Is the happiness getting to you yet?
Do you wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat?
The joy is infecting your mind
but the foreign feeling is soon to be denied.
You cough, you *****
You get a diagnosis. You soon find out...
Your sick with happiness.
-Aiyana

Dedicated to stillborn fetuses, 99 cent Malt Liquor and Existentialism
1.
Nymphomaniac tree huggers
And overweight bisexual vegetarians
Swallowing phentermine poison to stay fit.

2.
Funky fresh *******  
throwing pigs at St. Augustine’s pear tree
and frolicking abortions over Moloch’s philoprogenitiveness,

3.
While sipping barbecue sauce dipped in Lipton tea,
dancing around adhesive bonfires
reciting memories of holocaust, the Kristallnacht nights
and beautiful words suffered by ancestors lost.

4.
Inhale chicken noodle soup, with a side of Lithium,
And prance to Literacy class to combat envisionment
With free association conceptual constructions,

5.
Computerized like Prometheus’ fire burning through SmartBoards
In classrooms where the poison of heterosexual history
Is fed to boys in skirts cursed by Adam’s apple,

6.
Baptized by social norms and locked away in hopeless closets
According to the Tautology of Leviticus…
until they cut their breath by the vein of soteriology;

7.
Misunderstanding of God’s words
Covets the innocent to early graves
In biblical paratactic irony…like God betting Satan for a Job.

8.
Rub fried chicken oil on Bartholomaeus Anglicus’ skin
and soil his white pride with ***** flavor,
for revenge  On the Properties of Things

9.
and howl out in glory of victory
over totes of  lickerish piper methysticum blunts
that beg the conundrum,
'What is the origin of this world?'
'Ether,' he replied.
But it is not ether!
Nor Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
It is Dada. Dada. Dada!
  10.
For this is a record of the life stories of the greatest minds and geniuses of your generation,
written in boys and girls
who mimicked Basquiat’s genius and tagged bathroom walls with abstract philosophies like “Love is a prime number” and “ the weight of Duncan McDougall’s soul can only be found on the 15th of October”
who drank vampirish gulps of Vicodin while consoling themselves with aphorisms such as: “don’t rue the misses, you don’t need a Mrs. when you’re elevated by chemical kisses”
11.
Who stood naked in mirrors, weeping, for they were a mystery to themselves, but a great talent and soon to be legend to some.
Who lit cannabis in loneliness and waltzed naked with their ghosts, fantasizing about ****** tomatoes and Corpus Christi Mexican Jazz.
Who composed psychedelic anthems from dreams that were lost in ghettoes where virginities were lost for loaves of bread, for the hunger of bread.
12.
Who wrote suicide notes on a toilet seat, contemplating the texture of Marshall Mathers’ favorite underwear and whether the color green was an invention of **** Germany.
Who used to love their lovers in darkness and colored the streets of Manhattan with rainbows on June 24, 2011 to mark the date lady liberty finally bought a new pair of glasses.
13.
Who lost musical talents to a Wine-house and ended up in a whine-house where lobotomy was subsequently prescribed by the milligram.
Who indulged in pharmaceutical vices and when asked why replied simply, every recursively enumerable set is Diophantine.
Who diagnosed themselves with “start ****-itis” and self medicated by eating Fifinellas at the stroke of each midnight.
Who rubbed paraprosdokians on their skin and occupied Wall Street in search of a new euphemism for being American.
Who poured Alkalizer on a dead moose and kicked it while feasting on the divine question, “why does Rice play Texas?”
14.
who got bored with conventional relationships and bought the Origin of the World on street corners from vixens nicknamed “Jezebel” and climaxed atop of them screaming  “I’m in Babylon, the great Mother of ******!”
Who attempted suicides upon suicides upon suicides, in Oakland, until they were shipped away to private catholic universities in Rhode Island, where the history of Colossus was being taught.
15.
who serenaded love interests with four letter curse words at open bars where Kubla Khan was read and Tartars kings were licked all over like holy communion *****.
Who drove home with the spirits of wine and crashed on telephone poles where their obituaries were written in their prime, leaving their mothers weeping and calling congress to reconsider Prohibition.
16.
Who mixed Redbull with Propofol and drank the juxtaposition galore only to be woken up the next morning dead in their sleep.
Who tattooed rat poison packages with goodwill messages such as “****** divided by Water =6th day of creation” or “Seroquel + Brett Favre = St. Patrick”,
who went speedballing with Basquiat during autoscopy and woke up wondering the cost of Nautilus in Albuquerque.
17.
who took 33 hallelujah 1800 tequila jello shots and daydreamed about laying on Mithras’ grave, yelling, beetlejuice, beetlejuice…beetlejuice.
who found the truths of the Bible invalid by the miscalculation of Pi in 1 Kings 7, verse 3, and mailed death on anthrax letters to Reagan in protest.
18.
who sat empty bellied at breakfast tables wondering the temperature of satellites at Lagrangian points,  only to soon catch fire in their tongues and speak Labyrinth soliloquies that ended in
19.
Zion,
Where Google knows every answer.
In Zion
Where the youth, tomorrow’s future, quote a ***** named Hova better than they can quote Jehovah.
In Zion
Where *******’s art was used as weapon during the Cold war.
20.
In Zion
Where sartorial geniuses where no pants,
In Zion
Where David Kato Kisule is the secret hero of these words, for he was taken at a time
In Zion
Where we were supposed to be our ancestor’s sci-fi.

