This is an ode to Adderall,

that wonderful mixture of

dextroamphetamine sulfate

dextroamphetamine saccharate

amphetamine

aspartate monohydrate

and amphetamine sulfate capsules

that all combine together

to form a prescribable pill

questionably similar to the Schedule II controlled substance street drug

commonly refered to as "Speed."


This is an ode to the children

who are bundles of energy caged in a classroom

incapable of concentrating

on the miniscule tasks given to them

by pedagogical authorities that

promise societal success and economic happiness

to those who complete their work on time

without a fuss or a doubt as to why they're

filling in bubbles on paper in the first place.

The confused children who watch

as others with calmer brains

fixate eyes on textbooks

rather than out the window.


This is an ode to Society

deeming these individuals as broken

choosing to wound then medicate

rather than proliferate.

That took their inquisitiveness

and locked it in a book with the label "DISORDER"

stating that you will never be anything

unless you think and feel the same way we do.

And much like a mad doctor

lobotomizing those whom he thinks insane

they synthesized a pill

to dampen a torrential brilliance

allowing them to place their sedated children

back in the box where they belonged.


This is an ode to the college students

chained by academic standards

expected to excel towards great things

if only they reach that ethereal diploma.

The students who crave the artificial focus

the increased capacity for concentration

with the broadened spectrum of perception

the sense of purpose in the tedium

the ungodly ability to think clearly

and perform the meaningless tasks they expect of us.

The students who go through illegal means

to purchase said drug

to swallow or snort

and dive back into the mountain of responsibility

with a new found sense of productivity and motivation.

An ode to the students

unable to find purpose in studenthood

the ones who find more virtue in watching the sunset

burn clouds into firework oblivion

before then blessing us with uncritical night.

An ode to the students

who discover more education

in climbing to the top of a mountain

and yelling a nonsense decree of passion

just to watch the echo

bounce from shore to shore

in cathartic reverberation.

The ones

for which our pill

is the only possible manner

of assigning purpose to purposeless assignments.

These are the ones

who must binge

cram for days before

the big exams

going whole nights without sleep

or food.

The ones slowly cracking under the increasing pressure of academia

spending more time questioning why they must complete their homework

instead of actually completing it.


This is an ode to my brothers and sisters

who stand in horror at the mold we must fit into

crafted by an unknown unshakable entity.

The ones who lost the appeal of cookie-cutter success

in exchange for a small understanding

of the way things really work.

The cogs that twisted off the machine

and now sit lotus-posed in the corner.

My fellow birds with broken wings

still expected to fly.

My fellow carpenters expected to build their estates

yet not given the proper tools to do so.

The ones of cursed cold clarities

perfectly capable of clutching

those fifteen minutes of dynasty

yet refrain from doing so due to

the immaculate futility of it all.


This is an ode to a drug induced rant

that no one will read

the one that I chose to write

instead of doing my **** homework in the library

like a compliant student.


This is an ode to the pressure-oriented procrastinators

that delay and yet again delay

their petty necessary obligations due to purposeless and exhausted motivation.

Swallowing substances to summon some sort of incentive

to fill in the bubbles

and cater to the Society they find so confusing

the ones who only under influence of synthesized chemicals

find reason to squeeze into that culturebox

that cascades down a bumpy man-made conveyor belt

branding a diploma onto your forehead

injecting an occupation into your veins

transforming your pupils to dollar bill signs

demanding you breed children

to do the same as you have

and you'll never be happy unless you do these things

right?


This is an ode to those who reside in the shadows

of our broken social system

and conjure up great conversations

pertaining to everything and nothing

that are as wonderful and necessary

as the prints of your fingers

caressing down a comfortable torso

just before the sun rises

the untouchable indescribable realizations of life and love

that are completely irrelevant in their eyes

but are entirely necessary for our survival.


This is an ode to the overwhelming feeling of love

greatly exacerbated by a pharmaceutical delight

whereupon connections with other humans

become both incredibly appealing and oddly magnetic

for a few electric hours.

The oxygenating satisfaction felt

the instance just after the small talk architecture masks

fall to the floor

and right before we put them back on.


This is an ode to the minutes before the amphetamine crash

where the world still doesn't make sense

but we briefly don't mind

because a few fleeting moments of energy and purpose

in this otherwise detestable confine of reality

are all you can really ask for

as you complete the assignments

then step outside

to smoke yet another cigarette (they're absolutely wonderful on Adderall try it some time it'll **** you slowly but then again what won't?)

only to witness our Sun

breeding fire clouds in the east

illuminating the Western Abyss into purple-gold spectral oblivion

and in consequence therefore

between puffs of a necessary cigarette

you grin to yourself in quiet victory.


This is an ode to misaligned priorities

to those who when walking to everimportant final examinations

think not of the curriculum beaten into their skulls

but take careful measure to step on every crack on the sidewalk

who stare not towards the future

but to the beautiful reflection reflecting back from the broken mirrors

that are the weary days and weary ways

of this curious existence.

