I'd rather keep running this imaginary marathon going
Because the pulse just keeps getting stronger
And i don't get this feeling often
So i'd rather keep up with you until the moments notice
Forget about the tropes that keep us on the rope
I gave the Television all the soap it wanted
Now it's running it's operas
And i'm running the marathon
For something
For something i'm unsure of
For someone?
Whatever it is, it's better than Keeping Up With The Kardashians.
TV rots your brain
I favor going against the grain
No offense guys
But keeping up in Marathons is much healthier
The water companies will thank you
Why should they not?
Thanks for not letting me rot
Whatever it is
Whoever you are
I'd keep up with you.

You choose a sepia filter
To match your timeless visage
To match the clothes you've wandered into today
But it is not a selfie.

Your eyes pierce them through their iPhone screens
Your smile is casually not directed towards anyone in particular
Your outfit is recklessly on point
And it is not a selfie.

It is a punch in the gut
to everyone who has ever
said you are not good enough.
It is not a selfie.

The wings by your eyes will go out of style.
The dye in your hair will wash down the drain.
The clothes will wear out and you will take pictures again.

But you have fabricated a moment.
You are smiling towards yourself.
Slap your image onto every social media you know
Next to the supermodels and Kardashians and words of self hatred
This is the fulcrum with which you will lever the world.
This is not a selfie.

Kourtney Kardashian usually displays some quirky style when shooting her reality show Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

And on Monday the 36-year-old single mom was at it again as she wore a baggy army green jumpsuit when landing with her three kids Mason, aged five, Penelope, aged three, and Reign, eight months, in St Barts to shoot her E! show.

Looks like mom Kris Jenner, 59, did not get the fashion memo as she was seen descending the steps of a private jet alongside Khloe, 30, Kim, 34, and Kendall, 19, in the exact same getup.

The jumpsuit seemed to hang off Kourtney, who paired the staple with clunky platform black and beige jazz shoes, gold necklaces and gold-rimmed aviators. The ex of Scott Disick played down the glam with a ponytail and minimal makeup.

Kris wore her suit in a more fitted manner that showed off her slim waistline.

The ex of Bruce Jenner (now Caitlyn of I Am Cait fame) added beige combat boots and a small beige Hermes bag to her look.

Her hair was worn styled in a spiky fashion and she didn't forget to glam it up with vintage sunglasses and lipstick.

Khloe was playing good auntie as she carried Penelope, who was cute in a white dress.

The girlfriend of NBA star James Harden had on a black sleeveless mini dress and black high top sneakers. The E! babe carried a large neon yellow Hermes purse and wore her blonde locks up in a messy top knot.

Kim, who carried daughter North, was the most dressed up by far.

The pregnant wife of rapper Kanye West had on a tight beige dress that showed off her baby bumpy (she is expecting a son in December), beige rain coat and strappy beige heels. Her hair was worn down and parted in the middle.

North had on a summer dress and beige sandals, and her hair was worn in a top knot.

Kendall had on a plunging blue outfit with black and white Adidas sneakers.

The Calvin Kelin model had a black purse on her shoulder and gold-rimmed aviators on, copying her older half-sisters Kourtney and Khloe.

Her younger sister Kylie, who turned 18-years-old over the weekend, was not seen.

The crew for Keeping Up With The Kardashians could be seen holding cameras and a boom as the stars walked off a red, white and blue private jet.

The family has been shooting the next season of the E! show, which will air after I Am Cait ends.

The Kardashians often film their reality show when on vacation as they did in Armenia earlier this year and in Greece in 2014.

This show of unity comes the day after Kim and Khloe were seen arguing with Cait on I Am Cait.

Jenner's comments about her family in her Vanity Fair cover interview have become a running bone of contention among the Kardashian clan.

Kris confronted her ex-husband over what she has said about her in a powder keg moment that was teased after Sunday night's episode.

Kris tells her in a video posted on E: 'You're sensitive and amazing to all these new people in your life, you're just not so sensitive and amazing to the family that you left behind.'

Caitlyn gives her side, responding: 'I try to do everything I can to be nice, reach out. You have to see it from my perspective, be an ally when it comes to dealing with the kids.'

Then the former Olympian says, 'Don't go there, this is not the issue. I was defending myself. It was a distraction from the sense of who I was, that doesn't mean I didn't love you or the kids.'

Throughout Sunday night's episode Caitlyn is shown getting into arguments with her stepchildren, first with Kim and then with Khloe.

When Kim comes to visit Caitlyn first complains about how her family had all kept their distance.

She said: 'Nobody's come out [to visit], Kourtney hasn't made a move at all, obviously Khloe hasn't come close - I feel so isolated out here. All of a sudden there's this wall that's up there.

'I just want everybody to be happy. I love, love, love all my kids. I wish you guys were here every **** day.'

But it is not long before Caitlyn is also being criticized, firstly due to her nature and then due to what she has said about her family to Vanity Fair.

Kim said: 'You still have a little Bruce in you. I thought Caitlyn would be a little kinder. I think that there's some things that you said that you might not realize are hurtful.

'You said that Kendall and Kylie were a distraction. When they read that - I don't know that they'll quite understand that.'

The conversation then turned to Kim's manager mother, with explosive results.

Kim said: '[The interview] said, "had Kris been accepting to who I am, we still would be together" - and that is the most unfair thing in the world to say.

'You're a woman now and she is not a lesbian - she does not want to be with a woman, that's not fair to ask.'

Caitlyn defensively insisted: 'As time went on our relationship changed drastically. In my eyes it's like, "Well, I don't need him any more - I've got all the girls." I felt it in the way she treated me. She wanted me out of the house.'

Kim, insisting Caitlyn should have been thrilled and saying 'good riddance' to a relationship that 'wasn't mean to be', told her: 'If I was with someone for 25 years I would look for the positive things and try to end it on a good note.

'You said "Kris mistreated me" - it sounded like she beat the s**t out of you. You could have a little more respect.'

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/princess-formal-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/blue-formal-dresses

Poem a day, day 24*

Watching the Kardashians on TV at work
He says 'Oh I hate them'
'Isn't she engaged to so-and-so?'
Really? If you 'hate' them why do you follow what they do?

I'm not particularly fussed on the Kardashians
For that reason I don't know
What's going on in their life.
Really not interested.

Because I don't know about them
I don't know them well enough
To decide to hate them.
I guess some people enjoy negativity.

Continuing comments on the people involved
Why are their lives so important to you?
Perhaps if you hate them, avoid them?
Sure it's none of my business

But I can't avoid your opinion
I would be happy to do so.
Please keep it none of my business.
Just like the Kardashians

Shortly after 3pm on September 29, 31-year-old Olivier Rousteing strode through the shimmering, fleshy backstage area at Balmain's Spring 2017 Paris Fashion Week show. Along the marble hallway of a hôtel particulier in the 8th arrondissement, long-limbed clusters of supermodels were gamely tolerating final applications of leg-moisturiser, make-up touch-ups and minutely precise hair interventions from squads of specialists as fast and accurate as any Formula 1 pit-stop team. The crowd parted as Rousteing swept through.

Wearing a belted, black silk tuxedo and a focused expression that accentuated his razor-sharp cheekbones, Rousteing resembled a sensuous hit man. Target identified, he led us to the board upon which photographs of every outfit were tacked.

We asked him to tell us about the collection (for that's what fashion editors always ask). "There is no theme," said Rou­steing in his fast, French-accented lilt. "No inspiration from travel or time. The inspiration is what I feel, and what I feel now is peace, light and serenity. I feel like in my six years here before this, I have tried to fight so many battles. Because there is no point anymore in fighting about boundaries and limits in fashion. Balmain has its place in fashion."

And the clothes? "There is a lot of fluidity. A lot of knitwear, lightness, ponchos. No body-con dresses. But whatever I do, even if I cover up my girls, it is like people can say I am ******. So this is what it is. I think there is nothing ******. I think it is really chic. I think it is really French. It is how I see Paris. And I have had too many haters during the last three years to defend myself again. So, this is Balmain." And then the show began.

Star endorsements

Under Rousteing, Balmain has become the most controversial fashion house in Paris. Rousteing has attracted (but not bought, as other, far bigger houses do) patronage from contemporary culture's most significant influencers. Rihanna, all the Kardashians, Kanye West, Taylor Swift, Miley Cyrus, Beyoncé, Justin Bieber – a royal flush of modern celebrity aristocracy – all champion him.

Immediately after this show, in that backstage hubbub, Kim Kardashian told me: "I thought it was very powerful…I loved the sequins, and I loved all the big chain mail belts – that was probably my favourite."

Yet for every famous fan there is a member of the fashion establishment who will sniff over coffee in Le Castiglione that Rousteing's crowd is declassé and his aesthetic best described by that V-word. The New York Times' fashion critic Vanessa Friedman reckoned this collection appropriate for "dressing for the captain's dinners on a cruise ship to Fantasy Island". At least she did not use the V-word. When I once deployed it – as a compliment – in a 2015 Vogue menswear review that declared "Rousteing is confidently negotiating a fine line between extravagance and vulgarity", I was told that Rous­teing was aggrieved.

The fashion world's ambivalence towards Rousteing is a measure of its conflicted feelings towards much in contemporary culture. Last year Robin Givhan of the Washington Post wrote of Balmain: "The French fashion house is always ostentatious and sometimes ******. It feeds a voracious appetite for attention. It is anti-intellectual. Antagonistic. Emotional. It is shocking. It is perfect for this era of social media, which means it is powerfully, undeniably relevant."

Since joining Instagram four years ago Rousteing has posted 4000 images and won 4 million followers. The combined reach of his audience members and models at this Balmain show was greater than the population of Britain and France combined. Balmain was the first French fashion house to gain more than 1 million followers, and currently has 5.5 million of them.

Loving his haters

As digital technology disrupts fashion, Balmain's seemingly effortless mastery of the medium galls some. Last year, the designer posted an image of a comment from a ****** follower to his feed. It read: "Olivier Rousteing spends more times taking selfies for Instagram than designing clothes for Balmain." Underneath, in block capitals, he commented "i love my haters".

Rousteing can be funny and flip – doing a video interview after the show, I opened by asking, tritely, how he felt. He replied: "Now I feel like some Chicken McNuggets with barbecue sauce, and then some M&M;'s ice cream."

