Excuse me Mam!
Can I intrest U in a mutural gift?
A possible win-win senario.
Please pause a moment from U'r very busy day.
Pause to listen and let down your guard.

I am very sincere!
Though i admit, a bit of an introvert.
But underneath it all, I am a good person.

I am dillagent and goal oriented.
Though i admit, a bit obsesive.
But underneathn it all, I am a good person.

I follow the Rules!
I try to please my peers and superiors.
Though i admit, not always accomplished.
But underneath it all, I am a good person.

My accomplishments are noteworthy
Though i admit, I am not of riches.
But underneath it all, I am a good person.

In some uncertain way,
My love of life is bonded by these chains.
Your inocent interest could set me free,
if only for a moment.

For the moment that U share,
I would be a transformed person.
Though i admit, not a person of the world.
But underneath it all, I can make U happy to.

Regards,
Jerry

Friction into reality; I should say into fiction into life.  Small beads form on the upper lip,  Shoes strings become untied, a bottle is cracked as the ship leaves it’s slip.  Fret and cascade escape a troubled brow.  A boat builder an architect leans smirks and shifts toward the end of the pier.  The wake presses a ripple across the bay’s cloudy shiloutte.  Mooring lines tighten righting an unballasted keel.  Its crew makes up chalks and moors with figure eights and half hitches.  Take up slack and pull with the boatswains command.
Captain, Executive officer, and first mate critique fit for crew and evolution.  

Pea coats smocked, boots weather sealed with wax, glove, slacks, hat, and pants.  Stores are stacked and awaiting brow and chain gang.  Rations and stores for 4 weeks.  The harbor’s main berthing finds vacancy at the vessels underway taking.  Bow to stern aspect three hundred feet washed and clean.  She has a 9 foot draft with another 22 feet to the first rail.  

The lines in the boat shore for a nimble light sailing ship.  A clipper maybe,  I’ll wait to report further direction possibly assuming more command.  A cigarette falls from my first *******.  A jostle to my left crafts seagulls posturing a stolen meal.  Sulfur stings my nostril igniting the first of two puffs.  The captian rolls his eyes my direction gives the once over finding his intrest in the rest of the evolution.

A few pier hands set eyes on the clipper, smoking.

Mice run along the wooden edge of the pier away from some of the salted pork and grain.  Two other mice lose courage at my sight line.  XO and first mate shift and turn retrieving my concern.  The brow is being landed at the stern of the ship.  

No decals and no name yet.  At some point Ill find or ask to be apart of the ships crew.  Deck hand, cook, messenger, helmsman, assistant to first mate all compatible with ability.  The first mate chuckles and mentions a figurative by stander knowing that an employment opportunity starts with a  conversation.  

Crew’s first leiutenant for the most part looks squared away and a bit untouchable, salty.  Pants tucked into calf high boots, a beard, pea coat and a lost stare.  Hesitating a bit he grins and settles back to appropriate conversation.

My bag and jacket drop accompany to the stores.  Maybe a slow patient walk aft, there has to be a name for her.  At the stern a marching movement to my right and I can follow the rear of the boat and in peripheral the command group.

The Lion’s Winter in large old English print below a iron clad window pane bounces with the tide to the left and right in a roll.  I can see the ship, now calming into a quiet slop off of the pier and its mooring lines. The rudder is a massive distorted key shaped piece of poplar with copper piano hinges all the way to the back of the keel.  A small blue crab lengthens a breast stroke across the top of the water.  

The three follow the appropriate custom before crossing the brow and the first louie barks a few times.  Two of the ship’s crew begin inventory on stores while a bit of nervousness creeps over the contents of my only possessions.  Wetting my lips I can taste the salt on my face.

One of the crew yells,
“Louie, move him off.  He stump’n around the grub.”
He barks again,
“Turn two.  Got more an him eny’d, a Rat!”

I took that as on opportunity to introduction.  Mr. Louie straightened pursed heels and drained thought from my façade.  His eyes narrowed, he felt the calm of my urgency.  He knew I needed, obliged then walked to conversation.  “Cryme's, you look’n for someone.”

“Humm, a shipmate.”
I could see the it was not the conversation he was expecting.  He leveled, “Pretty tight around here. What do you have in the bag?”

“Mostly books.”  

“You cant cross the atlantic reading books.”

Sharply understood in sponse to kurt, “Is that an opportunity or an intrest accompany to nothing.”

“You can naught cross the Atlantic.”


