This warm cup of tea,
Mesmerizing me,
Flows in its essence.
Through my senses,
Engaging my mind,
Body and soul, draws
Me brilliant pictures,
Recollection of,
Fondest memories.

I sip- I feel,
A rush of the changing leaves,
An autumn's breeze,
Shivers dance upon my spine,
In such a familiar way,
Flowing through each,
Delicate hair on my head.

I sip- I taste,
The sweet honey reminding me,
Of your lips along with,
The warmth of your hands,
Finding the perfect fit in mine,
The cool air on my breath,
The comfort of fall's finest treats,
Delicate pies,
Many memories,
Flood into my thoughts.

I sip- I dream,
Of unwritten poetry,
Of never ending love,
Real happiness that you,
Would see in God's arms,
Or in that old couple,
Interlacing bodies upon,
Our favorite bench,
Under two familiar oak trees,
With gnarled roots and branches,
Similar to the life we lead.

I sip- I wish,
For perfection in,
Important interests,
Strength in unnecessary,
And unusually or usually,
Difficult situations,
For love, joy,
Happiness, passion like,
We used to share.

I sip- I be,
The girl I am,
The writer in me,
The unspoken artist in,
Words and paintings,
The girl you loved,
A girl with dreams who,
Aspires to be successful,
While being free.

He ****** me off
I hated him to my core
I wanted to **** him and leave behind so much gore
His head for my mantle
His heart for my stew
His soul for my brew.
But I could not
I've fought
He was stronger
My will to live I had no longer
Many attempts
And damage hidden
No I'm not kiddin'
I tried to **** myself
No one noticed
How could they
For them I was just prey
As unnoticeable as grey
But soon I saw
What I had ceased to notice
People cared
To hang out with me people did dare
I had friends
Who didn't want my life to end.
I stopped cutting
And started to smile
I swallowed my bitter bile
My sadness left
Happiness came back
But soon came the counter-attack
Junior High was a *****
Although I never had to get a stitch
Pain and Injury came abound
And my friends left me all around
I wasn't cool
I was a tool
My happiness left
Sadness returned tenfold
Someone came and made my life well...
A LIVING HELL
Back came the failed attempts.
Poisoning, Strangulation, drowning, asphyxiation  
And it all swept across my small nation
I never did have a vacation
From my close friends suicidal and Madness
Least of all sadness
But came high school
New friends
An old end
A new beginning
It got better
I never would have thought
That after I stopped and fought my feelings
That people would come back
Friends who shared my interests
Pessimistic
Yeah I still am
But I no longer wanted to be run over by a tram
People cared
That's all that it took
As if it all were from a storybook

you say you stand for democracy,
but do you really know the meaning of the word?
you tell me he was a dictator, yes there were 18 elections, but all of them were rigged, he was corrupt,
but  tell me,
is not this system worse?
where a party can only stand if it has the money to launch a campaign, where votes are bought by those with the wealth, only looking to protect their own interests?

you have chosen to directly ignore all of the evidence placed before you
that tell you you're wrong;
he could not have had an agenda when he described the democracy you hate so much as "the most perfect democracy he's ever seen",
you've ignored every piece of legislation he passed, all to give rise to greater democracy to the real people of the country
and you tell me there's political repression when there were 80% turnouts and over 30 other parties in each of those elections.

you are so blinkered by those walls around your mind
you don't want to accept that he could have done it better than you
because you know that once you acknowledge that,
once the world acknowledges that
all you built for you
and that other 1%
will be taken from you,
as it should have been long ago.

i don't know how it's going to happen,
not now, not in this lifetime,
but in lifetimes to come,
people will be taught that the meaning of the word
democracy
lies in demos, the people
and that those big conglomerates,
no matter how much money they have,
are not the demos.
that there is more to life than your capital accumulation;
their health, their education; their basic human rights
are, and always will be, more important than how many zeroes
are written in your will,
and that no matter how much they drill it into you,
you are beautiful, you are unique, you are important
so stand tall  and proud, hands on heart
because there is more to life than the money you make.

how this will be taught, i do not know,
but as a starter, maybe we could try teaching the cats themselves
that there is more they can do for the world
than sit on thrones of gold,
and there is more to life
than how many carats they have,
and i think a brilliant way to teach this
would be to **** all of their friends and family
until they realise that money isn't all that important,
and however malicious an act that would be,
i could rest safe in the knowledge that my death toll
would not be a fraction of theirs.

Dear J,
   Happiness is a relative thing, or so I've learned. There are different versions of it. Your happiness probably differs from mine, which is most likely the reason we don't talk anymore. Your happiness didn't mesh with my own, causing some friction that lit a fire, at first starting love but then flaming into contradiction. That's okay. Happiness being a relative thing keeps us all from enjoying too much of one thing.
   You see, as humans we always expect that the people we love most share same interests and ideas and joys. However, this is wholly untrue. The most compatible couples have completely different opinions on what makes life better than others. This ensures that we have a wide variety of happinesses to choose from. If we were stuck with one our whole lives that happiness would eventually become nothing more than regularity. And that's another reason we became nothing more than acquaintances.
   Our happiness became so norm that we abandoned it in hopes that a new joy would come along, taming the fire of contradiction. When nothing was directed our way we instead became bored. And that's also okay because a little boredom reawakens our old happinesses.
   So I guess what I'm trying to say is, I hope you found your happiness. Whether that be the way the sun falls on her laughing mouth or the music you write or the poems you read, I really hope that they make you see what life can be about with this happiness in it. I loved you so much you became my happiness, and then you outgrew the position. Become someone else's happiness now.
              Love, Claire

Life is a never ending game of crucial decisions.
It is like whatever path you choose
there is a trap ready to squash whatever idea you may have had.

So basically we are born into this world to grow up, learn to survive, and work as modern day slaves save up for retirement and die. Yes we are all promised a graveyard, but yet we can not live the way we would like to due to repercussions of laws we have to follow.

Also during this got dam amazing so called mother ******* "Free Life" It is in my best interests to find a woman to love, for the rest of our lives while producing the next generation of modern day slaves.

I must say Bravo! This nations government keeps so many things under wraps just to keep the people somewhat satisfied while still eating their fill.

Back to me ranting about love in this generation...Ha! it is a mother ******* joke. Attractive women want attractive men which have a job, a nice car, some social status, and is financially stable. Ok all those things I mentioned yes are Great perks, BUT!! 99.9% of those guys lack sense of humor, they could care less about your feelings, are very likely to cheat on you in the future , AND are with you because you are attractive and/or have all these great perks I mentioned that women look for.

It is truly sad because it looks like it is getting worse as the years pass by. I know exactly who I could have a great and fruitful life with and I could be everything she had ever wanted and more! But of course My physical image is not what she wants so she will continue to be oblivious and will continue to get her heart broken time and time again. If you are reading this WAKE UP