To those when stepping into the absurd spotlight of Society

unapologetically proclaim:


"Though I must play your game,

you will never win."

you might only grasp this sentiment, within the framework of in extremo's song melancholie.

for many night i've sat, and thought about
it: for in the night, there come several
questions, namely:
  why is the moon so inconsistent with
respect to the sun,
as in: you see the sun, either with clear
sky, or with the dulling english grey
of overcast, every, single, day...
while some nights, remain devoid of sighting
a moon?
  that glittering scythe of death,
and the eternal sleep?
    why?
           i don't want a scientific answer now,
numbed by fact,
  i want the first generation fruition of
inquisitiveness, of the plague of doubt in
giving the "wrong" answer,
  i want to know as to why:
each & every day we see the sun,
but not in the case the night:
to see moon also apparent as the constellations...
some night, i howled, and didn't see
a moon...
         then again i did see a moon at noon
in the wintry season at noon...
****** did a quantum trick on me...
******? which brings me to language disparity...
gender *neutrality of pronouns,
does, not, exist!
     i can't believe i'm currently living
in a mental asylum...
  but i am! and so are you!
   play the mad-man's game!
play it! pronouns do not allow "gender"
neutrality... they never will!
what's at stake is noun-genderism...
in a language, far far away:
the moon (księżyc) is male...
the sun (słońce) is, female...
  pronouns are irrelevant in terms of
"gender neutrality" as if ascribing
conjunctions, articles or prepositions with
a gender bias...
you want gender "neutral" pronouns,
i want you to learn french!
go on, ******, learn french for me!
****-****-cat-fiddling-cross-dressing-junk!
learn french!
you want an assault on orthodox grammar
with your "catholicism", go on!
please understand that certain languages
have certain laws!
in polish the moon is male,
in english luna is female...
   while the sun is female -
while in english it's: louis XIV...
you can't attack pronouns with gender-neutrality...
they're already gender-neutral you
****-tards!
    why didn't you notice the ****** nouns?!
why?
   oh wait... 'ere comes the, ******* asylum
brigade with their nag hammadi dictate...
gentlemen! applause!
you can't come around dictating
orthodoxy of a language with your
lunacy!
    try the idea of:
spotting the ******* moon once upon
a night in summer... believe me:
you'll chance to live through a moonless
night!
       unlike a day without the sun!
grrr.... yi ha ha ha ha!
    i'm going to wake up the graeae and
tell you a fourth secret, once you take
to the crucifix being replaced by
a cannibalising cauldron!
     grrr... rattles of branches shaken by
a wind, and the scuffling footprint of brushing
against fallen branches that become twings...
imbeciles! imbeciles!
    english nouns do not possess
gender!
     you can't call a table either a he or a she!
english doesn't have this "luxury"!
  in french or in english you can
attest to the moon being a he,
and the sun being a she,
in english?!
  o.k. i'm so ******* berserk in my observation
that's beyond making an
"objective" injunction:
  moth on my keyboard, the trinity of
0) -_ and p -
  i don't mind attacking religion,
but when it comes to grammar:
   this is probably the worst attack "imaginable";
it's *******! english does not permit
gender distinction to nouns! esp. inanimate
nouns!
     gender "neutral" pronouns conceptualisation
if a lunatic asylum... sorry,
but these people require a safe space,
and a strait-jacket!
you can't reconstruct the "unconscious"
foundations of a language: well,
you can, if you're north american...
      english already has a "gender neutral"
medium: it has gender neutral nouns!
  how can you make pronouns "gender neutral"?!
you already have a gender neutral
pronoun... it!
           just like you have a "noun neutrality"
of thing!
just like you a "neutrality of pensiveness" -
nothing!
  given the current year:
    forest gump seems, quiet the bright fella'.

In the stands, down 35-3 with two minutes left in the fourth,
Fred Carson picks at the sticky, white remnants of a Coke bottle's label.
He leans over to me,
"Do you mind if I talk to you again?"
I don't, and haven't since kickoff.

"You know, I played running back on this same field."

"Oh yeah?" I say, allowing the story to commence.

"Started all four years. Rushed 1,000 yards as a freshman."

"Wow."

"It took five guys to bring me down by my senior year."

"That's insane."

"I probably still hold the record for most rush yards,
but I doubt they keep up with things like that."

He takes a sip from his drink. It's half empty.
His hair -- greasy, most likely on its third unwashed day --
parts to the left and clings to his skull.
He's wearing a long sleeve, plaid dress shirt.
The shirt is buttoned to the top.

"Hell, that was back in 1968," slows, "I graduated in 19-68. Jesus."

Fred retired from the post office six years back.
He claims he's never missed a game of Blue Jay football since 1970.
The high school band starts playing in the section next to us --
a misshapen cover of "Louie, Louie".
Fred raises his voice,

"You know, I've been to every football game since 1970."

"Yeah, you mentioned that last week."

"I apologize. Yeah, if it wasn't for that first year of college.
I got a scholarship to play ball at Florida State.
Couldn't be there and here at the same time, you know? Kinda hard."

He runs his big-knuckled right hand along his khaki'd thigh, checking his pocket.
He checks the left thigh -- nothing.
Reaches into his shirt pocket and reveals a lighter.
Then a soft pack of Marlboro Lights emerge.

"You know, I ran the fifty in less than five seconds."

To the dismay of cheerleader moms sitting behind us,
he lights the cigarette.
He stares at the Bic lighter with some NASCAR driver -- number 88 --
I don't recognize.
The cutout of the NASCAR driver's scraggly face
sits atop a navy blue and spiraling purple backdrop.
He starts to scratch at the label on the lighter.
A screech from a clarinet rises above the rest of the band,
Fred grimaces, takes a drag, continues,

"The coach at Florida State said I was the fastest boy he'd ever seen.
He said I was going to go pro. Sure thing, he said. I rushed for nearly
300 yards in the first game my freshman year. After the game,
the coach was like, see boy, I told you. You are going to tear it up
this season."

