Immerse yourself until wholly submerged
in my unholy divergence;
Poor form tormented soul - 
Roll your pain in a J
then dip it in chloroform
Embrace my urges to purge
the remnants of sanity,
Spilling and screaming
all these profanities at humanity

Confuddling all posers
with my bastardized prose ~
Please, continue badgering
and nagging me
with your ****-******* menagerie
of trivial drudgery
I’m in misery so
go ahead and bludgeon me
Square in the noggin’
So that I can jog it,
whilst juggling all these nails
from my coffin

I’m awfully harmful and cruel
got these scoffing jealous skeptics
Acting a fool,
coughing up a lung-full of fuel
for all of the putrid mind puke I spew
My mixing *** skull’s
where the ingredients accrue
Just stew with me for a little
while longer though won’t you

I’m a cancer-ridden addler
babbling mad adages,
ravishingly tenderizing my meat
Laced with some dust from space, yes, no lackage/absence of it lining
within my nasal passages see
spun off some of that absinthe
In a cloud of burning trees
Please tell me you feel me

It’s staggering how I’m both crazy batshit,
**** smooth as rotten laxative cheese
Brain’s melting acidic beef
I’m like Randy Savage I got
Bombastic fat ******* in heat
Straight making my **** go flaccid post-weep

Don’t get offended women
just imagine
How painfully average the package
is within my lap that I’m packin
But now it’s wrapped
and I’m ready to fucken
fully send it no cap
My turnaround is lightning fast
In and out of your *** quick as a wink like The Flash

Faces contort in ghastly panic, actually
Dastardly antics unleashed in vast swarms
Plague the masses in pandemic proportions with them massive casualties factually once more
Give ya some relaxing action 
And skull-**** y’all
with such a passion *******
Your corpse falls to the floor
and right through the trapdoor

Candid, my pen-chance enchants
Heavy-handedly inanimate
in suspended animation
Supplant reality augmentation
Machinations of my imagination;
Implicating **** ransacking  
and seafaring through crab infestations 
Wreaking havoc and bequeathing vengeance
I’m a fire breathing grim reaper reeking of ****** ~

- Off is the nearest direction in which to ****
Dissect my ******* with your tongue
Turnt up ******* plumpies in the rumpus 
Just for the fun of it until I erupt
Remember, I’m avid for dismembering appendages
I expect you’re exceptional at accepting
a barrage of septic bombardment
Chance of success: logistics analysis zero percentage
(Cos I done ******* on all those *******.)

Superbly superlative and speculative
So fast on Adderall
I make Mad Hatter’s head spin
Quicker than you can snap: 
Giving your family heart attacks
Smack you in the face, 
While fapping my fabulous lap rocket

Thunderously plundering under covers
Spring-loaded with faux pas’ so hot
Make your mother’s ***** pop out
and say “hello”
like a Jack-in-the-Box

& U kno Those foxy grandmas
be jaxing off my **** -
Bingo wings beckoning me to flock
Choppin’ up rocks round the clock
with the glock in my pocket til I rot 
Undoubtedly
Caught em wit the molly-whop eyeballs pop out they sockets all dramatically
Whole squad **** swap the rod, on God
Blow my whole *** when I start spitting them double entendre fatality snowballs
Zippity-zop like Cosby’s special BBQ sauce
Bet I’ll dip my puddin’ pop and stay fresh with the drip til I drop
Y’all just holler when you want me to stop

Palpable, these **** butts malleable as putty
Barbarically barrel rolling into dat ***
rip it to shreds like confetti
Power Pole extend
Face pressed into your *******
Inhaling the wafting aromatic stenches
of distant French fish factories

Clearly getting dome from your dearly betrothed violently
Now she bridal and my seeds spiraling virally
Vital signs finalizing
Bounce that *** like jello
Swell; I’m in your hair like gel
Now swallow my jollies and don’t bother
Unless you hollerin’ and giving me dollars
Zealots idol my harlotry

If nose goes go slow grow low
Throwing those yoloing hoes out windows
This ***** simply bonkers
I conquer fear me