Tim says leave the world.  I laugh and he says no righting, laughter.

She's a female
A little shorter than me physically
But not at all mentally
Self esteem higher than I thought was a possibility
But she's  not cocky
She's the balance
The middle of all things good and bad
She's strived for by, at least, me
Her smile lights up rooms
And I think she knows that
It's different
But interesting
My latest interest captivates me
Let's hope I don't **** her up

The plane touched down after a long flight that was true torture the whiskey had long since ran dry the coke had left me
with a headache and the movie was freaking me out
****** you twilight.

Had a seventeen year old girl chose this film that reminded me
I needed to call my wife  to tell her I couldnt pick her up after highschool.

Apon landing I was met by strange  men all named bobby  
im guessing to be a cop here you had to all be related
and named bobby  fine with me.

These men unlike there many named brothers across the pond didnt
have any wepons  dear lord man   wait a minute  take mine  what nice men these bobby clan were.
what was even better was this magic land had the sense to give them all the same name   so when you were drunk you wouldnt forget it.
Why did we not do this   the women  as well.

Apon searching my always ghost town of a wallet  one of the bobby
clan replied hey you know skeeter to?
Jesus  I wont even comment on that.

Apon my exit from the airport i was greated by something that was
a true blessing to any hungover eyes.
No sun  dear lord  I also noticed these people had already been drinking.  
For they were all driving on the wrong  side of the road.
London was rainy  cold   and soon to be Gonzo.

My trip began  like any good writer slash reporter slash honrny ******* drunks would begin  at the liquor store.
the bobby clan had taken my moonshine slash rocket fuel
oh well  least the plane wouldnt be the only thing flying tonight.

The strange little speaking man  who drove the taxi rambled on  as i applyed my social lubricate  better known as *****  how i did miss wild turkey.

You fancey a ***?
Sir your attractive but i dont swing that way.
One thing seemed clear these people were all drunk
it brought a tear to my eye  I had finally found my people.

Wanna see the palace?
Why not although  after i had been to cessars  this place seemed
kinda odd how did they expect it to make any money
with it all locked up?

Allthough the silent man outside with the black furry quetip hat was a draw.
The strange big eared  man i met in the garden after  my  
well little fence hop hell  being the human quetip didnt say anything
I figured he wouldnt mind to much.

Well the big eared man was rather plessant  after i offred him some whiskey  sorry  its a little weak  thoose bobby boys took my good ****.
No worries you crazy *******  wanna ***.
****** man Ive  told you guys  im straight.

After my exit  and brief *** kicking seems thoose quetip people are silent but deadly   my face soon kissed the pavement
as one replied  I belive him to be the one that wasnt special said thats what you get yank for speaking to the prince.

These people were worse than i thought  I was a big fan of purple rain.
dont belive a word that man said  besides he's a racesist.
never trust a man who can jump outta a  airplane and glide to the ground  unless he's dumbo.

One place to always seek refuge when in doubt  was a pub
least these people werent obsessed with if i was gay.
yes like a man in a church filled with like minded crazy people i was home.

Sharing a booth with a strange man creature who called himself Keith something  what a drunk genius he was indeed.
rambling hours on end about **** I seldom understood.
but as long as he was buying i was happy.

Poor guy  seems he was in a band  but with a name like the Rolling Stones how far could they go.
after much more rambling and some bad jokes we were off
me and my struggling guitar playing friend  who dare I say it was on drugs  I had met my true idol.

Always up for a prank we found areselves in he country
loading a bmw full  of horse crap  when a old woman from
the mansion did appear  under the inffluence  anger with pitch fork in hand.

As we fled  as well as staggerd  I asked my drunk pirate friend
you know that old woman looked  Paul  Maccartney That is Paul
Maccartney you ****** my sruggling sorta insane friend replied.

Running through the woods drunk at night is always fun
aside from thoose dam trees.
i was knocked flat as if i had been socked by skeeter
as i came to there the  legend stood overtop me
pitch fork raised wait befor you **** me sir please can i have
one last request.

I should have known Sir Paul  replied  happens all the time who should i make the autograph out to?
***** that amigo i pulled out my bible better known as my flask taking   one last drink of fire water  this was gonna ****.

When all the sudden a banshee's scream echoed in the forrest.
******* mate were done for  sir Pauls fear was clear as the wet spot on the front of his pants.

Tree's rattled what kind of monsters did this country hold?
the howl closer ****** Paul get of my back   im not
your old song writting buddy.

