Two were suffocated
One stabbed
Four drowned
Three broken neck.
A massive shock for her,
articulated.

10 were over
None are forgotten,
7 irrelevant
but 3 where all 3.

She was asked to
portray all these
in a pie chart.

While he was eating
a blueberry pie.

In a peculiar, far off, world, time and place,
The trivial past would be irrelevant, chased away then erased.
Contrary to the reality of distorted lies in front of my face,
These eyes cannot mask fraudulence or disgrace.
Chasing them down with a trace of a defaced case of toxic waste,
I pace as my thoughts race of the time that’s left until I dissipate.
Looking into the murky vase with dying flowers desperate to be replaced,
Misplaced to the one who’d obliterate the beauty I once embraced.

Within my sorrow I woke, shattered love replaced with a heart no longer broke.
Soaked with what I could never cope, I felt passion and choked on my once false hope.
This vision evoked a note; a call of duty for you, my eternity to devote.
Instinctively I knew, the words stuck in my throat, but blindly every incline eventually has a *****.
Surrounded by mirrors shielded with smoke,
As we stared we shared yet nothing we spoke.
Your presence was felt but disguised with a cloak,
Confined in your skin, comfortably lost afloat, for your soul I searched to perpetually stroke.

With blurred vision I envisioned, stood silent, anxious of your condition,
Division of indecision was nothing less than your frightened inquisition.
A hallucination on a mission of who was out to hurt you with consistence,
I understood as you tried to piece together the suspicion of our composition.
Guarded and in position to react upon intuition then the smoke disappeared and you saw our reflection.
No longer was my presence an imposition now in recognition you accepted the ignition of a united evolution.
Successful revision disposed internal superstition,
Our collision created a premonition for our future decisions of precision.

The past’s paths we chose were restricted to our addiction and careless indifference,
The assistance of negative influence stripped us of our innocence.
Blood shot eyes, negligence of appearance, abstracted resistance only creating distance.
Ambiguous and inexperienced, taking shots and hits in an instance,
Distorted images, lacking clarity, the abuse of substance left an absence of existence.
Building tolerance whilst sabotaging resilience, guilty and unable to admit repentance,
Without a witness, secret and safe, no justice to serve and no one to listen.
A mission incomplete and persistent,
We continue to envelope in our disappearance.

In the seam of my sickness I submerge within these contaminated nerves,
Fearing the silence with thirst not to be disturbed,
But absurdly I yearned your unhealthy and perplexed words to be heard,
My tender nature reserved an exclusive place to keep you conserved,
Unstable but concerned I’d preserve you like an herb,
I slurred for forgiveness but observed perhaps this was my turn,
But with your freedom you turned away and flew away like a bird.
Now relentless and pure I burn the surface of my figure, no intent to return.

Yet once we were young, wild and free,
Conducting our train with no fear of where we’d soon be,
The sweet breeze guaranteed the destination with ease,
Imagination without knowledge, amid glee and degree,  
We’d dive and rise above the salty sea,
Later meet beneath that tree with belief the starry sky we’d seize,
Through the debris you still held in your hand the key,
And we’d conquer our dreams, what we sought and believed.

But as I’ve grown within my questioning dome,
My home of stones has nothing to be shown,
Prone to disown my weakened skin and bones,
Candidly I pacify the clone I’ve never known.
In hopes to be flown far ahead of this zone,
I’d hover above in a whispering tone, draining my disease as it’s blown.
My soul will glisten and roam, looking down at my new golden throne,
As I’ve postponed to recognize the beauty of the Earth & my own – No longer shall I be alone.

When I do not write poetry!
When I cant write poetry!

When all I can write is strings of meaningless associated  words
about my meaningless associated experiences
in  any of my meaningless associated lifetimes.
Spent committing meaningless associated actions.
Avoiding meaningless associated people with their
meaningless associated GroupMinds.
All meaningless without the Isness of the Universe's hand in mine.

Wandering through life with few companions.
Clad in yellow  dust.
Doing my Raja Yoga practices.
Doing my Tantric Yoga practices.
Doing my Bhakti Yoga practices.
Doing my Gnana Yoga practices.
Doing my Karma Yoga practices.
Doing my Hatha Yoga practices.

Raja Yoga.
waking--sleeping--sitting --lieing--standing--walking--running--eating--*******-swimming--r­ock climbing-trekking the  high  Himalayas---and always doing deep nasal Kriya Yoga breathing as I contemplate the passage of my days and nights and seek the answer to the eternal question of --
Who am I?.
Who am I?.
Surely not the vain and deceitful Mind?
Am I really a small but equal individual,independent,nameless,formless,genderless and non physical individual Isness formed from the Isness of the Universe?.
An individualIsness chasing after being in the
ultimate state of Separate and Merged with the Isness of the Universe.

Tantric Yoga.
Doing various sweaty and pleasure filled acts of ***  with male or female or femboy or boygirl or ******* or pansexual or anyone I fancy with a **** or a ****--and a minimum of love.
My stiff **** in a ****.
A stiff **** in my mouth.
A stiff ****  in my *******.
My stiff ****  in an *******.
*** dribbling down the inside of my legs.
*** dribbling down my chin--all over my face.
Licking wet swollen **** lips.
Licking swollen *****.
Always aiming to arouse ******--to turn on Kundalini.
To reach out and touch the hem of the Isness of the Universe's robe

Bhakti Yoga.
Singing and dancing and painting and glassperlenspiel and cooking and laughing and crying and playing----.
Saxophones and clarinets and flutes and drums and  stringed instruments and the "fool".
Especially my beloved Selmer Alto Clarinet--curved like a
serpent drunk  on life
But the greatest of my instruments is-the "fool".
Foolish for life.
Foolish for unconditional love.
Foolish for to make people laugh.
Foolish for believing that I can solve the riddle of "who am I"?.
All for the delectation of the Isness of the Universe.

Gnana Yoga.
Reading books and pamphlets and essays and sutras and suras and verses and scribbles on grubby pieces of paper.
Searching for that elusive string of associated words that tell me that an honest woman or man passed this way before me.
Not a worshipper of any "god" or "goddess" or any other Celestial being made by the Isness of the Universe to mask  its innocence.
No enlightend beings for me-oh no!.
No buddas for me-oh no!.
No beings in Gnosis for me-oh no!.
No avatars for me--oh no!
No sons or daughters of any "god" or "goddess" for me --oh no!
Just a person,*** irrelevant but compulsory, that had realised,existentially, for a brief moment that they too are a part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe.

Karma Yoga.
Every act I commit adding or subtracting from that accumulation of
Karmas,good and bad or neutral, from every lifetime I have lived.
Boy you gonna carry that weight!!.
Roll that boulder up the hill.
Only ever making Neutral Karma.
Beyond the deceptions of Duality or Non-Duality.
Neutral Karma that only arises
by practising the Six Fundamental Yogas.
But not as an obsession or a lifestyle choice.
Hey Isness of the Universe-give me a helping  hand here!

Hatha Yoga.
Keeping my current body healthy enough so I can
do all other five of the Six Fundamental Yogas.
Cooking million star meals.
No 5 star chefs in my houses.
Eating Organically and drinking water from lifes many springs.
A green leaf salad every day
Taking part in the exercise of living.
No contortions or posturing for me.
Ha! the ingoing breath.
Tha! the  outgoing breath.
Breathing set as conditioned reflex--living on automatic.
Random deep nasal breathing--waking and sleeping.
Dreaming of the Isness of the Universe.
Waking up in the Isness of the Universe's arms.
Feeling the Isness of the Universe's breath on my fevered brow.
Listening to the Isness of the Universe murmuring in a billion billion different ways--
I love you.

