1967 san francisco is transformed into city of missing children haight ashbury brims with scraggly orphans thousands sit on street curbs live in cars hang out on floors of shops roam streets parks sleep on sidewalks unthinkable social cultural phenomenon Odysseus embraces madness walking through different neighborhoods going without food sleep in golden gate park floral smells so strong he can taste flowers kids openly pass joints acid doses trip dance make music laugh Odysseus is risk-taker but he is not street smart along with flocks of totally wasted kids street hustlers abound Odysseus sets down backpack beside eucalyptus tree rests when he wakes backpack is gone he is penniless disconnected hitchhikes across bay to berkeley less congested more manageable meets some runaways like him but not like him they squatter in abandoned house off telegraph avenue maybe 20 hippies crashing in house Odysseus adopts enormous closet hidden in back bedroom as his space has small window feels like sanctuary sometimes he comes home finds 5 or 6 kids sleeping in closet in a way people in house become his family tribe some of people are suspicious especially older secretive man with 2 tongue-tied underage girls whom he claims are his daughters Odysseus suspects veiled ****** exploitation girls are lovely yet behave frightened repressed life on street does not come easy telegraph avenue overflows with lost souls searching to hook-up fragrance of frankincense drifts amidst music drug deals rip-offs bullying brawls hierarchy from hell’s angels down Odysseus stays high dances sometimes panhandles “i live in commune with 2 pregnant girls” whatever cash he collects scores acid **** subsists on diet of gum candy sunflower pumpkin seeds sometimes ketchup with french fries his acne crescendos he learns if he drops acid daily by third or fourth day he cannot get off no matter how much he doses tries peyote cactus buttons after waiting nearly hour to get off he suffers stomachache dizziness projectile vomits finally flies into freaky hallucinations he swallows mescaline capsules feels sick to his stomach forgets about his nausea trips for 9 hours tries psilocybin mushrooms laughing straight through night experiments with stp trips for 3 days Bobby Stern and Martha Quigley come out from chicago to visit they are curious about the scene need to hook up Odysseus introduces them to his friends shows them telegraph avenue he turns and they have vanished he does not know where they have gone everybody is losing everybody new kids show up everyday oakland **** named red rat kidnaps Martha is heiress from distinguished chicago family their disappearance makes chicago papers after week Bobby and Martha manage to escape they never reveal to Odysseus what red rat did to them radio plays doors’ “light my fire” and jimi hendrix’s "purple haze" Odysseus has crush on beautiful blonde Patty she  ran off for summer from her parent’s home in sunset section of san francisco Odysseus and Patty hang out go see country joe and fish in provo park on sundays hitchhike into city watch Jefferson Airplane play for free in golden gate park hitchhike to marin see Grateful Dead jam at muir beach dude hands out free acid Odysseus is total acidhead acid reveals everything in new intensified light *** on acid is beyond *** wilder than *** more primal *** so intense it transcends limits of eroticism acid helps Odysseus realize his true self his pain sadness tears lies crazy-*** side first tingling tremors in stomach chest hands then initial flashes of sparkle traces of color echoes of giggling laughter lucid thoughts sometimes he swallows such large doses all he can do is stare out at white light what is it about massive hits of acid? measure of how fierce his spirit? self-punishment? escapism? he wonders why he so desperately needs to escape from what whom? himself? Mom’s numerous efforts to convince him he is mentally disturbed? Dad’s fists? escape from real world to where? Odysseus hangs with Pluto skinny 16 year old ****-addict golden wavy hair rotting teeth finesse with girls Pluto claims crystal **** enhances *** more than acid needles frighten Odysseus he lets one of Pluto’s girls hit him up with methamphetamine feels sudden overwhelming rush through head body forgets about needle before it ever leaves his arm having been initiated Odysseus begins scoring with Pluto’s girls Pluto knows tons of girls Odysseus loves feeling numb free being out of control not giving a **** getting ****** ****** by pretty girl if he could have his way he would go from ****** to ****** with pretty girl all day every day deep in drug induced state because drugs lower inhibitions allow them to explore some sick disgusting stuff that is paradise for Odysseus he is rapidly slipping into street life drug addiction wakes up with ants crawling in his hair witnesses numerous fights freak-outs 2 different kids o.d. while he is present lots of creepy stuff  by early august realizes he might wind up dead soon or rotting like Pluto Odysseus has spirit but troubled by what he sees troubled enough to return home go back to school he feels lost desperate alone not thinking plots drug deal swindle double-crosses some people guilt and shame for conning people haunts him for years he gives Pluto half the money tells him to share with Patty with his cut buys ticket back to chicago Penelope is first to greet him she gives him big hug comments “you need a shower and shave real bad!” his hair is wild scraggly beard Odysseus holds on to her he has missed his little sister glad to be near her feels panicky his parents will punish him Mom and Dad are relieved but agitated their worry and shame at his flight have turned to anger resentment they rationalize he selfishly ran off merrymaking for 3 months they sternly make plans for his next semester while Odysseus was away in california Penelope has ****** ******* for first time in back seat of Jed Zurbeck's black pontiac Penelope in secret goes to see doctor for pregnancy test doctor recognizes Penelope’s last name calls house Odysseus answers phone doctor asks to speak with Mr. or Mrs. Schwartzpilgrim Mom picks up phone doctor informs her Penelope is pregnant all hell breaks loose doctor makes house call with Mom and Dad present offers 2 options for Penelope “you can be picked up by limousine on state street and blindfolded you will be taken to an undisclosed location where abortion procedure is performed then re-blindfolded and returned by limousine to state street or you can report incident as **** and get signatures of three physicians then have abortion in a hospital” Mom and Dad choose to report it as a **** fabricate story about Penelope walking home from school and being grabbed pulled into alley by black man who rapes her Penelope is made to tell lie three times deeply disturbs her after abortion is done in hospital Dad makes Penelope swear not to admit abortion to anyone insists she tell Jed Zurbeck she made up stupid lie and she was never really pregnant Penelope obeys and tells no one

Barely made it to bed
in my drunken stupor
Close to being dead
**** don't know if I made it to the right homestead
Hell for all  I know it could have been someone's shed
With the bed spinning, "Lord a waterbed"??
The way I feel I think I have become the undead ..
In this drunken stupor
Passed out
Woke up
And the cutest little Redhead was laying next to me
Someone that I have wed ????
Maybe dreaming instead?
Might drink some more getting ready for what might be ahead..
No!! She turned over and looked at me and said "I thought you were Jed"
Oh ****!! I am dead !!!
I ain't Jed
I said
But you can stay right here next to me "In your bed"??
**** this girl was fine a purebred Redhead
No it could not be, a knock at the door
She looked over at me and said
"Honey" " I think it's Jed"
I jumped out of bed
grabbed my pants, shirt and boots
Naked as a J-Bird
Ran out the back door
Thinking
**** you Jed!!