From the sky the bashee did appear  but had little or no intrest in me
The battle was epic the *** stained warrior put up valiant  and tearful fight.

The kicker was when she removerd her leg  like some sort of Brittish  samuri  all i can say is hot.
She swung like Mickey Mantle   or maybe it was mouse im not a big footall fan anyway.

Sir Paul knocked stone cold out  the she demon turned her attention to me.   And you!
She howled her leg wepon raised high in the moonlight
it was i know what your thinking romantic.

I deffended myself as best i knew how by falling to my knees crying pleading for my life  dam you bobby clan were are you now.

But to my suprize she only laughed silly yank  help me go through his pockets  befor the old ******* wakes up.
we searched finding many thing's hey whats this a flash light?
****** i should have known better than to look through a grown man's pockets.  
Had I not learned anything from my uncle.


The moon the she banshe with the removable leg
My drunk struggling muscian friend from a little blues band it was a magic night indeed.

As I sit by the fire  looking at it hanging over the mantle.
I wonder when will i again return to this  strange and Gonzo place.
And how the hell I was gonna explain were that leg came from.

Untill next time kids stay crazy
Gonzo

Perhaps a common feeling
Or perhaps I am alone
To feel as if you're fading

A friend losing interest
A lover moving on
No words of clear rejection
Yet you feel it in the air

It feels as if you need to fight
To constantly gain favor
A filler presence

Many ways to do this
Laughter
Material

Keep them invested
Why do I need to try?
Is it true friendship?
Simply life

I tend to have a deep endearment and emotional intrest in coldhearted people, i see good in them, and i want to develope a relationship with them, i fall inlove with what i know they can be, i want to be there for them and see what there about, i have this huge thing for ******* type people, but sometimes when you play with fire, theres a great possibility you will get burned.

If I stood between two blaring horns. 
I would hear nothing. 
All the noise and worries would cancel out. 
And I would be safe in the realm of interference. 
But why should I isolate myself?
Is it in my best intrest?
Do I care?
Let me be in my destructive atmosphere. 
And let me stay oblivious.

Your body is a story
waiting to be told.
Secrets unanswered,
treasuses unknown.

Your mind is a temple
treated with respect.
Undying intrest, unknown
effect.

Mystery and magic your
soul screams a release.
As mine is trapped in yours
echo, shattering my peace.

Endless screams of sorrow,
flow through you with fear.
Shattering waking moments,
swollowing back tears.

Dreaming dead, you never wake
And you can never see.
Trapped, darker parts
Forever in misery.

You dream in hope through
mystic fog, a cloud of life.
I die. Painfully. Forgotten
part of your never-ending strife.

Dreaming dead you'll always be,
and so forever shall I.
Waiting for the moment
My memories will die.

With the Season So Gay, only Days Away,
Just the smile of a friend would do.
But to someone, who searched for a smile a while
It seems these days that true Friends are few.

The Bankers are Busy Compounding with intrest
And Bakers So Busy with Fudge and Sugar cookies
The stores are mobbed by Shoppers who feel Robbed
If they miss the Black Friday Deal for a big screen TV

But to Some's wish for a touch of a friend, there is none
In the Hustle and Bustel brought on by this season
Amidst all the glee and Well trimmed Lighted trees,
Lone Souls search for a spot of love they will never see

Their cards go unanswered and gifts are untouched
No Music of laughter this Holiday Comes
No Wish for the Hottest thing, just the touch of a friend
Is on their wish list, but not under the tree in the End
Because there's no way to present, all that's meant
When the wish Due is the simple touch of a friend
Though this wish is small, Merry Christmas to All...JMF 12/20/14

To All Ya’ll, have them Happy Holidays & a Merry Christmas/

Next step, thank the Sun 4 this years ending Winter Solstice/

If my prose sparks intrest, makes you curious/

Go ahead and seak, ask me why I said this/

-Joshua Vincens

Every smile is to be paid double its weight in pain, paid outright and full before intrest is gained. I escaped depressions grasps for first 12 years of my life. Someone forgot to tell me what i owe, now i dont mean to seek pitty with my tale of missery and woe. But it seems some nights the devil takes a certain interest in my crimson eliqour of life. he to just wants to see it pour from my veins flow like silk down my leg and hear me say.. nothing.. no cry for help in fear someone would notice the scars i cover with my pair of jeans. Some say its in that that i aquired such a lovely taste a hatred for myself. Others have told me to get over it, everyone feels depressed sometimes, but most nights i dont see the light my path is a foggy stormy night sailing without the stars you can not tell me its the same and im the one who should lay the blaime on myself  for letting it get this bad.