21.
In Zion,
Where the youth bear the scarlet letter X for they are a problem to tradition and hold no definition for the future, for they have discovered
In Zion
That the origin of this world is in their living eyes, and not in the dictionary of their ancestors who lived
In Zion
when the epitome of the literature of life ended in Revelation of Amen and Shantih shantih shantih;
this is a record of the greatest minds and geniuses there ever was, written
in Zion
where the meaninglessness and nothingness of Dada reigns, and the trinity of life now lives in the Subject, subjective and subjectivity.

The mirror reveals a face naked and bleak,
the sweatpants have holes and the T-shirt is frayed.
It'll be over in a couple of weeks.

The hours spent escaping to Twitter speak
to the test on the floor with a failing grade.
The mirror reveals a face naked and bleak.

The tissue rips across my salty cheek
while my transcript laughs at the mess that I've made.
It'll be over in a couple of weeks.

I'll go to class tired and return home weak;
won't even bother with the "good girl" charade.
The mirror reveals a face naked and bleak.

"It's fine, Dad. My predicament's not unique.
I'll get my diploma, and all this will fade.
It'll be over in a couple of weeks."

Yet perhaps this last piece of paper I seek
will only frame the path from which I've strayed.
The mirror reveals a face naked and bleak;
It'll be over in a couple of weeks.

Drive it slow---ly
Drive it slow---ly
I need that beat.
Drive it slow---ly
Drive it slow---ly
I need that beat
I need that data
Want you to hard drive that
Bass right through me...
I need to feel it in my chest.
Till we in sync
Like the old boy band.
Put my *** to sleep
Like I got the itis.
That's good music.

(Guy)
Take my hand and pull me
Up to your constellation
Baby give me that confirmation
That it's me you've been wantin.
Give me that peace of mind
That I can trust you to
Keep me in mind like I'm in sight
When I'm out of sight
Show me the truth Don't want lies
Don't need darkness need light.
Dont want your cold, want that fire
That's ardent yes that's my delight.
And it's crazy that we match up
And you talk to me only words
Meant for me my ears only
Your voice inflections
Those vibrations
Set just right for me.
So.


Drive it slow---ly
Drive it slow---ly
I need that beat.
Drive it slow---ly
Drive it slow---ly
I need that beat
I need that data
Want you to hard drive that
Bass right through me...
I need to feel it in my chest.
Till we in sync
Like the old boy band.
Put my *** to sleep
Like I got the itis.
That's good music

(Girl)
Treat me tender treat me rough
Like your guitar strings.
I don't need to repeat.
Must I keep reminding?
I'm a woman and I talk tough
Cause I can back it up.
But I like when you talk me up
To a pedestal.
Been known that that's where I belong
High minded, a little arrogant but
I know what I want.
Didn't know you could take me higher.
Take me up to tell stars where you at
Put me up in the sun.
Just you and me and this heat.
I love that this language we speak
Is a language only we speak.
Innuendos laughter and free
Treat my body musically.