I wanted that little Redhead
                !!

I go off again,
a bit Jed Clampett,
wrapped in my blanket
oil on my hair.
Hillbillies everywhere.

Millionaires the lot of them,
mountain men come down to town to
spread their money,
***** brown hair,long lank greasy,there's a one
with no shirt on.

I go off again into Beverly,
it's very
loverly,
Ma,
is making tea
in china cups.

Living a life of hate
fighting impossible battles
unable to defeat it.
My hate continues to grow
nothing worse
than fearing fear itself.
Scared of the possibilities
cowered in fear
the smell of must and mildew
crisp in the air
managing life or death
caused by my own hands
never before
a battle ever won
trying to tame Jed
always wanting out
to hurt love ones
not caring for their feelings
wanting to destroy, incapacitate
especially the one named William
when will we reunite
becoming one
instead of split
for he is a part of me
a part that wants to wake
hated among men
Jedadaya
my demon
my brethren
my father
my cousin
my best friend
for without him
I would be nothing
but a figment
of the imagination.

Rumors are swirling
about what that little shepherd boy
is doing with those sheep
on the other side of the hill.

He has been watching that flock
for far too long
and no one has seen Old Jed
for quite some time.

He said he would come back
for his sheep,
but I have a sneaking suspicion
Old Jed is dead

and that little ******* shepherd
keeps all the wool
for himself.

Jacky John jugs juice
jungle Jim's juggle
Jumping Jill's jabot
Jeff's June Jay  
Jed Jud Jid"s jade
July's  jabberwocky jabiru
Jan jabs Jake!
Jack's jackaroo
Jackson Jacob's jubilant Jacket!
jAcKpOt!

She cooked the final meals at the gaol,
Collected the hangman’s clothes,
For he inherited everything
Of the hanged man, heaven knows.
She gave the widows the twist of rope
That he’d used to hang their men,
It all came down to the widow Crope
And whether she liked you, then.

She’d interview the widow-to-be
With a questionnairre or two,
About her man, was he handy, and
What did he like to  do?
Then later, in the condemned man’s cell
She’d say that she’d cut him free,
‘You’ll never see your woman again,
So all you have left is me.’

Her husband had died on the gallows, so
She’d known of that final *****,
A widow Kerr had done it for her
Before she was widow Crope.
Then down beneath that terrible drop
She would wait for him to appear,
Hang on his feet, as well as not
While he kicked at the air in fear.

Then once that the corpse was pale and still
She’d take it down to the morgue,
Lay it out on a slab, and then
She’d borrow the gaoler’s sword.
And while they were pouring the candlewax
For a later hanging in chain,
She’d slice a couple of fingers off
For the rings that were hers to claim.

But then she might, in an act of spite
Cut off a dead man’s hand,
Dip it well in the candlewax
And walk it late through the land.
She’d light the end of the fingertips
And carry it like a torch,
Making her way where the widow lay
And spike it, out on her porch.

And wives would say as their husbands lay,
‘Don’t mess with the widow Crope,
If ever the hangman comes, that day
She may be your final hope.’
And those awaiting a capital case
Would sit with their husbands there,
And tell them that it would be okay
In that final act of despair.

She’d never worn anything else but black,
She called them her widows weeds,
But never, she said, felt safe from attack
For her husband’s evil deeds,
She finally married the hangman, Jed,
And handed the job to her,
An hour since she’d hung on his legs
And made her the widow Claire.

David Lewis Paget

Elly May,
It used to be you were one click away,
But no longer so I'm bound to say,,
How much I miss you Elly May.

Suddenly,
I'm not half as fond of old TV,
There's no subtle sexuality,
Oh, Elly May where can you be.

Why'd she
Have to go I don't know, they wouldn't say.
Now there,
Is no Jed or Jethro or Elly May.

Elly May,
In the ce-ment pond you used to play,
With your private zoo in lingerie,
Oh, how I miss you Elly May.

Why'd she
Have to go I don't know, they wouldn't say.
Now there,
Is no Jed or Jethro or Elly May.

Elly May,
Love for you was all that made my day,
Now I need a place to hide away,
Oh, how I miss you Elly May.

Mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm.

Connotations and elucidations
We need language that recreates nations

If you use changency on a regular basis then you might be a changent but then you're defaulting to a noun based thought process and we live in a fluid, living universe. Nothing in the universe is unchanging thus locking our minds down with noun based systems of thinking cannot do our Selves or our Universe justice...if you believe that you have a life sentence of just ~100 years and then you're gone, then you're not a responsible human being...or you are being lied to and tricked into thinking that we're barely human...being is a verb...we are in process...in flow...we are the dragon's that we've been waiting for. We are the guardian's of wealth and we are the guardian's of prince's and princess's....because we are the prince's and princess's.

If you think I'm full of **** that's fine. You've been tricked. Your reward for such treachery, your reward for allowing yourself to be deceived....another ~100 year life sentence.

You'll deal with it eventually because you'll be back again and again and again until you figure out how to swim out of Hades and get back onto an eternal path not as a Changent but found within the fluidity of changency.