Hearing the Isness of the Universe say--
I breathe through your nose and lungs.
I smell through your nose.
I see through your eyes and insightfulness.
I look through your eyes.
I lick the  juice of **** or **** with your tongue.
I taste Vanilla Ice-Cream with your tongue.
I blow a wet **** or stiff **** with your mouth.
I breathe life into the Alto-Clarinet with your mouth.
I touch nakedness of others with your fingers.
I feel the Void with your fingers.
I wake into consciousness at your urgent voice.
I spring into life at your very step.
I experience all through your body.
I experience existence through your life.
I love unconditionally through being
loved unconditionally by you.
I am humble before you.
My beingness is  exalted by your humility
Your beingness is exalted by my humility.

www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk

I turned seventeen today.
It's nothing special.
But I turned seventeen today,
And that's something.

There's a difference between
Seventeen and 17.
They have the same value,
But have a different meaning.

Seventeen is
Your teen years
Coming to an end
But just starting all the same

Seventeen is
Your last year as a child;
The ability to be free
With little responsibility

Seventeen is
Maturity
Adolescents
Personality

But 17 is
Just a number.
It has no real significance.
It's not special.

17 is
Just an age
That's not as important
As 18 and 21.

17 is
Small
Irrelevant
Numerical.

But I turned seventeen today
I turned 17 today
Mature.
Irrelevant.

Every course should be marked on content.
In todays schooling we ask students to write final essays or regular essays to discuss their knowledge in a specific topic. However, marks are deducted for minor sentence errors, grammatical errors and style errors. But does that mean they don’t have sufficient knowledge about the topic or that the content of the essay does mean standards? No. Students lose marks for unrelated reasons. Grammar is not content. Grammar is grammar. Content could be excellent while the grammar is horrible. Philosophers potentially had the worst grammar ever, however we have glorified their thoughts for centuries.
This is where schooling has changed. And this is how schooling needs to change. Writing an essay is irrelevant to knowledge about a topic. Writing skills and understanding of content do not intertwine. If I wanted someone to apply knowledge they learned from a topic an essay is perhaps a very irrelevant way of doing so. Why judge someone on something that is, in today’s society exposed to interferences? Interferences such as grammatical errors.
If I wanted to know someones knowledge about a certain topic and wanted them to apply logic and theories they learned from courses, why not talk to them rather than using paper as a pigeon to share ideas? If it was spoken I can’t say “you lost marks because you didn’t put a period here and a comma there.” If it is spoken, you will still be able to notice if the student understands the topic. This way there is not interferences. It is strictly about content of knowledge and the students ability to apply what they have learned into specific views about a question I would have for them.
If I asked a teacher to have a class discussion where everyone had input, how would the teacher grade them? On quality of their answer, and clarity. Clarity being their ability to get to the point. However, if it is not clear, can the student make it clear for the rest of the class? Because what sometimes isn’t clear for one person, could be unclear because they are not as intelligent to be able to understand. The other student might not be so stupid because he said it in a way that is unclear. Maybe the listener is stupid because they didn’t understand? However, if the student can make it clear then their quality of the answer enhances and they will receive a higher grade.
For instance, if this was a formal essay that attempted to answer “What is wrong with schooling?” I would lose marks because I asked questions. Asking questions for some reason is not allowed? Is it informal? No. But society tells us we shouldn’t ask questions we should instead assume something and make a statement because that imposes confidence in a thought. But, if I was questioning certain aspects of something would that prove that I have sufficient knowledge towards one topic? Wouldn’t that impose that I have enough knowledge to understand details and question them? But hey, don’t formulate that statement in a question. It’s stupid. Question everything because you will never know all the answers regardless of all the resources.
By discussing a topic, the answers are direct. Content may vary depending on how much the student learned (providing the teacher is good at teaching and the proper course are in place). If the student struggles to understand a topic it will be evident in the quality of their answer. We can still see if the student is trying too hard (which is never a bad thing to set the standard high, shoot for the stars), or if the answer they have is someone else’s because they aren’t necessarily answers that they would have or words that they would use. But that is an assumption. Never assume, instead question. We can still notice if the student paid attention the course lectures and successfully answered the topic question with detail, reference, questions, relations, and application of knowledge that was taught to the student.
Just because a student can’t write a thought out on paper, does not mean they didn’t understand it. **** I used contractions, I would lose more marks there as well. See what I mean, a highschool teacher would tell me that I can’t say “Can’t” I was supposed to say “Can not” because that is formal. What is formal? Who said that is formal? Jim Joe Bob down the road? Who cares, does the student understand the topic or not? Stop docking marks for things unrelated to the subject.
If this was a writing course it would be understood why a student would lose marks for grammar and word choice and sentence structure or clarity. But students lose marks in History essays for word choice, and in political science for forgetting a period and in gender studies for saying “you” in a final essay. These are unneeded reasons for losing marks. At the end of the day does the student understand the historical importance of the topic? Or does the student understand the importance of the judiciary amongst the political system? Or does the student understand that sexism will only negatively impact society? If no, then he or she gets a bad mark, if yes, they get a good mark. Stop making up reasons for bad marks.
However, one will say; “Well what if the quality of the essay is so ****** I can’t even understand their knowledge?” This proves the instability of essays. Don’t ask for an essay. Ask to talk to the student about the topic. You’ll know if he or she understands. Just like when you go to a retail store and ask for advice about a product. We know if the associate knows what they are talking about, if they have no idea or if they are just telling us what they learned from training (which isn’t bad). Teachers potentially train students in a certain area. Why not ask a question which enforces them to apply the knowledge which they gained from the training to their answer? The teacher will know if the student knows what they are talking about (because they paid attention in training/class) or if they have no idea (because they did not understand or pay attention). Even if they retell you everything that was taught to them. Don’t they know something about the answer? Yes, it’s not the most enriched content because it was your own words but the student learned something right? Isn’t that why they go to school? To learn?
Another will say; “But we can’t escape writing. We have to do it everyday. A person must know how to write.” Fair. But why not teach writing in a writing course? One where the student will be marked on their ability to be clear in writing, or their ability to be grammatically correct, or their word selectiveness, or the sentence and paragraph structure. This seems like an appropriate course to deduct marks for incorrect application of knowledge. However, another person will ask; “then how do you teach structure and grammar?” Through exercises. Ask them to write a paper. Go through assignments as a class, encourage class participation and discussion. If the student doesn’t talk, the teacher will know what they understand therefore, how are they to give them anything but a bad mark? It’s at the student’s discretion but the proper systems need to be in place.
An example; how many people have gotten a paper back, looked at their grade and put the paper away? Did not even look at the corrections or suggestions for reasons why the mark was so poor or decent? Every one. Why not give a student a second chance? Why not scare them to do their best? Try this: Ask students to answer a question, any question. Have them hand it in 10 days from the assigned date. Students who want a good mark will use their time wisely to proof read, get the proper references and apply the correct knowledge. Students who want to get by will start two nights before. Once the papers are handed in, edit them. Once finished, return them without a mark. Wait for the students reaction. They will come up to you asking “what’d I get?”, “why isn’t there a mark?”. Tell them that, they aren’t getting a mark, they need to read the corrections and implement them. Have the paper due in three days. Once the papers are submitted, grade them. There will be less grammatical errors. At least for the students who took the time to read the corrections and implement them. The students who did not, will not receive a high grade a potentially face the threat of a failing grade. Hand the papers back with grades. Once this is done, ask for them to write another essay on a different topic. A topic such as “Should capital punishment be reinforced in Canada?” This topic is ok because you can write about any topic, its still writing. Writing is not confined to topics such as grammar, story writing or essay writing. Writing has infinite topic possibilities. But once the essay topic is given out, tell them they have 10 days to hand it in. Once handed in, give them a grade. Don’t give the chance for editing this time, and see if there is less errors for each student, ask to sit down with them and compare the errors that were made. In this way the student will learn and most importantly remember why and why not to write in certain structures while adding certain grammatical content.
With this exercise the student will learn how to clearly write, but it will take a while. It should be mandatory that students take a writing course throughout elementary and secondary school because the statement is true “we cannot escape writing”. Everyone must know how to write. But in society we struggle to remember that, just because someone can’t write something doesn’t mean they do not understand the topic. If I was to ask Einstein to write a topic on the differences of between time and space in APA format, His content would very well achieve high academic standards but his grammar and format would be god awful. It would be horrendous. He did not know how to write in specific manners, he would use his resources to learn but that was because from what we know he wanted to achieve in the highest manner possible. But he understood the content, and isn’t that what is most important? O the other hand, if I asked him to tell me about the topic, would it be more credible? Would it blow someone’s mind because they couldn’t take away marks. He would receive 100% on everything because he understood the content. That’s all that matters. For those who want to write, take writing courses. Or in today’s society, every context course is a writing course, as students are not be graded on their quality, rather, they are being graded on writing abilities. So to conclude, are we teaching history, science, politics, law, child and youth studies or are we just teaching students how to write without expanding their knowledge of the topic. We can’t base content off of what is written down,  interferences are infinite. ****, I used “can’t”. Sorry.