Drive it slow---ly
Drive it slow---ly
I need that beat.
Drive it slow---ly
Drive it slow---ly
I need that beat
I need that data
Want you to hard drive that
Bass right through me...
I need to feel it in my chest.
Till we in sync
Like the old boy band.
Put my *** to sleep
Like I got the itis.
That's good music

Derk! The Harold angels sing.
The muffin is my savior. Jesus lies.
Pacific Islands.  The screaming of fires.
Rulers.  Words.  Meters.  Feet.
The magnetic field is the only field.

If I could trust baseball, I would.
But cereals, Vonnegut, lies.
-ectomy. The ubiquitous suffix.
Suffixes make the world hell.
-ism, -itis, -like, -tude, cease
your
silly
constructions!

Constructions
are
power

I will smash

bye bye now

I asked her,
"Why is warmth wanted rather than cold? Why is warmth more respected when it burns and sears?"

And she replied,
"Sh! The normal ones will hear you and think you're crazy!"

So I laughed
Because you see
(I am crazy)

But Hm.
We have not discussed this since
And I'm beginning to think
You've caught Normal too.

Often, we men take for granted,
That you've simply performed an edict of biologic cyclical reproduction.
And not wonder of the incredible largesse that has befallen us.
I am so profoundly transformed by the beauty of your love and your unselfishness.

Though we men oft complain of the seemingly irrelative by-products of this process we go through,
None can compare to the bloating, frequent urination, nausea, emotional turmoil,
Weight gain, wacky food choices, back pain, impatience, depression, negative self-image,
Waddle walk, belly steering wheel dilemma, inability to tie your shoes, hunger,
Relationship insecurity, cornucopiate vomitus, skinny lady envy, clothes no longer fit-itis,
Swelling ankles, chocolate cravings, diarrhea, headaches, pelvic pain, stretch marks, and what should be unlawful super odorous flatulence.

What you've done for us in the space and time of nine months
Is nothing short of the joyous miracle God has bestowed upon us.
I am awestruck that the place I pleasure in most for its tightness and firmness,
Was stretched beyond the limits of what I fear I will never be able to compete with.

I love you as no other man has loved any other woman,
My heart's eyes swell with tears, as it can not express or contain this overwhelming feeling.
For the love I see in their eyes, the endearment I feel when they utter my name(Dad!)
The gift of our three children, aside from the love of my God, and the fascinating adventure of our wedding and marriage, will never be superseded by any other joy; and for which I am forever truly and entirely grateful...!!!

-----ChawzzyScript

Bitter pill picnic
tables set to
prepare the
banquet

Pilgrims gorge until
pillow stuffed
full of itself
and doubt

Doubled over tummy
ache: dummy done
did to itself
-regrettably-

Pillow fluffed and
mattress flipped
to fight the
mighty itis

Part I

One of my God's
non-eternal enemies
whom i refer to as "little b"
(i try not to lend it the dignity
of having its name spoken by my lips
when i write
i will not grace
its improper noun with the
upper casing of its first letter)

Translated into English it becomes
"the lord of the flies"
this bi-dimensional vermin
expands its influence by keeping
its existence as hidden as possible
from its unsuspecting hosts

The uni-dimensional plague that
"little b" took its name from
the common fly
is fond of the open wounds in
the hides of animals
it lays its eggs in the wound
which soon hatch and begin to feed
on the surrounding rotted flesh
"little b" and its gang
act in a similar way
but they are not satisfied
with rotted flesh . . . .
they thrive on the growth of fear
the expansion of hatred and distrust.
they grow fat in the putrid pus
of pride and discrimination

beelzebub

Part II

When a lie
any manner of falsehood
is accepted as Truth
and allowed to reside
unopposed in the mind
its presence begins to radiate
emanations of itself
throughout the whole system

The lie soils everything it touches
and being "sin"
left in place long enough
it produces the "fruit" of death

The entrance of sin into a human life
provides a beacon for "little b"
it rushes in to lay its eggs
in the midst of the pain
created by the emotional or psychological wound

Once hatched, "little b" maggots
frolic through the host searching out new areas
of anguish, bitterness, fear and pain to feed on