You don't go to Wall Street or Bay Street or any of those 'important' streets to understand currency...you borrow Turtle Island technology in the form of a canoe (don't forget to pay your royalties)...you get off the land and onto the river and flow....this is currency...this is flow. Buddha sat on the edge of the river studying flow and found great truths...Buddha never had access to Turtle Island technology. You can't study currency without getting into flow physically...the mind will only take you so far. A mind has barriers, a mind can be deceived, that deception can lead to false dichotomies such as the left brain~right brain, us versus them, US vs the People...let's unite the states. Flow into the nondual truths that resonate through the subtle frequencies of those attuned... Let's stop at Acme Explosives on the way home from 'work' along the ****** Tune paths found in our minds and load the Hoover Dams built in our heads by the Fortune 500 who want us to think that we're dead (or dying) ...  load the dam full of explosive ... then let Wylie and Bugs do their thing. A levee is impermanent...and the levee is about to break...it nears the time for the deal to go down. Hereditary leadership could make a coup but this doesn't honour flow. Those power mongers, who, using their ill-gotten bellows to stoke the flames of fear have worked their way into their own slavery. When We, the living people, realize that we're the plantation owners and we are the ones that can and need to start pushing the signals back into the marketplace...this is the people's market. A just internet decentralizes the economy...it just is...Justice. Destabilizing using the ebbs and flows...using whimsy...this is Game Theory writ large. Let's turn the Prisoner's Dilemma on it's head, Jed...i

The idiom...pushing on a string is supposed to connote the impossibility of sending signals back up the ladder. Hahaha. That is exactly what can and in the new economy will be done. You can pull strings but you can also push strings. I know this, I understand this because of an idea I've been meditating on for several years. It's an idea the Tlingit and Haida chiefs used to honour their lost loved ones. It's called a Potlach Ceremony. It's also called Indian Giving or flows into negative connotations that are attached to indian giver, let's take the power back...keep pushing...it's almost time

Jed charged forth with a mighty roar
Karadain was first to fight
Thunder ripped and skies they tore
The clash of swords was an awesome sight

Karadain, he moved with grace
Jedediah stood his ground
Every slash and ****** a waste
Parried with a ringing sound

Jed's claymore soon made it's mark
Silence played a simple song
He ****** it through Karadain's heart
To take a life was never wrong

Solotris bowed his head in shame
Friend or not he didn't care
Life was gone as soon it came
It seemed the fight was hardly fair

Drawing faith in many spades
Solotris began to march
Courage was what courage made
He raised his sword in a deadly arch

ed
med
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I've always ment to tell you
that you weren't my first love
you weren't the thing that took my breathe away
I remember my first love
it was the first time I smelt a Bonfire
and saw my friends playing there bongos and singing silly songs.
I remember them ashes dancing in the sky as I took my shirt off and felt the wine
run down my belly.
I remember hearing the fire crackle with the sound of our laughter
I remember seeing Jed throwing big *** wood logs into the fire God he was strong (dead now from a car surfing drinking and driving accident)
I remember falling in the love that moment
It was such a simple night but that night was the last time all of my friends were together
before life suffocated everyone
before school schedules and baby showers took over
before everyone turned to ******* Life Chasers instead of Dream Makers.
Now I'm sitting here and wondering
do we all just forget how to live one day
do we all just give in to the way society wants us to be
do we all just forget how to live.
I miss that night and I dream about it every night
and if I could relive that day
I'd replay it over and over and over
because we were all free that night
we were just kids singing,dancing,and laughing.

I found a skeleton of a bus
so far into the pines, I knew it had been
dropped from the sky, to save me  

they had to be far behind,
the other side of the stream, where those hounds
lost my scent    

Jed and Tonto didn’t follow me across
the shallows, and I’d bet all the money I ever stole
those curs and the posse ate them up    

there was almost half a moon, though
inside the bus was black; outside was freezing
drizzle pattering on the roof  

the coat I filched was soaked    
my trousers too--nobody told me
Alabama got this cold  

if they had
I wouldn’t have believed them
until that night  

I curled up in a ball
behind the driver’s seat, shoved
my frozen hands in my shirt    

then I heard that hiss, and saw
those eyes--I stayed quiet, more quiet even
than when I hid from John law    

then she growled, deep, slow
but I kept watching her eyes--emerald and still, still
in the place I first saw them    

then we were both silent  
I’d  *** my drawers before I’d move
freeze outside... get ate inside  

the hours passed fast; I drifted,
dreamed a little of being back inside, and woke
when the sun hit the cracked windshield    

she was still there
with two cubs nursing, now used to my smell
I suppose, since she didn’t jump  

when I slid down the bus stairs
into the frosty grass, where I saw a doe
chewing forbs, close to the roots  

lucky the lion had her babes stuck
to her teats, lucky I was between the cat and prey,
lucky the bus was in that grove

Charleston Fashion Week added $3.5 million to the local economy this year, an increase of 20 percent over 2014.

Organizers of the event, sponsored by Baker Motor Company in the spring, announced Thursday attendance grew to more than 7,500, a new record.

The five-day event also boosted the local economy, according to Wayne Smith of the College of Charleston.

According to the college’s findings, total expenditure per out-of-town attendee averaged $1,900; the event drew more than 275 million media impressions including TV, print, radio and online; its social media reach was more than 6.5 million; and 85 percent of those sampled said they would return next year.

Since the event in March, eight of the participating models have signed with national model agencies, including Directions USA, Elite Direct, Elite NYC and Wilhelmina Miami.

“We are thrilled with the continued success of Baker Motor Company Charleston Fashion Week and the recent survey results reinforce the growing economic impact of the event,” said Jed Drew, president of Gulfstream Communications, which owns and produces Charleston Fashion Week.