As Stong as the An African Elephant
Yet were are supple and elegant.
We are persuasive talkers so our words are very Eloquent.
Crafted From man's rib and An earthly element is How God made the first Wombman in the old testiment.
During the worlds development
We somehow begun to be irrelevant
Forgetting that we were designed as a help mate who is heaven sent.

We shed Bloods for days sometimes a months without dying.
Raising our children to Be Ladies and gentlemen whom are edifying.
In our wombs a human life we are able carry.
We are informational like a human dictionary.
We store resoureful pieces of data like a library.

Created with brown sugar, warm honey, cocoa and Gold.
Out spirits are Radiently Bold.
Our bodies are temples that can't be bought or sold.
We have a Story that must be hear and told.
We are the beautiful flowers in the month of May That Springs up and blooms in middle of noons day.
We flourish just as the fluorescent blue jay, Whose mood is Joyful and gay.
Our Skin absorbs the sun's Incandescent. Ray.
Some may say, Our hair is ***** but Actually, Our hair just happens to defy gravity
So we wear it upon our head proudly like a Crown
because Living in socitey's prospective of what you should look like will weigh you down.
You will stay stuck on being lost when you already have been found.
Be about your fathers business and know you are Heaven bound.

We are run life's race with meaning and purpose in our pace
Even our walk is embedded with grace
Nature's beauty smiles upon our face
As We Wear God's love like a Pure Gold necklace that's trimmed with lace.

The Strength we've gain
Turned us into warriors from living the through the most Excruciating pain
Thats the Reason we humbly pray as we sing and dance in the middle of the storm's rain.
Our humility will continue to remain.

We are women of Virtue
I wrote this to encourage you
Never let no one break, hurt or discourage you know who you belong to.
And who deserves a Woman of your statue.
For Being black Is Exhilarating
And being a woman is Breathtaking but Being a Black Woman is an Honorary Identity that is Legendary.

old hunger makes us sick
forget who we are and
where we're going

how to see thru fog
how to pierce the sky
where's the truth in all this
mustard gas and lies

translucent silken shadows of people
wishy washy wistful thinking like
'o look at big sophisticated words dribbling across page - verbal *****
great philosopher all expression and
thought purge speaking in a vacuum'
petulant little lines for liar's lurid heart
petty little fines growing large from the start

what is this point you speak of and how do we get there
if it is really about the journey and not the destination
then can i get off right now

or

can i be seal eye headlight hi beams
is there trust enough left between us two
to go on down this road together
or part ways at lightning fork in path

no

i go into petrified forest bog
to hide and melt and decompose
bucolic rot under stalwart stoic onlooking trees

you go to riches, glory, ******* and now sprouting planted seeds
misgivings all forgotten like
irreverent, irrelevant childish deeds

and

i grow bitter and ferment
starving gut absinthe
filled with frozen wormwood lies
like Poe and de Quincy and all the rest

what i cant understand
is how people can write poetry about the flowers
or the sunshine
it just seems so irrelevant
when there are so many more beautiful things to write about
like your dainty, thin, long fingers
and the way your lips emit a tiny bit of air when you pronounce ‘th’ words
your towering, awkward, bony body
loosely, limply entwined in mine
that make up your gentle, comforting hugs
how melodic your voice is, almost lulling me to sleep
your contagious, animated smile

how you write as if embroidering the pages
gracefully, an art
and the words float mid-lines
reflecting how your thoughts float among the clouds
doolally detonations of enigmatic pure excitement  
over the most extraneous of matters
your eyes, the captivating bluish-steel of a mid-winter night sky
their flare, and the way they light up when you maunder lovingly of such passions

alas perhaps, poetry about plants or the weather are just as beautiful
but i
would not know
for even the planet, and nature
and sheer beauty of life
seems pale
in prejudiced comparison to your radiance
and how bright you make
my insides feel

Flashback to as far back as the mind goes,
Masculinity is mighty and feminism is flawed,
Man is right and woman is wrong,
Boy is strong and girl is weak,
I’m a gentleman as long as I’m on top,
She can’t speak unless spoken to,
No place for women at the pulpit,
Men can’t learn from lesser beings.

Flashback to four years old,
The first time he was told,
Homosexuals will burn eternally,
Because they’re *******,
He said God doesn’t love them,
They’re an abomination to creation.

Flashback to age twelve,
Welcome to the USA,
Export the Mexicans,
Eliminate the rag heads,
Burn the gays.

Flashback to seventh grade,
She left him for her,
The hate talk convinced him,
All gays were wrong always.

Flashback to freshmen year,
It was Halloween,
Debate class in the morning,
She was dressed as a nerd,
But obviously that so wasn’t her,
Because she was Iranian,
He asked where her turban was,
Said her outfit wasn’t complete without it.

Flashback to the close-minded, conservatively, homeschooled child,
Racism was as familiar as his father’s laugh,
Sexism known like the scent of his mother’s casseroles,
Ignorance was his bestfriend,
And hate pumped through his veins.

I don’t know if right wing racist remarks are forgivable,
But the one he was bred to despise showed nothing but forgiveness.

The Iranian girl shed tears,
Which caused him to shed his foggy lens,
For the first time, he saw his own sins,
A joke rooted in hate hurt an innocent girl,
An innocent tear hurt an ignorant boy,
I am an ignorant boy,
I felt her pain,
I stabbed myself with shame,
She befriended me,
She forgave.

Flawed people produced twisted identification,
She isn’t the Iranian girl,
Just a person.

Mexican, black, dark skinned, or light,
Christian, Atheist, Muslim,
Left wing or right,
Straight, gay, man, woman,
Irrelevant.

Mexican, black, dark skinned, or light,
Christian, Atheist, Muslim,
Left wing or right,
Straight, gay, man, woman,
Human.

it's starting to get late
                                and the essay
        i have to hand in tomorrow
isn't getting done
i have too many words
                              irrelevant to the topic
                              to get out first
before i'll have a clear enough head
                                  to write about it
                                                                          instead
                                                          my head fills up
                                                 with irrelevant words
                                        needing to out spill before
new words,
on topic,
come to replace them

once you graduate high school
you see people for who they
really are

people change and
sometimes not for the better

your best friend is now your
worst enemy
the person who intimidated you
is now one of your friends
the boy you had a crush on
is now irrelevant

some people enter high school
with tons of friends
and leave with a few friends

others enter high school
with a few friends
and leave with none at all

- my high school experience

California highway buzzes and the searing sun shines on the beach towel as I stroke Walt Whitman's beard
Transcendent and alive, but dead, still dead as my brother and his brothers, the 19th Century posse
We know the world better than them but are less learned, as the schools are a failure
and the business is us, but not the same as the industrial business of yesteryear
We are here to consume, consume and as we're dying of consumption , we consume more.