***** DON’T HARSH MY MELLOW
SWEAR I’LL MARSH YOUR MALLOWS

Galaxies, solar satellites, the very Earth and its plates.
Whatever matter spins the reality, each one rotates.
Every unique universe growing its own ebb and flow,
Same as an ocean shall pummel shores then pull undertow.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Backwater cementing a new variant of tributary,
Friends become fish in this river of machinery.
The roiling rubber current proves to combust with currency.
Success succumbs to numbers as the economist counts me.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Gingko trees employed rats until society's reaction
Assimilated this lineage and reset its traction.
A different dispersal mechanism does not merit lament,
The managed are mute within the worker's woeful testament.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Sometimes a quest of faith begets a set from a cartomancer,
What good would it do to bribe the tarot and fake her answer?
For doctrine to deprive a man of god's hero in himself,
To trial and tribute his death to ascend on our caste shelf.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Your cards at hand, as is any fact of fortune, are from you.
All around are landmarks to map your light, vibration, and hue.
A presence is an action amongst quintessential stage props,
Weathered roles rehearse their sonorous loves watching ripples drop.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Turbid fury has no footholds on the great movement in your mind,
Gears that we hear were once a pursuit to prosper as mankind.
To disarm the victim's rights and loosen all nooses may seem odd,
Yet Devil deviates design and is forgiven by God.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Cities yearn to scrape skies built on products at the world's splendor.
Though trinkets become trite as we glorify a greedy vendor.
How could one commend such a clear farce for the multitude?
Selling milk to children's bones while our livestock store false fortitude.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Lifespans expand within this ****** twilight of barbarism.
History obscures so we light turned pages with euphemism.
Often forgotten is that our memory is amorphous,
Generating our boldest fears and cheers to those beyond us.
When its the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Pessimism or optimism; are not rivals of ones structure
Secular submission denies despair's innate rupture
It is built by the hopeful to share love after given grace
To construct a profound unity above pride's titled race
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

We are taught to worry for unruly folk until weary.
Doctors like leaders treat symptoms not seeing sickness clearly.
They stress the distressed to disseminate imminent spines,
Shattering that last vestige of a will searching between lines.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

The commandments should have demanded there always be one more,
As truth evolves in jollies or follies, being rich or poor.
Always a witness to your lemons that could squeeze a profit.
Limits can be more than second hands surpassing the minute.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Thus old cogs and smog of our familiar faculties rest
On the zealous peals of those who know at the hour of our best.
It is not easy to lift volition past sadness so steep.
As each day would raise a mile, we may grow to smile when we sleep
Now is the time, are you a counter or clockwise?

to get back in the water....

Have you noticed how
Freaking WEIRD
the media has become?

I can SMELL THE FISH.

Dah dum. Dah dum...
Dah dum Dah dum Dah dum

Lately I saw the cover of
Bazaar Magazine.

A model in a **** gold lame'
Bathing suit... sexily draped
Inside the maw of Jaws.

What Is the nose of Jaws
Coming vertically out of the
Water reminiscent of?
A PYRAMID perhaps?

The pyramid is a symbol.
Of Freemasons and

THE ILLUMINATI.

I always thought a friend of mine
A bit touched. He told me that
The 1% are all in collusion.
That the Illuminati used SYMBOLS
and scenes on the TV and movies
(Pictures on the wall in the
background, etc) as subliminal
Messages for mind control. And
to indicate subtly what is going on
Behind the scenes. So they can get
Their jollies by "telling us", without
Really doing so, how we are headed
For destruction. And how it will
Take place. So they can
LAUGH AT US!

I don't know. I used to think
The guy a bit eccentric...

*NOW I AM NOT SO SURE...

I once asked a classmate at college
after a Sociological lecture on Deviances
why most women get traumatised and upset
about those perverts heavy-breather deviants
because where I come from, you'd laugh at their sickness
call them stupid and waste their money by not hanging up

And if you're crazy enough to be those perverts exhibitionists
who frighten women and young girls by exposing their privates
rather then scream and run, the woman would actually go to the
fool and yank his ****** trousers down and aim a hefty blow
to the offending sight, God help crazy silliness behaviours
where I was raised..