{RP}

The Roulette of Fanfare by Imaginative Glare (A Cooperation of Timeless Synquest)
Sunken fortitude is the bailiwick of interminable eupathy that sustenance embezzles by minutiae of orange spectral linearity of bypass becoming a torus of tragic reprieve in repcrevel fashions of hyjamb. Thus we float above the carcass of syrts of certitude by cadasters of nostalgic drawls of malingering strawberry staddle for the scutage of pinhoked disaster. We renege on committed opalescence because tranquil dangles of vinsky are waged by trenchcoats of bluster for vector arrays of galvanized decorum that swirks for elegant synectics by dredged grains of agrarian sanity by the pleckigger of lopsided islands of creativity that are the notarikons of aleatory finite but equidistant largesse of not just a jumboism but a jetsetting travesty of traversed time mastered by ignoble ingenuity. I limn with piracy as a freebooter cordslave plugged by demitoilet reminders of the flyndresque alloreck of tinjesk spectral ultimatums that are the stretchgraves of a retrospective infinity that is a bystander to catapulted cohesive coherence found only in piecemeal culinary seditions against the drip of a turncock of roosted clarification in muted hindsights of foresight itself. The pleonexia of abeyance is the riddle of enigmatic promulgation that flickers even with partial compartmentalized servitude to the burlesque the burrows of an ophidiodiarium scare away any jaunty sleek car from the boosterism of a farmed collision with disjointed surgery of nimble reticence that braves the seismotic macadamized plutocracy of drift without sedition in sedimentary clairvoyance with a pointed amphigory that is actually a starved clarity for ommateums without spelunked trudges that occur in dovetails for disguise by synectic optimum at the zenith of the hive synergy of singularity.  The justified jest of aleatory flexes of finitude is a shambolic gesture of the limber of divergent interpretation ingeminating the world by sapient degrees of psychometry of divergence in piecemeal asseveration of the hindsight of the festooned not tepid or butchered by the obvious to the glaring cineaste but rather a gloaming glint of refracted ingenuity roosted beyond any alienesque erratic happenstance that is itself a beatific fortuity for the geotechnics of human emergence into supersensible planes traversed in a stereodimensional covenant with a compacted compost of DIVERGENT IMAGINATION OF CADASTER rather than the regelation of the obvious. Timmynoggies of cartels are regnant because of the repugnance of loyalty to the fricative frigates of superlunary mention of ratiocination divorced from husbandry of hyjamb for giant leaps in rigged ambsace maledictions of unfair pleckigger of the wrikpond relumed by huffs of impotent flairs of flambeaus beyond ecdysiast stretchgraves of perilous paralysis for the supererogatory of the accursed destruction of stoichomety of solipsism tremulous by biocentric levity above fastened redoubled pederasty. We maraud the rabble of nostalgia of rhinoplasty of penumbras that live on rainshod territorialism beyond the jolkers of everlasting foofaraw livid by betrayal but erratic in glamour without crackjaw costermongers vitiating the vociferous because of incumbent thermodynamics that affixes the stagnant to the latticework of riddle by sturdy integral derived fliphavens of shibboleths of solitude. Education is a fliction of robust derangement of nowhere men taxed by the celerity of traversed traipses of memory beyond encaged bridewells for recanted alchemy to prerogatives of the roomy expansive facsimiles of departed stigmas of bossy clairvoyance for martian glimpses at sunken waste. The bernaggles of brittle titanium are abrasive when they are alloyed with the compost of material dynamics of capital without avenged prediction cemented in sunken graves taxing the nostalgia of histrinkage that is affixed to boschveldt traindeque for venial consanguinity to dikephobia. We elevate the endpoints of abridged turriform clockwork provincial shibboleths that are the proctor and protectorate of insular robbery of crowned trounces of gravity for the gravitas of sepulchral vanity learned from famigeration of filial tithes of duty. A dutiful sedition is countermanded by the pews of turnstiles that enamor the enamel of rollercoasters because of vague vagaries of bedazzled contrition for wanton ambition on psaphonic psychology and therefore sustain the vibronic thrombosis of nonlethal inseminations of clear aqueous transfixed filigrees of demented notions of cheerful apocrypha of liturgical pride beyond the dungeons of prejudiced inquisition. The jolkers of insolent archipelagos of spinsters that levitate by parsed peril of delaminated parsecs of glazed parturition is the orchestra of a nonlinear grove of invented abecedarian witwanton notice of maddened cattle of gluttony forestalled by the clairvoyance of otiose operations of redoubled countenance that consequently is septiferous by degrees of sanguine rapacity the qwartion of endeared endeavor to surpass the gentility of brooked temperatures frozen to sustain but not mainline the congeners of the elective agenda to bypass the thornbushes of conflagration without knavery or cutthroat embellishments of bedlam. And without the din of simplicity occluding the transcendent goal of humane synoecy of fustilugs of fumatoriums endangered but not inflammed by controversy we witness the insubordinate university of hibernation becoming a specter of grisly bromidrosis of lackluster forswinked fortitude because the majestic sinew of the overwrought is a refrained luxuriance of pity of facetious glebes ringed around orbital planes of synthetic abridgement that supposes the sultry is actually the swelter of calenture but taxed by sicarians of the grandeval it meets no fanfare among elective privilege. Amphigory is not categorized as dross by shipwreck but only by synechdocial docility of groomed barren arcades of storged complication leading to regeneration of a world leaden with the epicurean epithets of agerasia that burden the wardens of poached intermission without remission because the drapes of the greatest art are thus created by the complete transfiguration of the soul bolted to ethereal expansive heights that dwarf all pithy gnomes of the gardens of prospective desiccation of the petty gripes of the gavel of idiocy rather than the astounding artform of the newfangled tabanids to supererogatory oceans of creativity. The benchmarks of sublime illusions of supremacy are a hidebound taxidermy of the rookery of greenhorns to summit the testy secrecy of inane drawl that scrabbles the miniature embellishments of petty sportive lunacy as a figment of the feral nature of proclivity recumbent upon its own gladdened prickly renegades that align with a gallywow cacophony rather than a merely epicene convergence of attitude for equity above polity that is hardly polite. As a penitent hibernal rejoinder against the clerical critics of religiosity becoming conflated with artistic masterworks of oligomania I offer my rogation for atonement because the melismatic art I fashion leads to the vogue enchantment of the noosphere for the soteriological bedrock of fastened intellectual endeavor that traverses planes of an engorged soul without a gulf of conscience leaden by distracted discernment leading to a hypostasized apostasy from the religious scruples I rigorously uphold but that I vacillate away from because I want to entrench an irenic world for the francketor dash towards a superlative enrichment of mind above matter for the victorias of soul above the pettiness of the dim humdingers of the banal lifeless squabbles of martexts beyond the hospitable welcome of martians. For the naysayers that don’t understand the ironic irenic circularity of gainsay becoming rebarbative to this artistic flourish of supersensible equipoise with an approximated histrinkage lagged by temporal deficiency they should not abhor the talisman of an ergotall genius but rather marvel at the burlesque cineaste connotation of enamored youthful spirits becoming novel because they stride above the cascades of crestfallen apathy of plodding languor. This is a definitive new artform for the niche crowd so don’t dismiss it as gobbledygook because it serves the purpose to enchant creative spirits and test minds that might be more nimble than resourceless. Wearisome by demiurges of distraction the thorny imbroglio of industry is a whiplash of nativism belonging to the throb of pulsated penury that is neither valedictory nor penultimate but tertiary in oblong variegated menageries of perfidy for collapsed enormities of jumboism lost on inclement stoichiometry that is sejungible from crambazzles of findrouement that are squaloid enthralled raptures of humdingers of rippled hunks of parched nebbich pataphysics because the circuit of conditioned reward is a rebarbative tether to the catchpole exploitative erratum of harbingers of hungry happenstance rather than continual enchantment. The crumple of squaloid sebastomania a distant figment of adscititious schadenfreude of dilettantism of flonky smardagine streaks of whemmled anxieties unduly provoked by calamities of presstungular intorgurent toonardical deprived cartels of repcrevel pursuit with labial senses embedded in deft incondite inquiries against seismotic jostle over the rubble of scaffolded jengadangle above the rot of contranatant sleek suffrage for the chattel of elemental realism becoming a heroic temple for glory without the vetust errundle of dismal disco attuned only to the spurts rather than a startled commerstargal of alienation leads to a plumber’s irony of atomic humdingers of natural equipoise with litotes of scrawny rings of gollendary piracy. The valorous incondite bricolage of a ****** cineaste barnstorm inoculated from conflagrations of the flagitious reprisal of prevenance of ferial fastuous feats of furlongs of brittle certainty above the tentative glaze of aced pokerish promenades to summit the craggy because the salebrosity of the pitch is also the venue for the sphairistic tentpoles of a new tabernacle of spectacular ecstasy in obvious punitive damage to puritan pilgrimage to mechanized obelisks of sardanapalian betrayal of histories of seizure rather than naturism of erasure that is a totemic recall of strollows of lonesome tributaries to tribunes of steam rather than saunas of lickerish leverage because the gladiatorial is a zugzwang with the deliberate infernal shibboleths of the disinclined people dislodged by carnality that depose sicarians of science because of militarized enmity against the whangams of taghairm becoming the outmoded dupe of dopamine that is now serotinous rather than flanged with glaring hearsay. The serpentine winds of windlass sometimes are a conclave of convex itineration against the steady husbandry of docile domiciles of mannequin sedentary postures for posterized infamy rather than manufactured oneiromancy that is the staddle for every phony contraption of qwartion obviously specious but interrogated by the dubiety of perseverance of inclement curiosity. Yet again we sweep the soaring ligaments of rigid ramshackle bletonism that hawkshaws countermand by division of enumerated nadirs pivoted against the perpended weight of the prolonged zeniths of grit above substance that infatuates myopia but glares against mountebanks of apothecary leverage. We fight against the boxcar traindeque of sejungible traipses through stereodimensional rebuffs of known drogulus surpassing unknowable reticence of citadels that are owleries for the seedy cities they sprawl with incontinence for a drab raft of intertesselation rather than a refined quintessence of alchemy achieved by allotment by brackish nescience becoming a blinding ray of destitution engraved by petrified decalcified rudiments of realism. The somber timbre of delirifacient ruinous rumination malingers in humdrum salience as it scrawls the tragedians lament of distal eventful frets of declassified nomenclature that swoon with lugubrious harbingers of burglary the licentious dolts affixed to the brays of pauperized regions of future proximity too remote to paralyze the morale of any cantonment on record by litotes of profound remembrance of a backfire delope for cineaste conflation of marstion slore for