"An intellectual is a man who says a simple thing in a difficult way; an artist is a man who says a difficult thing in a simple way." -Charles Bukowski in Notes from a ***** Old Man (1969)

It's always been like this.
The intellectual and the artist
ripping each other to shreds in my head
like wolves in winter, so desperate to eat.

The teeter-tottering back in forth
has left me as barren as my ambition.
Soulless homunculus. A perfect rendition
of a man, but still lacking.

Will I ever find a balance
between emotional and intellectualistic
murmurs? These unheard whispers
whistle in the dark while I weep alone.

Eternity is every mans ambitious endeavor with woman of mine and child in hand. This utopia which emerges from love and greediness is my life’s paradox. My most eager wish of eternal life is bypassed by my sensitive tear canals my over sensitivity for life in this world which the universe has created for me. Ungrateful for this nonpareil chance, a life as an intellectualistic individual in a cosmos with 7.5 billion other intellectual fellow creatures. Despite it all my mind still desires to let life be and let go of the dream.

How much more can I take of the entities, the evilness, which LIES inside of me
Not much more than with what you could abstain,
I've shown you most of all my deviant ways!
      the anger, the suffering, the antagonizing pain
      it's all too real now…
                           …playing with insanity, is not a game to be played
Your dreams of reality are swept aside,
Like no one ever seemed to care or bother or even wonder why?
Whilst you only sat there and confused yourself in solitude
Doing the things you do, saying the things you said you'd do
so many writing of thoughts many misconstrued
Honesty was the best thing ever taught too you!
The anxiety lead into deep COGNOTION, counter-reaction, try to defeat the ignition    
They could never observe the substantial features,
         distorted faces…….. Surrounding me !
         abstract creatures desperately haunting me!
Constant observation, torrent horror feeding a way to obscure my day.
Life living demons , I've struck the gate wide open.
My sanctuary thought to be secured
Plundered and exploited, invaded, deprived of.
distinguished my nobility of my characteristic pride…
my sanctuary denied … a test of intellectualistic     pyschoanalystical dehumanized control!
The battle situates, no compromises
                                      set fort now!
                        The Obscurities of the Mind
The next days dialed in , intrepid discretely, recon disengaged of your sorry *** situation just got bitterly disarrayed, to far astray!
     THIS IS THE INVASION OF YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE!!!
                                                    ­     Written by: M.j.Merrifield