The NASCAR decal comes completely off. Under that purple and blue label,
Fred uncovers a white lighter.

"Would you look at that. I wouldn't have bought the **** thing if
I knew it was a white lighter. That's bad luck, you know. Hendrix and
that--uh--Janis Joplin lady both died with a white lighter in their hand.
Bad luck. A white lighter is bad luck."

"What happened at Florida State?" I ask.

"Well, we were playing Notre Dame during the second game that season.
Down by five with three seconds left on the clock.
We were on our own thirty, and the coach of Florida State was like,
run the hail mary play. But in the huddle, I look the quarterback
square in the eyes, and I say to him, captain -- he was team captain --
I say, captain, I'm hungry for that ball. He knew I could do it.
He took the snap, the receivers rushed down field, and I bolted toward
that line of scrimmage, took the handoff and I was gone, baby."

The crowd begins to cheer as the Blue Jay quarterback throws a long pass
to a wide open receiver. Fred freezes mid-story.
The cheer blurs into a silence, as each person in the bleachers
watches the ball ascend.

For the first time all night, the band lowers their instruments from their lips.
Just a ball floating.
The buzz from the stadium lights becomes audible.
One person gasps.
Then like dominoes the stadium follows suit.

The high arc of the ball betrays the distance,
and the pigskin plummets sharply.

"Interception!" the announcer cries through the speakers.

"That's a **** shame. I thought he was going to have it.
What were we talking about?" Fred asks as he drops his
finished cigarette into the nearly empty, naked Coke bottle.

"You were talking about Florida State. You were down five and--"

"That's right. So, I break up the middle. I dust that noseguard.
I stiff arm a linebacker. I looked like a Heisman trophy in motion.
I travel 69-yards down the field. I'm slowing down at the endzone,
thinking nobody is around, and sure enough -- plow -- the cornerback
dives right into my leg. I broke all kinds of bones and tore all kinds
of muscles. The doctor told me, he'd never seen anything like it."

The band plays the fight song as the clock winds down and the Blue Jays lose.
I try to disappear in the sea of blue and silver exiting t-shirts,
but Fred slows me down,

"It sure was good talking to you. I'll have to tell you more about Florida State
next week. Be sure to sit by me."

"I will," I say as the band director, Mr. Morton, steps in front of me.

"Hey, Fred," Mr. Morton says. He looks at me, then back to Fred.
He's trying to decide whether or not I'm of relation.
"Son, I went to Seminole State Junior College with Fred here
when we got out of high school."

"Really? Did you guys play football together?" I ask with innocent inquisitiveness.

"No, we weren't really into that. Though, we were at all the games.
We were in band together. Until Fred's wild streak got the best of him,"
Mr. Morton laughs, "am I right, Fred?"



The fight song came to a close.
With a lowered head, Fred walked into the silver, blue crowd
with a plaid dress shirt buttoned to the top.

This is who I am and it will always be ILLOGICAL, IRRATIONAL and above all, STUPID.

I miss you.

You don't understand me. Its not feasible. Everything won't work. You won't work. I won't work. We won't work. You can't reason your way out of this. Not enough time. Not enough time for me. Not enough time for us. It would've ended anyways he tells me. I tell myself this over and over. Convince yourself, I AM INDEPENDENT. I will vitalize and intoxicate myself by myself. Thats what people do everyday. The issue being, I am not a genuine person. I persuade and assure myself I can handle this role and it satisfies my craving for normalcy. I'm not a gifted actress. I lose more and more social contacts due to this complication. I must learn from the independent ones so I can stop breaking apart these silly boys limb by limb.

You must stop making them care for you. You are not a whole person and therefore cannot be an authentic concern of others. You are imaginary. You are empty. Two opposite minds, insanity and sanity, fighting over the same body is an immense misadventure. Insanity wants to ******* boys, intently watching the peculiar escape routes they design. She sneers as they try and try, withered by a constant sense of defeat, each of them exhibiting exciting, unique and new qualities. She forces the body's muscles into a terrifying object. Then she denies his superiority complex of its primary function as he realizes that this damsel is in a permanent brand of distress. Sanity, however, is fleeting. Sometimes, she truly gives a **** about others. She is the pure example of meek, anemic and decrepit aftermath. She is selfless for selfish reasons. She wants them to adore her. She will exceed expectations, impresses and astonishes them. The product of this relished humanistic quality, acceptance, nourishes her. She savors boys who tell her she is strong and capable. Lies lies lies lies lies is all they speak. Its been too many years. She's forsaken by insanity.

Never enough time for this. Nobody has enough time. Who will give me the time? These days the clock shows seamless progressions to worse and worse. Sleepless nights remind me of night after night after night of our restless, unsetting and ineffective dialogues. Lets just go in circles for a little longer. Why not a little longer? Where do I find someone willing to linger with insanity? Just give me more time. I need a few more moments with real people to feel okay. Let me practice my part with you. Coach me. Tell me what to do next. I'm craving a sense of reality. I trusted you with it. Give it back. Give it to me. Let me have it. Feed it to me. Now.

I kid myself. If you get to know me a bit further I might let you peer at my Dali-esque picture of the present. Wonderland has me descending head first down the rabbit hole. Alice found herself stationary, bruised and filthy with temporary madness years ago. I've kept plunging for decades after and suddenly I'm gaining speed. Momentum, its all about physics. They throw ropes, then yarn, then thread to me. Once again the thread brushed my skin and I found possibility. The sensation of active nerve endings engaged my curiosity. I search for the sort of matter that could interrupt this regression. One faint wonder to what could have been is met by pathetic and pointless conclusions.