When at work, however, that flipness flips to entirely unflip. The previous evening, at a final fitting for the collection, Rousteing had paced his studio, his face a scowl of concentration, applying final edits to the outfits to be worn by models Doutzen Kroes and Alessandra Ambrosio. The 30-strong team of couturiers working in the adjoining atelier delivered a steady stream of altered dresses.

"We are ready," he said from behind a glass desk in a rare moment of downtime. "This a big show – 80 looks – and I want a collection that is full of both the commercial and couture. But it's smooth too. All of the girls are excited about the after-party and interested in the music. And eating pizza." In the corridor outside Gigi Hadid – this season's apex supermodel – was indeed eating pizza, with gusto.

The fitting went on until far beyond midnight; Rousteing, fiercely focused, demonstrated the work ethic for which he is famous. When he was studio manager for Christophe Decarnin, his predecessor at Balmain, the young then-unknown was always the first in and last out of the studio. Emmanuel Diemoz, who joined Balmain as finance controller in 2001 and became chief executive in 2011, says that his hard graft was one of the reasons he was chosen to succeed Decarnin.

"For sure it was quite a gamble," says Diemoz. "But we could see the talent of Olivier. Plus he understood the work of Christophe – who had helped the brand recover – so he represented continuity. He was a hard worker, clearly a leader, with a lot of creativity. Plus the size of the turnover at that time was not so huge. So we were able to take the risk."

Clear leader

Which is why, aged 24, Rousteing became the creative director of one of Paris's best known – but indubitably faded – fashion houses. In 2004 it had been close to bankruptcy. In 2012, Rousteing's first full year in charge, Balmain's sales were €30.4 million and its profit €3.1 million. In 2015, sales were €121.5 million and its profit €33 million. Vulgarity is subjective; numbers are not.

Rousteing, who is of mixed race, was adopted at five months by white parents and enjoyed an affluent and loving upbringing in Bordeaux. "My mum is an optician and my dad was running the port. They are both really scientific – not artistic. So I had that kind of life. Bordeaux is really bourgeois and really conservative, I have to say."

After an ill-starred three-month stint at law school – "I was doing international law. And I was like, 'oh my God, that is so boring'" – he did a fashion course that he managed to tolerate for five months.

"I found that really boring as well. I just don't like actually people who are trying to **** your dream. And I felt that is what my teachers were trying to do."

Obsessed with Gucci

Following a three-month internship in Rome – "also boring" – Rousteing became fascinated with Tom Ford's work at Gucci. "I was obsessed, obsessed, obsessed. Sometimes the press did not get it but I thought 'this is like genius, the new **** chic'. Obsessed, full stop."

He wanted to work there – "that was my dream" – but applied to every fashion house he could, and found an opportunity to intern at Roberto Cavalli. "They took me in from the beginning. I met Peter Dundas [then womenswear designer at the brand] and he said you are going to be my right hand – and start in four days."

Rousteing counts his five years in Italy as formative both creatively and commercially, but when the opportunity came to return to France in 2009 he leapt at it. "Christophe said he liked my work and that he needed someone to manage the studio. So two weeks later I was here. I loved Balmain at the time, when Christophe was in charge. It was all about rock 'n' roll chic, ****, Parisian. And he was appealing to a younger generation. You can see when brands become old but Balmain was touching this new audience. I always say Christophe's Balmain was Kate Moss but mine is Rihanna."

When Decarnin left and Rousteing replaced him, the response was a resounding "who?". His youth prompted some to anticipate failure.

"It was not easy at all. Every season I had the same questions." Furthermore, Rousteing (who has said he thinks of himself as neither black nor white) was the only non-white chief designer at a Parisian couture house. In a nation in which very few people of colour hold senior positions, his race may have contributed both to the establishment's suspicion of him and to his powerful sense of being an outsider.

'Beautiful spirit'

As he began to build a personal vernacular of close-fitted, heavily jewelled, gleefully grandiose menswear – fantastical uniform for a Rousteing-imagined gilded age – for both women and men, that V-word loomed.

"They asked, 'But is it luxury? Is it chic? Is it modern?' All those kinds of words. But you know there is no one definition [of fashion] even if people in Paris think there is. And, I'm sorry, but I think the crowd in fashion are those who understand the least what is avant-garde today."

In 2013 Rihanna visited the studio, met Rousteing, and reported all with multiple Instagram posts. "You are the most beautiful spirit, so down to earth and kind! @olivier_rousteing I think I'm in love!!! #Balmain." :')"

Rousteing met Kim Kardashian at a party in New York – they were drawn together, he recalls, because they were both shy – and was promptly invited to lunch with her family in Los Angeles.

An outsider in the firmament of old-guard Paris fashion, Rousteing was earning insider status within a new, and much more influential, supranational elite. He points out that Valentino, Saint Laurent and Pierre Balmain himself "were close to the jet set of their time. What I have on my front row is the people who inspire my generation".

From them, he learned a new way of doing business. "I think it was Rihanna and the music industry that first understood how Instagram can be part of the business world as well as the personal. But in fashion? When we started it was 'why do you post selfies? Why do we need to know your life, see you waking up, see you working? Why don't you keep it private'. And I was like 'you will see'."

Rousteing cheerfully declares his love for Facetune – "I don't have Botox but I do have digital Botox!" – an app that helps him airbrush his selfies and tweak those ski-***** cheekbones.

Reaching new population

From his office around the corner from Rousteing's, Diemoz adds: "When Olivier first proposed Balmain use social media, our investment in traditional media was costing a lot. Here was an alternative costing less but bringing huge visibility. It has been successful, quite rapidly…we decided to be less Parisian in a way but to speak to a new population. A brand has to be built around its heritage but we are proposing a new form of communication dedicated to a wider group of customers."

The impact of that strategy became apparent in 2015, when Rousteing and Balmain were invited to design a collection for the Swedish fast-fashion retailer H&M.; Within minutes of going on sale – and this is not hyperbole – the collection, available at vastly cheaper prices than Balmain-proper, had completely sold out. In London, customers fought on the pavement outside H&M;'s Regent Street branch. "Balmainia!" blared the headlines.

You have to move fast to get backstage after a Balmain show. I was out of my seat and trotting with purpose even before the string-heavy orchestra at the end of the catwalk had quite stopped playing Adele.

Rousteing had taken his bow merely seconds before. Still, too slow: I ended up in a clot of Rousteing well-wishers stuck in a corridor blocked by security guards. A Middle Eastern woman against whom I was indelicately jammed looked at me, laughed, shook her head, then said: "We pay millions for a fashion house – and then this happens!"

In June, Balmain was bought for a reported €485 million by Mayhoola, a Qatar-based wealth fund said to be controlled by the nation's ruling family. As so often with Rousteing-related revelations, some declared themselves nonplussed. "Why Would Mayhoola Pay Such a High Price for Balmain?", one headline asked. Yet Mayhoola, which acquired Valentino four years previously for $US858 million, might have scored a bargain.

Clothes key to revenue

Despite its huge, Instagram-enhanc­ed footprint, Balmain is a small, lean and relatively undeveloped business. Most luxury fashion houses today – Chanel, Burberry, Dior, et al – will emphasise their catwalk collections for marketing purposes but make most of their money from the sale of accessories, fragrances and small leather goods like handbags and shoes. One of the big fashion companies makes a mere 5 per cent from its catwalk clothes.

At Balmain, by contrast, clothes bring in almost all the revenues. If Balmain had the same clothes-to-accessories ratio as its competitors, its overall annual income could be more than €1 billion ($1.4 billion).

The company is moving in that direction. New accessory lines are in the pipeline. "Now we have to transform that desire into business activity," said Diemoz. "Sunglasses, belts, fragrances, the kind of products that can be more affordable."

The first bags should be available in January, as will a wider range of shoes, and then more, more, more.

Six days after his show, on the last day of Paris Fashion Week, I returned to the Balmain atelier. Apart from two assistants, Rousteing was the only person there – everybody else had gone on holiday to recover from the frenzy of preparing the show, or was busy selling the collection at the showroom around the corner.

Rousteing sat behind his desk in the empty room, wearing slingback leopard-print slippers, sweatpants and shades. "I am not even tired! I am excited. Because there are so many things happening – and I can't wait."Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses | http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide

Backstory: A Memoir

For Vicki

By AT

5

While I was downstairs, folding laundry in the basement, I heard my sister Vicki stomping upstairs to the room that used to be mine, slamming the door, and locking it shut.

I was a ****** older brother. And Vicki learned that action from me.
Then, I heard more footsteps. Louder stomping. And I knew, with certainty, it was Mom coming after her.

I'm not an omniscient narrator, so I don't know what Vicki does when the door is locked.

But I do imagine she is reading. Vicki’s been using her Kindle that Mom got her for Christmas. She adores Gillian Flynn and Suzanne Collins. She's starting to get into Philip Pullman which is swagger. I remember reading His Dark Materials when I was in elementary school.

The Golden Compass ***** you into that world, like during June when you're hitting a bowl for the first time and you're 17, late at night on Bethany beach with your childhood best friend, and the surf is curling against your toes, and the smoke is trailing away from the cherry, and you begin to realize that life isn't all about living in NOVA forever, because the world is more than NOVA, because life is bigger than this hole, that to some people believe is whole, and that's fine, that's fine because many of our parents came here from other small towns, and they wanted to do what we wanted to do, which is to pack up our stuff into the trunk of our presumably Asian branded car, and drive, drive, until they reach a destination that doesn't remind them of the good memories and the bad memories, until memory is mixed in with nostalgia, and nostalgia is mixed in with the past.

Maybe I'm dwelling on backstory, maybe you don't need to hear the backstory.

But I think you do.

Life isn't an eternity,
what I'm telling you is already known, known since there was a spider crawling up the staircase and your dad took the heel of his black dress shoe and dug his heel into that bug. And maybe I'm buggin’, but that bugged me, and now I'm trying to be healthier eating carrots like Bugs. Kale, red onions, and quinoa, as well. Because I want to be there for my sister, Vicki my sister. All we got is a wrapped up box made from God, Mohammad, and Buddha.

Soon, I heard Vicki’s door handle being cranked down and up, up and down.

Mom raised her voice from a quiet storm to a deafening concerto.  
Then, there was silence, followed by a door slamming shut.

Welcome to our life.
Later on that night, Vicki sped out of our cul-de-sac in her silver Honda Accord—a gift from Mom to keep her rooted in Nova—and even from the front porch of my house, I felt a distance from her that was deep and immovable.