Not a good beginning.
Though the ending is good.
Specks of energy ending life.
Zooming into the waterfall.
Is not isn't it?
Can the worst still come?
Misinterpretations and bird calls.
The fever is the cure.
Grand overused.
Over underused.
Seeing the released steam,
You make a new turn
To replace your last one.
The path is worn out
So you slip a new one in place.
The time is up for your inspiration;
The monks are ending their chant.
Look to your new direction,
And find a new dimention.
While writing chalk on chalk,
You find an intrest.
You hear the screams of made up animals,
and steam engines.
The clicks and clacks of spinning.
The ticks of a new idea.
But you dismiss it.
It's all in your head, right?
It's not like anybody else can hear it.
You write it down to save a note,
But words are left in limbo;
But the words are cut short.

It saddens me to watch women
They're so busy
Proving their worth at work
Because it was not always an option
Not their fault.
But was it man's fault?
Purely stripped down of the powerstruggle?
No.
Someone had to look after children
It was a necessity, survival of the race
Pure and simple.

I've been trained, evaluated and promoted
By men not women
Miss Professional Climber
It might intrest you to know
That I didn't blow them to get ahead
If I didn't have skills
That would've reflected poorly
On the man who put me there
And sweety, he'a not an idiot
But I'm starting to think that you are.
In business Time is still Money

It saddens me to watch women
Trying to live up to the mother
In an ideal world
Indeed in a movie
Feeling guilty for things they can't help
Indeed for being a mere human
It's rarely the parents' fault
For if they knew better
They would've done better
Pure and simple.

It saddens me to watch women
Trying to have the perfect body
Sure men can be cruel
But is it really all because of them?
Are they the ones greedily
Grasping on to a gossip magazine
Inviting their friends
To judge others like it's a social event
Spending hours in front of the mirror
When all they needed is to take a shower
Clean clothes, mascara and eyeliner

Never heard a man complain
About the natural look
And when asked
He didn't have the first idea
What else I would've needed.

Are we really doing this
To lure in the perfect man
You know the one that in reality
Doesn't know why you want a thighgap
Because he doesn't know what it is!
And if he does
He didn't think to check that you had one
When he asked you out.

Women blame men for only wanting one thing
And he's definitely a pig
When he talks to your *****
It may surprise the fairer ***
That according to a poll
The first thing men really notice
Are the eyes and the smile
And sure men tend to look at other women
But studies show that
Not only can they not help it
They don't even remember having seen her in the first place

So who are the real ******* here?
Is it not the women themselves?
It's more than true
That women don't dress for men
They dress for other women
Women don't want to be perfect mothers
Purely for their children
but for other mothers
Women don't want to be bosses
Because it reflects their personal power
*but because they want to dominate other women

Earth, my dear, you're rather ill.
Those pesky bugs,
you have them still?
Come on Girl, get a grip.

Your infection has been spreading,
Poor Moon is looking gray!
I even think they've got to me,
Though not as bad, I'd say.

Jupiter's been talking,
These rumors aren't kind!
I swear I didn't tell him,
He heard through the astroid vine.

Sister dear, I love you,
I swear you used to be hot!
Even the Sun took intrest!
Though now, he'd rather not.

Get rid of those pesky buggarts,
You're powerful, you know.
Just **** 'em off and heal yourself.
Just let those vermin go!

tonights the night ,that we run free
and sail across the skies
set fire to the fields of grass
and in the flames we lie.

we lie not only in the flames
but in the star crossed waters
breaking down the barriers
we oh-so-often encounter

tonights the night we pour our lives
into a cup of bree
start fights against a desperate system
a witness to the scene.

a witness to the civalized ,
crazy, ******* men
who dictate ways to justify
a spoiled genertion

tonights the night we find the face
of all and knowing truths
we'll find the land eldorado
and hang it by a noose.

destroying all the poverty
and judgment of the lives
of those who may live differently
a world of lows and highs.

tonights the night we paint the town
in cycadelic tones
groups of faceless matadors
in mass, we stand alone.

confused, we find an intrest
in paranormal things
searching for another way
to earn those angels wings.