Dates for the 2016 event will be announced later this summer.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/pink-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/blue-formal-dresses

after my cat broke into my room
and ****** on my writing chair,
i threw the **** covers into the garden
and sat, for months on a skeletal chair,
namely one: without cushions...
  the cat? i call him a ginger farmer,
or simply hulk, nearing
10 kilograms, we can be just that -
oh the operas he sings with that variation
of meow...
apparently there are 200 unique ideograms
of a meow,
and i've just about heard
   one hundred and ninety-nine...
now my *** is cushioned back to its original
throne...
      you really can have a ****** day
listening to ****** music,
or not listening to music and making
modern echoes of vicilisation audible...
cars, airplanes, and not a gush of wind,
or an owl in a forest making coo...
   on my walk with four beers and finding
the perfect spot to take a ****...
yes, drink them quick enough
and you **** clear, pristine waters,
wait till the morning, and there she is,
yellow ammonium...
   but i do find that the famous grouse
was being a bit of a ***** yesterday,
i got all nostalgic and didn't feel like
inviting this spirit into my abode...
i wrote the most feeble things (partially)
necessary, but, evidently, only intended
for a transition period...
     so i said to myself, the local co-op
opened recently, they had an offer on *****
the other day...
and now she stands on my windowsill,
pretty little russian girl:
     as стaндaрт...
   for too long i have not delved into her natures...
a stealth spirit, an assassin...
    yet i never thought these people
still existed... filling up to my 3rd can of beer,
watching a man pull into a petrol station
on a motorbike,
filling up, and then quickly driving off...
   well, thrusting off...
   so i caught the eyes of the petrol station's
attendant, he too bemused...
   it's good to see that such people still
happen to do the most pleasing of transgression
that comes standard with: the civlised,
law-abiding citizens...
     seeing a thief like that while you're drinking
a beer almost makes the most perfect sense...
as to the cushions i'm sitting on in my chair:
the one that maine **** hulk of a cat
****** on and i threw into the garden to
get winter air and soak...
    feels a bit like ******* with your
left hand... or as a step-father told a friend
of mine: sit on your forehand long enough
until it goes numb, and afterward
it's like someone else is doing it for you...
  but we are here, forget homosexuality
being the artistic canvas these days,
they've gained political motivation,
there's no art coming from the former taboos...
a lot more things are dying than the mere
death of god... that's heidegger ponderings
ii - vi, aphorisms 185 - 191...
the grouse was being a *****,
i have to say, or as some orthodox "priests"
from polish cinema said once:
you drinking perfumes?
             whiskey, perfumes, chanel no. 5...
well... back to the roots of reasoning
a few pointless things through...
   that's also called: listening to a few ******
pop songs and then going into
big boy territory... jed kurzel, wardruna...
i can't be a Bukowski, every time i read
him now i get a writer's block...
i can't say classical music is that good,
or that it's the medium of genius,
i can say that it's the only music
i can listen to when i turn on the radio,
otherwise i have to be my own d.j.,
   i'm sitting in a room with a record collection,
bemoaning how people sorta stopped
caring for music in the old fashion
sense of buying it...
   and it's not exactly pirates of the caribbean for
****'s sake...
   if there's no respect for artists,
there's no respect for anything,
in the old polish proverb: hulaj duszo, piekła niema...
in verse: hulaj piekło, duszy nie ma
   (go wild, soul, for there is no hell...
reverse: go wild, hell, for there is no soul) -
thankfully : and italics is correct here,
   it wouldn't be correct had the emphasis
included bold text.
  that really can happen, i.e. to become
tiresome of whiskey, you drink what later resembles
your **** upon waking...
  and yes, given what i drink,
i do feel ****** the next day,
   i can't say hangover, but just crap....
until i take a ****, after that: it's all downhill -
one the **** is out, the ego can begin its ascent.
so here's to miss стaндaрт,
may she live long and prosper from as many
drunks as she deems worthy of lullabying
with a few poems they might throw into
the calendar of white, with year not relevant,
with month not relevant, and with diem
as only carpe.
    or as i like to say, after reading this article
about tinder and how women are sploit
for choice...
     i should be in the game, what, being 30...
but i read the enemy's propaganda and it's
not good... well it's good that i know it's
propaganda... the article is only a week old,
misplaced the magazine for about a week to just
read it now...
       lily 23, erin 25, mariella 23,
alexandra 24, alice 23, julia 28
(actress, digital marketing executive,
   fashion pr, sales and marketing graduate,
publishing assistant, journalist - respectively)...
with what they said, as the article states,
and whether the core of western values and
democracy is for the freedom of journalism
  (does anyone still bother?
it's selective, it has editors,
there's too much happening anyway,
and if it is happening, it's coverage is delayed
by zombie-audiences, like that case of Fritzl
in the whittle village of Amstetten) -
   they were really quick on the mark there,
or the Milly Dowler case...
would any sane individual in the western  world
go to war to protect journalism?
    i'm starting to think that state-owned media
is not such a bad thing,
   better hearing organsied lies than disorientating
lies that have no *****-like authority of a nationhood...
some peoples' lives are simple, they need
to hear stories... some actually prefer listening
to music, i too wouldn't want the entire world
gatecrashing an event such as modern Mongolia...
you never really hear any news from Mongolia...
the perfect example of Tao... isolationism
to perfection... and yes, some people don't get
to write a poem either...
   would i go to war defending the rights of newspapers?
given what we are currently seeing?
   it's very strange to see newspapers with suspicious eyes,
terrible so, you'd like to think they did speak
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth...
     but then i look at my 10 kg bonsai tiger pavarotti,
and i sit on my windowsill, he sits on his
windowsill in the bathroom...
              ****** comes back into my room
and ****** on my chair, i swear i'll smack him again
just like i did when the ****** struck at my bed
almost a year ago (as documented in qat qaeda) -
leaving a warm **** on my bedsheets...
  and yes, he needs supervision when urinating
into the toilet... ginger pavarotti... this one's on you.