As the parasites continue feeding
they multiply
driving the host to
deeper depths of depression
anger confusion and sorrow
which in turn
create even larger areas for
the invaders to occupy

If this activity is left unchecked
Eventually all that is left of the host
is a dried and useless husk
ready to be dumped
into a hole in the ground
and seemingly
forgotten about

for awhile

Curtis Delk Rose 2/13-2/22/98

Part III

The Fruit Of bitterness
(another aspect of “little-b”)

'bitterness' does not arrive all at once
like a rogue-refugee relative
with its cluttered baggage and sickly children
barging around, breaking rare ornaments
and willfully refusing to learn the new tongue

It arrives slowly
almost too slowly to notice
seeping into the brain's house
a thin vapor trickling down into unprotected crevices
coating chair legs, vinyl floors and other hard surfaces

Sometimes you notice
what appears to be a stain of some kind
and you occasionally make a half-hearted attempt to wipe it off
But what the heck
you so seldom have company here
and the body's house needs so much attention.

The preacher in the new stone church yells from the pulpit
"And if you're gonna drive that rattle-trap truck to church
at least you could park it in the back
where every Tom, **** and Harry that drives by can't see it."

Every time that searing dart
passes through your mind
the soul cries out
"Oh! Why did he say that?!"

So softly you think it is you speaking to yourself
the ugly gray shadow of 'bitterness' whispers
"Because you are too stupid to afford a new car
You'll always be too stupid to get ahead
Look at who you married, stupid!
A loser who can't even get a job where he works indoors in the winter time
No wonder god killed your baby!
You're too stupid to be a mother!"

This goes on for years
'bitterness' grows more and more at home
it leaves the lights on all over the house
every night, all night
and plays the hateful reruns so loud you can't sleep
You wonder why your digestion is getting worse and worse
"Arthur Itis"* moves in and sets up his angry shop
Unaccountable pains squeeze from one place to another
and finally
your fingers are as stiff and useless
as all the money you sank into that big stone pit

When the old preacher finally died and
left the big stone church as an inheritance
to his skirt-chasing, cigar-smoking son
'bitterness' thought it was time for
it to try the recliner for the first time
it picked up the remote and
began playing one painful rerun after another

My daddy should never have done that to me!"
(But he is years dead now and who would ever believe you?)

"But it still hurts!"      

("And remember the time at the beach when
Henry wondered out loud if maybe it was your fault that Chucky died?")

"How could he do that?"

And . . .    And . . .    And . . .

Years pass
the old heart and lungs are approaching the point
where they can't handle the pressure anymore

'little b' leans back
in the brain's broken, worn-out recliner
puts its hands behind its head and
daydreams
about trying your granddaughter on for size


Curtis Delk Rose

81101 & 112515 & 12818

Many Thanks to Brad Watson for the time he mentioned that the
archaic word "beelzebub" translates into the “lord of the flies”

**arthritis

You defy belief
Thanks dear
I mean, seven in the morning and you’re sober
Pub went on fire, early night
Someday you will die a lonely man
My God, that philosophy degree has done you good
Why, because i state the obvious
Exactly, we’re all going to die someday
Not from liver cirrhosis
No, you’ll go from nagging-itis
Always the comic
Being married to you dear, brings out the best in me
Do you ever wonder why i left
Have you left
Yes, i’m now happy with Jeff
Philosophy again, seven in the morning, you passing by
I was concerned about you
Jeff’s boring the pants off you
No he isn't, he’s my rock
Fancy a quickie
Certainly not
C’mon he’s a boring history teacher
Jeff’s a lecturer
It’s written all over your face, frustration my dear
Our *** life is great
*** to the Boer war, riveting
Jeff is tuned into me
Battle of Britain music, is that oral to Jeff
Fucken hate you
I see that look in your eyes
Hate you
You want me
Shut up, lets go
Will you be passing by again anytime soon
Not if i can help it
You sure, i don’t mind helping out
Going for a romantic weekend with Jeff
See you Monday then
Only if i'm passing by