tonights the night we stand our ground
not jump, but break the fence
embark along our epic journey
a life that could make sence

no longer will we live in fear
of all we do not know
prove, the myths are logical
across the universe we'll go.

tonights the night we sing a tune
that test the strands of our existance
and tell of all the lies
that float above our empty heads.
the drones will come alive

It's dark
So dark
Mad and angry
A solitary cruel
Civilization where nobody
Cares nobody pays
Intrest for the lives
Of the hopeless
Or the needed.
The simple
Drive for the complex
Ideas of perfection
In which we crave
Is so prominent
Like an eched image
In our simply geared minds
Those gears only turn
One way
Not bothering to look
Back at the others
Who are perfect
For living
Without that
Selfishness

a.s.

ralphie was acting up.
screaming,
kicking,
whining...

all of us on the bus that cold morning
held our breath.

"sit down!!" she yelled
"stop it!!" she screamed
"when we get off this bus your gunna get it!"
she warned.

all of us along for the ride just
looked away.
avoiding the bitter taste of
what might happen at home
behind closed doors.

she screams
tugging and pulling at any stray
arm
leg
clump of hair
she can reach.

two more stops and i'm free...

we all choke on all the things we should say
we stare out the windows,
the lucky ones had a book to bury themselves in.

"...****** ralphie get the **** up!!"

as i stand to leave,
pairs of eyes beg me to take them with.

the bus slows
i step off and the collective finds a new found intrest
in the the ads lining the walls.

ralphie is on his own.

Practice takes patience
and patience takes practice
figuring out who you are takes that and a compass
nothing as simple as asking,
rather, much more like searching
for the smallest details that makes you, you.
Self-exploration
and in the case of others,
no longer are we searching
but rather waiting for pathways to open
connections are made with everything that we learn
but that takes time, dont rush the process
dont get anxious or nervous
just express your intrest
you see thats how friendships are made and relationships develop
you see time takes patience,
and patience takes practice.

I couldn't tell if he leant forward or backward in his chair
It was unclear whether is eyes were soft or steely
or if he was even looking at me
It was difficult to hear his inflection when he said
"You're really quite something. You know that?"
I didn't know if he'd find it funny if I said
"If I say yes, won't that sound a tad narcissistic?"
so i said it anyway

I couldn't tell if his eyes sparkled with inner mirth
or if they remained dull in the stupidity of my comment
He didn't convey intrest in me, nor disintrest.
He may have leant forward and he may have said
"Yes, but you didn't say yes did you."
He may have paused, then said
"You sound like you don't receive compliments like that too often."

He may have said compliment, I wasn't sure

I shifted uncomfortably and replied
"How can you tell?"

I think

I think he gestured with his hand to the fact that I was fidgeting.
"Because you don't know how to react."

I heard him that time.

Was he still looking at me?
I didn't know if I was offended or flattered.
But I did know that I took a deep breath and said
"I do know how to react. But I've heard using my sense of humour in situations like this pushes people away. . . apparently."
I think I was pretending to be serious.

I'm almost positive he was quiet for a while, still staring me down

or was he looking shyly?

And the stillness between us, that I'm pretty sure had settled, grew so long, I think I almost walked off.
That was until he smiled.
And the smile, I was sure about.

Haha, it's funny looking at this now.  L8:  that little email, oh my.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCXCVIII)


Where midnight'd feign a silence 'til I'd thence
Roll back the covers to at last avail
Me of lying down for good, ah how the pale
Eye of that moon rose twixt those treetops' dense
Black lacework, shivring in a keener sense.
Although we knew twas folly to detail
Aught, how I sent my Joey, like to scale,
Notes on whatever, to shrink from it hence.
Or, no.  I squinted as it peered as twere
At me, the ghastly calm fit for sweet dew,
And rose when dawn's first shafts began to stir.
What are the dreams long since forgot as due?
For if I shrink from building castles your
Sweet intrest culls, will that make all come true?

15Jul17a

Theres always a excuse not to fail.
Lack of spine is what it all comes down.to.
Many build a callus on there *** waiting for something to land in there lap.

Is it fear or comfort that makes one lazy?

I never knew anything easy two broken feet a few broken ribs a busted knuckle or two the scars of effort i wore them with pride.

People are a nice thought far to often gone astray.
There words lend fools comfort.
And keep the bitter moving without regret.

I was alone with my thoughts and what a place i truly embraced being.
Crazy is just a word to keep others away.

Maybe its why i wore it like a badge.
For its the mad ones that intrest me the most.