These perverts get their jollies from terrorising and the shock
reactions from their victims, that's their money shot
same with trolls and bullies, they relish knowing they cause upset
or fear or some emotional responses from their victims
Hell, I come from a place where cowardice is recognised for what it is
The rationale is so simple, you've got beef with me, say it to my face
that's what confident real worthy people do, stand by your words
anything else shows you lack courage and you are immediately called out and exposed as a weakling and a coward.
They will tell you, have the ***** and talk to my face'
A cowardly man is the lowest of the low, as simple as that.

But a worthless idiot who hides and then start hissing and cursing
immediately shows cowardice and becomes a joke and a useless example of a man,
So how can the ******* spewed by a pained faceless nonentities impact me, how can a hidden coward without the nerve to face another man, be considered an equal or respected, much less cause me emotional pain or make me doubt myself.
These fools that are given the run around by clever Asians and Africans. Tell me more jokes please!
I actually enjoy toying with fools and when bored take the ****
out of them and bait them to laugh at their ridiculous comebacks.

Do me a favour, how can a semi-illiterate yobs, who turn ghost white and physically trembles at the
the slightest pressure wants to get into my head and disrupt it

These shameless buffoons, who are being academically humiliated
by indian classmates, whose parents come from dirt poor villages and can barely speak english.
Such proven fools and cowards, then decides they can come and terrorize me, like we say where I was raise
" for where"   that means ',   how is that possible

Even an oxford educated person who can't face me earns my fine
contempt, you call yourself Oxbridge, what's respectable with being a coward who can't talk man to man but sneaks around playing a childish game, utter contempt!
Even with their artificially created chaos and difficulties i still
fare better then them
and these pathetic sickos think they are relevant in some way

But I know, they get off the contacts with me, its like I bless them
with recognition
after all there are perverts who pay women to kick them in the *****

I feed the trolls, as my mentioned above, our woman would yank down the pants of a ***** pervert exhibitionist rather than scream and run away, you don't go crying, saying I am emotionally damaged by a mentally ******* fool and pervert dropping his pants, you know immediately this is an idiot not worth two bits, you treat simpletons as simpletons,
what's to be terrorized about by some scallywag dimwitted
cowards with problems and inferiority complexes.
Pray do tell me.....................

If I Was anything the compound fools are alleging would I be here laughing at them or perhaps I am stupid like them, and can't recognize demonstrable spineless cowards and what they do.
He's broken, we've planted seeds, he's anxious, he's crying, some mentalist even says, the coolest stylish man is goofy.

These are the brain dead bullies who pick on the prettiest girls and start calling the ugly, the classic bullies trade make, flip everything because you are all brain dead, smelly ignorant, dumb nobodies
Trash like this want to alter my personalities, want to do my head in

Ohh.....puuluuzee!!

His mother thought he had the face of an angel, but his teachers and his schoolmates saw the demon in him. Many knew the real Logan, contrary to the darling boy image in his school picture.  His chunky, freckled face was obnoxious, not angelic. Instead of innocence, the look of deviousness came through in those shifty, light blue peepers of his.  His incisors were on the pointy side, like mini fangs, and whenever Logan smiled one thought of a rattlesnake. Sure, he was smart, and he had stellar grades, yet he used his wits to be sneaky, often trying to outwit everybody, appearing to be a prize student in the classroom while being the Class A **** on the playground.  

A big, stout boy, he used this physical advantage to torment his less advantaged peers. When no adults were in sight, he was always trying to corner others at school, pushing his weight around to abuse those smaller than he was, applauding his own one-boy-show of intimidation with raucous laughter and claps.

Indeed, the targets of Logan’s aggression were always the weaker ones, not the ones who would ever think twice about beating the crap out of him. He went to great lengths to terrorize others—tripping them up, pushing them around, getting up in someone’s face to tell that kid how ugly or how stupid that he was—anything that caused trouble. The victims were sometimes brought to tears, and Logan was quick to call them sissies and babies. A kid named Conner, a fellow six grader, was one of Logan's favorites to pick on. Sometimes, Logan attracted a small audience of bystanders, some of them egging him on while the rest were just watching.  So Logan had his partners-in-crime through either entertainment value or passivity—a great ego booster for such a bully as him.