You defy belief
Thanks dear
I mean, seven in the morning and you’re sober
Pub went on fire, early night
Someday you will die a lonely man
My God, that philosophy degree has done you good
Why, because i state the obvious
Exactly, we’re all going to die someday
Not from liver cirrhosis
No, you’ll go from nagging-itis
Always the comic
Being married to you dear, brings out the best in me
Do you ever wonder why i left
Have you left
Yes, i’m now happy with Jeff
Philosophy again, seven in the morning, you passing by
I was concerned about you
Jeff’s boring the pants off you
No he isn't, he’s my rock
Fancy a quickie
Certainly not
C’mon he’s a boring history teacher
Jeff’s a lecturer
It’s written all over your face, frustration my dear
Our *** life is great
*** to the Boer war, riveting
Jeff is tuned into me
Battle of Britain music, is that oral to Jeff
Fucken hate you
I see that look in your eyes
Hate you
You want me
Shut up, lets go
Will you be passing by again anytime soon
Not if i can help it
You sure, i don’t mind helping out
Going for a romantic weekend with Jeff
See you Monday then
Only if i'm passing by

I stare up at the ceiling, cracked
for I am not myself
surrounded by broken promises, pity
and empty wealth

the perverse constants throughout
my narcissistic days,
I awake every morning
to an alcoholic drug fuelled haze

sleep deprivation my volatile Jesus
licking my wounds, ignorant to my prayers,
I express my shattered soul to millions, only
for it to fall on ignorant ears that don't care

[YEAH! YEAH! YEAH?]

stitched up eyes, stitched up pride
sensibility running away to forever hide
capitalising on pain, that contagious emotion
an obsessive by-product of loves caustic devotion

f-falling for all the pretty ones
injecting sultry thoughts in my sick brain //-/-

f-falling for all the pretty ones
dragging me through acidic pools of disdain //-

LO' BEHOLD ANOTHER HUMANITARIAN CRISIS!

Most personally known as COMPULSIVELOVER-ITIS!

It sticks like spit, kills my sleep
something I don't want but really need to keep

and the desperation will make you a million
but also burn you inside out -

stuck in this loop of blackening silence
it's a revolution of the broken heart so let's scream, let's SHOUT!!!

I'm only alone when I wake from my dreams.
The floor is quick sand.
I can barely stand;
I am trapped to my knees.
No kicking or screaming, please.
It facilitates demons entering me.

I'm only safe in my dreams.
I'm only safe in my dreams.

I'm only safe in my dreams.
Stuck in a world where nothing is what it seems.
Keep your electric eye on me,
I'll show you something real,
But only so briefly.
I made memories as a barfly
Floating through the sky-
It was all underneath me.
The dream doesn't last;
It is forever fleeting.

But I'm only safe in my dreams.
I'm only safe in my dreams.

One day
I shall dream
Forever.
There is
No better
Dream.
Days blend
Into night
Night blends into eternity
The stars
the eyes
Are one
Some are
Dead
Already
Time hasn't
Passed enough
For you to realize
Life
And
Death
Blend
As one
Itis
Tragedy
Itis
Fun
Thereisnoendonlycontinuum
Continue on.
What's in you
Is strong.
"I know
Nobody
Knows
Where it comes
And where
It goes......
Dream on
Dream on
Dream on
Dream on."

Back straight reaching into the sky rooted like the tree
Arms bent,  palms open on twisted knee
Stillness and quiet
Not a sound
Listening to wind sing its lonely song
How birds add sweet music to dry air
The brushing feel of blond hair
Itis here where peace is found among the acheing soul
Counting each breath untill the numbers fade
In this moment a timeless grace

The sincerity of a toothless street woman selling “new girlfriend licenses” can be determined by 2 rotten bananas hanging from the rear view mirror of a truck junked in a muddy field near a dead tree.

Life never stops until it is over.
The day of our birth, we start to Live, it was the day we began our journey to the end.
Each day we say hello and goodbye
Each day we are full of joy and hurt
Each day we rise up too or stay and wait
Each day there is Love and fear
Each day we begun and end.
Life never stops until it is over.
So lets choose:
Each day to smile when we say, hello and goodbye
Each day to accept and release the joy and hurt
Each day to rise to the light and stay for the Love
Each day to find balance between Love and fear
Each day to begin again
Each day LIVE!
Life never stops until itis is over.
So Live till the end and
Create more of the Greatness that You are.
For you are Life. Life is Love. So You are Love and Life!
Think about that and Smile....
CCJ