You are so associated. Everything and everyone is marked by inclinations. What affects you is the fact that you are now aware of it. You recognize that I see something different in you. I see something unusual. I see a habit. Nouns are consistently becoming verbs. You are not beneficial to this at all. I allowed you to be my unhealthy. I linked you to infection. Is that why I need you so badly? Is that why I want you back? You gave me composure from your expectations.You raised questions and I gave you the appropriate answers conjured from my ideals. I store a list of rules that are rarely followed. I let you in on every ***** secret so I had to abide by constructs of sickness. I had no other choice.

Will I ever be able to do this? If this is me and I am me forever who will swallow it? Who will take responsibility for my downfalls? Faults that are too confusing for explanation are menacingly sweet if you hold inquisitiveness, in place of a heart, on your sleeve. I can't understand. You can't understand. There is no more on and off switch somewhere in a dark basement. I'm not twelve anymore. I can't blame mommy and daddy. Its all my fault. I got myself here. It's my transgression. Don't you dare blame them. Recognize my liability. I ****** up this time but I found an oddity; I found perfection in this imperfection. It's something of a conundrum.

Computer science is fruitless thinking. I AM NOT A MACHINE. I am not a computer, not a mechanism, not a problem. I am not a riddle to solve. I am contradiction in every sense of the term. Its broken, shattered and pieces have gone missing. They were outdated and oppressive. They were thrown out, burned, buried, and forgotten. Once treasured, they became cumbersome and then dropped along the way. With them, logic vanished beneath my feet. Its gone now. I'm gone now.

Weightlessness necessitates a higher being than the imperfect human. It requires me to remain underwater, letting go of the compulsion to meet the surface for air. These ancient seas compel me and draw me further down with their loveliness and passion. I am mesmerized by the mania involved. You won't spot me in the engrossing waters. The black surface holds many afflictions.

RUN. FAST.

my younger sister
never allowed fun
to limit her imagination.
at a mere five years old,
she decided she wanted to become an ice cream truck driver
at six,
she wanted to save the world.
seven,
she wanted world peace.
eight,
world peace.
nine,
world peace.
ten,
love.
eleven,
a boyfriend.
twelve years,
nine months and three days,
lighter skin.
i remember her
questioning days in pre-school
what color am i? she’d ask.
and her inquisitiveness
never allowed black to be accepted
as a proper answer.
Ruthie, we share the same color
but not the same complexion.
too much melanin, not enough skin.
the people in your pigment are waiting for a prayer
to be prayed back to the hands that once found
power in praying.
let not the lashes of historical context blind judgment.
they oppressed our kind.
feared the golden in your flesh
so they bore a color wheel of acceptable shades
and suggested brown be bad.
she laughs at black jokes, but don't be one.
and somewhere between spanish sailboats
and slave ships
you lost the strength in stride.
you let them white-wash your worries
and bury your woes in waste.
they beat her blue until she bled acceptability,
not blackness.
But
pale isn’t perfect
and black isn’t bad.
embrace the dirt in your darkness
for what could explain the foundation
that fertilized your fancy
better than you?
your people stomped on grounds
they called home
and sprouted seeds of
brown
black
beautiful
babies,
you.
she questioned God’s existence today.
she questioned why her skin tone was
the color of disease,
but she knows not the shade of ailment.
our culture brought freedom
to a situation where we could only see *******.
I want to tell her to not hate God,
not even close,
not even a little bit,
not even at all.
that our black is not rooted in shame.
that she should not feel ashamed,
or silenced,
or transparent.
I want to tell her to
enjoy the diaspora in her Africa.
she's thirteen today.
Nourish your plateau sister.
Find the strength in your coffee,
and never ever let the brown in your *** stop dancing.

Clogging real life,
lost in the Great Barrier Mind.

It's attacking,
Again.

Never seen,
Never touched.
Yet this affection,
Grows stronger.

Everyday.

Inquisitiveness
Of his whereabouts,
Appearance,
Temperament and
His love of religion.

Who is he?
Descendant?
Age?
Every detail,
Unknown and
Unseen.

Yet I profusely yearn.
Yearning for his bejewelled devotion.
Yearning for his inimitable self.
Yearning for his yearns for me.

That is
If it subsists.

Bring on the media bombardment
of personality based self-help
groups and
get connected to the electricity,
eye meditating, colorful journey.

A ****** cliche and innuendo  
to repress your inquisitiveness.

Responsible figures on the Black show;
White ***** on the other.

© S. Wesley Mcgranor

And why then, should I not?  I am not below most and if nothing else am equal to many here with relevancy to being philosophical while writing poetry.  The two may be related and maybe it's just personal preference that I try to separate these but it's not without reason or logic.
To write philosophically shouldn't there be few guidelines?  Shouldn't thought and inquisitiveness be themselves and without metaphor and emotion?
To write poetically, isn't it more about feeling, grace, and beauty without questioning these?
I understand things change and definitions separate, disperse, die, and are born which is why I'm going to say that the two ideas of contemplation and beauty are inextricable to a certain extent and I'm open their junction.
In the end maybe I'm split on this.
Maybe it's contradictory.
Maybe I'm wrong and it's due to past circumstances that're relatable only to myself.