Few kids tried to fight back, for they were quickly overpowered, and they all knew they were no match for the likes of such a creep.  For fear of retaliation—not wanting to be branded as a snitch—most of Logan’s victims were too scared to tell anyone, the teacher or their parents. Once in a while, a protector, a fellow student, would tell the teacher on their behalf.

Logan hated snitches because it would land him in the classroom during plenty of recess times, or in the principal's office. It also brought him a day of suspension, here and there, with his mother threatening to sue the school. A small number of parents were banding together, wanting Logan out of that school, and Conner's mom was one of them.  Conner might as well have worn a target on his back saying, "Come and get me!"    

Conner knew where he stood—as a member of the group of unpopular kids. He was one of the smallest of his classmates, and with his bright red hair and crooked teeth he was a splendid target for Logan’s juvenile jollies. He avoided Logan any chance he got, staying close to the classroom during recess or walking a much longer route home from school, often delaying going home but feeling all the more alone and vulnerable. His few friends all told him the things they wanted him do to Logan, things they wouldn't dare do, themselves.

Kick him in the nuts!

Jump him from behind and gouge his eyes out!

Tie him up and shove Ex-lax down his mouth!

Wear boots with spikes so you can wrestle him to the ground and stomp all over him!

Conner, you should take up Karate and Kung Foo the **** out of him!!!

Well, Conner would have loved to have given Logan a taste of his own medicine, but never believed it could happen. One day, though, he had enough. For sure, he never even planned to do it, but it happened, nonetheless. When Logan fell back flat back on the school sidewalk, Conner couldn't even believe the big boy landed there. And it happened because of him! Logan couldn't believe it, either, sitting on his rear end with the most dazed expression on his face. Conner clocked him right in the jaw!  Conner was David, and Logan was Goliath, and it was awesome!

Conner just had a perfect shot, with perfect timing and aim. Logan was long overdue to get the result of someone’s wrath, and it was about time someone stuck it to him. Yet Conner never meant this to be a statement for all of Logan's victims. He just was tired of being afraid, of being humiliated.  For the thousandth time, Logan was waiting for him outside of class, blocking his path, and there was just no avoiding things.

Conner truly wanted to fight his own battles—dreamed of it, imagined it—but never in a million years did he think he’d ever really do it!  His mom couldn't be there to defend his every step. Nobody could.  

And there was Logan, so embarrassed as a few other kids gasped and pointed. Some were now applauding and cheering at what Conner just did, even the hypocrites who once cheered on Logan’s bullying. Now the bully was reduced to tears, for a change, as the small crowd jeered and yelled out such things as "Karma!", "Crybaby!", "Way to go, Conner!" and "Kick Logan’s ***!"

Conner actually started to feel sorry for the kid as he stumbled up off the ground and ran off. Other kids came along the scene, and soon Conner was bombarded with congratulatory measures, questions, and wonderment at his great accomplishment. Chalk one up for him! He was the unlikely defender, the kid who had the guts to give it back to the one who made his life miserable. This event would become the talk of his peers for quite some time, something of school legend.

So Logan never bothered Conner anymore. He still was an obnoxious kid, but others took Conner's lead and stood their ground more. Logan slowly learned to back down, still reeling from that one, single and swift defeat. Though he only grew an inch or two that year, Conner felt seven feet tall, and was treated with respect, free to come and go where he pleased. He still had his same nerdy friends—nothing changed in that department—but life was good.

Beauty Is As Beauty Does--chapter one

A Chapter by Eclipsing Moon-blood red

Galaxy Stanza



A Poem by Raven Starhawk



Nimbus arms embrace celestial terrain

as it cascades infinity

wielding zephyr's wand

and sipping inferno's nectar



In zenith's hour

epochal monoliths mystify

Goliath arrogance

as it persecutes a nebula
while astral satiety arrests the beast

and galaxy stanzas resume





Beauty is as Beauty Does-

A Story by Eclipsing Moon-blood red



In the dark recesses
of the void, we call our universe a cloud was forming, one devoid of morals or
intent.