I sank deeper into my lawn chair and lit a jack, but instead of inhaling like I usually did, I held it out in front of me and watched the smoke billow out from the cherry.

I always smoked jacks when she was not there, because I didn’t want her to see me knowingly do this to myself, even as I was making huge changes to my life. It’s the one vice I have left, and it’s terrible for me, but I don’t know if she understands that I know both things. Maybe instead of caring about what jacks do to my body, I should care about what she thinks about what I’m doing to myself. This should be obvious to me, but sometimes things aren’t that obvious.

4

As we grew older Vicki and I forged a dialogue, an understanding. She confided in me and I confided in her, sharing secrets, details about our lives that were personal and private, as if we were two CIA agents working together to defeat a totalitarian government—our tiger mom.

But seriously our mom was and still is swagger as ****—rocks Michael Kors and flannel Pajama pants (If I told you that last article of clothing she'd probably pinch my cheek and call me a chipmunk. Don't worry I'm fine with a moderation of self-deprecation).

The other day Mom talked to me about Vicki and explained that she was upset and irritated with Vicki because of her attitude. I thought that was interesting, because I used to have the same exact attitude when I was my sister’s age and I got away with a lot more ****, being that I'm a guy and the first-born. I understood why she would shut the front door, exit our red brick bungalow, and speed away in her Honda Accord, going towards Clarendon, or Adams Morgan, spending her time with her extensive circle of friends on the weekdays and weekends.

Because being inside our house, life could get suffocating and depressing.
Our Grandparents live with us. Grandpa had a stroke and is trying to recover. Grandma has Alzheimer’s and agitates my mom for rides to a Vietnamese Church. Besides the caretakers, Mom, Dad, Vicki, and I are the only ones taking care of my grandparents.

Mom told me that she believes that Vicki uses the house as a hotel. Mom didn't remind me of a landlord, and I believe that Vicki doesn’t see her as that either.

I didn't believe Vicki was doing anything necessarily wrong.

She had her own life.

I had my own life.

Dad had his own life.

Mom had her own life.

I understood why she wanted to go out and party and hang out with her friends. Maybe she was like me when I was 21 and perceived living at home as a prison, wanting to have autonomy and freedom from Mom because she was attempting to make me conform to her controlled system with restraints. But as Vicki and I both grow older I believe that we see Mom not as an authority figure; but, just as Mom.

Vicky and Mom clash and clash and clash with each other, more than the Archer Queens of The Hero Troops clash with the witches of the Dark Elixir Troops.

They act like they were from different clans, but they're both on the same side in reality.

The apple does not fall far from the tree. And in this case the tree wants to hang onto the apple on the tip of its rough, and yet leafy bough.
Because the tree is rooted in experience and has been around for much longer than the apple.

But the apple is looking for more water than the tree can give it. So the apple dreams about a summer rain-shower that will give it a chance to have its own experience. A similar, but different one, to the darker apple that hangs from a higher bough, an apple that has been spoiled from having too much sun and water.

3

During Winter Break, Vicki scored me tickets to a game between the Wizards and the Bucks. From court side to the nosebleeds, the audience at the Verizon Center was chanting in cacophony and in tempo. Wall was injured. But Gortat crashed the boards, Nene' drained mid-range shots, and Beal drove up the lane like Ginsberg reading Howl.

Vicki and I both tried to talk to each other as much as we could; unfortunately, Voldemort—my ex-gf—sat in between us and was gossiping about the latest scoop with the Kardashians.

Nevertheless, Vicki and I still managed to drink and have an outstanding time. But I should have given her more attention and spent less time on my smartphone. I was spending bread on Papa John's Pizza and chain-smoking jacks during half-time, and even when there were time outs. When I would come back and sink into my plastic chair, I'd feel bloated and dizzy.
And I'd look over at Vicki and either she was talking to Voldemort, or typing away on her smartphone. I didn't mind it at the time, but now I wished I had been less of a concessions barbarian/used-car salesman chain-smoker, and more of an older brother. I should have asked her about her day and her friends and her interests.

But I didn't.

Because I was so concerned about indulging in my vices like eating slices of pepperoni pizza and drinking overpriced beer. There's nothing wrong with pizza or beer. But as we all know the old saying goes, everything is about moderation.

Vicki scrunched her nose and squinted her eyes when I would lean forward and try to maneuver around Voldemort, trying to talk to her about the game and the players in it. I imagine that when she smelled the cigarette smoke leaking away from my lips, that she believed I was inconsiderate and not self-aware.

After the game, we went to a bar across the street from the Verizon Center, and bought mixed drinks. Voldemort was D.D., so Vicki and I drank until our Asian faces got redder than women and men who go up on stage for public speaking for the first time.

I remember this older Asian guy was trying to hit on her.
I took in short breaths. Inhaled. Exhaled. I cracked my shoulder blades to push my chest forward.  

And then, I patted him on the back and grinned. The Asian guy got the message. You don’t **** with the bodyguard.

Vicki had and still has a great boyfriend named Matt.

I guided Vicki back to our table and laughed about the awkward situation with her.

The Asian guy craned his head toward me and did a short wave. And then he bought us coronas. Either, you’re still hitting on my sister, or it’s a kind gesture. She and I better not get... Or am I overthinking it?

But seriously, I wished I had been the one to spend money on her first—she had bought the first round of drinks. Because at the time, my job was challenging and low-paying. Or maybe I just wasn't being frugal enough and partying way too often.

I still remember the picture that a cool rando took of us, drinking the Coronas, and how I was happy to be a part of her life again. Our eyes were so Asian. I had my lanky arm around her small shoulders, like a proud Father. She had her cheek propped up by her fist, her smile, gigantic and beaming, as though she had just won Wimbledon for the first time.
I was wearing a white and blue Oxford shirt that she had gotten me for Christmas with a D.C. Rising hat. She had on a cotton scarf that resembles a tan striped tail of a powerful cat.

My face was chubby from the pizza. Her face was just right like the one house in Goldilocks. The limes in the Coronas were sitting just below the throat of the bottles, like old memories resurfacing the brain, to make the self recall, to make the self remember how to treat his family.
Or maybe this is just a brand new Corona ad geared towards the rising second-generation Asian American demographic? I'm playing around.
But end of commercial break.

Vicki pats me on the back and we clink bottles together. Voldemort is lurking in the background, as if she's about to photobomb the next picture. Sometimes I don't know if there's going to be a next picture.
Either we live in these moments, or make memories of them with our phones. And like sheep following an untrustworthy shepherd, we went back to our phones. She made emails and texts. I went on twitter in search of the latest news story.

2

Before Vicki and I opened each other's presents, I remember I blew up at Mom and Dad, and criticized everyone in the family room including Vicki. It was over something stupid and trivial, but it was also something that made me feel insecure and small. I was the black sheep and she was the sheep-dog.

I screamed. Vicki took in a deep breath and looked away from my glare, looked away to a spot on the hardwood floor that was filled with a fine blanket of dust and lint. I chattered. She rubbed her fingers around the lens of her black camera and shook her head in a manner that suggested annoyance and disappointment. I scoffed. She set the camera down on the coffee table and pressed the flat of her hand against her cheek, and glanced out the window into the backyard that was blanketed with slush and snow.
Drops of snow were plunging from the branches of the evergreen trees and plopping onto the patches of the ground, plunging, as though they were little toddlers cannonballing off of a high-dive.

She turned back and looked at me straight in the eye, so straight I thought she was searching for the answer to my own stupidity.

I cleared my throat and said, “I need a breath of fresh air.”

Vicki bit her bottom lip, sat down, and put her arms on her knees, a deep, contemplative look appearing on her face.

I stormed into the narrow hallway, slammed the front door back against its rusty hinges, and trundled down my front driveway, the cold from the ice and the snow dampening the soles of my tarnished boots. I lit a jack at the far end of the cul-de-sac and counted to ten. I watched the cigarette smoke rise, as the ashes fell on the snow, blemishing its purity and calmness. I inhaled. I exhaled. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach that Vicki knew I was having a jack to reduce my stress, stress that I had cause all by myself. I ground the jack against the snowy concrete, feeling the cold begin to numb my fingers that were shaking from the nicotine, shaking from the winter that had wrapped itself around me and my sister.

When I came back inside of the house, I told Mom and Dad I was being an idiot and that I didn’t mean to be such an *******. I turned to Vicki and put my hand on her shoulder, squeezed it, and smiled weakly, telling her that I didn’t mean to upset her.

She nodded and said, “It’s okay bro.”

But her soft and icy tone made me feel skeptical; she didn’t believe me. I didn’t know if I believed my apology. Minutes later, I gave my present to her.

Her face brightened up with a smile. It was a gradual and cautious smile, a little too gradual and a little too cautious. She hugged me tightly, as though my earlier outburst hadn’t happened.

She opened the bank envelope and inside was a fat stack of cleanly, pressed bills that totaled a hundred. Being an arrogant, noob car salesman at the time, I thought it was going to be a pretty clever present. I could have given her a Benjamin, but I thought this would make her happier, because it showed my creative side in a different form.

I remember seeing her spread the dollar bills out, as if the bills were a Japanese Paper fan. Vicki told me not to post the picture I had taken on insta or Facebook. I smiled faintly and nodded, stuffing my smartphone back into my sweatpants pocket. I understood what she wanted, and I listened to her, respecting her wishes. But I also wasn't sure if she was embarrassed and ashamed of me. And maybe I was overthinking it. But again, maybe I wasn’t overthinking it. Social Media, whether we like it or not, is a part of life. And in that moment, I actually wanted social media to display this a single story in our lives. I wanted to show people that Vicki was the most important person—besides my parents—in my life. Because I was so concerned with how people viewed me and because I lacked confidence, lacked security, and lacked respect for myself

Vicki's present to me was a sleek and blue tie, a box set of mini colognes, and refreezable-ice-cubes. I think she called it the car salesperson kit. But I knew and still know she was trying to turn me into an honest and non-sketchy car salesman. And you know what, I was genuine, but I also couldn't retain any information about the cars features—to reiterate my Grandma has Alzheimer's, my mom writes down constant notes to remember everything, and I forget my journal almost every time I leave the house.

After Christmas I wore the tie to work a few times, but the mini colognes and ice-cubes never got used by me. They stayed in the trunk of my Toyota Avalon. I should have used the colognes and the ice-cubes, but I was too careless, too self-involved, and too ungrateful.