There is always a reason not to try.
And never a excuse that doesnt reek of ******* and a normal existance.


Saftey is for signs on the walls and guns in bored fools hands.

Avoid that word at all time's and you will be fine.
As you bask in the solace of your own truths and simple plessures.

Theres never a excuse.

People can control a lot. Your emotions, your apearance to them and the way you seem. They have full control but don't know how to man the system. The whole emotional pad is set up with color coded buttons for the controler to figure out. There's no way all the systems are the same, they have new colors. You can stick with one pad but sometimes other controls intrest you. And maybe your hand is too small for a lever on a pad, that means there is flaw that doesn't compare to you. There's no need to abandan that system. You learn to gear away from that part or find a way to use it. Sometimes when gears are rusty there is a way you can clean them out and fix them, this is called improving a person. This might be mixed with the way you might see a gear a different way, in that case, if they ask you politely with their Politomiter, accept that they just want to be themselves. And that is a fulltime atomatic H.U.man.

Eyes of pure radiance, a universe born within.
A voice of eligiance that soothes the soul.
A laugh that emits happiness in all directions.
Emotions so innocently fragile, but pure.
Strong willed to have endured such pain.
Every common intrest sparked excitement.
Soo much more to discover about you, lost.
Deep, sincre feelings, they won't fade.
I must move on before it consumes me,
move on but not forget, I won't,  I choose
not to.  I am glad you found happiness,
now I must search for mine, wherever it
may lie.

...of the world."



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCV)


"Alas, poor Yorick!"  echoes down the tale
O' centries since that Tristram Shandy thence
Was published, and familiar too, though whence
I ne'er could say 'til now, in sheer betrayl--
Love-sick being cause for seeking to avail
Me of some cure from false hopes' keen pretense--
To succour me at THAT font was for sense
Jist what the Doctor ordered:  pretty bail.
Now Corp'ral Trim reads Yorick's sermon fer
Ole Shandy's intrest ere that Tristram's through
The birth canal, I've highr ground as it were.
Not cuz the antique novel is a crew
Of nonsense.  No.  It sets off this e'er poor
'Scuse for "real'ty"...IF I can breathe too.

23Mar19a

Do you remember
The night we drove
Out into the inked darkness
Until the hum of the city
Evaporated into contrails streaked above us
Like some ******* canvas
That night I looked up at the sky
And it's infinate display and I said
"Doesn't it make you feel better
To know you're made of star dust?"
And you laughed quietly and said
"You'd rather be up there, wouldn't you?"
And I think that's when you knew
I would always be tripping over things
Because the ground didn't intrest me
in the slightest


a.s.

Having seen much in life
The traveler sits down to rest.
He has been here and there
To places not yet known,

He has no reason to rush
Time is on his side
He has no intrest in a hasty life
This place he rests is home.

It has been nearly a life time
Since the last he saw this place,
He left it as a young lad
Eager to set forth on an adventure.

But like every life, age catches up
Now in his old years
He has found nothing is the best something
He has nothing to worry about

Nothing to push him too hard
Nothing to hold him back
Nothing to twist his mind
Nothing to promote unrest,

He is content to sit in silence
For life has been long and good to him
Here is where he'll stay,
The place he loved as a little boy.

Have you ever had someone ******* in your brain?
Your eyes pulling the strings as you watch them talk to somebody else with intrest and your heart screaming "Look at Me"!
If you hear music it's me I dance around the truth that you have different options to choose and hang out with...you should just go ahead and choose me!
I'm so jealous that ignoring you births the Y for jealousy,  but then again I don't even know that you like me...I put my glasses on cause the truth blinds me and so I untangle you as you notice me I'm noticing that's where you want to be.
I'm the one in the strings how great it feels to be around someone who can cut you off and can't even see the strings

to follow up on a citation from

art & fear by
david bales and ted orland:

/ it seems that while the “quantity” group
was busily churning out piles of work -
and learning from their mistakes —
 the “quality” group had sat theorizing
about perfection, and in the end had
little more to show for their efforts
than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay. /

imagine asking a mozart to appeal
to both a quality and a quantity,
point being,
    quality will always remain
POP... while quantity will shut itself
off in  king crimson song,

    take what you're given
and stop acting like a pretentious
communist that even the Soviets would
have hated, as this overt censor
who censored so much,
   that he turned an ancient oak
into a toothpick, and not 10,000,000
packets if not more...