educated reprisal of desiccation. We spelunk in mimicry the dingy duplicity of double-takes in regelation that owe homage to the percolated hearsay of cartels that operate parsecs beyond our congeners of germane lustration in remission by deontology for soteriology alone but not vacated of the stilts of turnverein ragged mannequins of desolate remorse for the dearth of hived and hemmed hibernation in a fitful frenzy of revision above precision. We see abundant lactose intolerance as a sidereal lovelorn lament of sematic entrenchment without the scourge of roosted war against abrasive brawn exercised in flexible limbers of the novel filigrees of truth revelatory of consideration rather than impregnated with the perfidy of amaranthine static of regaled stagnation that flickers with the marinas of congregated leaps as a signature of the artistic license of byzantine traipses of contempered primacy in the soup kitchen of a lapse in sabotaged sobriety. Immune from displaced donnism is the resurgence of bonanza from checkered propinquities affixed to a finite placard of spacetime that owes to stretchgraves a profound depth of contrition that carmelized apocrypha lapse on lissome whilded dignotions of contrarian raillery of loose nihilism rather than anchor to the eremites of fact found in eclipsed culmination for momentous harps of the Jubal for new centuries inseminating the populated presence of spectral imagination with contorted melodies that spawn an ingenuous quest to swoon abiding heavens for celestial ears. It is conspicuous that artifacts for raiders elope with circuitous routes of heated sedimentary incubations with a comatose creativity that seeds the ferial junediggle with a supercalendar of confections that are intermittently apportioned in heydays of culture to the sad lament of the obvious rather than the obviated dare of audacity above conglomerations of spirited luxuriance in tasty memorial to a pinnacle above all other notions of sentinel apostasy. The greater atrocity of rogated ambitions against the gainsay of iconoduly of the rood and rude crucifixion of resurrected clarity found in the enamel of akashic answers to questions fashioned by kneaded cosmetology of delicate ***** cotqueans of limber above precedent and license beyond the finkly limp of lolloped saccharine blitzkreigs of the jalousies of the ajar vaticination of hurdled glaikeries of epicene impediment is that we ****** ink above the gesture of the quills of rocky abrasion found in limitrophes of yachted celebration because of rabid coherence above the wherefores of gadzookerie because the gladdest scaldabanco is the demented persiflage of collateral catastrophe beyond any humane degree of schadenfreude for persecution that backbites the anteric antlers of the jesters that mock the procession of liturgical secularism jeering at grapholagnia while lagging in imaginative spurts of lament for incalculable damage to the Pandora’s box of effluvia that meet stiff tabernacles of betrayal because of the Judaic foresight rather than as an alarmed Marxism scared of an agrarian interdependence of worlds cadged more prone to moral dogma exercised with latitude rather than unscrupulous brays of fisticuffs of shambolic shams of ruin. We glance at the perfidies of voyeurism with pertinacity and recalcitrant bellipotent bedlam that evokes the illicit grandeval whangams of quixotic whartonized arraigned estrangement from legalism to warp time to its own superlative turpitude that is reckless but contingent upon the consummation of destiny only to the extent of original witness rather than the decay of perpetuity wrought by the persiflage of envious militarized mandarisms of enmity aimed to derail the elevators of the noosphere from stratospheric emergence in now perspicuous clarity above the pother of the indelible sacrilege of the stygian polymathy of the astute enemies of the proper comstockery rather than the negligent butchers of an enantiodromia of oligarchies of lewdness that are severed appendages to Anti-Semitism and by extension a marginalized Islamophobia that demands by exigency the complete erasure of all attempts at sacrilege exercised in rampant dereliction of dutiful upkeep of the upright morality against the cadge of ulterior ploys of a broader hedonism that would only piggyback because of the license of ryesolagnus rather than because of a complete signatory endorsement of the liberated agenda of free thought conquered through the conquest of God but the ultimate conquistadors of time through sennet and even negligent rebec to memorialize the triumphant pantheon of growth rather than rankled regress into prolonged hatred ingeminated by atrocious tortfeasors that belong nowhere but the ashen heap of exorcised damnation. The perdition inherent to the system that craves chattel rather than sartorial versions of syncretic chatter is the malefaction of renegades bent on tornadic vulcanization to a demoralized wragapole of docility hitched to the vandalism of pilloried tarantisms of moral lapse leading the sheep into sheepish resignation over the accordion of Original Sin that annoys because the bridewells are brideless birds of the chavish of warbled uncertainty wicked because of snuffed tabacosis of mitigations of evil by the evildoers for the rejoinder against the Republic by rendering the **** a platonic ploy of karezza if only punctuated by solitary ******* reticulated by exsibilation that is contorted when you consider the ****** act a marvel rather than a condemnation of the vicarious involvement in normative ****** creations not of any higher artform but of an evolved theology that might perpend the issue of Christianized ******* that is videographic as a sanction worthy of charter and an impending simultaneous comstockery to protect the decency of the simultagnosia of a diverse and divisive mispronunciated time bent against its greatest heroes for the malice of schadenfreude built into the system of language itself by germane consideration to flagellate the wrong country for the  greatest wrongs known to the realm of religious observance. The pederasty of enclaves is the bailiwick of mutinies of selective mutism incurred by the vilified into compulsive shrieks of kallince as a ribbacle of protean ratiocination paralyzed by the coherent vulnerability incurred by the exchequer of polluted conditions of enslavement by the stretchgraves of the chavish of too many pulpits in the throng of a decisive jaundice against the victors of history because of the obsolescence of the historical fossils of outmoded jealousy. Now to the eupathy of all generations should we better conserve situations against the encroaching wesperm of the marstions of ulterior feminism grimacing at the pleckigger of manhood and decriminalizing the taboo against the enantiodromia of miscegenation to the folly of shepherds of idiotic ploys to rear the mediocre rebec of warbled intimations of cultural impotence that should proselytize both the oligogenics beyond ecbolic atrocity and the adoptive ****** of the anglosphere through its smart and dapper monopoly threatened by the commerstargal of retromorphosis exhibited by the demassification of culled syntalities into aboriginal epigenetic kennels of subservience to a piggybacked system where if you are among the attentive scrutiny of the audience that both perceives apperception metacognitively with francketor precision you are thereby inoculated from lean herbivores of cultish occultism metaphorically in the annealed agitprop for resourcelessness that never ends in the radioglare of revisionism because of the prevenance of the vergers who manage the Manciples rather than tend to the vainglory of the potagers around the hegemunes of an unwarranted and puritan celibacy of conceptual sterility in a world fashioned by engouements for sanguine hopes for a consanguinity that might portend into dynasty but lopsided in its contrite missives of scandal will never provide a valedictory rendition on politically checkered zugzwangs of ulterior scientism against the lettered freedom of bibliognosts to aggrieve against the gloaming vacuum of sartorial damages to Dagon among the populated metropolis of corporate servitude that will thus collapse out of rebarbative backlash for its diminutive economies of scope and pretenses of largesse of scaled down collectivism into a heap of corporate rubble rather than judicious bonanza. In every considered word in this Biblbical warning against the trekleador of the amazonian paradise against the travail of junediggles of obligation among the frenzied fretful tocsins of farcical utopianism meeting the inclement reprisal of sanctioned duplicity in frikmag beneath the truculence of mobilized alacrity to syndicalism endeared to capitalism rather than the converse logical apostrophes that are imponent overhangs of an already conquered feral sphere of nomadic imagination into a checkmate of a socially validated future clinched by foresight and the wragapole nature of the insensate docility of those prone to officious naturism before the attempted monolith of the mountebanks of the quixotic towers of panopticon that are a regelation of unchecked ambitions verging or diverging too valorously against themselves but also prone to a simultagnosia that berates the robust picaresque swandamos that curtail the curglaff of malcontent with the recoil of perseverance that reneges in tiresome defeat of a demilitarized population that should always be grisly rather than denatured by the overhang of the incumbent nudism of certain futures becoming to finicky in impetuous lurid specters of abhorrent exercises in chantage waged against sardanapalians in all countries regardless of merits or demerits. The redstrall of enlightenment is not otiose operatively in recursive backlash against nominalism which sweedles the weedledge of a new acquiescence timid enough to mangle a prosodemic wave of celibacy propitiated by the succedaneum of profligate vicarious lickerish ****** appetites that diminish that natural instinct into either barbarous experiments in lechery too inconvenient to apprise honestly but looming aghast at the moral tip-toes around the Original Sin that binds us to predatory lapse and retromorphosis rather than the maintenance of a mainlined trimpoline confidence in a normative wave of galvanized interface against the overpromiscuous provisions for the lackaday resentment of alienated millennialism relishing the sennet of nostalgia but bereft of the heave from moral slumbers of an invented celibacy intermediary to demassification but attenuated by the omphalism of astute gravitas in socially engineered balks at the emergence of singularity in personalized cacotopia becoming a metaphor for the broadsided shipwreck of an inured world pasteurized into acerbic jolkers of foofaraw rather than the real-life relish against still-framed ostentation that distorts the granular artifice of the natural into supernatural fixations with gaudy swarpollock indecently exposed. To the finkly flonky puritanism of the wiseacres of those who say sacerdotal duty cannot diverge from entelechies of secular insight I behold the marvel of timespun elegance as the marvel of God’s convergence for the happenstance of the serendipity of magnified time lived completely in the plenipotentiary pangs of evanescence that catapults subliminal meaning to memorialize this indelible seminal watershed in a clear visionary establishment of history. Most belong to oligomania but I relent in the completely sardonic intortions of aspects of sebastomania in complete equipoise with the clairvoyant clarity of centralized perspective but the dragomans will interpret that last phase with underminnow because it belies the granular intent of the fin de seicle advent of a new generation that is an homage to the hallowed Judaic theory of millennialism as the return of glorified entitlement yet tentative in its overhang but never malicious in its grapnel of the fewterers of amazing convergence of clairvoyance. The tangential rebuke of the absurd oxyholotron of paradoxical puritan superstition that assumes a fustilug generation will cement a farsighted clarity that subsumes generative prowess lingers with fixations on the figments of the apocryphal version of the truer version of revelations manifesting right before our eyes for neither the sinistral or the