1

Back in the 90’s, when we were around 3 and 6 years old, Vicki and I shared the same room on the far left end of the hallway in our house. She had a small bed, and I had a bigger bed, obviously, because at 6 foot 1, I was a genetic freak for a Vietnamese guy. I read Harry Potter and Redwall like crazy growing up, and I would try to invent my own stories to entertain her. Every night she would listen to me tell my yarn, and it made me feel that my voice was significant and strong, even though many times I felt my voice was weak and soft, lacking in inflection, or intonation.

I had a speech impediment and I had to take classes at Canterbury Woods to fix my perceived problem. I wanted to fit in, blend in, and have friends.
Back then Vicki was not only my sister, but my best friend. She used to have short, black bangs; chubby cheeks, and a dot-sized nose—don't worry she didn't get ****** into the grocery tabloids and get rhinoplasty. She wore her red pajamas with a tank top over it, so she looked like a mini-red ranger, and her slippers

Travis scotts concert was 100% a satanic soul harvest. He sent those souls to another dimension.
Think I'm stretching? READ ALL THE WAY THROUGH.
First off. He called his event a "festival".  The definition of a festival is a feast. Did you see a large amount of food?
Or did you see a feast of souls?
His stage was the symbol for alchemy.  The egyptian ankh. The Egyptian ankh has to do with life. Because the wealthy know when you die and when you are born, you create a ripple in time and space for your soul to come and go. The best way to describe it is like a pool. Imagine you are about to jump into your local swimming pool. The water will break your entry and you will safely hit the bottom. Now. Imagine there is a person at every single part of the edge and you all jump in at the same time. Now you've got a problem. Soul harvesting is the same way. When you die your soul creates a ripple and it can safely leave. But. When you have a bunch of people dying in the same spot the spiritual realm becomes stressed in that location due to the high amounts of energy our souls resonate as they are leaving and entering the in between of this realm and other dimensions.  Therefore they have created machines that have tapped into the in between to ****** your soul. Who gets it and where it goes?  Other things are possible as well. Like the exchange of a good soul for whatevers on the other side?. Have you ever heard of cern? The large hydron collider. It's the largest machine in the world. This is NOT knew technology. The Mayan indians knew about this. The egyptians knew about this. THIS IS WITCHCRAFT AT THE HIGHEST DEGREE.
Let me break it down.
Travis Scott is a WITCH. The microphone is his wand. He is a (M.C.) (Master of ceremonies).  
With his wand he uses his voice (frequency) to help bring in the energy needed to open the portal. He brings a crowd of 50 to 70 thousand people who are generating IMMENSE amounts of energy into a low vibration. Love is the highest. Aggression is the lowest.
Then the design of his stage along with the lights become the sigil to help open the portal. Remember his stage was the symbol for alchemy?
YOU can't see the portal. You just see a fancy light show.
But those who are dying and their souls are separating from their bodies can.
The only way a living person MAY see through the portal is if they had taken an Elixir like Ayahuasca.
Do you ever wonder why all these "rappers" want to date the highest ranking Arminian witch family Kardashians?
Could it be because they are witches?

They do these kind of rituals behind closed doors all the time. What you saw was them coming out in the open.
The goal for you is to pass on and move to a higher dimension. You are drawn to the heavens because that's where you came from.
When you start gaining wealth, you start the search for immortality. Wealth is a drug that most refuse to part with.  So this is where satanism comes in. There's a theory of  reincarnation if you can create enough negative energy for yourself, you can weigh your soul back down. This is where the technology of transferring your consciousness back into another avatar has its place.
You can see why we are at a cross roads of transhumanism and luciferienism.
Some believe the elites WERE once humans and during the days of Atlantis that changed. Their technology hit a point they no longer needed human bodies. And they became the pinnacle of Transhuman. But no longer human. Something else. Maybe this is what "sanat kumara" is? A.K.A. Satan.

I had a God; he was a
good God. Keeping me  safe
with money, image, and  time.
Blessing me, solid;  
until my waist grew as thin   as my wallet.  
Buying all of your time.

I want to be on t.v.,
but not just any t.v.
I want the ratings to rise
  with my celebrity skin,
my trending name,
  commercialized sin.

I want to be sold   separately
and told that I'm desperately
giving my body to a   image heavy God,
sleeping on the skeleton of Malibu,
drinking dreams with a celebrity dog.

I want to be  on t.v.
I want to be  every  thing
and  more.

I had a God; he was a good God.
Played me his songs,  wrapped
  in his time.  Kissing me goodbye,
tel  ling me to sell shirts; telling me to
keep up with the trends.

You may think you are special
Because you are rolling in money
And have lots of boyfriends
But the reality is as different
As chalk is from cheese
A person is special
Due to his/her character
Or what s/he does
You have a personality that is so shallow
That it would put even the Kardashians to shame
And that is saying something
You do not know the first thing about friendship
And yet consider yourself an ideal friend
To one and all
While you proceed to ghost someone
Whom you've known for years and years
All because of a silly comment
On a photo of yours on social media
Someone may be your BFF one day
And turn into a mere acquaintance the next day
For you, people are like bubblegum wrappers
To be used and thrown at a moment's notice
Of course, as we all know
There's no point in breaking your head over people
Especially in a our rather fickle-minded society
But when you act all high and mighty
As though you're always right
And everyone else is wrong
It really gets my goat
Again, you may think you are special
Based on money, good looks or the number of boyfriends you have
But all these will get you nowhere in life
Because, there will be a time
When you are in desperate need of help
And you will find
That the only people who can be of use
Are the ones whom you've already chucked

Let me tell you a secret
I am bored

I'm bored of corporate America flashing their endless subliminal ******* in my face every second
So much so that sometimes without me realising I adopt their accent and mimic and quote what they want me to think and say

I'm bored of reality TV
Of keeping up with the Kardashians and how their name fits so nicely in my mouth like a chunk of poison apple

I'm bored
Of skipping past adverts of skinny black children starving to watch skinny white children starving themselves pretty
I'm scared that I'm the only one whose minds those adverts cling to,
I can only do so much and I can't even trust that I'm helping

I'm bored
Of seeing perfect white girls on TV in their perfect clothes with their perfect hair and their perfect families in their perfect churches with their perfect god who somehow claimed dominance over all the other gods, over my gods
and called me backwards for worshipping the sun and the moon for giving me life and light as opposed to a man who may or may not have existed who they claim split seas

I am bored
I'm bored of being the supporting role
never being pretty enough
but being hot for an Asian girl
being told 'when I think of a beautiful Asian girl I think of you'
being asked 'what are you?', 'no where are you really from?' 'are you gunna go back?' 'were you born on international waters?' Always followed with a 'If you don't mind me asking',  I do,
Let me tell you about the waters that broke and brought me here on this home soil,
let me tell you about the struggle of my mother and the mothers before me and the lightness of being dark skinned in a community of dark skinned beings,
let me tell you about my heritage not like it's a story in a child's book like or a myth, it is real history,
let me tell you about the struggle of my people about the beauty of our most simple words and minds,
let me tell you about how our bodies moulded from the dust and sand around us is no less than yours,
let me tell you what it means to be nothing in your eyes.

We are the products of your mishandling, broken artefacts caged in a glass box with a steel rod stuck up our **** to keep up still in a viewing room in the media's museum
keep us down and keep us quiet keep us looking brutal try to tear us apart from the inside,

Try and tell me I'm a terrorist not a freedom fighter for daring to breathe to speak.
Try to blotch out your wrongdoings by scapegoating us as a region as a religion I don't even belong to as a pigment in a skin colour I can do nothing about I couldn't change it even if I wanted to
Just wait and see how we react

I'm bored of your Islamophobia
I'm bored of you telling me to hate myself
I'm bored of trying to be middle man for two cultures whose only real difference are climate
So *******
**** both of you
Excuse my English
No my Punjabi.
No
I'm done with your negotiations and attempts at tolerance I'm done with trying to blend you both together within me I can't be what either of you want me to be
I can't do this
I won't be a part of your glamourised butchery
Anymore

At a time when I was held prisoner
By my shy nature
Especially when it comest to talking with girls
You put your best foot forward
In order to break the ice
Which was doing its best
To try and freeze me to death
As though I were but in Antarctica
So, I thought you my friend
Mind you, an assumption it wasn't
You called me your best friend
Not once or twice
But many a time
You even called yourself my sister
A trusting person that I am
I took you at face value
Which was probably one of the biggest mistakes
Of my life in entirety
If Australia dominated cricket
You were my dominator
Your name stands for desire
And all you desired
Was getting your way
When it comest to anything and everything
You were such a drama queen
You put the Kardashians to shame
Only your "bestest friend" escaped
From your terrifying glare
Which burnest everything in its path
Much like Lord Shiva's third eye
You were always right
We were always wrong
Again, with a notable exception
Your precious little "bestest friend"
What he saw in you
Only God knowest
Marking you absent in the attendance register
Which was but my duty
Turned out to be a crime
Fouler than ****** itself!!
How dare I mark the "Queen" absent
Even if she were indeed absent!!
How dare I support Chennai Superkings
Even if I were but from Chennai
Not to mention, a huge fan of MS Dhoni!!
East or West, North, South Or Central
Mumbai Indians were always the best
All other teams were trash
You and your whims and fancies
Driveth all of us mad
Quicker than a tracer bullet
As Ravi Shastri would say
Even to this day
But you were my best friend
Not to mention, my sister!!
So mum I kept
As would a fiercely loyal dog
Even when ignored by its master
After our college days endeth
I stayed in touch
As would every friend in the world
In particular, a best friend
But best friend you were certainly not
I can forgive even an enemy
But not a friend who cuts me off
For the flimsiest reason in the world
To you, I was wrong
Though reality speaketh otherwise
But hey, why would I want to lose my best friend?
So did I apologise
Not once or twice
But many a time
Though for the kind of response I receiveth
Might I have spoken to the wall instead!!
After ages and ages
Cometh your response
As arrogant as James Potter in his school days
You showeth me your true face
Nothing but a jumped up rich Punjabi Brahmin
Who thinkest she were the best
In not just India
But the world in its entirety
Gone was your sweet tongue
In full display was a mini Bellatrix Lestrange
Ready to **** even her best friend
As the real Bellatrix did
With her cousin Sirius Black
Well, I would rather I died
Than maintain a friendship
With a cunning ***** like yourself
You deserve not
A single true friend in the world
Not even your "bestest friend"
You smashed my self-confidence
Into a billion little pieces
Pieces that I continue to pick up
Even to this day
Something I could but have avoided
Had I not taken you up
On your offer of friendship
Which was but as fake
As the smile of a Kardashian
I endeth on this note
It is but a lesson to all
Not to get swayed by sweet tongues
Scratch beneath the surface
Then only showeth up the true character