The molecules came
together under the thought processes of a malignantly minded old sorcerer,
blended with his hope of a lasting endowment of centuries of learning and spell
castings.



He was searching for a
one to carry on his knowledge and spells of potion and this cloud could carry
out the espying in secret as he wished...under cover of dark and
thought...unless a spirit was descerned by another caster of woven potions.



Today in time was
measured more by centuries and decades as the process took... its
form...questing for the entity as this universe and others had been targeted
for his type of Magic...sorcerers specialized in their trade and like all good
practitioners he had his fireworks shows with energy beams and potion majic mixed
to control and manipulate the certain being he was working with...for power was
the name of his gambit...the access and addition of as well as controlling in
the sphere of a society...let’s just say he got his jollies from using other’s
well- earned energy…What they worked for...he stole and reveled in the process.

It just so happened
that today...his cloud was in the vicinity of a planet known to the Magical
world as Earth...Terra...this being inhabited by beings in many dimensions and
frequencies...it seemed to home in on a child...being birthed as a logical
consideration ..So that; further study was merited

Marking this beings
location in the foothills of a hidden mountain range ...in the Tibetan range and
former birthplace of a religious teacher known as Lord
Buddha...Siddhartha...and a nice long history in the telling of the Monks who
followed him...this time a twist a counter turn of the incarnation was a Female
child …Looking to be imbued with the same set of majical powers...and the
beginning of another time and space of reign as the first...excellent time to
lay claim to the mind and teachings of this ...ONE..Of Beauty.











Her fingers curled into her palms. Beneath her fingertips she felt an electric shock, almost gasped but then the pulse was through her. The diary was etched in her memory; its feel, shape and smell. It was almost as if it was a breathing thing rather than an inanimate object. The cool plastic feel of a pen settled over each relaxing digit and it was as if she was writing the next entry.



Darkness lingered around her eyes as she shifted her weight to one foot. Glancing at the end of the avenue she gave a weak smile to anyone who passed by and dared to look at the two officers and teenagers. Then as the lamp next to them flickered, its bulb ready to give way to shadows, the first officer stood perfectly tall once more and stared with unmoving features.



Owen stammered, looked from Candace to the first officer and then the second. He pushed his glasses up with a shaky forefinger and shuffled closer to the lamp post where it beamed a dully. She tugged at his sleeve and nodded toward the police car. Its spinning lights ceased as the first officer hopped in the driver's seat.



"Come on, Owen," Candace said and was pulling him along toward the back where the second officer was standing with his hand on the handle.



"Are we being arrested," he asked, Candace pushing him into the small caged seat. Staring through a steel mesh, he asked, "What is going on?"



Moments later they were riding into the night. Soft music was playing over the radio but only at a whisper as the two officers engaged in conversation. They hardly spoke like authority figures and Candace sensed Owen must be in a world of questions but as they sat with silence between them she simply smiled.













next chapter


© 2011 Eclipsing Moon-blood red

Hello Facebook my old friend.
I'm reading posts on you again.
Up at 2:30 in the morning
Checking likes and shares and replying.
Read alerts beneath the ringing bell.
What the hell, am I doing on Facebook?

As through the posts I quickly scroll.
Seeing kittens, dogs and trolls.
Trying not to click on the ad spam.
Found a recipe for a baked ham.
And a private message from a long lost friend.
But I know not when.
I added this person, on Facebook.

10,000 clicks and maybe more.
My index finger's mighty sore.
All the smileys, likes and emojis.
Likes on my posts giving me jollies.
Requests from people that I do not even know.
My friends list grows.
To thousands of people, on Facebook.

"Will this nightmare ever end?"
I ask as I add a friend.
But all the games and all the puzzles.
Popping balloons and bursting bubbles.
I have got to try to get a better score.
It's such a chore.
Playing the games, on Facebook.

Suddenly one day I learned.
Zuckerberg on me had turned.
Selling all my saved information.
To companies in all lands and nations.
Making a profit off me like I was his ***.
I did not know.
Violated, by Facebook

But I did not stay mad long.
Even though it was so wrong.
I have to see how many likes I had.
I want to know this stuff awfully bad.
And now the data selling's out of mind.
And thus I find.
Myself again, on Facebook.

