, and as such not said to the extent it was wished to be communicated; to deal with delaying a saying is the art of aphorism stating, which i'm sure nietzsche greatly borrowed from you: so instead of itemising life for all its empty and emptying poses of the tier tongue filling a righteousness of some sordid familial pedigree given easy sway to decay by modest man's standards defining perversity: speak into the grave, and let us hear the bone rattling ganges incineration maracas shake shake shake urns of defacement: for honour the bleakest of all humours bleaker than scandinavian as that be english, bleakest. i never troubled myself juggling ******* and alcohol problems, i just took to beer, whiskey and coca-cola, so sugar me up dahling... i'm ready to tiger pounce on you and grow a magic fern from my ****-hole for a bouquet of piñiata of halloween trick-or-**** as the fudge packing inverse **** of a baseball baton lubricated into me: circumcise the flares! i think i see titanic sinking! ha ha! all in all too many maxims were written, many of which are untrue, and if true, then they're never written: you only write truths for people to make mistakes to prove them; you never write truths if they're properly adequate chess of senior pieces moving pawns, you keep such truths ****** prone, ****** for a purpose of dark-ethical cloning in the familial bonds of dynasty.

My skin goes up in flames
Incinerating the fine fibers

That hold too much history.
Too much pain!

The water rushes down like a modest waterfall
By the rocks, cleansing the shiny soapy edges.

The rocks hold their breath
Until bubbles germinate.

Those dews of contradicting virtues
Flow off my burning skin, gently crossing each other out.

Like warships in full reign,
They torpedo ragingly, missing their marks,

Bombing themselves. The ash suffocates the sea.
The fishes gossip and their ryes burn, burn, burn.

Oh, the agony of a misfire: incineration, gossip, untimely death.
Too much pain!

Shalini Nayar
© 2002

we are the underdogs of this era, the generation of incineration
lying in the gutter like a ******* ***** rotton pup
we are the hated of the created, a social distortion of abortion,
the shouldve been gotten rid of
make them regret, scream. Wreck, everything.

a ******* salute, paint the skies red
dilute the cries of the undead with one of your own. *******
*****, tease. lyin 'bout your insecurities. done with your demise, not down with your lies.
**** your vice. roll the dice, the odds are never in your favor

what a contradiction, lying in the ditch with your homies who said
"dudes, we'll run the world one day." swell, swollen eyes and blackened eyes, what the hell.
allies with the unforgiven of who've never done a thing wrong. neck wrung. on the front lines with punks with tarred lungs. smoke, smoke, everything up in smoke.

break martial law, get down on your knees and crawl toward unjustice and saw them to obliteration. ***** the nation. stumble with eyes wide  and watch the debris of your broken states crumble to the ground. make no sound. they know the noise of defeat. left foot, right. whos in control now.
the rebels live.
the rebels thrive.
we are alive.
rebels united.

It begins with a spark.

It feels like the incineration
Of every empty
Touch,
Kiss,
And
Sigh
Evaporating
The space you took up
In my chest.

It’s fanning
Flames of disinterest
In hopes that they
Burn everything
You’ve
Ever
Touched.

But it isn’t the destruction of
Love or
Affection
Because that would insinuate
That you were
Important enough to
Feel it for in the
First place.

It’s fire consuming
The idea of
Time wasted
On a person
That couldn’t tell
North from South
Or
A ghost
From a beating heart.

It’s shredding
Every ounce of attention
Spent
On a
Patron of cowardice
Too pathetic to
Write these words for.

It feels like setting every
Word I’ve ever
written
on
Fire
In hopes of
Un-etching them
from my tongue.

It’s scorn pouring out
Of a soul
Scarred
From burning every
Bridge
Its ever walked upon.

But I will continue
To burn these
Memories,
Because
I’ll always be consumed at
The thought of someone
Not being drawn to
The spark in my eyes.