Build a ***** workshop
(Where we feed on your insecurities for profit)
Don’t like what your mirror has to offer
In need of a quick fix because your size 0 jeans won’t fit
Well destroy your body like our ecosystem
With plastic to make you look fantastic
Because looking like an overstocked toy is the new ****
Change your completion until there’s nothing left
While tosh points out how you’re worthless without *******
which brings out insecurity galore
You need to be Barbie if you want
Ken and his Malibu beach house
Everyone knows you’re only worth as much as your waist line
Don’t judge a book by its cover
But my generation doesn’t even read
Photo shopped teens as far as the eye can see
Post photos
That strips away your dignity
For a spot on a that new reality TV series
Forget about the news because the kardashians bought new shoes
Mom asks So what did you learn today at school
A cool equation that the other kids taught me
My body – eating + surgery +pills= picture perfect girl
Or new American dream
*******, small waist, always sleeping around, never complain , don’t feel ashamed that’s the only way to play the game
How many pills did you take to look that anorexic?
Who made you feel so uncomfortable in your own skin?
How many meals did you shove down the bathroom sink?  
How many surgeries did it take for you to become this fake?
The sad part is I bet you even Barbie didn't have this many plastic pieces

.
The oceans are dying,
Coral reefs are bleached,
Ghostly acidic in the seas,
Climate is changing, not for Nero,
But for subjects who wait in whirlwinds
Eye, underneath uncapped mountain peaks,
And water is draining underground.  Where is
Reason, where is sense uncommon?  Not with
Elected hands who are wringing to lords of zero,
Whose legions are sent off, engaged in foreign wars,
To scathe, faraway dramas brought back home,
Politicians squabble, as they reel, cashing in,
Seals of unapprovals, witness hollow, low rings,
Infrastructure crumbles, above our dry heads,
And Nero plays his fiddle, in a land of perky dead,
John Lennon said NYC was in reality the new
Rome, soon set to burn, in a decade or so,
Nero knows, Nero plays, could give a ****'
Humanity is Nero playing his fiery fiddle
There is only one issue of news that matters,
Not bread, or circus, Kardashians, or deflated
Footballs, it is our survival, the earth, heating up,
Is angry and we are small, deaf, blind and numb,
A mankind of fools with Nero playing his fiddle.

I went to a presentation last week, the topic, “We Are Losing Our Young Men.”

The speaker talked about how boys these days are growing up without the thirst for first place, they're becoming complacent with second, that they're now crying in baseball. That men today are just not what they used to be.

I almost raised my hand, almost asked about today's young women, where they are, what type of state are they in, how do they compare to my mother's generation, hell even his mother’s generation.

I almost raised my hand, but didn't, I realized I didn’t care what he had to say. I got caught up in a film-reel of Disney classics and Mother Goose picture books read over a soundtrack of, “What do you want to be when you grow up? What do you want to be when you grown up?” stuck skipping.

I thought about the first things we teach young girls, what they dream about before going to bed, the role models we give them. We tell them they can all be princesses and to dream of fairy godmothers. We give them Cinderella, tell them there's no hardship a rich husband can't solve. We give them Belle-Beast relationships, and we fail to mention that if a man is an animal, do not kiss him harder or love him longer, you leave and don’t go back no matter how much he says he’s changed. We show them Snow White, teach them men will only love them for their beauty, teach them women will hate them for it. We give them Ariel, encourage them to give up their passions and talents and family to the first guy that promises them love. We give them Prince Charming rescues, kisses that awake them from eternal sleep. We do not tell them when they should become wary of slick mouths with a penchant for vulnerable women. I guess they're meant to figure it out on their own.
And we wonder why society is obsessed with the Kardashians.

The film reel stopped. I wanted to raise my hand then, wanted to give this pompous speaker my own two cents and tell him I’m not totally buying this whole “earnest, honest, father like figure” who wants us to “seize our potential” act. His talk has been aimed at the fraternity men that paid him to be here.
He’s smart.
I want to raise my hand and address my fellow “modern women,” but when I turned there were only six females in attendance. So that’s why the joke about his wife got such a poor response.

Had they been there I would have stood on my chair and told them this- One day we’ll be mothers, raising little girls of our own. Throw away your fairy tales and grab yourself a cookbook. Sit down at the edge of the bed and open to the dog-eared page. Tell them, “yes, you are made of sugar and all things nice, but you have this inside of you,” and point her to the bay leaves. Tell her how she has traveled from Russia to India to France. Give her black mustard, perfume made with caraway. Teach her the history of chicory, its medicine, its bitterness. Give her licorice. Give her tarragon. Show the vanilla that runs through her veins, the lavender. Teach her wasabi and her ability to make men weak from her strength. Paint her lips red in celebration of cayenne. Make her a *** of puttanesca, have her taste the oregano, the parsley. Tell her about the recipe for the rub of a pork shoulder that’s been guarded for generations. The black pepper, the white pepper, the cumin. Celebrate her complexity, the bitterness paired with sweet, the anise and marjarom, the cayenne, who cannot help but cry at the overpoweringness of cayenne. Show her the history of nutmeg, her trek through the Sudan, Egypt, Italy. Give her the religions she spread, the languages she introduced to India. Show her the slaves that worked for her discovery, the passages she created. Give her the empires she built, the ones she flattened.

Tear down the castles and open the spice drawer.
Paint her lips cayenne.

I cant wait to speak to you now
To see your face
Your my home
Your what i know
And when i said i hated you
It wasnt true
But i do hate what youve done to me
I hate that i love you
A little bit
A lot
Now
Now when i feel crazy
And then actually
Then when i said i hated you, cos i was crazy, cos i love you, and thats what this love has done to me, made me crazy, an thats what i hate.
Oh and now
Because your away and i cant see you and feel you and make you laugh, i really want to make you laugh
And see your smile
And taste your lips
And make you ***
I fantasise daily
About how im gonna tie you up and make you *** the night you get back
In reality il probably be shy
But i have friends, i have hobbies, i have important **** to do for **** sake
But im sitting here, missing you
Writing this
Recording shows and films on the box for us to watch together when you get back
The notebook
We have to watch the notebook
And im fine
Dont get me wrong im fine, i get to sleep okay
And im chillin, seein people, might see matt this week, talking to didi an toe, seeing family
Im fine, please dont get a big ego
But im just not
Home
Im not tingly
Or excited
I cant explain it
I dont have you
I dont have you in my arms an sometimes that makes me sad
And then i start thinking about all the things that iv done wrong
And all these great things im gonna do when ur back
I am, im going to appreciate you more
And im going to play cool a bit more
Dont know how im gonna do both
But i am
Im gonna appreciate you because i want to,
Because i look back on this short time weve been together and so many things that you have done for me make me smile, make me so grateful and make me so happy. Like the cash machine one :) and staying at my house when i was at work, and being patient when i dont know what to wear(corfu and tims)
And all this makes me think, ****. What have i ever done for this boy
He is amazing and he loves me, **** knows why but he does and its insane
Oh and then im gonna play it cool, thats right
Im gonna play it cool because i dont want to ruin it
I dont want to show too much
Of my feelings of absolute passionate never-before-felt-like-this love!
And i dont want those nice things you do to stop
I dont want you to stop trying
Because its boring
Because you know youve got me
Got me ignoring other guys texts
Got me thinking about no one else but you
Got me absorbed in you
Got me missing you like crazy, writing stupid love notes at midnight, drinking rose on my own, when i havnt seen you for a mere two weeks
That kindov got me
Thats what you cant know
So im gonna miss you
But then im gonna see you
Soon
Soon im gonna wrap my whole body around yours like a vice
I wanna jump on you, i wanna run an jump when i see you like we used to do in the corridor of galbraith
Even tho i know im so heavy
You dont act like i am
And i wanna bury my head deep in your neck and kiss it
And now i cant write anymore
Cos its too much
So il watch kardashians
Take my mind of you
Not long now and il be home
I mean, you'll be home.

Although not an official list of most searched beauty queries, these trends were searched way more in 2015 than they were last year. You might be tardy to the party, but finally figuring out these makeup and skincare hacks will take next year's selfies to a whole new level — at least until 2016 when these trends are ditched. Till then, get your contour and strobe fixations worked out while it's still in style.

-How to contour

An old trick in any makeup artist's arsenal, contouring steadily gained attention in 2014 before exploding this year. Nowadays high-end and low-end contouring kits are widespread, with both cream and powder options popular for slimming faces. To contour, take a matte brown shade darker than your natural skin colour and buff it into the hollows of your cheekbones. Then blend until it matches seamlessly with your skin, creating a natural-looking shadow. To make the effect more dramatic, use a shade lighter than your skin colour on the high points of your face. You'll look clownish for a hot second, but the effects can be dramatically glam or subtle improvements.

-And how to strobe

Contouring's luminous cousin, strobing, took highlighting to the next level. Instead of creating shadows with contours, strobing illuminates the parts of the face where light hits. You'll want to apply a highlighting product to the centre of the forehead, the bridge of your nose, your Cupid's bow, and above your cheekbones.

-How to beard balm

Mane maintenance went below the chin in 2015, with artisanal ****** hair products going through a boom. Among them was beard balm, a pomade made of nourishing conditioners for making face fuzz soft and silky.

-How to put box braids into a bun

Long-lasting and low-maintenance, box braids are a style that always looks good — especially piled high into a bun. To get a top-knot bun, tie hair into a ponytail, twist around, and then tuck loose braids in. Bobby pins will be your best friend for this.

-How to wear matte lips

Popularised by the Kardashians, the matte **** lip made a comeback in 2015. To mattify any lip, apply a light dusting of face power to your lips (but not so much that your lips dry out). Or buy a matte lipstick, which come at luxe and drugstore prices.