dexterous amplivagance of God’s universal message by the superorganism of messianic purpose belittled by the agents of humbled perdition not alone of martexts that are martles but also by the shepherded fears of the ignorant rather than the insipid because the will never be outmoded only enhanced by the acceleration of proliferative technologies that pave a macadamized future of prosperity rather than the tarnish of the miscreants of Tyre. I owe all providence to God because he fastened his scrutiny on my autodidactian romance clambered into restive ontocyclic peccadillo that points to Pinocchio more than to the truest compass of an omnified salvation of the piggybacked purpose of synergies of geotechnic mastery that elevates the cause of God and liberates us from the stings of dangerously vapid pauperization of the intellectual frontiers by dangled prevarications of desultory incontinence forestalled by avoidant developments in proper fewterers of ambition. By the axiomatic Brocards of time travel the unstated ignotism of deranged circuses of stupidity congregated around the swelter of dismissal is a barnacle to the mofussil fossilization of sentiment that remarks ironically about the petty indelible moments but not the entelechies of a unified front for liberated equity and considerate tender of diverse quorums that shepherd rather than intern the noosphere into the burgeoned resurgence of a humane endeavor for the everlasting enlightenment of an ameliorated humanity and beyond that. By the bailiwick exerted by the plenipotentiary omphalism still participant to the quorum I hereby declaratively implore the abrogation of pernicious grapholagnia as the peremptory sacrilege that needs exorcism for our times and yet delegated of stature I urge hortatory and imperative action for the expurgation of all tortfeasor illegally obtained ******* of unsolicited voyeurism to be completely regarded as the ultimatum of temerity against carnal restraint and banished from the human registry to uphold the strategic interests of the United States of America. I understand that there is not fricative monolith and never will I lean for that conquest but as a humbled member of the omphalism that constitutes the sacred endeavor of sociogenesis grounded on God with collegialism upheld that a geotechnically optimized species needs to refrain from lewd perfidies against commonplace justice to restrain the fumatorium of unwarranted envy from poisoning the pervious minds of people that congregate in defensive posture but not definitive gesture. I also beseech a portentous  settlement with  I relent from avarice but it is not a superposition of authority just a suggestive glance at requited justice but my grangull chavish of circumlocution naivety will meet the most deliberate Sardonic Sc(p)orn in these times of need. These next words are paused and already fathomed by the supernal recursion of the iterative metaphysics of recumbent retrospection hinged on hindsight to proclaim without any hints of attempted subterfuge of the clarity of a Democratic Republic that my words while forceful do not constitute a breech in public conduct even while vaulted with a minor rapacity I rebuke and atone for even when many others might find recourse to expiate my jalousies to the windowed world not of vindictiveness but out of the cursory and emphasis on cursory justice needed to vouchsafe my continued security and inoculation from the pothers of obviously shortsighted pleonexia which will obviously be fleered as a slight euthymia glazed on self-interest while tone-deaf to the checkered layers of entrapment by a confederate whiplash but a native grit never to enslave but to empower humanity. I am deeply lugubrious over the specter of the trembled quaky ground the penury of spiritual loss rejoinders against my candidacy for high esteem but not peremptory decisiveness in active service to yield to a supererogatory attempt for felicity to alight in my life not out of material greed but the gratuity of serviceable missions that play a dicey gamble with a frenzied manumission attempt that is essentially that a parsed manumission for eleutherian pragmatica to chide as naive but alarmed senectitude of the old order prevaricates with the din of postured hurdles of gladiatorial outrage that weans me away from the ataraxia for my fumbled stream brooking intolerance for years on the ballast of collective endeavor. Nevertheless, lets speak more on God’s providence because in this esteemed moment of watershed emergence of the fully engorged but rarely gluttonous soul I have found an equitable peace with supernal and superlative authority in God that grants stewardship and tutelage to the audience that will eventually through proper discrimination be delegated as higher than the ignorant bystanders of fleered snide disdain for the abnormous and bletcherous dimples of an otherwise circuitous dalliance with an unconventional path towards destiny rather than some windlass of opportunism for, if it were not for my unabetted genius and the provisions of divine appointment based on a kindly generous deference to preterition axiomatic in perceived time by the strictures of the convergent past and the divergent future, I would never find a role of partial authorship of a widely heralded tome I will one day publish to either the exsibilation of the antiquarians of hidebound irrefragable ontocyclic convictions or the cloveryield of an appreciative gratitude to the God I serve and I make no notions of any hostility towards any party of petty dismissal because I expect their recumbent recoil but I apologize for hubris and extenuate the follies of the refinery of character as I ascend into a figurative ennobled step into soulhood that exceeds my former dismal limits by such staggering orders of magnitude it magnifies the questions of ontology in sentience rather than beckons the alarmism of the swarpollock of tripwires that can easily withstand the tempests of scorn. The uproar of commotion of blood sanctified by the thirsty rain for the desiccated faucet of dramaturgy in reprisal for docimasy is the integral linchpin of the biocentric rebec reasting on the primitive hymns to festoon the curtains of defenestrated primitive relics of shady attempts at officious balks of the privatized empire of the alytarchs among the earwigs that simper the culled delicacy of sensible notions into the congeners of prioritization emphasized by quantulated concerns veiled by elaborative synquests that burrow the sulcate grooves of hidden hedonism for the chic magistrates of financial swoon or swayed vestiges of a forgotten calumny of betrayal by the coming-of-age sprouts of hedged dismal dismissal of a lugubrious prospect for an otherwise revitalized dressage of emoluments to glory that lurked in penumbras by rigged enumeration but found their prominence by the gravity of sensation-seeking frissons of alterations between benighted glory and the famish of artificial tethers to the yoke of caramel and chocolates as a dainty ploy of yearning persiflage also a dranger of camouflage for flagitious percolations of the invidious rumors of imposture and the groveling contempt of the known drogulus remiss in denial of its own requited date when the powers of miscarriage become ecbolic to their own lagging languor of lisps of linguistic ramparts of a revival of hypertrophy for hyperactive foibles in inclement weather. Ok beyond the absenteeism of the presence of perceived amphigory there is great heft in the nominal notion that dogma is mobilized in serviceable goods of merchandized mirrors of glazed remission of moral tender because of stoked curiosity unhinged from the pragmatica of duty. We need forbearance in empathy that loves the lovable rather than envies the deposed despotism of clever wiseacres veiled in delicate symmetry with conscience that is the quill of a wellspring deeper than any imaginary vagary can approximate because impossible events punctuate time with literacy rather than incontinence of drivel that is ambitious but ignoble by stately coherence. To the critics of the baragnosis of limited apperception my words are blatant amphigories but they only possess enough ken to fathom an average orbit of suboptimal outcomes rather than transdimensional chances at chess outnumbered by checkers by incidental design of clever ploys of rejoinder that is by design arcane for the arcadia of the pristine arcade of future possibilities  As I am purblind by psychorrhagy I am incompetent in my radiopresence because I am a departed spectral figment above fricative hisses and whorfian glares of mediocre rebec for primitive shibboleth above prized taurine anglophonic convictions that superimpose the dignified clarity of willpower above the dragnets of supersolid conflations of puffery. Ok I admit a lapse of transmission by the vesicles of numbered murders of henpecked owleries of the senectitude of sepulchral magnetism of slumber over awakened alacrity of mobilism fashioned in portentous flipcraves of additive immobility of fixed vectors seen through parvanimity that actually just swivel in circular retorts against themselves without the elaborative potential and the belabored traipse of the rabid taradiddles of sensationalism marauding as a defalcated burglary of emotion for useless psephology that predicates nothing but a slight budge in the autarky of structuralism which is never sclerotic but stammered by articulations of the overt when the covert aligns by an alien agenda that is subservient to magnified priorities of warped swirk of telescopic prevenance and hedged boschveldts of elemental and I stress the strain of the elemental for the drogulus of sensational proclamation by executive ****** but supererogatory minutiae of fascism cloaked by earwigs of repcrevel repute beyond memorialized reputation. We need to renege the southern pacts to the Argentine mandarism of reticular vitiations of cinematography waged against creative visionaries of free speech because of the succedaneum of furtive endeavors at optimization by compromised degrees of artistic licentiousness even that is never lewd about sacred roods but boorish in blockbuster rather than kempt in collectivist brunt of the timid bronteum of agitprop that lurks in the imminent future of cinema. America needs to retain the disclosed but still-frame inertia of catapulted declassification that ennobles the fliction but also the vilified distilled truths only the keen of acumen will sensibly identify so that the magnet of earwigs gravitates to the belabored analysis of astute congeners to relevant tributaries to the ocean of adventitious swarpollock in the procedural autopsy of the auditorium for neither a chattel nor a crystallized nurture against the matriotic insistence of decorum. Essentially the succubus of prosthetic protensive docimasy of imaginative logic predicated in visionary apperception of the unseen in immediacy is the longeur of reticent endeavors to pasteurize the oculus rifts of futurity to synergize with the entelechy of proactive somnambulism that sensitizes the profoundly capable but never bereaves the inept of direct interface with communicable dominion with fantasia that is an operative artifice of a beguiled lurch without purged retrograde immaterial delusion that endangers visceral momentum toward new directives of the outmantled zugzwang in elementary exercises of swaddled posterity free by irenic idolatry never orphaned by a widowed imagination. The swirk of hypostasized probabilities in an invented swipe at wide-eyed but star-crossed turnvereins for the imaginative leaps in the performative depend on the delicate swivels of declaration independent from culinary clarity of macroscian travesty rather than pinhokes of naufragues of maudlin laudable applause by the canned nurture of speculative intimation that sadly severs the curglaff of whispered intimacy over the confidence we have in artifice to teach the wragapole both matriotism and sensitive reninjasque poker without incurred damages beyond the clarified visionary potential of graphic protheses immediately perceptible to the acumen of judicious polymathy indoctrinated by the rigor of scientific grooms for melliferous parsecs of advanced minutiae of dark horses to nomadic license beyond ravenous **** palindromes of hushed vigor to the declared by scacchic deliberation