Alcohol, cars, phones and laptops, tablets, tablets, pills and more pills, condoms, liquor, ***** and brews, women, men, more women, more men, razors, lasers, heaters, coolers, snacks, rucksacks, ex lax and nick-knacks. They sell us dreams and nightmares, movies and bomb scares, they sell us news by the hour and power as they exert their own power. They give us gifts and incentives, draw us in so they they can stick us with a pin or a bracelet, and we too can sell to our friends on group hangs or as we stand still listening to our favourite bands. Billboards scream for our attention, or the buses stop at the intersection, and we're supposed to open our little phone and buy whatever is advertised. Why? Y?

They call us the Y generation too, why? Perhaps we ask the question  too much, perhaps we haven't asked enough. Perhaps the X generation simply ponder why we are so consumed with the technology they feed us. Why? Why must they question us, when we are the next great generation, we do laugh at that too. The internet is the new religion, bow down before Google and drink from the pixelated chalice, my child. Any question one could need answering is answered by the internet. The Bible is irrelevant in our society, burn it and download a bible app on the latest smartphone, the Qur'an too, hell, try the Tanakh, the Smriti and the Pāli Canon, for we are enlightened ******* It. And we want more.

somenonamesarcasticasshole@yahoo.com
RE:PARTY TONIGHT!!!!!

Hey yo mane some warehouse downtown has this dubstep DJ from like ******* Iraq or some ****. *** down, gonna be hella ******* there
xo

What music do you like?
All of it
Films?
All of them
TV
I don't own one but I watched every episode of The Wire on Netflix
...
I am a pansexual being riding the ever changing dunes of the Sahara, like so many great poets before me.

Digital immigrants and immigrants of empathy too
How serious do you believe us to be?
I am not using sarcasm as a form of wit for I have no wit.
Stoicism and rejection of education, employment and training.
We surly are the neatest generation, how can we make a mess if we are not awake most days?
Save for the endless party that is life, as we throw used glow sticks at women we desire
and ***** over car windows before getting blown on the lawn

lol dat wuz cray last nite
xo

Die young poets we have no desire for your kind, pacify us with Kerouac and Ginsberg so that we may emulate intelligence and impair the senses, for we care not about the real world either
Our world is the only one that exists, yours will soon crumble
We have trained for the end with extensive views of zombie flicks in coffee houses

@SomeFacelessJerk Follow for follow

Hey OP, you are a ******.
Why yes, yes I am. Does that bother you.
No, OP. You see I too am a ******.

Do away with your hurtful words they have no meaning today
White man died and lost control of his precious dictionary
We are here to save language by replacing all vowels with X's and O's
We are here to consume and in turn consummate this marriage,
the marriage of ignorance and bliss.

i am to a  tangent function  arc of circumference real
the magnitude of the perimeter of my  reflecting rays cut through
the diameter of periodically functioning perimeters the sines
crosses over the ***** into asymptotes horizontally questions
arise what may be the derivative of the product of two less functional
****-ups?
In a piece-wise functional reality might it be weird to ask ?
I fall through the condition no binary operative am I or will allow,
I decipher here, the quantities quality. I coordinate this graph draft it to my reality, cipher the x y
approach thereby a tangent to infinity here now,
then on a point between the average *****, in my defined interval,there is a point where it all is irrelevant

Even something as hypnotic and breathtaking as fire, leaves behind something as *****, grey and irrelevant as ash.

Id love a big fat ****
Or a wrinkled up *******
An ugly looking hag
Who wants a ******* ****

If I had a big fat *****, with a big fat bucket
I'd lay between her fleshy thighs, and definitely **** it
My thrusting **** inside her ****, is where I'd like to tuck it
Spunking up would be sublime, when I lick and **** it

When your about to **** the fat, it takes a certain knack
Stuffed up fishy **** *****, or **** ******* round the back
A nice piece of chunky ****, with a big long sweaty crack
Fatty *** holes make you hard ,my **** would not be slack

I would ride a big large Gal, just like a waterbed
Bathroom ******* would be fun, as well as in the shed
Spunking up between her legs, cream cheese would then be spread
When both holes are full of ***, she can **** my **** instead

And after I have finished, with all of those fat *******
Something different I would want, maybe some old wrinkled witches
All wearing apple gatherers, and big large ******* britches
Older ***** long overdue, scratching long lost itches

A lot of fun I could have, in an old folks place
Disrobed willing grannies *****, stuffed right in my face
At least eight bits of gristle ******, a display of my disgrace
With each granny ****** in turn, if they can stand the pace

As I lift their skirts up their knickers I would sniff
I'm hoping that old fannies good, and they don't smell or whiff
The smell of old used granny ****, is probably just a myth
But I won't let it bother me, as long as I get stiff

I wouldn't even care, if they wore crap NHS glasses
As long as I could **** and ***, inside there wrinkled arses
I would **** them old ****** , all from different classes
Some of them in wheelchairs and some with heart bypasses.

It's irrelevant how fat you are, I really do not mind
As long as you are willing, and your *****'s wet and kind
And if you like it up the ****, then I'm that way inclined
******* ***** is quite fine, so is ******* from behind

So come on girls fat or old, all slags are a possibility
Your sexuality can flood out, there's no need for negativity
I'm willing to **** who comes along, to the best of my ability
Just make sure that I stay stiff, and maintain my agility

Humans are demons to creatures
With whom we inhabit the land.
And the sea of course,
We destroy their life source,
No one is exempt from the wrath of man.

How does it feel to be a monster?
A plague on this fragile earth?
That can't support our greed
Or our irrelevant needs.
Who are we to judge an animal's worth?

To look into an animal's eyes
And say our actions are justified
Requires more denial
Than is my style.
I can't support the way they died.

We treat animals like commodities.
Use them for food, sport, game.
It isn't quite right
To crush them with our might.
The way we treat them is a shame.

So when you ask me
Why I choose this life
Maybe you'll see
Animals should be free
From the human inflicted strife.

looking out bus windows
you can't tell if someones
screaming or yawning;
  laughing or crying.

flipping through channels on mute.

a goldfish
                  peering out his bowl.

every three seconds
staring at a new world.

unless you spot
some natural wonder:
a mountain or the ocean.

in that case
none of this applies.

you get to know well
the geometry of the snow cap,
the rhythm of the tide.

the same goes for those
with whom you share the bus.

in which case
clothes and moles and ****** hairs
can become all too familiar.

but looking out bus windows
at people's
what this is all about.

speed voyeurism.

where a yawn and a scream
look just the same

and either mean
just as little
as you

as you

            move on to

the next person
walking along
or standing in a doorway
or sitting on steps
or carrying something

and maybe laughing
or maybe crying

and either mean
just as little
as you

as you

             move on.

embedded in the most tenebrous corner of my mind,
harlequin memories of serendipity,
dripping like bittersweet wine,
tantalize me,
begriming what was once an unsoiled canvas.

engulfed in my despondency,
I repose homely
until my mind's taste-buds
savor the saccharine flavors
of its own derisive thoughts.

aroused to say the least,
my mind's libido is now being satisfied.
I lie here,
welcoming all that my thoughts and epiphanies have to offer.
I am unable to disclose what's bestowed to me
but that's irrelevant.