-How to do the Kylie Jenner Lip Challenge

This digital dare inspired by the youngest of the Kardashian/Jenner clan had those aspiring for fuller lips ******* on shot glasses. Suction created by the cups cause a temporary swelling reminiscent of Jenner's pout. However, it might not be a good idea to jump on this long-gone bandwagon now — the challenge inflicted swelling, bruises, and drew controversy that Jenner herself spoke out against.

read more:http://www.marieaustralia.com

www.marieaustralia.com/plus-size-formal-dresses

Running the gauntlet down Midchester Road,
A veritable suburb of Gleethorpes City,
You pass a line of house-castles
Of the well to do.

But don’t be fooled
By what you see,
For I know someone
Who lives there.

And he will tell you,
Of bountiful gardens
Stripped bare
And concreted over
So that families can park their fleets
Of expensive cars.

See those conservatory extensions
And widened pavements.
A lady poses,
Doing her best
To emulate the Kardashians.

Money attracts
No end of thugs
And dodgy dealers:
Swarming parasitic wasps
Around the honey ***.

Nights of drunken revellers
From the local pub:
Swaying from trees
And kicking cans about.
Boy racers tearing down the road,
Music systems booming
With a mindless
Moronic drumming.

“Where has reality gone?” asks
My despairing friend.
They have their money
Their riches,
Expensive toys
But few of them are Happy.

What happened to “Goodness” and virtue
And dreams of Utopia?
Where are the heroes
Inventors and creators?
Instead we have a world of celebrity,
In which true talent – even genius
Is ignored and undervalued.

“Where are we going?” my friend exclaims.
Things get worse and worse,
The world all in reverse.
For it’s “Unreal City”,
Far from pretty.

So have a think,
Don’t let yourself sink
Even further into the mire.
Just get real,
You know the deal,
It’s you I’m trying to inspire.

Paul Butters

© PB 2\8\2019

(with help from a bloke who lives in such a place. Same town as me).

the big lie that is security
string them up
braid the rope from the poor
shoot shoot shoot first
am i on the list yet?
**** the fbi
**** the people satisfied
with diversions
power shot an innocent man
power hides the facts
shuffled like cards in a deck
surrounded by tinder
we are unwilling to start the fire
i repeat
the fbi shot an innocent man
and covered up the fact
with the kardashians

To Kanye, what's with your hate on Tupac, when you were trying to hate on em' you were just describing yourself. Man Tupac was the real deal, your just a sell out. You've obviously been hanging out with the Kardashians too long because you've become a real *****! Man your music is pretty good no lie, but compared to Tupac's music it's a bunch of ****. So pack your bags and leave rap, just get out. You're a fool, a narcissist, the only thing you deserve is a punch to your face, maybe it'll knock some sense back into your brain. Maybe then you'll realize your crucial mistake. Kanye you have lost my respect, and I'm not the only one. You're not a real rapper you're just a jealous little troll who should've stayed under their bridge. All you care about is the spotlight, you're a pertinacious big shot with a tiny ****, you're a disgrace to music, to put it bluntly you just ****!

Even in certain circles in certain minds
in certain frames at certain times
We can't know what's true
And misconstrue can ring like
Miss you too

Self titles
Reign demeaning
And a finished product
Watched like a B-Rated pre-screening
Fed my gray matter
But the rest of me is depleting

Craig Morgan's playing baseball
Elliot Smith in the background screaming
Drinking OJ, it's how the Kardashians got there money,
Nothing good even came from the cover, trust me it didn't.

"She's in your hands now
Treat her like a Princess
You gotta respect her mind and her body"

"Welcome to Shaboom Shaboom"

My mother
slips to and fro,
mindless and mad
in a nursing home,
unaware
of the Kardashians,
impending financial collapse,
Say Yes To The Dress,
the corpse children
of Syria,
yoga pants
or the impending
asteroid.

Wherever she is,
she's not missing
much.

mce

the sign at the side of the road says "right lane ends"
i yell at it "everything ends"
no one hears me

except maybe god
but god's not watching today
god's TiVoing me
god'll probably get to it later
i get it though
there's supernovas and auroras and kardashians to watch

the christians say that god knit me together in my mother's womb
all fearfully and wonderfully
i get the sense that maybe the good yarn was on back order that day
it's okay god
i also have days when i wake up late and almost miss the bus and forget my part of the group project that's due today

we got this, though

we got lots of ways to glue and macaroni up a brain just right
all this science and not enough places to stick it
i shove a handful through the blood-brain barrier and there it is
home
chemicals so sweet they make me cry glitter

it's funny how things can look the same but feel so different
when kelsey texts that we need to talk, that it needs to be over skype
it fills me with that old dread

it just takes a few words to scoop me out like a pumpkin
they don't last long, after you carve them

i want to take extra antidepressant tomorrow morning
it increases my risk of seizures but i don't care
i'm not sure how many hours i spent today
shuffling through walmart with downcast eyes
occasionally stopping to cry at a toaster or pillowcase

thirty one is mathematically prime
it doesn't feel very prime

when i get to the end of the toothpaste i know i still have time
i roll it and squeeze it and press it and
day after day this tube gives me what i need to get by until
one day it doesn't anymore
that's my thirty one

i watch the sad blue mouthwash disappear into the drain
i'm not sure why

people act like a breakup retroactively erases
all of the joy and value a relationship had
like its impermanence somehow robs it of significance

i figure every relationship ends
either in breakup or death
i don't think it makes them any cheaper

to regret anything is to wish for your own non-existence
without the steps and forking branches that brought you to here, you would be someone else
someone that your parents and best friends might mistake for you

i regret.

Something Bad

Something bad is coming
Worse than any Grand Funk Railroad Reunion Concert
Worse than watching a full episode of Meet the Kardashians
With all commercials included.

I not only have read about it
I can feel it
So much more bothersome than
Hay fever in May.

It's the Universal Fender ******
Havoc beyond compare
It's Universal Affliction and Ruination
Heavy weight and high-profile kind of stuff.

This universe is dumb
So much stupider than the armadillos that get hit by my little Fiat
This universe is worse than any teen age driver
Not watching where it goes
Or what is coming down the road.

Ten to the ten to the ten to the ten and more universes out there
Outnumbering all the cable channels both regular and High Def
More numerous than all the cockroaches in all the cities on the East Coast
Going any which way they please
Not planning ahead
Or working with the AAA or the highway safety department

More universes than every single observation ever made by every single person
More than every single argument between all the married couples
In all countries
On all existing planets
In all existing galaxies.

Each time you think of a possible universe, it exists!
Unless we all stop thinking there will be more and more and more.

Each universe moving
Some fast
Some even faster
Some inches apart from each other
Concealed behind some hidden dimension
About to turn the corner at full speed.

There's a collision
A crash
Not too far up the road
Every universe distracted
As if they are texting away
Following their own set of laws
Without regard for any right of way.

There's a smash-up coming up very soon
One universe piles into another
with one of those universes being ours in particular
The one that I live in.

I am scared
I know that adding a shoulder harness to my office chair
is not going to be enough.

I am terrified
I cannot figure out
as I make my last will and testament
who I can leave the house and dog to.

Today, tomorrow or maybe later
It is sure to happen
All my plans for no purpose
All my purposes to no point
I panic
Abandoning all my activities
Crawling into the attic
Taking a pen
A flashlight
And a notebook
And wondering
If there is any new thought
I can have that might make this all better
Without creating
One more
**** reckless
Out-of-control
universe.

--Zumwalt (2011)  (copied from www.zumpoems.com)

even hegel read jakob böhme                   (boo m'eh) -
to keep the democratic spirit - obviously the Kardashians don't
know a hairbrush from a toothbrush - but that hardly matters -
what matters is how Pearl Harbour turned into karaoke applause -
the idea of an american in europe: spaghetti slurping  -
even that considering the "special"
       relationship of anglophiles -
    anatomy of antagonism:
        spaghetti swindlers of talk -
slurping that tangle into an easily sold
global affair would never juice up the idea
to think about my neighbour as someone
i'd care to be;
          and as common with the postmortem
childhood educators, the curriculum of such
people always stated: learn otherwise -
       no wonder their screened the
personal vanities of Versailles in the 21st century
coming from the 18th and 17th century -
learn the truths concerning the genesis
of the 21st century in the 24th century at least...
i'm under the righteous impression:
most of the people i live with have
been savaged by science fiction,
and the slowness of science in itself
that they are tattooed with a care for now,
but never tomorrow... imagine living in a society
that pays its workers in month's wages than
in week's wages... can you imagine it?
the two re- debate: again quick (reflexive),
and the again slow (reflective) -
if i'm glorifying the latter than the former?
oh, that question... you have to reply with:
usury and why the libido of old men
equips young girls to the same libido,
and why young men are worthy of a war memorial
and the mud of trenches...
and why young men can't with enzyme-fervour
bind of the satiated young woman sexually
compete... and why so many say: **** it.
one *** spends its youth barraged by usury -
and all other hamster wheels,
the other *** parties with the cocksure crowd:
and then you expect a withstanding human bond?
ha ha.    forget it... hey lady, how's that old man
treating you? he's the pope, i know.
                         forged from the Martian
        ashen heat cooling: in how she thought
the two would meet and raise a family in the mythology
of Eden... when she got paid her student fees
by sugar daddies, and he got spit to extract feeding
handshakes - that only turned into jacking off
                                                                ­      gambles.    
  she now the happy soul fathomed as the bigoted
              entrenchment in this world: as forever
  and if only trying: then at least expecting war
to solidify the point.
                just the other day in Camden Market:
she's complaining about her libido with older men,
   he's complaining: your problem is that you go
for older men... oh ****, then all the problems of
natural correlative assertions, and children to
masquerade the real problems... and pop culture
and what's being gagged (apart from the gimp,
forever caged and clad in leather, and a mouth
that's really an ****) -           the children suffer
    from would otherwise been a beneficial anti-evolutionary
suggestion: that i was recipient of the outside environment,
rather than the inside environment of some benefiting
sir esquire toff -                 give me my tail and fur back!
   i don't care for gymnastics or vogue! give it back!
******! this ain't an improvement,
                 who heard of primeval predators building
guillotine scaffolds (although, i admit, that's humane) -
or ****** Mary being beheaded with a blunt blade -
or gas chambers... when i think of tigers i think of
humanity greater than man with his apple i7 phone -
i think of vampires... i find it hard to believe
we evolved from what was already perfect...
                   to improve what? we were always outsiders...
    narrators - then again, if i'm the sort of
"creationist" scumbag, then i can just say:
Chinese and Welsh dragons and dinosaurs...
   and to be honest: history is obsolete given the
two timescales of the big bang (what a ****** name
to start things off... heard a bang in a vacuum?) -
              and monkey -
                                             which is no wonder
why history died given the timescales, and why we
are overly saturated with journalism, the 24 hour reels
and nothing really happening in those 24 hour counting
                   mechanisms:
which is no surprise journalism resurrected a pseudo-dialectics,
   i.e. an opinions section - and there they are,
like third world dictators, unchallenged, journalistic
freedom is the last thing to fight for right now,
   not when journalists don't have any journalism to give,
  and invoke the need to be opinionated,
and in thus being the above said: unchallenged.
                 Colonel Falafel? sign me up!

worse than knowing that you are a liar,
is knowing that you are lying.
the former, at least, allows for change...

to know what you are is one half of
this great cosmic **** of physical forces
which inexplicably leads to both
the Himalayas and the Kardashians,
after all.

ignoring the paradox of the liar
who states that he is a liar,
let's scale mountains
and cancel our cable.