to usher in crass but crestfallen synectics. The future of God is secure in the fathomed furlongs of cubic citadels of pasteurized paradise found in corralled reluctance without remonstrance of poetic belletrist resounding with clangor rather than swerved nimble potions to avert future calamities in war by the expansive frontier of a civilized metropolis of the mobilized imagination hypostasizing newfangled naturism that is neither mofussil nor a fossilized relic of scrappy schlep. The nonchalance of parlance swims in arenaceous bunkers of drivel that congregate in the turnverein of futuristic opportunism found in the muzzled directives of orchestras of departed clarity no longer so insular in its bossy imperatives but clarified with hearsay and blushed blarney not the blench of widened divulgence of minatory malice that incurs the punitive curglaff of frenetic retchallops of winsome specters becoming opportune pragmatics of a semantic network of dirigisme that through sheer horsepower overcomes the sting of ubiquity or the hollowed headless vesicles of urbacity disenfranchised by degrees of impertinent pertinacity of deposed disclosure rudimentary in sedentary simplicity against matriotic duty to remain guarded by an ommateum that fathoms the abyss but never wages reckless adventurism. Prevenance is the key to absolution but staggered implements of dearth preempt the ecbolic corrigenda of castigation by hindered lurches of veiled errundle belonging to a central trimpoline interposition of fungible felicity for not only a regional fanfare but a global scale of competitive endeavor of cleverage beyond scopes but beneath scrutinized mutiny of embanked polymathy stranded by the redstrall of industrious slavering dogmatism to a servile ***** rather than the boomerang of pressure to asseverate limitless bounds of planned obsolescence to engorge but not intimidate checkered reticence in the sinew of the musculature of creative parlance above petty finicky demiurges of latitudes in amphibious annealed glorification. Temperatures gauged by the thrombosis of thermolysis in psychotaxis gouged by hucksters of taciturn bamboozles of teetotalism are neither scourge nor foe of the strategic advent of the fascination of prospective investment a boondoggle that offsets the bonfire of retorted whimpers of foudroyant ripples of wildfire perspicacity strung by the catchpole of ubiquity in the time-honed decorum of genteel upright raconteurs of volleyed neglect by strict mandate will uproariously profit in remission from knowledgeable exacerbation rather than tomfoolery by filial tithes to foreign wardens of conspicuous levitation above gimcracks by the syrts of percolated filigrees of belabored chantage exerted over the tide of perfidy in contained discernment will stall and extinguish the prideful jostle of profane blasphemy against tacit covenants of blackguarded justice served by platitude better than by insubordinate quivers that quake because bears bounce checkered checks rather than anoint the sigillum of protective vouchsafes of exchequers smartly dapper rather than dimpled in flagrant brays of castigation and thus secure employment of instrumental advent rather than desecrated conventicles of remission.
Now it is time to ventilate divine knowledge that transfiguration means a humane liberation rather than a sanctimony of tirade against dumose proliferations of fluminous imaginary tracts of the probable rather than the certain for the elevators of sanitized wealth to bequeath greater moral clarity found in the contrary submission of authoritative parents to shepherd guarded wealth in proper husbandry of calendrical affairs to optimize the work-life balance so the biocentric imperative for sustenance renounces the moral obesity of groundless backlash in austerity and endless cycles of remorse rather than a tender mollification of sentiments away from universal kumbayas and in favor more stridently of a system that withholds the agitprop of statist indoctrination of a mollycoddle ****** within individual mandates of variable agendas of countries beyond the borderline fluid dynamics of the foibles of moral venial folly but insensitive to the dynamism of the robust virility of a wayspayed world swaying by riddled wildfires of conflated puerile stages of ludic indoctrination to the rampant perfidy of exemplary incontinence waged by Hollywood upon unsuspecting victims of inconsiderate indoctrination that doesn’t vouchsafe the prerogatives of heteronormative values that should outshine not a parochial vehement hatred or a clorence of unconditional tolerance but a chided quarantine of variegated syntalities divorced from integration rather than fostered in communal depths of bound lettered ambition found in the allegorical power of Biblical wisdom expounded by the florilegium of the religious and secular canon.
To serve God rather than the perceived taradiddle of speculative mammon deprived of classifiable certainties but hunched proclivities we need to exhort a proper seesaw between restraint in vision and exuberance in creative license so that the pivot of the moralized world leads to an insistent trust of watchdogs that through trust revolve the gravity of morale upon the upswing of liberty rather than incidental follies of imaginative demiurges of partition but blinkered hubris in stately objectives to the demur of participant malingering naysayers and nyejays. The moral gravity of the situation requires us to rotate our hype from the fervor of panic into the resolve of fortitude that relishes family and filial duty rather than resents because of breedbate instinct the flickers of smoldering rebels that are tamed in their revelry when they follow the moral prerogative of disciplined ambition in creativity not insubordinating against insurmountable limits but reasonable adjustments to a scaffold of potential that is skyscraping more than before even if its too close to the ground for comfort and consolation. Relativism is the enemy of progress because envy seeds alienation and comparison should be eschewed because we need to burrow in compassionate embrace of the cherished loves rather than the exaggerated proximity of provincial fears becoming global juggernauts of mercy upon the merciful and I convoke a global prayer for the attenuation of the virus that spreads sadly too far for comfort today. I purge out of solidarity with suffering as the milquetoast in me identifies the disconcerted avenues of avetrols trying to find a way through the forest of rumination without gingerly superlative prerogatives outweighing the poise of balance in shields of honor rather than badges of shame. We must by moral imperative greet strangers in public places like parks rather than strangulate the percolation of affection because of regnant distractions because in this congenial way we will find a common fraternity with fellow man while soldiering on to find truth in God’s word in the proper temperature for genuflection because I admit foibles but I relent not in the chase to redintegrate myself spiritually to lead a charge without trespass of fundamental dignity over the whoppers of indignation some of us might feel because of the penury of divergence rather than the private penalty of convergence for an ulterior solidarity of purpose. I need to emerge into the humanity of compassion to showcase that virtuosity can exist without obsession over one individual because God beseeches a pantheon of observation rather than the gripes of an envied nuisance independent from normal human concerns that ripple with ecstasy because of normative human contrition over the leeway on vacillated opinions that might underwhelm those disposed by prizes of inurement. We should shelve these notions of a supersolid conscience because only in the humility of the profound simplicity of elemental postulates can we achieve complete synchrony with a syndicate that enthralls both divergent and convergent movements that partially offset on the side of convergence in some communes while otherwise countermanded in others in contrarian ways and the favor of the balance depends on the perspective of the flanged acculturation of the participant in a world that doesn’t need flayed excoriation as much as it deserves proper exercise of adoration of the admirable rather than the desecration of the abominable. I return with the greatest jubilation of a reninjasque jaunty streak that hearkens the sennet and maybe the leanings of the senate to the fanfare of adoration for life and gratitude bestowed by the stewardship of God and his divine purpose to inseminate my life with purposeful meaning and happy happenstance that is a stroke of glory. I muster the resolve to traipse in the solitude of my cavern the blessings of divinity bequeathed by the departed forefathers who never intended bossy insularity of dogma to be a stricture of rigors of iconoduly but rather a consecrated wit with the persiflage of conversant tones of labile and lissome gallantry just waiting to alight upon the affectionate dance with dalliance of a philandered hope for a purified love hopefully never profaned by the pangs of scandal (note the sardonic pun) because rejoice is the gift of Heaven upon this culmination of purpose above the dross of shipwreck elevated in folly but stranded in the throes of rumination enough to hedge the boursocrats and try to inoculate the world from further panicky divisions of hypemongers of simpered precaution becoming a financial pandemic that deserves pause and poise but should not protrude above the glistening promise of the eternal wellspring of the vineyards of salvation blooming because enhanced sapience converted the flock of shepherds to tend to those sheepish in deficiency to wield a newer curiosity to replace a saddened lament not by acquiescent abandon but by the solidarity of interfaces of love replacing cast-iron idolatries I too am guilty of for the cordslave generation of itinerant distractions that wager on modicums rather than appraise bonanzas. Safety is predicated on the idea that resources should never be glazed but always apportioned with optimism because if you examine history irrational panics have always and always rebounded because of exigent actions taken by governments to restore confidence in liquidity rather than snide dismal dismissals of economic projections based on bounded rigged betrayals of primarily a global panic that a profoundly promethean intellectual verve could capitalize on its heyday to gouge people against the insensate balkanization of the future by an alienation of formidable scarecrow of invented fatalism imploding upon itself to obviate its own existence by the insistence on free thought to domineer and tower over the doldrums of a vacant man that is now occupied by the largesse of humane endeavor for a messianic voyage that consummates time itself its own captain and is partially centripetal around the juncture of All Saints Day 2008 because of its seminal significance in ushering in a new era of liberation. This justification is a gnomic axiomatic herculean ****** that catapulted generativity in creative endeavor to coalesce around an Army of Me not because of the futilitarianism embedded in its flagrant flagitious mockery of traipsed lyricism borrowed from Bjork but rather showcases the flavork of the flavenickers of ribald coarse revolution that is no longer balderdash to Bald Eagles but the prized retribution of the inviolable scruples demolished by deracinated moral relativism balking at raltention because of persnickety and tyrannical transparency that prepossesses over the lifeless livid Potemkin  Village  of Astroturf complaint malingering in pederasty over its own depraved sinuous course of diverted restraint cemented by the scythes of Village People politics benumbed over militarized betrayals that incur and invoke the diablerist prose of anonymuncle desperado mavericks that sizzle in hibernaculum to depose the autarky of seasoned growth rather than unseasonable diatribes of vitriol poisoning the posture of gentility by decree rather than by deeds of homogenized pasteurization against Lactose Intolerant Leftism and dogged doggerel of pasty subversive paranoiac hederaceous envy spawning a vituperative summation of a beatific felicity. We need to convene upon better tranceception in this axiomatic gratuity of God