My mind is here...
and open
and anticipating
the pleasing rush
of these thoughts that venture through my head.

The pleasure is overwhelming,
forcing my chakras open
as my ajna awakens from its long slumber.

I crave this foreplay
and I plead with the universe
to make it never-ending
but it seems my cries fall upon deaf ears
and I'm left open-minded
and unfinished.

I just feel so limited
It's 11 pm and I want to go for a drive
But my parents just won't take me
I want to go for a drive at 11pm
In my france france france sweatshirt, hair loose and all
and I want to stick my head out of the window
And I want to feel the cold air pass me by and go through my bones
And I want my hair to fly in the **** wind
and I want to listen to mainstream music and some feel good music
And I want the sky to be pitch black, with stars
And I want to pass trees and solely trees and smell the leaves and the pine cones
and I want to see the city from down below, as the street lights light up the town in golden arrays
And pass a restaurant with some music
Maybe even some random people loitering in a corner of a smoke shop with purple lights and cigarette smoke crowding everywhere
And I want to just look at them
And think about them
And what they did to get there
And I want to see a couple holding their hands and walking down the street
Even though its 11 pm
And I hope they're just happy
And I want to hold my dads big warm hand while I do all of these things
Because I got shotgun
And I want my brother to sit quietly in the back, and my dad to hum some Indian song
While I do all of these things
And I want to go to an aquarium and stare at jellyfish
Lavender jellyfish
and bright electric blue jellyfish
And pink and orange jellyfish
And I want to smell the AIR
And I want more of me to grow than the part in my brain that controls calculus and SAT
I want to grow physically and mentally and spiritually
There's a whole world out there
A whole WORLD!
And I'm in my room
My mother is in the kitchen thinking I'm doing SAT, and my dad is working and stressing over his job, and my brother is in his room writing his first interactive program
and I'm in my room, knowing i'm supposed to be doing SAT, but all I can think about is
how there's a whole messy majestic gigantic WORLD out there
And I am sitting here doing calculus and SAT
And it seems like its all for nothing
For only myself
And I know I'm not necessarily supposed to be this altruistic human being
I'm supposed to want things for myself
I'm supposed to be selfish in how I study and where I put my time but thats just not enough for me
I want to spend all day planting poppies and sunflowers
And in the night I just want to stare into infinity at the sky
And I want to cut my hair shoulder length, dye the bottom blue, get another piercing, decorate my hands with  henna, and walk around in vintage crop tops and flowy pants and matte black michael kors sandals
And I want to stop watching TV and going on facebook and having superficial banter and disgusting small talk
And I want to do yoga for the right reasons
Because yoga is the journey of the self, through the self, to the self, and I don’t want to do it solely because I want nice arms or a bendy back or a nice **** I mean even though its okay to want those things but I just want more
I want everything to be just raw and I want people to expose themselves and I want to expose myself and I want
my parents to just LISTEN to what I want
And recognize the fact that this is the third night in the row that their daughter has outwardly displayed to them that
there's chaos in her mind because she just can't handle
doing and being absolutely nothing
anymore
And I want to read about human rights and global warming and how
when a chef is cooking for a ton of people, he uses utensils to remind himself what to do next
and I want to read about forensics and how mass spectrography and chromatography help detect if someone is poisoned or not
And I really don't want to do SAT
Not because its hard or boring, or even because it seems useless but because
it just seems so *******
useless and irrelevant
And I want to stop living the life I want to live on a **** website
Because its opened my mind so much but I want to SEE sunflowers instead of
looking at pictures of them and I want to SEE
elephants and kittens instead of just
looking at them and I want to
feel a connection with a human being rather than just imagining what it would be like and I don't mean romantic relationships, no
But I just want to stop being so ignorant
And I want to know everything
And really all I want to go is forget that
I have to study tomorrow
I just want to go on a car ride
And stick my head out of the window, like a dog
Because I am happy, like a dog
Just why am I LIMITING myself?
For what???
I want to talk to people
I want them to teach me something
Because people are nature Tamille
Some people are delicate flowers
Some people are raging thunderstorms
Some people are disarrayed forests
Some will leave me breathless, some will knock me down
And some will be gardens and some will be SUNSETS and
I want them all to teach me something
And I want to speak my mind and look HIM whoever he may be
In the eye and and I want to stop being so small
And I may be insignificant but I'm an infinity
Because all galaxies are infinite
I read that there are as many atoms in a single molecule of DNA as there are stars in a typical galaxy
each of us are our own UNIVERSE
And thats why we burn too brightly sometimes and thats why we
collide sometimes and thats why we
collapse inwards sometimes and thats why we explode sometimes and start anew
And I want my soul to project outwards
I want whatever of me that is trapped in my bones to just
spill out
And I want someone to feel all the love and happiness I have in me from
across the room
And I want to stop being so closed up and insecure and timid
I think you're a towering mountain Tamille
Or thunder
I wouldn't say you're lightning
But I'd say my mom is a delicate flower and my dad is a powerful river and my brother is a colorful sky and I want to be
a forest
I just want to stick my head out of a car window, like a happy dog
Because I am happy
I don't want to be young and scared even though I know its okay to be scared
But I want to stop swallowing my words and stop being so paralyzed
Because I can do whatever I want
I must set fire to my old self
I must start anew.
Why am I so scared for WHAT
For what
Okay so what do I do now
I think saying all that was a good start
Here's whats not going to happen
I'm not going to wake up late tomorrow
or not too late
And I'll go for a walk
To the pecks
And I'll play with the chickens
And I'll read with the chickens
I'm just burning right now
And now it seems silly to sleep
Tamille, when I come to LA for winter break
We will go out on drives at 11pm, even 2 am
For the sake of living
And we will walk alongside the beach at preposterous hours of the day
Simply for the sake of living
And we won't be phonies
Because thats silly
And we must try not to be phonies
Just for the sake of living
But of course I can't just be this spontaneous extemporaneous person online
I need to be like that Offline
more than anything because I just
need to talk to people more
And I need to see the jellyfish and I watch them with their tentacles floating upwards and downwards and just there in what is to them, an abyss
Maybe we're like
jellyfish in an abyss
Like how humans just watch jellyfish in containers
Maybe we're the jellyfish
I need to be a good memory to people
Because we remember more than we think we do
So I must try my best to be a positive remembrance
I can teach  someone something
I can teach a random stranger something
I can teach my mom something
I can teach my 85 year old neighbor something
I can teach you something
It feels wrong to say all that and then go to bed
So I think I'll just walk outside and stare into infinity once more
And then ask my dad if we can go on a car ride one more time
And then I'll come back in my room and read about global warming
Or maybe I'll read about global warming outside
Because a child educated only at school, is an uneducated child
And I hope you read all this because out of everyone I chose you to tell it to you
And i hope your response isn't just "go do all that then"
I hope you read all the many messages
And now I will log off of facebook
I hope you also wake up in the morning and make it a great day
Not "hope you have a good day"
But rather
Make it a great day

*******
So once again you’re in my thoughts, you managed to somehow weasel your way back into my head
I don’t know why, you’re not very good at comforting me when I’m down, your choice of words made me wish I were dead
But that’s okay, it’s not your fault, I should have never put you on that so undeserving pedestal
So what consoling is not your very best
I just wanted you to be there, put forth effort that you cared, you failed the ******* test
I was vulnerable, I opened up, I’m an opened wound, now there’s nothing left
You say I’m playing victim and have to be more positive but I’m the one dealing with all this pain
No thanks to you all by myself
With no help of drugs or alcohol to ease the anger and anxiety
That you seem to intensify inside of me
Maybe I should walk around oblivious and aloof like you but my ability to be sympathetic and empathetic towards others keeps me conscious and sane
Regardless of the pain