my my, ain't it June?! Juno, why have you given these poor people snowballs?! it's June and my central heating is on, it's close to 10 degrees Celsius, Bavaria is flooded, people embraced Einstein's relativity of the collapse of the = sign using a parabola, forgetting the basic Newtonian: cause & effect - the moment i coupled Socratic abhorrence of moral relativism, i took to dislike relativism kindred of: claustrophobia and agoraphobia... at some point Einstein's relativity equates space as time, rather than what Newton would suggest trans linear: algebraic squared, Newton still resides in cause & effect, space = ~space, given: 1 = millimetre, kilometre, and any other division... likewise with time... 20th century fashion being the perfect crop of quantum plagiarism, although in the 21st century the dance loop jumping between decades, back in the 20th century a linear expression, an evolution; quantum physics doesn't deal with linear excavations necessarily repeated, it's just repeats what is unnecessary. global warming and the mini ice age, June's here, Einstein too, Newton too, relatively speaking we're aether imprints... speaking via causality we're leaving a carbon footprint - well, **** me, two plus two... it's still scientific negativism, dietary requirements of modern man overshadowed all the scientific progresses in the field... never mind the cure for cancer! never mind that! as long as we can dress a diabetic in Lycra for bariatric surgery - never had i had i heard of such gastronomy, should it have been a pork chop smoked using zyklon B.*

we are living in the age of scientific negativism,
atheism a third limb
and our existential concerns reduced to
hamsters, calories and treadmills:
the basis of all modern inquisitiveness /
Aristotelian awe reduced to rubrics of dieticians
rather than theologians: at least with the latter
we could see the simple mind, hunched
in prayer... with the former we are experiencing
robots repeating the daily 2000 Kcal intake requirement
for a flat stomach... honestly, i prefer the praying
type, than the type regurgitating facts concerning
their diet - at least the former state of affairs
kept them shut up and mumbling, gesticulating
a type of shadow boxing while befriending
Jacob wrestling with an angel - at least that!

Never had I seen such beauty like yours,
Such a worthwhile smile that shapes me like a file.

Never had I seen such wit as yours,
Such a rightful judge to the cruel misrule.

Never had I seen such persona, with playfulness, reasonableness, uprightness, and inquisitiveness.

Never had I seen perfection, the quintessential condensation of all great characterization, in balance with my imperfection.

Yet it is only wise to appreciate you with my eyes, as my body is apprehended by the past, the future, the time, and the agony.

The life I've experienced has taught me that love is futile, served with sadness and unhappiness and dolefulness with a side of temporary blissfulness.

The idea of success impedes me from obtaining happiness, from settling for ‘less’ and portray a smile nevertheless.

Warped by expectation, limitation, and exploitation, time isn't sufficient to provide you with my fixation, affectation, and ministration.

Sustainability I cannot devise for when I witness your brown eyes, brown like earth, which with the kiss of rain and the seed of love can allow the flourish of life and euphoria never dreamed of.

My heart accelerates uncontrollably, approaching me to a heart attack of which I'm never coming back.

I suffocate as you leave me breathless, yet you suppress my stress and hopelessness.

I so wish to warm your hand while wrapping around your arm.

I so wish to embrace you in my arms and promise you safety for eternity.

I so wish to feel your lips and your hips, never letting go until the last grasp of my fingertips.

I so wish to stare at the stars to your side, while I admire your eyes, hoping that our love never dies.

But being with you is an impossibility, in addition to an atrocity.

Separated by time, a history, and personalities, war would form and never end in peace,
For my peasantry doesn't deserve your royalty,
For my filthiness shan't nudge your pureness,
For my darkness can't cohere with your brightness.

I'd be put to trial for the exile of your smile, the most intact of the wonders of the world that would now be purled.

I wish I could love you but never will I deserve you,
Never will we be together, for we would be an incompatible tether.

I wish I could be with you but it is true that we are through,
Never shall our past be repeated, for it won't be greeted, but rather maltreated.

I wish I could but I've understood from our childhood where I stood and where I stand,
Never will I know, if I were… with you, know where it would lead to.

"they" always remember starting early,
reading aged 4, writing aged 5,
transcripts of encoded spy messages aged 6,
but not one of them remembers
being aged 4, or turning into a mozart;
odd to vainly boast about such early
inquisitiveness perfected to a profession,
without actually engaging in one;
i don't remember when anything happened,
i remember that it did happen,
and was like a perfect mathematics dressed
casual in almost anything equation,
like π, extending to fit a circle's geometry
with an infinite decimal shopping-list
(3.14159... fidgety when approaching
the ~∞ encircling like a strapped to a dying-battery
clock hand of seconds twitching between
some second, 8 or 9)... with an infinite decimal
stress of coercion, giving the 2-dimensional
representation of communication was always
doomed to be strained... strained for paradoxes...
man's entire paragraph of excavated knowledge
was recorded in two dimensions,
not one, not three...
the kings of experience levitate in knowledge
not being encoded in two dimensions, with silence
the vehicle of a loss of conscience, the perfect science,
all a matter of α, rather than μ (the mediator),
in consecration of relinquished gifts via ω (the realist)
of the awaited grave, from erectile phallus
to an equally erectile crux.

I feel that spark.
That shared inquisitiveness.
That desire to see what might be together.

It wasn't always this way.
I felt what you did not.
You were ready for me, but I wasn't even there.

Now is the time.
It has to be.
It feels right.

We are finally mutual.
Our hearts are in the right place.
Our minds can't stop flowing.

Except...

We can't.
We shouldn't.
We won't.