Everything about you and everyone you know
What you had for breakfast and where you plan to go
Who you call and what you say and precisely where you are
Every visit to the doctor, the mileage on your car

The books you like, the food you buy, the bloggers that you read
How much you gave to charity, your attitude to ****
Every contact, every text, every on-line search
The way you dress, the way you walk, the last time you went to church

No none of this is private now; you're an information source
Of interest to the agencies of order, law, and force
It's for the common good - no really! Can't you see?
And this discussion now, it's over; it's about security

And while we're on the subject, someone really oughta
Keep an eye on her next door; at least until we've caught her
And be mindful what you wish for, now thought-crime's here to stay
But hey! It's Britain not North Korea!  Just mind how you go, OK?

Oh you have to hand it to the creeps - they've diligently been sifting
Not through your bins or bank account when ALL your data lifting
They've no need for tricks or subterfuge since you handed them the keys
You let them in unwittingly, and at the time, were pleased

So now you're pinned and wriggling on their glass one-way wall
You've no more secrets hidden 'cos you've given them them all
Privacy is dead and buried, too late now for bereavement
You slaughtered it yourself:  End User Licence Agreement

It's too late too for tin-foil hats, too late to complain
And anyway, how would you? You've forfeited this game
Join the Twitterati? Start a Facebook page?
Tell your mates on WhatsApp?  All adds more padlocks to your cage

P'raps best not to think too much about it; Yes that's the easy call
Lie back and LOL at kittens, watch Gogglebox, but actually think sod all
Yes buy your Funeral Insurance – it's acquired a curious appeal
And accept, why not, the Kardashians might actually be real

With opinions now as changeable as your boxer shorts
Grey and saggy throwaways, masquerading as your thoughts
You got the lot in Primark's sale, with your knickers and your socks
And you feel freer now than ever, inside your tiny airless box

And that's the way we like it; your illusion of control
Costs us little and lets us rule you in body, heart and soul
So make no waves, do not stand out, enjoy your bread and games
Don't try to dodge the system or we'll cast you to the flames

“Nothing to hide, then nothing to fear” is something you've no doubt heard
But those who shout it loudest know best that it's absurd
So peer behind the curtain, examine every single word
   Because you know they've cracked it... yes finally cracked it...
     The polishing to perfection -  to immaculate, flawless, gleaming perfection - of
Every
Single
****

.
The oceans are dying,
Coral reefs are bleached,
Ghostly acidic in the seas,
Climate is changing, not for Nero,
But for subjects who wait in whirlwinds
Eye, underneath uncapped mountain peaks,
And water is draining underground.  Where is
Reason, where is sense uncommon?  Not with
Elected hands who are wringing to lords of zero,
Whose legions are sent off, engaged in foreign wars,
To scathe, faraway dramas brought back home,
Politicians squabble, as they reel, cashing in,
Seals of unapprovals, witness hollow, low rings,
Infrastructure crumbles, above our dry heads,
And Nero plays his fiddle, in a land of perky dead,
John Lennon said NYC was in reality the new
Rome, soon set to burn, in a decade or so,
Nero knows, Nero plays, could give a ****'
Humanity is Nero playing his fiery fiddle
There is only one issue of news that matters,
Not bread, or circus, Kardashians, or deflated
Footballs, it is our survival, the earth, heating up,
Is angry and we are small, deaf, blind and numb,
A mankind of fools with Nero playing his fiddle.

Bio Of Mario William Vitale

The language and images of Mario Vitale's poetry are so closely bound to the natural cycles of seasons, of generations, of the body's functioning, that is surprising to realize how many of his poems deal with uprootedness. But this poetry is not sentimental celebration of the goodness of nature, and harmony with the world is never assumed. The way he captures the tenuousness of this faith, the balance that must be found between the ugliness, the harshness of his history- both natural annd social- and its intense beauty, is what distinguishes Vitale's poetry, gives it its depth and dimension:

Mario William Vitale Biography

I was born in 1970 Bristol hospital.
A young nurse took me in her arms and said that I would one day become a success,
As the years would pass I was heavy in the arts used to sing and act.
Was an altar boy at St. Pius Church.
In time I would act in my senior class play, "The Mystery Of Edwin Drood"
Where I had the lead role as the Narrator,
I touched many hearts with that performance in 1989,
Was hospitalized with mono that same year for two weeks long,
Also that same year I became prom king of my class Wolcott High School,
After the break up with my first grilfriend in 1989 I wrote the poem entitled, "Remembrance of a loved one" where I had it published on poetry.com
Attempted plays: Tartuffe, Miracle Of St. Anthony and Balm in Gieade, (His poetic aspirations had derived at 18 in 1989 from submitting his first poem entitled, "Remembrance Of A Loved One"- (Sparrowgrass Poetry Forum)
Attended Central Connecticut State University For Creative Writing: 1997
Next from 1989-1997 (Wrote primarily for Poetry.com and The International Library Of Poetry) , * Received editors choice award in 1997 for poem, " A Beacon Of Light ",
(1998)Sent poetic manuscript to N.Y. Time Magazine and Chief Editor " John Hyland".
Back with rave reviews!
* (From 1999-2008: Had adapted a real keen sense of style for writing poetry: (1999- Sent Editorial to:
New Man Magazine for the Passion of Christ Movie; Sent followup letter to company with poetry platform information attached,
* 2000-2007: Magazine: (Catholic)Maries Rose Ferron Magazine submitted poem" Beacon Of Light", which had excellent editorial reviews as the outset!
2008- Wrote poem entitled: (The Heavy Cross)to Poetry.com* Achieved Poetry status of work of Excellence in writing from the Academy Of American Poetry in which still having received rank and status as a member of Academy;

(The Connecticut Poetry Society) * Short story submitted entitled, "China Dog Ray" submitted to Virginia Writers Quarterly, West Virginia, Also having member status on their board of Poetry.
Attribute Poetry to an ever increasing love of God and his unconditional love that he has for us in return, Thankfulness toward family and friends.(To our past ancestors who fought to uphold freedom that far too many of us take for granted?
My contemporary artists include that of Ellan Bryant Voight, Kay Ryan and Carl Phillips.Which all three are Participants in the Academy Of American Poetry
Having been a member since 2006, My work reflects the likes of past poets such as C.S.Lewis, Hawthorne and Edgar Allen Poe.
Most of my work reflects with the values of religious beliefs intact
In my personal view it is essential in demonstrating a real heart of creative passion!
The reader I believe will benefit by my artistic style of development in a very positive light.)
After experiencing a life transformation encounter.I had realized that poetry is my unique way to convey myself my work speaks from the heart with pure sentiments of though intact,

As the years passed I would write over 4,000 poems and 5 short stories toward my platform,
My poetry is based on the free verse style of writing,
Was published in 10 venues such as Writerscafe, Neopoet, Hello poetry, Poem Hunter, Booksie, Poetryvibe, Poetrysoup, Starlifecafe.com, Poets Know It & poetry.com...
I was saved by God at the tender age of nine in Charlotte Carolina where I came to know the Lord that was in 1979,
Today I continue to write poetry was published on Spillwords, High On Poetry, Tuck Magazine & Setu Magazine.
My main emphasis in writing poetry is to share with the mass populace touching many hearts.
Hope you can read my poetry.



Sea Stacks

skipped rocks through a stream today
the opening of a brand new day
its frame is in minor decay
the bleached wood massed in bone piles,
we pulled it from dark beach and built
fire in a fenced clearing
the posts' blunt stubs sank down
the circled and were roofed by milled
lumber dragged at one time to the coast
We slept there

Each morning the minus tide-
weeds flowed it like hair swimming
The starfish gripped rock, pastel,
rough. Fish bones lay in sun

Each noon the milk fog sank
from cloud cover, came in
our clothes and held them
tighter on us. Sea stacks
stood and disappeared
They came back when the sun
scrubbed out the inlet


Life Force

through the flame cover me
in silent sound dignity
for with what one is willing to achieve
valiantly
feel the breeze
nestled through the trees

shaped through your dreams
a piercing of the skin
new hearts to begin
again



Choices

Many have a hard time understanding
They live for self and that of society
They are the walking dead yet they don't even know it
Eyes with blackened spots having holes
Viscous fangs with blood dripping off the side
You share with them the truth
They choose to run away & hide
Yet deep inside they may still question
Why am i here ?
They can't even help you
Cause they won't help themselves
They are the **** of the land
Much too afraid to stand among the son of man
A bitter taste
Do they want salt or sugar coated messages
Positive reinforcement strengthens the heart
Negativity kills it
Each of us has been given a choice
We must lend a helping hand with a voice
All of us have been given a choice
Now which pathway will you choose ?