You say I shouldn’t feel the way I do, I should **** it up, keep quiet
But if you were in my position and got ****** over the way I did, right now you would be crying
Because I remember back when something similar like this happened you were crying and I know if I were to confront you about it you would deny it
Well I’m not one to bring up the past to make someone feel embarrassed or worthless
Because you’re so good at lying and hiding things and flirting with the guys to get your way, you know how to work it
You’re so good at sorry
But the difference between us is I follow my heart, I don’t give my love out or flirt just to make me feel relevant

I told you time and time again how I was feeling
You only bothered when you wanted, most of the time you just said nothing

Time and time again I showed you what love is
You made me feel so irrelevant, I’d rather you say something even if you said you don’t want it, but you just said nothing

Thanks for opening and pouring salt in these wounds
Now I have no ***** left to give
You try to say I’m overreacting
But you must not know me, I’m resilient
You try to act like you’re so innocent
Now that you’re not crying and everything is so perfect for you but one question how can you trust those guys' whose ***** been in your throat
You can **** on these words and choke

Why don’t we go back to the beginning, I was the one who was here
Supporting you through no matter what, showering you with the sweetest words, I was there
But you don’t even care
You forget everything, sometimes I wonder where does your mind disappear
I’m DOOOOOOOONNNNEEEEE

I guess I’m too much for you, oooohhhhh
I’ve tried to turn your world upside down to hide that I’m irrelevant
Who the **** are you to turn my emotions like this up
Your silence, I get it, it means it’s enough
I’m done, I’m not a weak girl, I’m tough, but I’m no fool to just keep giving away my love
You may have had me duped, you even told me that I was the sweetest to you
But enough is enough, I hope those *****/guys will be there for you

Wake up at noon and back to bed by five.
Knuckles bloodied and sore to remind me I'm alive.
Hop in the car and start the long drive.
Destination irrelevant just need a clear mind.
Windows down, music loud, cherry burning bright.
Take a deep breath,
and watch the sun set,
as another day goes by.

I know you don’t want me to go,
I’m afraid too you know,
It feels like I am leaving you alone,
Don’t weep after me,
You make me cry too,
If it helps to know,
I’m not afraid of dying,
Just afraid of losing you,
I can’t shake off that feeling of regret,
One where I wish to give you more time,
May be, just one more day,
One more life,
So we can do all the things we promised ourselves,
To be together, so I can say I all I ever wanted,
You know I can never leave you when you need me,
Call out to me so I can stay,
All the things that hurt now don’t mean a thing,
But it’s just the nature of things,
Never wonder what is on the other side,
It is irrelevant without you,
I hope you won’t feel the same about life,
When I’m there missing you,
I will still be with you,
Right here in memory,
I will still fly with the birds,
When they feed off the earth that once made me,
It’s not the same, I know,
I’ll wait for you to come join me,
Hold my hand till then,
When I fly I’ll take you with me.
Goodbye my love, please don’t forget me,
Forever together we will exist in death,
When I am stranded alone I know,
You will come rescue me.

Irrelevant, everything
Soulless, lifeless, empty-bodied
Creatures pass me every day
Knowing each and every one
Only to remain strangers
Shuffling down the hall
Swift footsteps and gossip
Drowning out our ever-changing world
Similar questions are all we have in common
Who will you be, what will I do
Where am I going?
Only time will reveal our desired answers
Everlasting is not the case
For, time runs out.

Distant learning courses in the heart
Irrelevant actions have left us all apart

Acquisitions decaying those stray minded people
It's no longer a commonplace to feel peaceful

Simultaneous occurrences have our mind in disarray
Through our pasts they begin to replay

All these calamitous activities brought through maleficent eyes
Disintegrate what's left sending us in a fools paradise

We reap to elope from these rigorous bearings we call home
Only to find ourselves cast away into the unknown

We strive to survive in a world full of abhorrence
Being seen transparent just as worthless corpses

Those few who prevail are not left without detriment
They are forever severed a mental delinquent

Nevertheless our story lives on
In this godforsaken marathon

-Joseph B Schneider

I just wanted freedom,
I’m not talking about rights, that’s irrelevant.
We just wanted freedom,
As in the youth wanting better ways for development.
I’m speaking on the behalf of those unaware of their intelligence,
Those who discovered their element but kept the closet shut.
Afraid to offer the clothes on their back,
They’ll say it’s confidence we lack,
But here’s the ugliest fact,
We don’t open doors with skeletons.
Unless it’s Halloween, where dark and light are in resonance,
Yin and Yang, beauty is ugly and ugly is beauty, humorous medicine.
I have a testament, that if the morals in this holiday were a measurement of 365 days, it would be evident according to my estimate, that unity and love would be proper etiquette, excellent because even the dark would be perceived as heaven-sent.
The terms evil and hell would then be indefinite allowing a person to open a door with a skeleton as a cause without the effect being bedevilment.
That’s freedom.
Some have it in the day, most find it at night.
It could be with family or with friends.
A celebration of a season, or a reason to escape a thing we call life.
A venting conversation after empty bottles,
A sleep over when home is hostile,
They say happiness is in the moment,
I say that moment occurs when you’re no longer in a position to fight,
For a home, a place of comfort and acceptance,
A place where your company is appreciated,
We all need love, that warm feeling we get when standing in light,
Or the uplifting vibrations when the environment opens up, and you’re no longer forced to sit tight but now have the opportunity of standing up to take flight.
We deserve some freedom.
I used to feel alone,
With awareness that term became solitude,
I can’t crave attention after joining the mission,
I had to look in the mirror,
“Keep it together” said Kyi,
“Because this is a solid move”
But but, I’m losing my friends.
“You’re choosing your men.”
“A positive team,
Because that’s what knowledge do”
“Here’s a time reference using latitude.”
“Move forward, chase the rabbit food,
Clear vision with a positive attitude.”
“Moving West to east may feel like you’re leaving things behind,
But understand earth and understand time,
We circle back around, think of a birthday, there will always be a time when you're gonna look back at you.”
“That’s a rapid move.
These are states of Matter, going from solid to gas,
A caged bird ready to fly, that’s a cockatoo.”
“Atoms aren’t alone, eventually they meet others,
There’s a bigger picture, that’s a molecule.”
“Don’t feel alone, atoms go through solitude when there’s a column move, solid to gas-”
-a solid move-
“- but in our case, a change in longitude,
Because we’re shifting our consciousness from 3rd to 5th dimension.”
I understand the magnitude of the mission, that’s why we made this decision,
No need to crave attention when acting with promptitude,
Like minded people will act as a molecule and help constitute  a solid move in longitude, breaking the physical is an important attribute, analytical travel route, an atom moving towards freedom in its absolute-
“Knowledge acting as carrots, erasing ignorance, clearing the vision for an Omni move.”
The conscious battles to become the subconscious, the freedom to be all of me instead of part of me, that’s a body move.
Freedom is all I wanted,
Freedom is all we wanted,
Being labeled Millennials was the outcome,
It’s not life but these systems we’re trying to out run.
They look at suicide like, “What went wrong?”
“She looked so happy…”
Or “How did he feel alone.”
Freedom is when you have a home,
If I’m talking and you’re listening, that’s being heard,
But if you can’t understand it, there’s no meaning in the word,
That’s a failure in communication, standing without a herd I’d still be on my own.
If anything, the previous generations don’t understand emotions,
Feeling empty is indeed a deep feeling.
They say there’s not much in the bottom of the ocean,
I say dive,
“But Daycee we can’t the pressure will crush us.”
Now you see why suicide is chosen,
We dive, looking for something we know is there, unaware of the pressure, we get crushed by our own emotions.
These are powerful feelings and thoughts,
We see the insanity and what was lost in erosion.
Try to understand us, don’t try to change us, just like those whom predates emphasize, “Don’t blame us.” We must change a system that caused the previous generations to be broken, if anything our generation is bringing hope in, refusing to be above or below one, our words if anything are the greatest ever spoken,
We need people to understand us, not just listen, because these systems aren’t working,
Einstein said “A problem can’t be solved with the same consciousness that created it”, so don’t point fingers at us saying “Millennials” and that we were always given ****, when we’re the group that gave a **** about the world and the people that hated it and attempted change by not doing the same thing over and over again, innovative because we’re some creative kids,
I hope this is provoking because ****** we are special, specifically chosen,
To bring back balance and unity in consciousness that the ignorant and insane broken,
I am here to bring freedom,
Because freedom is something we all need,
The millennials are here to bring freedom,
Because it’s the one thing we all see,
The brothers and sisters we lost heard it call from the bottom of the sea,
Our ancestors want us to bring back freedom that was lost in waters but remained in gene,
Freedom is a kingdom we’re bringing where all is free.