That's easy to say.
But the heart doesn't just want to yield.

The time wasn't right then.
It's not right now.
Which *****, but that is the reality of time.

We don't get to choose.
How time passes is not up to us.
But some days, I wish it were.

THE BEAUTY OF A WOMAN

The beauty of a woman lies IN HER SILENCE
rather than her speech..

The beauty of a woman lies IN HER VEIL
rather than her face..

The beauty of a woman lies IN HER SUBMISSION
rather that her leadership..

The beauty of a woman lies IN HER SMILE
rather than her laughter..

The beauty of a woman lies IN HER PATIENCE
rather than her inquisitiveness ..

The beauty of a woman lies IN HER ABODE
rather than her adventure..

The beauty of a woman lies IN HER OFFSPRING
rather than herself..

Surrender
Harden yourself
Say "I am priceless" and mean it
Because nothing could be truer

We all wish to be beautiful in the eyes of the beholder
On a **** beach
Unbiased and open minded
Immerse yourself in your own aspects, your assets

Understand that in the grand scheme of things you are your own worst critic
Being spoon -fed and stigmatized
Immeasurable passive-aggressiveness
Assert yourself when you're among the persecuting prosecutors in this co-ed world we live in

Capitalize on your inquisitiveness and wit
Ask more questions
You know you haven't got all the answers
Use your pheromones to your advantage

Trick questions coincide with equivocal answers
Are you a runaway train of person hood?
Going off the tracks?
Going out of your way to be the change you want to see in the world?

She wakes up before time
And counts her fingers
Ready to go
Exists through all doors,
Joy is what she earns.

Her colleague's comfort
As they play and associate.
Late evening's
My ears set to her stories
says more than she knows
little heart of inquisitiveness
She annoys and makes you smile

In my hands she slumbers
Keeps no memory of the past
Bright and beautiful
young with courage
I dream to see her grow each day
My own in separate liking
a champion for tomorrow

Railway station waiting room sitting anticipating inspiration
Breathing slows as calm descends with a black lace shroud
Mystery light and honesty filter through the spaces in between
Thoughts float up then disperse on the wind searching for a patch of fresh earth
The platform rises up and beckons me to trust instinctively
Soon I will be taken from here to find my bodies position in a different place
My absence of presence will be noted in the subtle shift
A whisper of inquisitiveness will leave it's mark on those who pass by my shadow ghost
The past will greet the present like a familiar friend before walking into the future.

I guess you're feeling curious
As if it isn't obvious
Now I give you a chance to guess
What we need to confess

I'm guessing you already know who wrote this
It isn't something you'll miss
But if you don't know,
Please think harder, I'm not a foe

Firstly, what we want from you isn't just trust
It is friendship that won't easily rust
For if you knew the truth better,
We'll all need this together

Colors are essential to the eyes
From light, you see the truth that lies
Though in a person's heart,
If you'll look closely, you'll see a color that defines their art

There has been a problem in this generation
Something people try to fix through action
An impossible mission we can't get through
Or could this be really true?

Something's coming really soon
That's why we should reflect like the moon
For even in the dark,
Through our source, will we spark

Now I don't know how you'll react
Once you know everything about the fact
Will you know the worth of all this?
Or will you just let it miss?

Maybe you'll give an effort, maybe not
But I know you will, coz you sought
So if your curiosity led you to something,
Approach me and tell me what you're thinking

Now I'm gonna ask you something:
Will you accept the challenge even though you know nothing?
Your inquisitiveness amazes me, I give you that
But remember, curiosity killed the cat.