Kav's arrow struck clear and true
The Legend Jedediah fell
Spurting blood a scarlet hue
Knowing this would not end well

Kav ran to the Legend's side
Stared at him with bright blue eyes
Watching as the Legend died
Tears of blood the young boy cries

News of Jedediah's death
Causing city final rest
Reached the eager ears of Beth
Kav would be named Legend's Best

Upon return the young man carried
The body of the Legend Jed
Face was red, the boy was weary
Knowing his worst foe lay dead

Beth approached the boy on steed
To see the face of Forsaken One
Squirming with a thwarted need
She turned to Kav, said "Thank you son"

Standing over Legends face
She couldn't stifle out her cries
Her husband lay in burlap lace
Her husband lay in his demise

Closing shut his bright blue eyes
Withered hands and jeweled shield
Simple silent sordid sighs
Death of love this day did yield

Bright blue eyes and withered hands
Jedediah took his swing
Steel cut sword with ****** bands
Steel on steel again it rings

Solotris was not new to dance
The dance of battle he knew well
Caught in swordplay's gripping trance
Silent, he ****** Jed to hell

Fast they moved without a thought
Wordless plays ran through their head
Remembering what they'd been taught
Though Solotris would soon lay dead

Jedediah could not lose
Not before he knew the truth
Doomed to either sword or noose
He just wanted to know who

Who his star-crossed lover was
He'd fought through all of hell to find
He never had the chance because
He left his loving past behind

Spirits low and bounty high
He slaughtered might Solotris

But withered hands let arrow fly
The arrow, it had found it's niche

My debt bubble has been de-leveraged & I'll fight with guns plastic
'cause in my life defensive maneuvers have been necessarily drastic
when my crooked, fist-fightin' limbs distend Michael J. Fox spastic
Hurry pops the time for peace has degraded into a campaign drastic
as it's off to Wales where Woody, Keef & Charlie have gassed ****
like Churchill planned for Bonn as he thunk toxic gas was fantastic
& normal like switching toothpaste with a gummy resin tree mastic
that's tacky enough to entrap a brown flea but not a ******, fast tick
on Hillary Clinton's saddle-sore ***'s ****-itchy crack iconoclastic
that forces epidemical ****-casting directresses to brutally cast sick
& crippled X-muffers in dramas that are heterophobic & bombastic
& contra-contrary to the T.N.T. needed to nucleate *** & blast hick
to decree '64 as bein' the year of producer Loke Wan Tho's last flick
I am stirred by murmurs of kittens that have daily purred but my fat
cats never bought never sold never used a toilet never spoke a word
as hairy cats are ecstatic to lick hanging parts that are thickly furred
& drenched in muco-pus, river mud, alkaline residue or mouse ****
that's added for spice with green duck gut, snake nose & rotted bird
to commonize felinicidal fare in stitch with farmerettes heatin' curd
to nourish ol' Jimmy Carter robotoid #14 whose death was deferred
to push puppet Lin Forbes Burnham as David Rockefeller preferred
makes recipes valid for McDonald's grinding men into meat absurd
& the cries of ***** smashing periodic squeals into groans unheard
by moon-friendly babes whose quims rest salmon-pink & uninjured
in aspections physico-social via spirographical methods unpictured
regarding cotomaster vulgaris or second-place placers placing third
with ears & belly buttons clogged by **** & blood-shot eyes blurred
Oh **** Kiki Ebsen, let's love forever the dead Larry, Moe & Curly
& their lower Australian counterparts: the scuzzy Fairy, ** & Girly
who gulp milk with hens' eggs knowing that not 1 dairy foe is burly
as I wanna see H.P.V. vaccine-pricking-swine Rick Perry goin' surly
like Squiggy might've on Garry Marshall's show Laverne & Shirley
starring Cindy Williams & Penny Marshall whose teeth ain't pearly,
& who in heels & padded bra passes as the twin of Jo Anne Worley
in 1963 when cream was in glass bottles & menopause started early
enough for Lee Oswald before The Eye Shadows backed Merle Lee
Disney destroyed maternal worries with furnace asphyxiants of gas,
proving that lungs full of carbon monoxide fumes ain't going to last
to see '39 as '38 wafted by in a whiff of monoxidized demise so fast
for those who cartoonize the near-future, animate God's distant past
so as to demand that Rabbi Shimon's Apocalypse tribes be amassed
to pike the head of Charlie Watts as El Shaddai can never be sassed
before a Satanical/congregational flock of U.S.'s pornocratical cast
conjuring underneath a devilishly-****** act's pornographical blast
framed as merry mix-ups the queerest of collusions that flabbergast
regardless of America's oldest race-baitin' ******'s homosexual past
as a Georgia state assembly guy whom toothless ****** outclassed
Whilst masonical N.A.S.A. creates super-speed planets between us,
nobody cares that our 500,000 mile-per-hour sun is paced by Venus
in aether squattin' like California smog in a stab wound of bean pus
that'll render mucho mas gorier the spit-stained walls of a clean bus
driven off the Sunshine Skyway Bridge by a *****-lovin' mean cuss
who aped a weakling diving from tin panels pitched via a lean truss
that constricts **** lard into prime cream corn to make a queen fuss
The costumes of the Gestapo & American cops are black not 'cause
I like hanging out with lynch mobs & ******* ****** in my shack
& writing Bible corollaries after rammin' enemas up my ****** tract
in repugnance to ***-wipe Zbigniew Brzezinski of the Warsaw Pact
as it is Russia's Crimean annexation of 2014 that he's denied as fact