gently draped
luminous drops
wrapped as vine
piercing pixels that break the natural barrier
of space and time
and all between we have created
continually contributing
to a cyclical desire
give and take
all to create
a captive being
wearing only a smile
but that is all she needs
and not even that that guides
us and drives us in our day to day
endeavors, that which gives us reason
to wake
is existent separate
from the push and pull
that perpetuates the vast nothingness
endlessly irrelevant
speaking to nameless gods
basking in the serene light of love
wading in the omnipotent presence
wincing at the shock of the moment
ultimately the wind will blow with bitter anonymity
gently embracing the monotonous hum of our existence

People label me as one of those very observant ones they have ever met in their lives. Whatever I think about others, is close enough to ninety percent of the truth (not to judge, of course).

And it is also truth that those who laugh the most, cry the most. I guess this also applies to those very positive people, who are the most negative in their heads or they've also been through the most negative incidents.

There is a certain boy, a young man, who just entered the twenties stage of life. I observe and read him, and I have been doing this for the past eight months.

He is quiet, he is kind, he is a very bright person who looks out for others, probably too much. He is smart and has attended top schools and won several competitions in the martial arts, as well as performing and fine arts. A very artistic soul, quite opposed to his rather playful countenance; though beauty is displayed in all his capabilities and striking features. Even the way he speaks is soothing and gentle, and I admit I would sleep to it and regret how his voice is too nice to be literally slept on.

I know a part of his painful past with the spinal tuberculosis accident or the fact when he couldn't enter his dream art school. And perhaps, a darker part of his history that is unknown except by him and his close ones.

But I can see it, I can see it on his face, in his actions and some of his words: sometimes he tries to get attention by doing unnecessary or silly things; says the weirdest of phrases; he gets tired and there's this certain feeling lurking in his gaze. He always looks like he's looking for something, for someone. He always looks like he is wondering about everything and anything. He even looks lost or frustrated on some occasions.

Honestly, a Sadness Collector knows when another is nearby or in sight. I am one, and I know he is another. He always wants people to depend on him or for them to think that he is alright. It's not so bad, but I wish he would rest his little fragile heart that can only take so much of others' sadness. He still has his own sadness to keep under all of that. I want him to give some of it to me that the burden and tears may be shared between us, and he can live a little lighter.

But I love him, because he is a different Sadness Collector. He always cheers others up and tries to help. He always compliments others. He is always willing to learn the right way, to go out and do his best. This Sadness Collector doesn't deserve to be one; he deserves to collect happiness instead.

Although there are times when his friends say that he is quieter that usual, and a bit less active. He says he usually sleeps it off and feels better when he awakes after. He says he rarely gets stressed but when he does, it's a whole different thing and only he knows how his own mind can destruct his built-up facade of confidence. Maybe he gets too quiet at times because he thinks he might make a mistake again. He may appear very vain and very confident, but I'm afraid it might all just be an image that he's painted of himself for everyone around him to see.

His music taste is very much like mine. He shared some alternative music, but as soon as I heard the melody and read the lyrics, it doubled as a small cry of distress.

I’m actually very beautiful when the world is pitch-black
The most I’ll get is being consumed when I try to love
The trouble is irrelevant
It doesn’t matter what’s wrong

If only I can be flattered just like you do
Then the torment around me will perhaps die out
I’m not concerned about how many chances I get
As fearless as a giant; indulging myself; however I’m no match

Ugly, don’t turn the lights on
The love I want is haunted on the pitch-black stage
Ugly, in this ambiguous time
My existence is like an accident

Some look beautiful after a drop of tear
Some just throw away their name
As long as you are hypocritical enough you won’t be afraid of anything, right?
If the script is written well, who will be more dignified?
I can only silently face the beautiful innocence
There are many chances for desire to become drowning in alcohol
Like the fearlessness of dust
Becoming ash, who will remember who
Who cares if he’s a match

Ugly, you won’t blame them if you get used to it
Get high and stomp on it with strength
Ugly, this is our time
It would actually be a shock if I don’t exist

Oh, how I want to embrace him every time I think of him listening to that song. As emotional human beings, we pay attention to such lyrics more often than not, that reflect the listener's or our emotions. Maybe he thinks he lacks in many, many ways. It is normal for him to think so. But I hope he doesn't dwell on it. He likes this anime show that I watch, too. That show, though, is a sad one which shows the masks of society and the gore of the past behind every flawless present.

He is a very trustworthy friend; a funny guy who is "in love" with himself; a talented individual who loves people and language; an artist of most arts, as well as an art himself. And as much as I say that I want to be the one who collects his sadness or whom he shares his load of sadness with, sometimes I doubt he will ever let me.

I feel like I can no longer do anything anymore for him because he is the one who has already collected mine.

Eyes opened to a new world,
Limbs moving in excitement of life,
Light, it feels so good,
It feels good to feel,
This world around,
What is old, what is new,
Nothing means anything,
Everything just is,
I am born.

The light shows me my makers,
The dark puts me to sleep,
I know not what fear is,
I know not what evil means,
Pure, impure, good, bad,
These words I am being taught,
I laugh when I am happy,
I cry when I am not,
Everything is so big,
So vast and open,
I don't need anything but my parents' love.

I grow up to learn all that I was not,
I am taught good, selflessness, love, happiness, patience,
By being shown what is bad, selfish, hatred and sadness, anger,
The world around me is made on the planet called earth,
Ignorant of the world outside,
What are friends, enemies? What is there to fight for?
I am a man, a being, I am given this existence,
I am given this world,
When did the world come to dominate me?

I have a child in my arms,
I wish to show him a free world,
I remember who I was when I was born,
Not a name, not a job, not a son, not a husband, not a friend, not afraid,
I knew not what fear was,
The world is mine to have,
Where it places me is irrelevant,
I am a being, in my birth I accept,
All that makes us human continues.

Betwixt of any sense beyond experiment, I sat on the bed between shifts and out-whipped the bag of Concerta given to me by Matt, o'timey hard-worker-soft-souled Matt, who felt, perhaps, that I had a legitimate reason to explore this legal avenue of pharmaceutical mind-manipulation for reasons he would rather fathom in retrospect. I popped a single pill, and voilà, the legal-cocainnabinoid began to flow between my red and white blood-cells playing cops and robbers.