Hey little miss singer girl
Belt out a soulful symphony
My ears are hungry
And they must be fed soon
Serenades of fallen kingdoms
Of love that has been lost
Being left, abandon
And winters shimmering frost

Hymns of exhaustion
Of being overworked
Of feeling overlooked
Of obscure, unknown books you've been reading
Oh little miss singer girl
My attention won't divide,
Interests multiplied, when you sing
All my worries subside

You chant to the radio in my car
The echoes travel far
I keep them in a jar
The message and the meaning
The timbre of your throat
Perfect every note
Sheet music that you wrote
And the smile that keeps on gleaming
      -Tommy Johnson

Well little miss singer girl
You have cause my jaw to drop
You have me on the edge of my seat
As you preform miraculous feats of harmony
The power from you diaphragm
Applause from adoring hands
The seas of dazzled fans
Are all astonished by what you can do
Never have I heard a sound so true
Or seen a beauty just like you
A hidden talent that we never knew
You'll be the brightest star of all by the time you're through

Dear little miss singer girl
I love the way you croon
Your range, your pitch
The way you're always in tune
You can cause the clouds to move
The stiffened straight edge groove
The layered hearts go ****
Just by opening your mouth
You can lift the spirits high
The star crossed lovers sigh
And bring tears to all our eyes
And we all know this now

Now little miss singer girl
We're all listening
We're on the same frequency
And we'd all love to hear you sing
      -Tommy Johnson

I'm not afraid to **** myself
What I'm scared of is what happens if it doesn't work out
But I'm doing this and hoping it works.

Mom, I'm sorry I couldn't be everything you wanted out of a daughter. You probably wanted a smart, pretty and elegant daughter and you were delivered this sack of ****. I'm sorry that you'll have to clean up my one last mess. I'm sorry that you'll never understand. I'm sorry I could never 'try' as much as you'd like. I love you always, and forever.

Dad, with you I'm always at a loss for words. You and I have a special bond and when I think of you I think of my likes and interests. My music is heavily influenced by you. Thanking you for showing me what good music is. Thank you, I love you. Sorry.

Bryan, My step dad. You have been here to watch me grow up for the past 5 years and thats cool, I'm sorry it wasnt as what you must have expected. I'm sorry. Please take good care of mom and River. I love you

Diana, My step mom. You are literally mommy number 2. I've known you for 10 years. You have guided me into adult hood. You all did great. I love you.

Please don't think this was any of your faults. You will do great with R and K, you did great with me. This is just a flaw within myself. No amount of medication and counselling could fix this. I past the point of help. After 7 years there scars are too deep to reverse.

My aunt and godmother. You helped me out so much. I love you and I'm sorry you saved all this money for college for me to go throw it away with a few too many pills.

To everyone, I'm sorry. You'll have to go to my funeral, you will feel obligated. But don't go unless you actually cared. I know I won't physically be there but I want to know who would've been there.

Anyways, I'm sorry. This time it will work.