I curl these 10 toes under so they don't get, by a machete, hacked &
I don't date angry Mafia assassins so as to keep from bein' whacked
whilst the pardoning integrity of demi-god mafiosos governs intact,
as sanctity is conferred knowing which cops by the mob are backed
through underworld graft to ensure pig police are doggedly tracked,
framed, extorted, beat up, spiritually broken & emotionally cracked
haunting dank alleys with the hapless citizens they had blackjacked
whose id acuity gave sway to id injury that caused 'em to be sacked
by politicians placed in places as these are places a mob has hacked
with paid-pain-placebo politicos la cosa nostra has placidly backed
& licked, tucked, hocked, blacked, ticked, socked, cocked & tacked
or redacted, corrected, misdirected, uncooked, rooked & shellacked
plus heckled, freckled, prickled, pickled, trickled, kicked & stacked
Las lebianas de T.V. sexcite & thrill as no low caliber gun ever will
on the battlefields of Vietnam where John Kerry liked to run & ****,
before porkin' John Heinz's Satanical widow in a billion-dollar deal
He couldn't kick his habit each mornin' of taking a birth-control pill
or attending parties of talk-show-maggot Donahue to cop a free feel
after crappin' into pizza boxes to implement Lucifer's masonic weal
I forget not from which side my ****, neck-breaking horse I mount:
hormones coursing, **** strap is tight! What in hell am I on about?
I swoon in love, dance over matches, feel *****, steadily lose count
Her cane, her walker, her wheel chair & support hose, quack-quack,
only prove what gigolos have always known, wealthy hags kick ***
in post-menopausal slump on cruise ships ******* apes for a laugh
up my you-know-what that is a big outlet 25 inches north of my calf
whilst allopathic veterinary cat medicine increases misery @ % 7½
because me no understand a tiny bit God's need for famine & wrath
against dullards whose algebra is more mathematic than basic math
that lets me hog-call the glossy-white pig Kathie Lee Gifford: Kath'
after she aborted 3 kiddies under the bridge on the coat hanger path
Many thrillin' Christian facts have just come to light with a colorful
computer-generated face of Lord Jesus, thank God He is very white
so that we may crucify the black Jesus theory without a ****** fight
that'd be the death-kiss for chimps chimping ghetto-ebonics at night
I care for you like a foreign **** with lots of cars in his huge car lot
I know that kitty-soft quims like yours ain't never wholesale bought
I just want to part your pink ******* in bed or on any army cot
I wanna probe the core of your womanhood like your mama taught:
Cousin Jethro, Uncle Jed, André from U.P.S. & that ****** she shot
in cop-crazed self defense as she feared for her personal safety a lot
'cause her husband had to **** Iraqi children in Iraq where he fought
toilet-strain that queered his insane brain giving him queer-brain rot
that bruised his belly button, above primal glands, with a blood clot
big enough to slow Chris Reeve's gallopin' horse to a paralyzed trot
that'd split the greasy 3 hairs on the cue ball of governor Rick Scott
who's a leg-shaving maniac, less frigidly warm than moderately hot
when he enjoys vein-popping-**** straining on his golden **** ***
where-from he farts that it's legal Agenda 21's new-world-order plot
Love me wet, like you loved ****** loving freak Jacques Cousteau
who drowned 350,000 Unitarians via Aqua-Lung, Don't'cha know?
Ah Satan sees Natasha while she'll step on no pets to see juice flow
along direct paths between points A & B, as would fly a sober crow
34 minutes late for an egg-layin' contest & house-cat-skinning show
that we bird-lovin' farts must look up to the sky from hot hell below
where evaporated diarrhea fills Carnation milk cans in a ****** flow
over irradiated breakfast cereal that radiates a healthful, green glow
that'll thaw **** ice & hypothermic ***** on banana cones of snow
I'm better off than dead, not better often dead, Totie Fields, you liar
I won't skate to Ohio whilst my **** is on fire with ****-love desire
Excuse me while I limp to hell, as my leg was pared just after a fire
that makes me hobble to hell after cooking in Gandhi's funeral pyre
The sweet nectar of rector Hector of the Catholic sector gives sway
to conjecture in the Protestant vector as his carotid artery neck tore
The new nectar of Hector rector of the Catholic sector gave sway to
conjecture with an elector of vector 7 as his carotid artery neck tore
As his carotid artery neck tore, a new nectar of rector Hector de the
Catholic sector gave sway to conjecture with an elector of X vector
As his real pecks & neck tore, black neck tar of rector Hector of the
Catholical sector prefecture shot a letcher, a selector & an inspector
With specks of neck gore, the tarry sect tar of trekked-for Hector of
papal facture could catch more than lure ***** ***** on a tech floor
This violent gothical life moved me into a filthy hermit's hut where
it keeps my ***** mouth shut, the limited movement in my left nut
This stupefyin' gothical life dug me into a buried hermit's rut where
it's kept my ***** mouth shut, the poor functionality of my left nut
has kept 666 donkey gobs shut, the campy dysfunctions of a walnut
It's kept my ***** mouth shut, the bad functionality of my hind gut
It keeps my ***** mouth shut, the limited movement in my left nut
It slams my ***** mouth shut, the fun moments of my lard-*** ****
Your pocked *** are 2 flabby people I haven't wanted to meet again
while I'm busy in bee-stung-hive land eating carp bowel & shark fin