much easier to call in a
quality surveyor when it comes
to carpentry: you sit on a chair
and it doesn't break:
     give us 10,000 more replicas...
"apparently" rushed...

a mirage of qua (as being)
      and quo (where?)

        almost indistinguishable
after enough practice, and,
patience... but some much for these
little words...

             that sequence of a tree
made into a single toothpick?
     loony toons,  foghorn leghorn
episode...

  quality is a spare
   of what dedication to quantity
arrives at...
           quality is a byproduct
not the product itself...
        
don't ask me how capitalism rings
a bell, seeing how it's exhausted
       in pumping out quality,
and quantity simultaneously,
having to tap into a.i. & algorithms
because, apparently:
   human creativity is without
an imagination lax,
there are, apparently,  
   25,000 ways of reinventing
the hammer and the nail...
  given that the fear of the hammer
and the he sickle disappeared...
  Columbus discovering America
in a ******* can of sardines...
woo, hoo, honk honk.

sarcasm is not an easy humour,
witty people hardly notice
that wit and sarcasm are the Hanzel
und Gretyl of the comedy spree...
dry, martini, fixations on the image of:
getting away with easing out
a wet ****,  only because attired
in what Rene Magritte would wear
when painting.

oh wait... **** **** ****....

   both instances mind th3 qua-
prefix...
     mind you, etymology of suffixes
with a strong latin prefix?
not my strong point...
   -lity contra -ntity are not my strong...
     what point of intrest
and: the most certain points
worth debating over?

we are summoned by the fickle nature
of: whatever comes our way,
much easier had it been but
a crude snout of a dog
with only a howling or a barking
to emerge from within:
so curse the mind the tongue the thumb,
and the spine,
    or however else you might
want to evaporate expanding the senses
and not clinging to these pillars...

thing about quantity...
    beggars at the feet of spontaneity,
never for a minute in need of:
attempting to perfect a square...
beside a rhombus?
       a bonsai everest of cow dung,
towed by 12 horses and one donkey,
dubbed: Γołgoθa -
      seems Pythagoras was an Aussie...

what with the up-side down right angle
like a swallow nest on a barn...

******* yob mismatched: oi oi oi...

how else to end it if not
with John Frusciante?
        
                       it really takes but one song
to cite, warm tape...
           THAT CHORUS, IZ...
            how do I put it...
the point of helium trapped in a ******?
    the point of
   mixing the dentist high on helium
and the patient high off nitrous oxide?
I mean, **** me,
   is it to remain of matter of
hiding a higher realism in unachievable
cartoon sketches?
    
             a theological dull and grey,
any day, compared to
man's phantasmagorical taste of colour
to revitalise urbanity with
a Braille reading of Vivaldi scores...
no clichés at this point,
even with the behemoths,
given the already exhausted and fly-riddled
moonlight sonnata...

hell, red hot chilli peppers, ooh, pop,
john frusciante, not carvel...
warm tape chorus:
  remnants of...
     pierdolone, baz'groły...

           since how can the artist be
not deemed a pretentious ****,
if he perfects by sole theorising,
and not by making a *** note...
    take an artist and a carpenter...
    after a while the two concepts
are indistinguishable,
a bit like reading the tedium that
is the overburdened suicide explanation
lost in Zen and the art of motorcycle
maintanence...

   QUA, sure, but then what?
        10000000000 contra 1.0000000001?
numbing terminology,
contra: litany prospectus?
          
elsewhere in the discussion,
waiting rooms with jazz, rather than muzak
playing in the background,
qua-qua intersectionability...
     no categorical imperative,
or an imperative to build walls and learn
to juggle a a third entry,
a joker sly upper-hand...
    quality,  and quantity,
         are indistinguishable in jazz...
muchos gracias...
   and your, ******* gospel choir
dance moves and jazz and all
the other encyclopedia entries of
black...
    highschool,
         black girls inventing cat fights,
and when vaseline cream first came
in contact with, afro.

Unlike you I can't sit still
Unlike you I cant focus
Unlike you every sound pounds my brain
like a hammering fist till my vision is blurry
like a dog whistle screaching at pitches you could never hear
rattling my brain
Unlike you I can't understand jokes
Unlike you I can't do things that are of no intrest
Unlike you I cant stand the feeling of the shirt on my back
like snadpaper scrating my skin wraw
like a snake squeezing the air out of my lungs untill I can no longer breath
Breaking my ribs