Remember how I picked you up?
Held your hand.
You stumbled into the depths of fear.
I could feel your trembling hand quaking in mine.
Me,I was aware of the sweat of cold breaking out from your beautiful skin.
Didn't feel sorry for you.
Never will.
You are strong as self.
Myself, yourself tangled in a strange dream.
Your panic attack ate you.
As mine eat me.
All consuming.
We are two of an unkind kind.
Frustration I encounter.
Capricorn.
My stubborn loyal man of love.
Gifts to each other.
Given from powers that be.
Whoever they may be.
Don't want to be with you forever.
Just until the twelfth of never.
Never want to live with you.
Now and again to grab your hand.
A few more times to write together.
So we can scratch the moon.
Etch writing for the world see.
Things we can do together.
As one you and me.
Firm believer in poetic justice.
With heavy duty destiny.
Non -conjoined  twins.
Unrelated in real life.
However.
In joint interests we're twins.
That's just you and me!
Copyright  Livvi Kent  26/09/2013.

The liquid light embedded on my cortex
and I was lingering on the precipice of the
voices that shined so brightly within.

Burning there thoughts deeper into my
subconscious like butterflies wings
scorching on ever moment of intention

I'm a moment of conflicting interests
and i sway from the light to the twilight
places the voices take me there in silence.

Dear You,

I write you a letter,
in the form of small phrases,
only because I cannot speak the words,
I want you to hear.
For I am not good at confrontation in any manner of the heart.
And I apologize for that--from now on.

Over the course of the past few weeks,
it seems like you have taken what I hold to be most valuable.
The most secretive part of my whole.

It seems cheesy at best to have a poem written in your name,
but I cannot seem to gather any of the sweet lovely words I know I want to say.

I feel magnetism every time you're near,
my heart starts pounding,
thoughts disappear.

I hear your name, or watch it float across my screen,
and I seem to keep wondering, if you are it for me.

Too soon??

Something in the way you carry yourself,
your interests,
your intentions,
your mannerisms,
the way you move...

...it fits. And we fit.

I can't seem to get enough of you,
I can't seem to take my mind off of you.

You just make me feel so --- alive

I'm going to fall for you,
to give you fair warning.

It's not my fault--
                                --but my heart already knows what it wants,


and all it screams for is you.

Always yours,
xoxo

i tell myself im feeling better.
no social media
no outside distractions
just me and my mind.

ive made quite a few changes in these seemingly eternal summer months
ive changed my diet
changed my thinking
my sleep schedule
my hobbies and interests
even my wardrobe.

ive made all these changes
ive gotten out of my head (for the most part)
so if ive made all these changes and if im doing all of these new and better things
why do i still feel so low ?

i feel low not as in sad
no sad is too simple, too cliche, too blase
i feel low as in my heart will start to clench and struggle to beat
my breathing gets shallow
my thoughts are dulled and become sullen and narrow
like im on the verge of a never arriving panic attack

so tell me if im filled with no responsibilities no standards to hold myself to
filled with a sense of freedom and "peace" as many would say
how come if you asked me to today
i still couldnt put my so called peace on a scale of 1 to 10 ?

Rivers of sorrow
Valleys of shattered souls
Stolen childhoods,  
Self interests of the masters

Beastly hunger,
Rewarded narcissism
Luncheons of meat and wine,
Decaying flesh and blood

Tainted,  fine fabric,
Disgusting games of folly
Echoes of hypocritical laughter,
On neatly furnished wood

And hidden gold daggers,
Windowless stone houses
An assassination burglary,
Lone dark nights, long

And clothed in honor,
veiled in arrogance
Despicable faces,
Masked with expensive makeup

suffocating perfumes,
A rising air across the gold mines
The soulless humans
The slave masters of the century

1278

The Mountains stood in Haze—
The Valleys stopped below
And went or waited as they liked
The River and the Sky.

At leisure was the Sun—
His interests of Fire
A little from remark withdrawn—
The Twilight spoke the Spire,

So soft upon the Scene
The Act of evening fell
We felt how neighborly a Thing
Was the Invisible.

I need soul.
I need things that make me stronger on my way so.
Im this, and I'm that.
But I'm only everything that i wish to be known as.
A love-a-holic.
A work-a-holic.
A write-a-holic.
I love to love, i love my hustle, & I'm hooked on phonics.
I'm on it; I'm soul-sonic..
Im addicted,
Though that doesn't mean I'm restricted.
My life is however i depict it.
I enjoy trying to figure the reasons of my interests very much.
I hope i don't like it because you do,
Or because you don't.
I love being under the influence of my confusion..
Im addicted to how and what i tell myself are the meanings of the things i do.
And since I'm a sinner, my body's addicted to the things i wouldn't want to do.
I have a need to see through you like a window's view.
But i need to deal with it somehow.
Oh well..
Im an i-couldn't-care-less addict.
I need it if it makes me feel the static.
You-can't-influence-me-at-all addict.
The drugs in my nerves make me feel ecstatic.
I've had it.
Now I'm going to have some more.
With a sense of what weight is,
Im always heavy into everything.
If you join me, we can exercise our senses,
If you're into that type of thing.
It's not in my DNA,
But it's in the bloodstream of my thoughts;
These habits flow.
I can't resist.
I can't let go.
I need it now.
I need the soul.
Catch me if you can,
Let me know if you don't.
Let me go if you won't.
I already know it's a can't.
There's no helping myself..
They tried to make me go to rehab,
I just said no three times.
Who knows what their goal is..
I only know rhymes.


                                                                                         HOLIC.

Stains on the concrete like blooming brown flowers
Piles of wild grass, dry as sand, tracing a path up the curb
Potholes brimming with ***** water, a gleaming sheet of oil
Rotten houses, with all the windows smashed into collages
of razors
Stinking in their own slow decay, eaten away by time &
termites
The trees in the yard have shed their leaves, blanketing
the ground in fading brilliance
Fingers of breeze shift them, rustling with the sound of
a thousand roaches
Shedding the mornings condensation on the boots of
two legged insects
A pile of walking guts, giving nothing, taking everything
Vomiting their poison on the soil, reaping their foul
harvest
Wielding guns & machetes, cannons & swords, sticks &
stones
It's bone against bone, hand against hand, man destroying
man
Because the definition of war is many men dying for a few mens
interests

try for conversation
but you lack the motivation
simple reciprocation
is what i'll settle for

because our interests are divided
but our pathways are united
only sometimes i feel slighted
when i realize that it's true

and yeah you ask about my day
but don't listen to what i say
or do i just feel this way
i think i think too much

I am barely surviving on a thread of superficial interest and the minute that expires I feel like I will too. And the list of my interests is getting shorter and shorter.
The stories
I once liked,
The sites
I once browsed,
The drawings
I once admired,

All slowly

f a d i n g  


f  r  o  m  



t  h  e  



n   a   r   r   o   w  




s    c    o    p    e  




o     f  





m      y  




m       i       n       d       .           .                .                   .

Lizbeth had hoped that getting Benedict to the small church on a week day during the holidays might be the moment of truth or sexuality which to her was the same thing the thing she had wanted ever since she'd read the book given to her by a girl in a higher form all about *** and the whole aspect it involved and with pictures and since she first saw Benedict that day at school getting off a school bus and passing her by but getting him to the church was one thing she still had to persuade him to make love there on one of the side pews not too wide and not particularly comfortable and to do that was another thing and having got him there riding on their bikes and entering the church she had pretended architectural interests he walked just ahead of her looking around running a hand over the top of the pews as he went then he paused and said it's quite small and looked at her she looked at the pew she thought might be best for the love making she crept in and sat down he came and sat next to her she patted the pew and said we could do it here? do what? make love he frowned at her looked back at the door at the back then at the altar end we can't why not? some one may come in no one comes in here weekdays they might she looked at him putting on her sad gaze we could do it no one will know he shifted away from her along the pew no I can't can't or won't? she pulled up the hem of her red dress to reveal a sight of her thigh to catch his eye can't do it here some old dear may come in and see us and have a heart attack so? what a way to go having witnessed that he stood up and walked along the aisle she pulled the hem of her dress down and sat gazing at him you disappoint me I never said I would I never even thought about it I never think about it she shifted along the pew I always think about it I dream about it even in class during a boring maths lesson I think about it he walked to the altar end and peered at the brass cross on an altar this is God's house we can't do that kind of thing why not? it's only an empty church a sepulchre of a dead God she said he stared at her sitting in the pew in her red dress her hair pulled tight in a ponytail that look of sulkiness about her he knew she was determined but this was not the place if any place was with her and he didn't want to not yet best go he said she looked at him pouting her lips not yet just stay awhile he shook his head and walked down the aisle towards the back door and turned to look at her coming? she sighed the effort had failed the scheme had not worked she felt empty as if it had been a waste of her time and effort where then? where can we go? he went out of the church door and was gone from sight she swore and got up and out of the pew and out the door to follow him he was standing by a gravestone by the side of the church and she stood beside him gazing at the gravestone the writing was almost worn away the name and dates illegible that's how we all end up she said buried and dead we'd best get back to the farm I’m helping with the milk weighing later he said and he walked down the narrow pathway to get to their bikes and she followed staring at his back at his blue shirt and jeans and wished they had done it even if only a quickie and so they got on their bikes and rode back towards the farm along narrow lanes with high hedges each side she sensing disappointment and thinking of *** with an empty feeling inside.