Signed by: The color of courage 14/09/13

Chapter 1 – The new kid

It was 8 in the morning; Vaani was already late for school meanwhile mom couldn’t resist making her gallop that whole glass of milk. She couldn’t help it, “ Why do we need this now when I should be chatting with my buddies in class!?” She let out an exasperated argument while holding the hot steel glass. Swallowing it in half a millisecond, she politely ordered dad to drive her to school. The weather wasn’t any different from the day before, however there was this strange shade of dark blue which let itself spread all over the town. The sky was unusually favorable and was worth staring at. Approaching the school building, dad gave a quick reality check and she instantly shifted from her unusually-aesthetic-blue-ceiling dimension. “Thank you, Lord Shiva!”, she expressed her gratefulness to one of the Hindu holy trinity for helping her reach on time. The ultrasonic giggles and chatters in the corridors were the evidences that prayer hasn’t begun till now. After the prayer, quite in resemblance with the daily chores at home, all of them arranged their tables and non-expectantly waited for Ms Prerna. Ms Prerna is the head of the English department in school, the fact that English is a subject taken least seriously by the students is something that she’s not completely oblivious of. They have no Brutus-Caesar business with her, but on the contrary, they do detest beginning their mornings with an hour learning a language they never learnt in class. Ms Prerna stormed into the classroom with an energetic vibe, a clear indication of a 10-minute extension of the lesson. Comme d’habitude, everyone sang out their good mornings in a rhythmic symphony. However, it wasn’t just them alone contributing to the morning paradigm. A throaty and electrifying voice like the arrival of tsunami yet humble and calm like the low waves at the evening beach could be heard with utmost clarity. Ms Prerna furrowed, consequently her wrinkles drowned into the corner of her lips to curve a smile. “I see we’ve got a new kid in class today!”, she rejoiced the arrival of the mysterious voice, and as a part of the necessary tradition, she asked him to come out and introduce himself . Vaani was curious at top of her senses to witness the physicality of the hoarse sound waves meanwhile, the husky lad came out of his chair, the long and heavy strides he took were attributing to his tall stature, as he came in close proximity, one could experience the delicious odor of the seven seas. It almost felt as if all the water bodies reincarnated as a male progeny. He turned. Towering young lad, whiten-hued with a light swarthy shade. Covered in the translucent sheets of skin, his veins ran up and down and finally converged at his wrist. Physique so lithe and muscular, one could substantiate that he wouldn’t have even heard about unhealthy junk. Clean shaven with a downward slanting jaw, lips fixed like a warrior’s bow, stable and subtle. Short hair but every bit uprising. Then, he raised his gaze, stark blue eyes violent enough to execute someone but at the same time, comforting and intoxicant enough to rejuvenate every being. Invoking an obedient smile, he set forth his introduction, “Good Morning Ms Prerna! I’m Neel Samudravanshi and I’m quite excited to be a part of this class.” Neel Samudravanshi, (literally – Blue Descendant of the Ocean). Every bit of his name was associated perfectly with his personality! “A very good morning to you too Neel! I hope you find the environment of the class comfortable and welcoming. I see you’re planning on taking seats with Akaash, he's one of the most diligent boys and I’m sure you won’t face any difficulties adjusting here as long as he can guide you. I’m pleased to welcome you! Please take your seat child.”, the very traditional paradigm of bragging the hospitality was yet again fulfilled by Ms Prerna, but this time she seemed to be reflecting unnecessary geniality. It appeared as if she was saying those diabetic utterances out of some sort of devotion. There was something peculiar about him, something very obscure. Obviously, he was no Derek Hale from Teen Wolf, nevertheless there lied an inexplicable enigma in his eyes. The clock kept ticking with increasing intensity, or maybe it was the sound of Vaani’s impatient disposition desperately waiting for the clock hand to stand ***** at 9:10. At 9:05, she was quite edgy, however, just out of insignificant curiosity, she glanced over at Neel, “How the hell can he be so much involved in this sadistic lecture?”, she murmured to herself constantly scrutinizing the mindfulness of the new lad. The bell rang, one could hear a great reverberation of amalgamated relieving sighs, after all, they weren’t the biggest fans of the subject. The consecutive periods were in this order, maths, maths, chemistry and sports. The school administration was thoughtful enough to award them with a 10-min break after the highly endearing first period and as usual, all the boys and girls gathered around their preferable tables along with their preferable humans, commonly known as “friends”, this is exactly where the purpose of uniforms and identity cards fails. A short span of pause is sufficient enough to cleave the pretentious union into numerous tribes of four or five. Vaani was one of the most desired and voguish girls of the school and yet the humblest darling anyone could ever run into, however today, she incorporated a great amount of inquisitiveness in her actions. Partly rejoicing the short break with her school-oriented social circle and partly switching sight over to the common point of interest, she felt distracted. Meanwhile all this short gala, Neel seemed comfortably addicted to his assigned place in the classroom, motionless, eyes subtly penetrating the mid-point of the rectangular board, face spewing a burning backscattering confident look. Amidst all this, Akaash patted him gently on his back and made a generous effort in transmitting the complicated art of socializing, “ Hey Buddy! I know it’s your first day and it truly ***** to be around a group of total strangers for this long, but you’ve got to get up and interact with them. Judging your taste, the he’s aren’t worth it but the she’s are so totally worth running into!”, Akaash exclaimed with a formal and lame laugh, he definitely was one of the studious and academically extraordinary kids however, that didn’t turn him into a total nerd who spends 2 minutes stammering out of 3 while having a conversation with a person of the opposite gender. To reciprocate some generosity and acknowledgement, Neel finally called it a day on making love to his desk and his eyes weren’t tormenting that mid-point anymore, “ Whom are we starting off with, the he’s or the she’s?”, he asked, by putting on a charming smirk to get along with his helping hand. Akaash led him towards the girl-specific dense region of the mediocre-sized classroom and switched on his mingling device, “So ladies! This is Neel, the brand-new animal in the kingdom and I expect you all to get along with him, behave well with him, help him get through the absurd culture of this wrecking institution hahaha!”, the girls didn’t have the slightest idea of anything about Neel, but his personality was dynamic enough to make any of them fall for him. Tanya reached over to establish an amical relationship by shaking hands with him, but all she desired for was to swirl her long fair fingertips over his vascular forearm, “ Hey I’m Tanya! Tanya Kapoor, I’m sorry the kids here are too much occupied within themselves and it’s kinda hard to look after everyone you know.”, Tanya was a perfect gene of the conceitful teenagers who have a sense of superiority regarding their family, financial stature and physical appearance, moreover they are well-versed with the skills of pretentious-empathy which is why they’re able to dodge the entitlement of mean girls. Totally inconsiderate of the conspicuous semi-seductive motives of Tanya, Neel summarized his reaction in a bland handshake and the blandest smile one could possibly make. The domino effect of befriending was now functional or what one could assume to be a far-fetched attempt in successfully hitting it off with the out-of-league material for which the modus operandi was flattery and well that’s it. However, the last block of the domino was far apart from every preceding one, the one who wouldn’t follow the conventional trend and stand apart. Premonishing Vaani’s persona, Neel himself went ahead and stretched out his hand, “Hey!”, he addressed her. “Hey, I’m Vaani, I hope you won’t have to go through all this tedious intro-procedure over and over again.”, Vaani empathized with him as she knew how dull it gets after a while, getting summoned like a culpable to lay foundations of uncertain acquaintances, whom you might want to annihilate in near future. “I’m sure I won’t have to, Vaani. Thank you.”, he responded with some essence of eccentricity in his words, something that could leave one astray and disoriented in comprehending the verity. Although it shouldn’t come as a surprise, after all one could always get lost in the depths of the ocean.