One I trust
Apart from the rest
Held in esteem
Never uncomfortable

There is a type
I should have recognized
Acting like the elite
Oddly separated

Starts with help
Coming to you
As you expect
You knew I would

Quiet, that's me
Shy
Dependent on praise
Lifts up my day

Take it slow
Tickles your brain
Knowing to fast
Will show your hand

Praises daily
Addicting to me
Depending more
Using less of me

Influence is drastic
Friends try to intervene
Blow them off
Keep listening

Day after day
Time after time
I fall
You catch

Pace quicknes
Growing need
The opening arrives
Move in, breath held

Hair rises on nape of neck
Ignore it you croon
Immersed in your world now
Friends alienated

Classes missed
None notice
Weeks gone
Mail piles up

Semester ends
No sign I exist
Missing person
Name on a poster

Tears fall down cheeks
Eyes dull
Just what thrills you
Conquests, dolls

Poster fades
Rips and disappears
Trapped even now
So gullible

Tiring of the look
I cringe
Wondering at the days
Darkness blissful

Fresh posters hung
Face full of life
Whispers abundant
Body found, remember her

If only they had reported
Even now they are the key
He is a predator
The worst kind

My killer was my mentor
Friend to the School
The rich task master
Jollies in blood

A new poster
Hangs beside mine
Another is missing
Soon another body they will find

Teach your young early
Keep them vigilant
Make them depend on themselves
This kills his type


Written by Niyah Love
All rights reserved

Let's be Frank,
Bruce, or Wally,
You're in the loo,
A modern lad,
You want your jollies,
In one hand you scroll you're iPad,
In the other you're texting,
"? what I - M doing?!"

Beauty Is As Beauty Does
A Story by Eclipsing Moon-blood red


If enough people are interested I will continue with this series as a Book with chapters this one being renamed ...Beauty Is As Beauty Does-Prologue .





Beauty Is As Beauty Does



A Story by Eclipsing Moon-blood red







If enough people are interested I will continue with this series as a Book with chapters, this one being renamed ...Beauty Is as Beauty Does-Prologue.







In the dark recesses of the void, we call our universe a cloud was forming, one devoid of morals or intent.



The molecules came together under the thought processes of a malignantly minded old sorcerer, blended with his hope of a lasting endowment of centuries of learning and spell castings.



He was searching for a one to carry on his knowledge and spells of potion and this cloud could carry out the espying in secret as he wished...under cover of dark and thought...unless a spirit was descerned by another caster of woven potions.



Today in time was measured more by centuries and decades as the process took... its form...questing for the entity as this universe and others had been targeted for his type of Magic...sorcerers specialized in their trade and like all good practioners he had his fireworks shows with energy beams and potion majic mixed to control and manipulate the certain being he was working with...for power was the name of his gambit...the access and addition of as well as controlling in the sphere of a society...let’s just say he got his jollies from using others well earned energy..What they worked for...he stole and reveled in the process.



It just so happened that today...his cloud was in the vicinity of a planet known to the Magical world as Earth...Terra...this being inhabitied by beings in many dimensions and frequensies...it seemed to home in on a child...being birthed as a logical consideration ..So that; further study was merited



.Marking this beings location in the foothills of a hidden mountain range ...in the Tibetan range and former birthplace of a religious teacher known as Lord Buddha...Siddhartha...and a nice long history in the telling of the Monks who followed him...this time a twist a counter turn of the incarnation was a Female child ..Looking to be imbued with the same set of majical powers...and the beginning of another time and space of reign as the first...excellent time to lay claim to the mind and teachings of this ...ONE..Of Beauty.