DON'T TOUCH MY *** BECAUSE I'M A LESBIAN FOREVER
& ever & no man'll change it because, ****-wise, I'm lesbian-clever
I'll block you soon forever & blacken your eyes & hide your toupée
because I hate you more queerly than prissy Obama hates being gay
with Michael, as he expresses himself better durin' lactation classes
among the hammer-happy Hillary crowd & Bill's ****-****** *****  
that only worsen clownish ***** dunked by red-sock-ducked passes
through to the prostate in lucky, ancient Hugh Hefner ****** sasses
Eddie Money, Johnny Paycheck & Johnny Cash in 32 papal masses
Lord God, let us gaily promote family-oriented regional voter fraud
for a shiksa of the Red Sea whose **** & *** push a solid boater ***
I cocked hitchings to my petcock like a whinin' Alfred Hitchcock in
anticipation of 18 quacked ribs via unpatented Owl **** ***** Sock
as sinus infections purpled nasal-mucopus excreta into an itch pock
Let me scratch your lard *** in peace, a piece of ***, girly hot ridge,
on the farm with lazy Keith, smart-aleck Danny & Shirley Partridge
who refuses to follow hygienical protocols including hand sanitizer
as your glad, toothless Kentuckian chews via a manned-clan incisor
On blood-drenched sheets you scarf Jiff extra crunchy peanut butter forever & want me to love you for it after hurlin' chunky in a gutter
But I got more complex self-respect than blind respect that's simple
for your cheese-spewing-mucopus-heavy-acne-cystical *** pimple
that made Walker McDonald chuck his walker for a steel gimp pole
so that he could pole vault over Bruce Jenner's scrod & shrimp stall
Deeply from the cockpit of my ******'s messy shore I proclaim that
this itchy crack is a filthy treasure by my big ****** ****'s measure
'cause from it venereal-diseased Johns derive lots of carnal pleasure
until their ureters swell shut & good currents of ***** ain't ****-sure
fewer than 6 inches from the **** uretero-pelvic junction's fist core
where M.L.K., junior scratched deeply his pustulating ****** fissure
Shut up hard-*** **** I can buy & sell you whenever I ******* want
Sit there whilst I pray for guidance or I'll kick you for your defiance
Hi, my name's Kandy and I work in a cat house with mucho ******
who are girlfriends of mine plagued by ulcerative, syphilitical sores
made weepy by salts of the briny deep below Jacmel's ocean shores
Insane James Whitmore claims grit poor as he blames **** for what
shames *** sore after eating fried porridge that defied proper storage
Wherever condominiums are posh the battle is delirium vs.delusion
that illustratively eliminates an elusively-shrill illusion of a colossal
cerebral cortex calamity countering cranial, ****-clinching contusion
The gay estrogen king kept his **** well with agents anthelmintical
till he was killed by the girly estrogen king with pills antiparasitical
Algeria, Algeria, I despise you worser than **** films from Nigeria
made by queer-bait crotch crickets afflicted with advanced progeria
that they got from white-phosphorus-bombed kids of peaceful Syria
where Moslemical love thaws the icy hearts of ******* from Siberia
who ran over the Caucasus via Spain's Portuguese peninsula, Iberia
I'm doubly excited about Intact ******* Day I think I am I am sure,
'cause I got a dark cookie doll in raunchy eastern Mexico to live for
which's why the suicidal jump of Evelyn McHale was not vehicular
in traffic flow manual guides, as the crashed car was her stone floor
Commanding Lieutenant William Bligh was the victim of cowardly
mutiny by Acting Lieutenant Fletcher Christian, two years after His
Majesty's Armed Vessel Bounty did sail, 'cause sweaty-palmed freak
Fletch Christian snagged his mutinous, ripped ****** on a bent nail
Don't let's not, not let's don't count on doubt, unsounded into Jersey
where stinking **** #26 is officiously & officially known as **** Z
who'll scrape, bow, prostrate like a girl whose knees shake in curtsy
who'll scrape & prostrate like a lesbian whose **** shakes in curtsy
Look Santa Claus, my purpled *****' knobs are Christ-like & sharp
like push buttons of a dead angel's gaily-strummed, gay-baited harp
Wing Chun my *** up the center line & I'll hide beneath a tarp after
I call first dibs from a toilet, dharma & karma & catfishes kiss carp
I call first dibs from a toilet, dharma & karma & catfish kisses carp
I call first dibs on the toilet! It's daffy dharma over karma or vicky-
verky. Wing Chun my *** up the center line where jerks chaw jerky
I sank to the bottom of your love bucket like mice winning at bingo
for being ******* to cherry wood while houndin' a kid-killin' dingo
Your clingy love has done much to set me free since you lopped off
2 of your straight front limbs to become a crippled, double amputee
during a Jesus-dead Christmas like I don't like it in an ulcerated sea
under the current of a skinny, barbiturated Johnny Cash over for tea
as calculated gastrical absorption rates rate as constants minus a fee
that transmogrifies my sleek, **** **** into the bulbous *** of a bee
what pendulates & undulates below the bend of my lonely left knee
in relation to fly-papered catch-alls & bug zappers in my family tree
where 1 ape wrangler wrangles triangular angles, bangles, spangles
for Christmas like I don't like it because my ******* on ice dangles
whilst fearin' for Winston Smith as to when caged rats/mice fangs'll
avulse eyes & gnaw on his tongue, before weaving nests in his lung
that shall really make it tricky to sing sing-songs he ain't never sung
that'll make it hard to gaily sing sing-songs he ain't never gaily sung
Merry Christmas nice Santa Claus, happy birthday & prepare to die
'cause when it comes to murdering fat men, I'm not the least bit shy
around dippy/daffy ***** too dried out to give it that old college try
outside college because I am the same age while they are a lot older
with bruised head, dented instep, hammer toe & arthritical shoulder
that goes up when I slip down a hill that's got many a loose boulder
to crush Miss Austria even though I once angrily warned & told her
of what's in for tall chicks runnin' ledges in acts dangerously bolder
for beauty queens long in the tooth & **** babes significantly older
whose hottest movements render homely ***** withdrawn & colder
than the homosexy boy-toy lover of Obama pickaninny Eric Holder
from whom I've hid in 32 Kenyan files a blatantly-fraudulent folder
of cheery, cherry Christ Masses reamin' the beheld's queer beholder