“every man wants to be a tyrant when he fornicates"— marquis de sade (philosophy in the boudoir)
in murky region of my mind flickers shanty town of wickedness and all who burn betray me are tortured murdered buried on outskirts of this moot province not entirely devoted to revenge shadows dart lascivious exchanges shadow economy back alley shenanigans soundproof rooms filled with hunger for beautiful women sole source of my arousal female lust japanese silk braided ropes bowls hoses drop-clothes vibrating toys anticipating mischievous acts town’s folk love esteem me applaud my fiercest turpitude fathers offer their daughters mothers perfume girls with wild flowers in their hair whispering accommodating instructions ultimately i decline their generous offerings opting instead for steadfast soul confidante accomplice closer in age she knows how to mommy my genitals get me off and i the same for her churning simmering caldron of desires dazzling aromas through center of town runs sacred blue river constantly replenishing innocence upon dust filth criminality also many enchanting bridges connecting dark side to bright side in elegant rundown art museum hang several of my paintings next to jackson ******* ad reinhardt anselm kiefer gerhard richter albert pinkham ryder francisco goya susan rothenberg and public library shelves brim with volumes of my writings next to james joyce william faulkner sophocles sylvia plath rainer maria rilke milan kundera franz kafka gabriel garcia marquez thomas bernhard patrick suskind  pablo neruda oriana fallaci annie proulx lydia davis during mornings everyone busies themselves making things practicing yoga swimming cooking friends gather for lunch munch comically gossip about previous night’s dramas in afternoon go back to their interests at sunset all citizenry come together look to west watch fiery orange globe sink beyond purple mountains wonder reflect sniff their fingers as night falls on little village each goes about deciding what to wear then meet for cocktails in local taverns and commotion begins

Snow is not supposed to be blue.
But it is. Tangled
in her locks so blue that the seas become envious.
The hair of the girl I thought I loved when I
thought I knew what love is.
But I don’t think that anyone knows what love is. We
hope and pray that the phrases that we string together with
flowers and promises can represent this idea that we
dream
about grasping in our trembling fingers since the day we came into this world
kicking and screaming.
We’ve been trying to figure out how to feel love and tackling the freezing fear of,
“What if I never find it?”
As if love is inside the treasure chest buried beneath the world,
Accessible to those who can find the map and find the spot marked with an X.

X is such an ugly sound.

It’s the sound of listening to her argue with her ex-boyfriend about their ex-relationship
And about the ex-problems that they had in their past ex-together and
it’s listening to her slamming the door to her bedroom in a tantrum because
sometimes love is not enough.
But if love is not enough, what is?
And what about love is not enough and can it be fixed and
mended like your mother kissing your knee after you fell outside
playing tag
with the neighbor girl with hair so blue
you swear that the gods made it from a summer sky itself?
If we are too young to understand love at thirteen when
your crush kisses you in the darkened gymnasium at the middle school dance then
how can we know that love is what we feel at six years old for the
fathers when they play hide-and-seek in the yard with us and
know that there is an absence of love for the
mothers that turn us aside and build fences between us
are those fences there to keep me out or to keep her and her anger in?
So, logically, if we don’t know love at six or thirteen then
when do we learn what love can be and how do we learn what love is?
Is it trial and error where we have to wait for “the one”
or is it just a guessing game, a gamble, and
hope that the person that you have so many
similar interests and hobbies and passions and beliefs and feelings with is
a person that you are in love with?
So do I love the girl beside me
sprawled out in the morning snow?
With hair so blue that the seas become envious?
No.
After all, how can I?
I don’t even know what love is.

They were not blind
They just lacked eyes
Never knew a single ray of light
Worked a full clock, until they dropped breathless

And they were not deaf
They just lacked ears
Never heard a single wave of sound
Listened to their own thoughts scream

Yet, each had a mouth
An unquenchable hunger
Driving their minds,
To whatever it is that they could eat

And while at that,
Some mumbled,
Others screamed
To themselves and others

It was a disturbing imagery,
And many indistinctive voices
That my head spined endlessly
Swimming through countless thoughts

May be,
humanity was lost,
To the long structures touching the sky,
Beautiful vessels floating on water,
Amazing crafts flying in the air
And the astonishing world of tech

May be,
while trying to be better,
We fell deep down an abyss
That now we need implements of war
To guard our own interests,
From a brother next door

Skies spread wide with dark smoke
Land eroded to the bottom seas
lakes filled with oil spills
And bodies lay within ruins,
Soaking the ground in child blood

yet, we look into each other's eyes,
A firm handshake, beautiful smile,
Talking about the future,
The one we've strangled with our hands
And leaving our filthy prints on everything

Should say, we can clean our mess,
But yet, time itself offers not enough to correct our ways

But pass down the responsibility,
To a boy in blue boots,
And a girl in pink shoes,
To clean the remains of a generational mess

He’d floated down from Marathon,
Where he’d briefly harangued the populace,
Telling all within earshot that a great torrent
Would sweep them away part and parcel
(As all the while bright sunshine
Glared off his ancient aluminum folding chair,
But anyone having the least bit of a handle on the lay of the land
Knew the narrow, cranky Tioughnioga
Would jump its banks after a reasonable drizzle,
And the night before had brought rain that would make Noah fret)
And, sure enough, the high water came,
Though with a tad more ferocity than one would expect,
So much so that a young girl actually washed downstream a bit
Before a desperate volunteer fireman
Made a highlight-reel grab to pull her to shore,
At which time the county boys told the street preacher du jour
That it might be in his interests to move along.
He’d set up shop here and there
In and around Watson’s tumbledown industrial burgh:
Outside the  huge glass doorway
Of the white-elephantesque state office building,
Too PCB-contaminated to be inhabitable for generations now,
Cracked sidewalks on Henry and Hawley Streets
Where his very survival at least hinted at divine intervention,
Abandoned tanning parlors and spiedie huts
Littering the Vestal Parkway,
Valiantly attempting to put up his armada
Of warped and vaguely rectangular sandwich boards
Festooned with quotes from Hosea and Lamentations,
Music mumbling from his disco-era boom box,
Sounding for all the world like Hank Williams speaking in tongues.
His clientele did not vary much from location to location:
The already converted, stopping to compare misapprehensions
Of some obscure snippet of scripture,
Youngsters on bicycles or skateboards,
Alternately solicitous or mocking,
Depending on how much shine was left on their innocence,
****-heads, all itch and twitch,
Taking a moment to let their pulse rates cool.
His demeanor, if not exactly avuncular, is at least akin
To some gruff but vaguely affectionate distant uncle,
Yet invariably someone walking into some Kohl’s or coffee shop
Will either smirk knowingly in his direction
Or, even worse, ignore him ostentatiously
At which point he is possessed of an inflammatory madness,
A John Brown with no arsenal to lay siege unto.
You can endeavor to avert your eyes
Indeed your very souls from the Truth,
Gesticulating wildly in punctuation of his full-throated wail,
But it will find you, and no grand shopping center,
No expensive car, no gimcrack-laden technological device
Can deliver you from what He sees inside you,
What He knows about you
Better than you could ever know yourself,
And these rivers around you, these Susquehannas and Delawares
And Chenangos shall rise about you in a wave,
Sweeping away all you know, all you have built,
And it will not cleanse your land, but leave it as if scorched,
A fitting wasteland for the doomed!
Before long, some solicitous concerned citizen
Or harried store manager will alert the proper authorities,
And some deputy sheriff or city cop
Will tell him once again to Move it along, buddy,
And move along he does, muttering shibboleths under his breath,
Straggling along in this poor-man’s pilgrimage
To provide some counsel to the ****** and misbegotten.