The intelligent observer says;
'Isn't it curious how their shrill centers round this
phantom love affair'
You mean the 'Pick on a **** psychos, them paid
hire a hooligan mob uk racists criminals
Yes, I dare say, they write chapter and verse about
some one you never even kissed, some one who is
just another pawn, a poor victim of circumstance.
caught in a web unknown to her.
Yeah, I do feel sorry for the poor thing
The sad thing though with these backwards racists
and their devotees....hahaha...more their victims perhaps
is how hate governs minds and the psychology behind it
all.
It all stems from ***** Envy and fear, yes, its really as
basic and simply as that. They hate you and do all these
imbecilic nonsense because they really feel threatened by you.
This love angle skit they play is Freudian. Your big manhood
emasculate them, your standing challenges them and you
reflect that, which they can never be.
Do you know their greatest fear has become seeing you use
that 'fearsome weapon' they know how effective it is and
how they don't compare. That's why they get their jollies
from manufacturing a situation and then opposing it.
Creating delusions to absolve their complexes.
Typical Narcissistic ****** behavior.
Why are you laughing, do you know how many unfortunate
black men have died because of this, ***** envy kills
Hahaha...I should get a tee-shirt with that slogan on
You're not taking this very serious, are you?
No, I don't take things beneath CONTEMPT seriously....
Let's feel sorry for them, why should I give head space to *******....

Have asked i many an ambling *******
If haply they could joyfully an impotent
Fella marry, a horse whose divine dower
Cannot shower their libido high and potent.
No mare hath yet to this consented;
All desires to have jollies unprevented.

The very day he passed on, he had had five
Of his clients discharged, and each did arrive
On cloud nine safely. It's the sixth sweet sheila
That he was rocketing, with the help of ******,
When suddenly his heart failed him and
Stopped breathing at the time when his right hand
Was cupping up her beauteous bust and the other
Fondling her *** svelt, whilst his big brother
Had docked with hers on a titilating, ****** flight.
So perished he in the grips of her thighs tight.
I will laden thee nay with the autopsy report
Of how he did die while swinging back and forth
In his bed, trying to make gamut of his jollies,
Since it cannot remedy at all his follies.
And though he did gain through his lucrative-sin
Affairs fortune, which doth spice up life, the thing
That many do after pursue with fame; yet it's be-
Come, by his departure at 32 to yonderland, vanity.

*******
knocking down
some one else
just for jollies
possibly to work out
internal frustrations
i'd say karma
or the people
will get you back
for this behavior
but it never stopped you before
why should it now.

I am swiss cheese I am somebody who is trying to relocate their shoulders, thrown about in a misty sin of congratulations
I am a sipless vulture attempting to be pure but coming out vinegar
juniper berries and sickly **** of packaged rawhide
inescapable landslide
unexcused, for what its worth
an imaginging roller coaster disaster, so far from my fathers, mad from too much beer and wine
hankered down by mood stabilizing pills
jipless, jockeyed, jiving to bizzare melodies
a sipter esphicator, ready to lunge into the excesses of butter beer
singing jollies with dumbeldore and other queers
misplelled, misplaced, outcast, on the bench with other pupils
and the carnivore sinks its teeth into its kills
shanking and shaking, singing in the bathtub with katy perry
muse the blues with cherub rock, loathing dylan, asking for more cohen
juxtaposed on top of everest and demanding a double feature
dickless angels
turnabout, shout, the end is near, abstract, understand the notion, the fear
and scream helpless hopless empty bottles of beer
nectar and graham the hector, a mellon bunnie with rabbid ears
run for your life!  the fires of eternal flowers and bounds of life
seem sophisticated at the time
Turnabout, the beats are out
and the real madness, the real madness, is here

So sick and tired

Of all these dudes thinking I'm just meant to be used...and persuaded
I'm a lady and I have a soul
Stop this nonsense I'm no fool
Senseless freaks
Thinking I am that easy-to-use and abuse. . **** that ****
I'm a beautiful woman with a choice to choose
Stop at *******... I'm not there to get your jollies off
I'm not your robot queen
You so often want me to be..
I'm better then those stereotypes
Better then that
I'm freshly changed
A new and improved
Personality so cool
A respect for myself
That you can't understand
I'm not that needle ******
I use to show off as
I'm the caterpillar  now morphed into
A butterfly
My bright and colorful patterns
For all the world to see..
This is the chance for myself to create  a brand-new me..
So ******* all of you weirdos and creeps I'm not so ***** on the street

My portrait will not be painted.
It will be  d r a w n  on textured
Paper with pointed charcoal
Such as the royal gallery’s
Commissioned best are done.