In Spanish class, my teacher told me to answer the question
"When you were a kid, did you tell lies?"
I answered, in Spanish,
"Yes, I lied a lot."
And the class laughed.
The teacher exasperated,
"Ohhhhh, well then."
With a smile embedded on his face.
And I smiled, too.
Because it wasn't a lie.

She told me to stop protecting her from what I do
Because she would always find out
And I guess it would be easier to hear
About it from my lips
Than in a poem or on social media
Because then,
I'm guessing here,
She could hug me.
And I could possibly let her in.
And I want to do that.
But,
When I was a little girl,
I lied a lot.
And now,
I'm not such a little girl
And lies spill from my mouth
And I really don't know why.

She almost had me in tears today
People don't do that to me
I cried when Rebecca found out
I cried in front of White
I cried when I told Kristi, both times
I cried when Ali and I talked back in June about it
I cry at the thought of Jed and Eric finding out
I cried the day after I started because of Savanna
And now she has me crying
And I can't stop and I don't want anything
To break because I can't stop being broken
But what are you supposed to do
When shards of glass keep being
Thrown like knives at what I love
I never think it will be me doing the throwing.

I've got seven years bad luck
And a broken mirror in my art box.

You are more than enough. You have always been. Never feel worthless just because someone made you feel that way.
You are amazing with your scars and imperfections.
Remember this, you are worth fighting for.

written by: Jed Castro

Now gather around and listen to this
This is something that you don’t want to miss
A song about, fishing, shooting and hunting deer
I imagine we will mention some beer

Might even talk about whiskey and coke
Forty creek and Seven and maybe a smoke
Might quote the Doors, and even The Who
Ask, WWJD, What would Jed do

Well since you ask its time to cast
A top water out and work it back fast
Zara ***** on an ABU 5500C3
St. Croix rod as good as it can be

Fishing some pads on the south side of Fork
Waiting to set the hook, and reel with some torque
10 pound bass, explodes on my lure
Up from the depths, an attack that’s pure

Count to 3 set the hook in her lip
She comes up, tail walks and backflips
Pulls lots of drag, it’s a hell of a fight
But I’m gonna win, try as she might

Tournament lift into the floor of the boat
Make my buddy take my picture, while I gloat
Post it to Facebook, not telling how many likes
Its chorus time now, gonna sing in the mic

My buddies and me, man we love the outdoors
Say let’s go and listen for the slamming doors
Gear being loaded and Pickup trucks crank
Gravel flies down the drive, hear it click and clank
Off the fenders and bumper we’re on the way
Boys with toys headed out to play

This time though were at the caliche pit
Shooting pistols and talking ****
Brought every gun in the arsenal to shoot
12 gauge muzzle on the toe of my boot

Hollering pull, let the clays fly
From over my head they whizz by
Draw a bead and slap the trigger
Next guy in line is really eager

Clay turns to dust, he is out of luck
It’s still my turn, so he’s stuck
I finally miss and its on to the next
Pull out the .50 muscles flexed

Way down range bucketful of water explodes
Underneath it the grass and dirt erodes
One shot one **** those rounds cost
Out come the AR’s, everyone’s bossed

Shoot a few more rounds, its getting dark
Loaded it all back up in the truck that’s parked
Get it all on home, its dinner time
Give my wife a kiss, man is she fine
White tail stew and some home fries
Had a good time hanging out with the guys

My buddies and me, man we love the outdoors
Say let’s go and listen for the slamming doors
Gear being loaded and Pickup trucks crank
Gravel flies down the drive, hear it click and clank
Off the fenders and bumper we’re on the way
Boys with toys headed out to play

Its November, and you know what that means
Headed to the lease in my camo jeans
Up in the morning, out to the stand
13 inches wide is what the state demands

Binos around my neck, 270 leaned
In the corner of my stand, hear the corn fling
Feeder went off like mornings alarm
Grab the rifle throw it up on my arm

Muzzle out the window, not long to wait
9 point buck and his cute little date
My freezer is empty, time to refill
They finally line up and stand still

One shot two kills, both through and through
My buddy call, asks, hey was that you
I tell him yes, and we have work to do

Rack was so big, didn’t need a ruler
Deer all quartered, cleaned and in the cooler
Time for a cigar, and some Whiskey and coke
Sit around and celebrate enjoy the smoke

Steak on the grill, fire burning in the pit
Buddy says this is the life isn’t it
I just nod and take another sip
He nods back sticks in a dip

Morning comes pack it up and go
Back to the house where the love flows
For the wife and kids and the **** dog
Its where I am the boss hog
Make time for your family and friends
You just never know when it will end

My buddies and me, man we love the outdoors
Say let’s go and listen for the slamming doors
Gear being loaded and Pickup trucks crank
Gravel flies down the drive, hear it click and clank
Off the fenders and bumper we’re on the way
Boys with toys headed out to play

when another (anointed as lady lucky)
   resident renter bequeathed her bed
prior to that good samaritan deed thyself and spouse
   slept on the floor like dogs dead
tired from another day acclimatizing ourselves,

   especially when tummies got well fed
and grudging adjustment lying
   supine upon the carpet

   did upon arising found aches and pains from head
to toes, yet financial shortcomings disallowed this Jed
eye wannabe to defer attending domestic chores,
   cuz ma whole body felt like a Led
Zeppelin, and matter of fact oft times,

   thy body electric, though lacked
   no evidence of disease NED
for short, I near felt a need to relearn basic motor skills,
   gingerly, and eagerly reached for performance
   enhancing drug i.e. PED

which coded identification exemplified the a rich color of red
this (and other) prescription medication
   (about a half dozen total found me to sleep akin to a Ted
dee bear, many instances of snoring  
   thine wife claimed emanated –
   probably no more than when we wed

if memory serves me correctly
   twenty plus years a husband aye attest
and find peace of body, mind and spirit most exuberant and best
cherished, when hen pecking wife (yup, this husband

   got pecking, pock, puck size marks to vouchsafe
   his sworn statement)
   some visible on my slightly flabby and hairless chest
and if traced with a ball point pen, the shape
   loosely resembles mount Everest

with evidence of what appears to be erosion,
   but actually evidence of wifely cannibalism –
   viz zit on par as with an unwanted guest
which at first found this pop (sic) hull averse
   to share the same firm mattress lest
she arise like a flesh eating zombie during
   wee ***** weber hours of the morning and taking nest
ling to another level, whereby teeth and scratch marks
   sure testament asper a pest

stiff ferrous mate, this husband would sooner bid adieu,
   letting fate guide  terrestrial quest
that might incorporate undergoing the
   electric kool aid acid test

perhaps buffeting this corporeal essence north west
or maybe the unforeseen sojourn would spirit thyself
   to a distant alien nation
one where each day of soundness of mental, physical
   and spiritual growth will be reason enough
   to celebrate with élan and zest.

Now tis one upside to this stroke when with restfulness
   awake after nocturnally conjuring sheep and lil bo beep
yet, no ambition exists to get down and out
   from this posh plush place to sleep
even wild horses cant drag me away, lest hie weep.