It is when I feel nostalgic that I feel the need to write. I remembered, at work, with all those strange everyone-elses faces gliding past (and myself annoyed at the general lack of positive reception "Hello there!" "h .. i ." is one sour-looking businessmans sultry whispered reply.. once, a woman told me 'look, I know that you are told to say hello at the door to everyone who enters, but I don't like it. I just want to shop in peace, and no, I don't need any help' and without case to what my managers could say, I somewhat-hissed-back, "if you don't want to be greeted, then perhaps you shouldn't walk into big private corporate establishments to find the books you're looking for," and she shrugged and muttered some ****-talk under her breath and glided upstairs to find a copy of Ayn Rand's Fountainhead or Machiavelli's The Prince to validate her bitter attitude, I bet, the sour witch), my time spent living in that backwater Esso suburb of Port Coquitlam back in 2011 when Occupy Wall Street was still a hungry potential, not yet bogged down in procrastinates over herbal teas and talk of chakras and enlightenment and how the typical Wall Street businessman probably never had a real ****** and hence had never truly satisfied the energies now burnt-to-crisps inside his Root Chakra or whathaveyou, where I believed I would find a better, more interesting world further from the musty-smallness of forest-drenched rain-drenched Powell River, only to discover I may be right outside my front door, but that's EXACTLY where I was, no further than right outside my front door.. I mean, for Goddaskes, I was born in Vancouver, this isn't a culturally-shocking move to New Delhi or Kathmandu--- and so on and so forth is how I once berated myself thru constant cycling thoughts of no-escape, I, a little walking hell of devils-advice and panic disorder-- the Great Big Port City of George Vancouver only succeeding in further overwhelming my already delicate attempt at false optimism thru self-voided Buddhist smalltalk as I travelled from bookstore to bookstore reading Alan Watts in shady attempts to save-myself but only digging my walking grave even deeper into the soil of feared-insanity.

Port Coquitlam itself was a small-town wearing a business suit and holding hands with an angry father forcing him to college for computer networking as it's the most economically viable market at hand.. at first, I did not see this. I saw my idolized imaginings of Vancouver (never Port Coquitlam), the shining water-reflected skyline of my past and present legacies, where my father once snorted ******* with a bohemian group of someones, and my mother tried LSD just to prove to her friends how bad it was (and lo and behold, what a terrible time she had!), all this Otherness, Strangeness, yet still Connected-- an Otherness with which I was taken, left to whisper into empty Campbell's cans so-as to speak with the city from a distance, two children growing older together 'til my inevitable return and our agreement to share costs on rent.

I returned, as planned. I returned, and found that old-best-friend hating the Homeless and loving the Rich-- spending time with the Peppy Plutocracy whilst enslaving the Middle Classes (first Letter Capitals to Assist YOU in Grasping my Anger with All Five Thumbs) and the horrors I saw in my already delicate state, all the starving addictives slouching-inching down the sides of ***** old walls, the only thing missing a smear of blood to follow their corpseish collapse, all just footnotes to history, footnotes to wealth and progress-reality, all footnotes with no shoes O my God O my Goodness and O Canada, Our Home and Native Land!

It hurt like it did, but I felt powerless and gaited. Felt like it were just as well me (*** it just as well is), I, in Vancouver.. *Great Big Port City of George Vancouver.. saw the end-stretching-cold-legs of Nietzsche's Dead God.. those in cutthroat-black-suits armed with calculators and wives could afford private jets and yearly trips 'round our globular strangeness whilst others had to beg and berate and debate and break-down to get a crummy old bagel and a past-due mostly-empty jug of old milk and perhaps a 'side of fries with that order.'

What crushed me so much about this playing a Witness to God's Death (or, not so much a 'witness' as a relative asked to the morgue to identify the body) was my intuitive grasp that this is the poverty of the First World.. this is not as bad as it gets and on a scale of 1 to 10 this would only be a 3.. all the poor and displaced of Eastern Europe.. Moldovan families indifferent to the whims and what's taken.. someone called me a Socialist and said I would later grow out of it as 'reality' angled its rearing-ugly head to chop me smithereens like it did so mercilessly to the Poor and Irrelevant.. I looked at them and still look at people like them and think 'that is evil unsure of itself.. that is evil unaware... that is evil and evil is  evil to watch..' the Evil Act being the use of Money to purchase the world, demanding us all to pay royalties (mass royalties) for the privilege of life so afforded by them.. (the Sons and Daughters of God first stabbing their father then stabbing themselves then locking away and ignoring their young brother with cerebral palsy '*** he could never be armed with a calculator, nor wife)..

I learned, thru practice, to cope with these evils as laws-for-now. Coping did not mean tolerance, nor did coping mean agreement.. I had charged at life expecting hugs and bottles.. what I got was hugs and bottles.. all while I watched over the shoulder of whoever embraced me and saw young-others doing the same, where are the hugs and bottles..? they sank into the nether as the crowd ebbed past, ignoring the cries of pleading love, pleading love over time so traumatised as to distort this love (so inherent and implied in the Heart) into confusion, confusion into loss, and loss into hatred.. as the crowd ebbed past, the crowd ebbed past..

After 3 and a half months, I moved back home to Powell River.. the soggy ol' calm of what I already knew.. the warm arms of the rest, the warm arms of water-reflected sunsets.. and I got my hugs and bottles.

but was this really a happy ending?

does a sacred stone
still retain its worth
if it was never taken
from it’s hidden earth?
could it truly be
a treasure trove
if no one sees
its alluring glow?
-
is my mind right to tell me
that invisibility doesn’t cause irrelevance?
or is that just a way to cope with
the ever feared unfounded-forgotten-pestilence

In case you haven’t realized,
Our society is constantly teeter-tottering on the border between pure brilliance and tragic defeat.
A constant struggle that has left a sour taste on the tip of common tongues and has left this nation burnt out and lazy.

Somewhere along the line,
The sparks inside of people’s bellies trickled out into a dull roar and America decided to give up.
They gave up on prosperity.
They gave up on life.
They gave up on each other.

Somewhere along the line,
The common man concluded that failure was an option and responsibility was irrelevant.
That the only essence of life lied within an 8x10 cubicle,
And it was ok to conform to a system that led us into debt,
A system that led us into war,
And a system that led us into a borderline depression.

Masses decided that indulgence was greater than integrity.
It wasn’t their responsibility to make.
A
Difference.

But, Somewhere along that same bitter line,
The burning flame that is our generation, pushed through the social sidewalk.
We began to walk,
We began to talk,
And we began to show a greater for the future than anyone could have hoped to imagine.

In the midst of a rocky start, we forgot who were.
We masked themselves in Abercrombie and Hollister
To hide the fact that we are something better then a text message,
A clique,
Or Facebook.

It became “uncool” to actually know what you’re talking about.
We filled our sentences with lots of “likes” and “you knows?”
We tend to attach an upward inflection to the end of every declarative sentence.
You know, even if it’s not like and question, you know??

On our own we learned to speak
With
Conviction.

With that conviction,
Hold your own,
Know your name,
And say what you need to say even if it makes your heart pound,
Your hands sweaty.

Simply, because we are the people of tomorrow.
It is our job to fix brainless society.
But it cannot and will not work,
Unless we know what we stand for.

There is no misconception of the work we have cut out for us.
There will be troubled times, there will be tears,
There will be hard work,
And some of us will be lost along the way.

But our story is just unfolding and we have the power to
Change
The
World.

We’ve all heard the skeptic’s tale.
Skeptical teachers,
Skeptical parents,
And nonbelievers.
Raising doubts that we are too young,
That we are too naïve,
And that we’re utterly indifferent and careless to ever be a part of something bigger than ourselves.

Well, talk is cheap.
Make no mistake that there is beauty and potential in every
Single.
One of us.
Wake up today knowing that we've made it,
Know that the time has come to start living,
Changing,
But keeping true to our hearts.

Pain
Written by Adam M. Snow

I know what pain is,
the feeling of being alone.
Screaming,
knowing you cant be heard.
The desire to break free
is irrelevant.
You are lost.
A ghost,
trapped.