I will pose in the corner of a
Small room surrounded by splotches
Of torn cardboard and still moist
Papier-mâché under my footstool,
The burlap pants causing me to sweat.

It’s hard to tell if aesthetics
Are as important as the glory
Of the gray poster board surface
On which my upper body will be
Displayed in intimate splendor.

When first I agreed to this stance,
He said it was an abstract piece,
The geometric patterns of my body
Reduced and distilled to shadows,
Light and feathery and seemly.

As I was unpretentious, if not a
Tad modest, I was not prepared for
Fame via framed exhibitions of me
In the buff, even though my upper
Reaches were of decent eye-appeal.

I wondered if my blushing cheeks
Would transfer well in black and
Grey, or rather would my figure
Take on a halo of light, in jagged
Doses down to the treasure trail?

Who knows what he meant by one
And another reference to art for art’s
Sake, as if I were really a mannequin
Without a soul, subject to the jeers
And jollies of a maddening crowd.

I wondered what the docents would
Say when pointing at me with pride,
Perhaps “there is truth in this drawing;
Notice the hint of red in his face, a
Sign of the artist’s transcendence.”

Somehow I didn’t think this gig
Would make me famous, but as I stood
There, at attention, I hoped for the
Esteem of the crowds, especially the
Novice art students-in-training.


© Lewis Bosworth, 12/2016

I might be sincerely sick of this DeliciousLife when hovers like clouds golden    Fingers pray-like lovers barely breath-kissing. Allow hungry hands eye-thirsty

To touch
please: Your countrysided Curves
Dew meadow puddle eyes
Bountiful ***** bouquet

On this moistly most wondrous DAZE

Two dove(er)s
Two lovers
Embraced in do-or-die

And time eats itself into
A fat belly of jollies.

:: 06-03-18 ::
EPRobles © 2018

I mean no disrespect, understand;
Larry Tate is a hell of a guy,
But if you can’t wrangle up a showgirl or ****** on short notice,
You have no business calling yourself an ad man.
Likewise, the Stephens kid gets results
(God only knows how he carries off
Some of the last-minute miracles he pulls out of his ***)
But you gotta keep him away from the money clients;
Too skittish, too much of a loose cannon.  
No, every agency needs a core principle,
A philosophy to anchor itself on;
You remember the first big campaign we did?
You call that a suit?  Mine’s an Irving Freibush.
That was my baby, and let me tell you,
I didn’t need a focus group
Or some fifty-thousand dollar demographic study
To figure out if the ******* desk
The model was leaning against should be oak or cherry.  
I knew it would work,
Because I knew what every ad man
(And preacher and politician, for that matter)
Worth a **** knows as well as he knows his own name;
That everyone, deep inside, feels they are not quite right,
That they’re a little slow, a little shabby,
A little less than their fellow man.
We just (quietly, mind you) reinforce that notion a bit,
And present them a shinier, newer band-aid.
Anyway, the ads worked like gangbusters,
And it always gave me the jollies that both Hef and Billy Graham
Each had a closet full of those suits.  
Look, what we do isn’t rocket science or parlor tricks,
But a bunch of ******* figures
At the bottom line of the ledger book?
Now that, boys and girls, is ******* magic.

My brother called me and asked what I was doing
when I said I was blocking bots there was complete silence

I'm inclined to side with the dearly departed George Carlin
He told us we don't have freedoms we only have privileges

Privileges that they can take away at anytime they please
There is so much going on in the world that is heavy handed

How do we move past this, the people that have the majority of the weapons. Highly sophisticated death dealing hellfire weapons

To keep people in line while they siphon off those dollar bills
If you want what they have go ahead and try and join them.

Their power becomes so perverted  they care more about controlling people than they care about what they can buy.

*** in all its forms is how they get their jollies. *** with children
Is prized, defecation and urinating on each other turn their crank.

This all plays out in the public eye and they get away with it.  
All that money can buy weapons yet we outnumber them.

If I were in the shoes they wear I would not feel safe. They control through manipulation. They will not give up their power easily.