incessant selflessness manifested is ignorance
opposite its notorious nemesis, selfish, insidious

let the latter mask the masses,
they are us and we, its masters

yes, i was them till i was casted
i will not master nor be mastered
for voicing inquisitiveness
similar to the kin of the sin
rumored to have killed the cat
let them castigate and excommunicate
my mask will decay in the casket

till, that is,

they let the former; its toxic gasses
end times nine lives like mine
shunned and inhabitants
who slumber under overpasses
and would unwaveringly pass
on being passive
on not going under
long before playing roles active
in a world so colorfully composed
of paint strokes dipped
in tin cans consisting
of the blood and innocence
of shunned masses,
the victims of ignorance
and its subsequent massacres.

asleep in peace
at rest with my dignity
my pride
and all the answers.

as are the circumstances
of those who will not master
nor be mastered.

disaster

- end

The morning comes at me in sideways, frenzied swirls; urging the heart to beat faster and the pace to quicken.

It’s energy dissipates into crystallized coatings of sugar and ice cream, covering a path that is the same yet treacherously deceiving; beckoning to run and frolic like a setter after a leaf.

The stride is low and measured with a bounce of flowing possibilities, somehow dismissing the bald, slick mountain orb that holds no one; that holds our existence like glue.

Patterns emerge under a delightful artist notion, layers upon layers, textures melding with form, colors yearning to find their own personality; creating itself from a falling idea.

Tendrils of fluid, wispy inquisitiveness seek to insert their purpose onto the canvas; like rivers of rolling acrylic from the oversaturated master brush. White and grayish drips making their way to an authentic resting place with delving curiosity and untethered adventure.

Cracks, shrieks of cold anguish across the water; or is it chortles of delight at the incessant rage of an unsatisfied bluster?

The force is at my back, not to push and mold me but to buffet the noise from the useless chatter; to comfort and warm like a soothing bundle of goose down without a floor.

A little bit of something I haven't kissed,
A little bit of a line I inch closer to

Help me chain myself
Anchor my soul and body

A gradual slow crawl to a halt
Rolling eyes at the visual premonition
Surely this must be in jest, old feelings emerge and though not mine
Niche tastes flap on my tongue
Inquisitiveness turns to desire
Clamping down on the Beast

Time is a cruel mistress, is she not?
Yesterday bought stability
Now today bought sins to light.
eu sunt dracul *chuckle

I look, yet I'm blind,

I hear, but I'm deafened.

The radio static in my head is ever so lasting, unfailing.

I can rely on my instability,
my inquisitiveness turned to doubt.

I'm in love, but I can't love.
Have I ever learned to love?

I've always been loved, adored.
When did love become uncomfortable?

I'm the happiest I could've been,
but I'm blind to everything.

My strength is fragile,
I can't live like this.

I can't live when it's me who turns every drop of golden sunshine,
into tar.

Why can't I be happy?
Where are my screws loose?

Have I always been like this?
It can't be love that brought this out.

Something so pure, could not bring this out.

What is it like?
To not lead life with fear, paranoia and panic.

What is it like?
To wake up without sweat, a pounding heart, with a crowded head.

What is it like?
To love another, and oneself at the same time.

What is it like?
To not be me, to not live in constant torment.

“Cognition”
“My imagination comes from Curiosity
A curiosity of life and its meaning,
An inquisitiveness of sustenance,
That of the definition of a subject,

As we look in the eyes of another,  
And adhere to that one’s soul,
That special one that will be in your life,
The window of their eyes will tell all,
  
That one that is the dearest of treasures,
And that the sweetest of pleasures,
Euphoria that over run all measures,
Felicity sweetness of pursuing curiosity,

Happiness lies in the subduing of hearts,
Whispered its vows as a tender pawn,
To those that are strangers to ardor,
Virtue is imaginations strongest defender,

Homage and honors in the end fits like a glove,
When ones imagination leaps with splendor,
Makes my Curiosity barnstorm and leap,
To satisfy my imagination with such provender,
To that of my Cognition of comprehension”
By Andrew Guzaldo 2021 ©

.you think diarrhea is bad? wait till you experience constipation... feels like giving birth to a retraction of what could be considered birth... like some mammoth tapeworm doing the peekaboo, but not really, only teasing. i like you... you're intriguing. i have to follow you, given that there are over 350 curiosities of the shrapnel of you to read through... Suzanna Berlinksy... Berlinsky... apologies if i ask... Russian federation? i'm not guessing wrong, if i insinuate: somehow attached to Siberia? Novosibirsk is really stretching it, isn't it?

serious? this sort of comment will land
you in the blocked category?
your run of the mill mundane
inquisitiveness,
akin to that, shared on the street?
well... **** me over and call me George...
with a surname like Berlinsky?!
and with those eyes,
that physiognomy,
and the fact that the Mongols
traversed the Siberian steppes
and made an onslaught on
the European nations?
     then...
                      seems proper...
i need to be banned for striking up
casual conversations...
     pretty girl, this suzanna berlinsky...
oh well..
there's always tomorrow,
with another 8 billions avenues
of thought and would-be thought.