Emerald City
There’ll be no unemployment in heaven.
No worry about the next meal.
There’ll be no bills to harass us,
and thieves will not break in and steal.
In heaven, we’ll have no need for money;
Everything up there will be free.
We’ll enjoy God’s unsearchable riches,
and have unending security.
I’m looking forward to heaven,
that land that is fairer than day.
Where all will be joy and gladness,
and sorrow and care will flee away.
Up there, no mean words will be spoken.
Each heart will be filled with pure love.
We’ll never be hurt or rejected,
in the beautiful city above.
There will be no disappointment or heartache.
God will wipe all the tears from our eyes.
No one will ever be lonely,
and there’ll be no anguished good-byes.
Up there, the love we have for each other,
by each heart will be shared equally.
And we’ll have all the things that we’ve longed
for, and at last we will really be free


Little Angel

Hope springs a new
On a cloud in heaven
Stand a heavenly angel
With mere beauty of crystalized light
Golden emblems encrusted their frame
Sweet songs drifting to a very faint whisper
Eyes, hands & face
A real message sent down to earth
To care for those lonely souls all alone
There beauty is a surprise to encounter
Slipping through locked doors to appear
Many have shed a tear to numb the inner pain
Causing accidents not to happen
They appear in the form of brightened miracles
We see them with a heart all a glow
Come to the birth of a new born baby
Come to servicemen who just joined the navy
You will see them at a graveyard setting
Even among gamblers who do there betting
There all around us you see
For all of life is but a mystery






These Flames I Live
turn back the tear drop pillow
I'm sick to my stomach
suffering alone and hard
piercing cavity of viscious fangs that bite
illusive
impulsive
the rant

These flames I live
my right to forgive
undercover
beyond the means
living in a land of mean
barren sea

a shot in the dark
to light the spark

many are left in rebellion
what an incredible talent Vitale is
he is the poet of all poets
the moment you met him perfect ten

a chick lying with her hens
a quest...
flaws and failures
yes he wears Depends

a trip to the zoo nothing new


Laughter
Laughter fills the scented air
through days exposed
the timeless hour of a loathsome mast
expounded upon the cavity of debris

develop a grateful heart
that one may impart
look close through a pillar of glass
a vergence sea out beyond the interpass

a halo with a song
to help you get along
the sight of a fawn on the lawn
greed and materialism will crush out the light in your life

******* by the holy spirit
a heart change has to happen
one must be open to the message
care for your brother help for your pale sister

one ear on the floor
a cause for more
through fetters got it made to even out the score

Unending Brigade
I ask myself politely
what resistance flowers here
against love treaded lightly
or losing lovingness dear?

give cadence to the simple,
for I gave ammunition to the laughter
we should we ever falter
the timeless whisper of happening

golden nuggets of thought & inspiration
braids my hair with a great deal of wear
through the conclaves of love's fastened grip
shadows block the vortex to aid its message


The Dream Police
they come to my head
at the side of my bed
they are enforcing my sleep
give cadence to a treat
a far from ports unknown
like a dog without a bone
giving tickets to be enforced
every time I have a dream
forces scream


Of Time & Dreams
Father's gold pocket watch measured heartbeats,
times for surgery and the slow drip of an IV
all else in his life was overture
to main events, like birth and death
of those the family never knew

Steps from my childhood dreams to his were counted
in places where treasure were wet pebbles
and the pulse of life was seen in raindrops on the lake
now the watch is mine, and i yearn to throw it
like a pebble into the past,

to see it skip and yield to places we never shared,
like blue-green eddies near the shore
and grasses curled by the win
Yet, warming in my palm, the measurer of his days
seems to sing the music of turning points
where drying dreams meet others born anew,
emerging through images of caring
to rhythms more than metrical
that i've yet to understand



The Land Of Dreams
When you fall asleep at night,
your mind goes into an eerie flight
You can open the gate with the key of thought,
and don't have to do what you've been taught

You sing, and dance, and prance all day
and you act so happy and also gay
You run in circles and run into the trees,
and cut your elbows and scrape your knees

But sometimes you open the wrong gate,
and find yourself facing a terrible fate
There are monsters, ghouls and also grouches,
and then you wish you were on confortable couches

And when you're done and almost through,
your mind knows exactly what to do
you go back through that eerie flight
it may be day it may be night

And when your mind comes back to you,
you may wake up and have the flu
You could leave for school very late,
and find out that it's the wrong date

And you could play outside in the streams
but you will know that you entered "The Land Of Dreams."


Old Crow
Old crow
Tired and lazy' against the day
Dark skies
Lost in blacks and whites and grays
Howling north wind
Sure takes a man's fight away

Wastelands,
A dreamer's home on his best day
Hard rain
Drops the leaves and makes the colors fade
And talks cheap,
But for the words of time they'll ave the last say
Oh the words of time, they'll have the last say

And the harvest is in, it wasn't much
May I have enough to get by
The baskets were light, not a muscle ached
And somehow I feel I'm going to die
The winter is coming and the signs say hard
I've never seen such a haunting sky

For on the mountains, frost in the wind
And somehow I feel I'm going to die
Full moon
Lonely above the old oak tree line
Old crow
Hanging empty in the black sky
And a nighthawk
Circles her in silence as she flies
Old crow, all alone she flies


Pheonix
the blazing glory of a loving night
Disappears in the sun's bright morning light
All efforts to recall that glorious pain
Fade in the dawn to be sought in vain

but the memory clings of precious glory
that will not become an old, dull story
instead that memory promises anew
that love will spring forth and again renew

with every joining of two loving souls
again will emerge from the fading coals
a love renewed by the glowing embers
so that this night, too, will be remembered.


Soul Search
When I look into your eyes
I see the sunshine and rain,
The deeper I look and also see
Various kinds of pain;
I can see the kind, warm love that filters thru,
To surface at the top when you’re not blue,
I have seen and know your hopes and fears
The good and bad times you have thru years,
You have seen and felt so much
I’m glad our lives did touch
Look deep into my eyes and you will find
The heartaches and happiness that were also mine


Come With Me
Come with me and be my friend
Lets create a fantasy
just you & me
lets linger through the wind
and feel free
lets run through the sand
and make time stand still
so we can treasure this moment
Only until
The mystical ocean
touches our souls
and fills our hearts with love
come with me and I'll show you

What I have to give
come with and I'll describe
The life I dreamed we'd live
come with and hold me gently
and watch the retiring sun slowly set
Shower me with all your love
pretending we just met
Whenever you need me
I'll be there
To help lift your spirits
and I want to care
About you
come with and be my love
no longer a fantasy
just you & me
This time only
A reality...


Mario William Vitale. has been featured on Hubpages.com, Starlitecafe.com & Poetry soup. Vitale lives with his elderly mother Ann Soulier in Wolcott, Ct. Currently has written well over 1,000 poems & 2 short story's toward credit platform.

Vitale has taken the poetic world by storm being featured on Google, Yahoo & MSN. Looks up to contemporaries in the poetry industry such as John Ashbery & Major Jackson.
Has been a favorite featured poet reader at Barnes & Noble in Waterbury, Ct.
Also featured on such sites as Poetry soup, Writer's café & Neo Poet

Personifications Of Oceanic Thoughts
whispers
sun lit morn
the surf hits the turf
smells of salt air through the moment
savor each moment as the memory lasts
bask in the vast expanse between time & space


sounds of children playing
seaweed next to the rocks along the cobblestone walkway
solace torn up in the derision of peace with solidarity
we were made for moments such as these
seagulls flock overhead

remember me in thoughts as these
whisk through the breeze
capture one's inner sense
alas with angelic fervor permeates a flame of life's torn reality
a new to face the day


Follow Your Heart
Magic breathes life in our hearts
Destiny resides in our souls
Our path now shimmers unshadowed by the night
With one embrace partnered by a tender kiss, the bounds

of time and distance crumble through fingers like drifting
grains of sand
Dream time is the place where I am alive
Green eyes ripple into lipid pools where miracles draw me

to your heart
I am free to swim by your side until the sun sets and
rises with you again
Life is my dream

I love you



Cynthia
When at night I close my eyes,
to think all the days gone by,
to feel again those passions past,
and feeble joy that never lasts,

I'm always drawn to thoughts of you, my only love my Cynthia
I think I found you in a dream then we celebrate,
the night I pressed beyond the seam,
where fantasy and reality meet

in summer mist so soft and sweet,
But you were all I ever felt, my deepest love, my Cynthia
But dreams just last within the night, when morning came,
Her soul took flight

I awake to find Her never there
She passes like the misty air
To leave me longing and alone, my painful love,
my Cynthia

Enigma love you swell the heart,
to crush the same when lovers part
But whether love and joy you bring
or bitter pain and Death's cold sting

I plead you come to me again, my final love,
My Cynthia


For My Precious Son
You're standing in the doorway.
Your workday is all done.
He waits to see you everyday,
this boy that is your son.

He hopes you will go fishing.
He hopes you'll shoot the gun.
He just wants to be with you,
this boy that is your son.

He is your spitting image.
To him you are ''The One''.
He hopes to be just like you,
this boy that is your son.

You show him what a man is.
You teach as you have fun.
You are admired as well as loved
by this boy that is your son.

You've got a friend forever.
Until the world is done.
Then, still you will be holding
this man that is your son.

I'm Just A Poetical Lyricist
I’m just having fun, but no doubt someone will take this serious
I’m about to take you on a lyrical experience
I’m having fun with words, like when a baby first starts reading books
Saying I’m good at rhyming, Is like saying Mike Tyson packs a decent punch
I best mention the Kardashians other wise you’ll have trouble keeping up
Me with a pen is more dangerous than Michael Myers on Halloween when he starts slashing with the knife
Telling me I can’t rhyme, is the biggest mistake you’ve made since you let your ex Back in to your life
Speaking of exes, will someone please date mine
I promise she’ll give you a great time
I’ll pay for the date, its all on me
All I ask, is please be good enough to get her to stop calling me
I love Hip Hop, and yeah I know I’m white
Please be creative and tell me how I’m the new Vanilla ice
Or how I should walk right back across 8 mile
I could have thrown this into my waste pile
But I just wanted to write some joke lines and have some fun
Sick of hearing rappers talk about drugs and how they pack a gun
“yeah I’m Bad. I’ll make this *** Squirt”
You don’t know who Nas is, And think the greatest rapper is Lil *** Vert
Or some other mumble rapper with lame rhymes
You deserve to have Biggie and Big Pun sit on you at the same time
Some guy called Young **** is wearing dresses
That’s not something I have a problem with
My problem is
There’s so much going on in the world and these rappers are scared to address it
What happened to Hip-Hop when rappers would share a message?
Nas, Big Daddy Kane, Slick Rick, I could name so many more
Now its a bunch of dudes who sound the same with empty thoughts
I’d pretend to be from the hood and blast guns but I’d fail
I’d rather be the real me, and I’m far too cute to go to Jail
I just love Hip Hop and the way it used to be
You always get the truth from me
someone tell Rihanna I’m ready to give her the best 30 seconds of her life
Tell her she’ll only regret it if I become a legend when I die
Knowing she could of had me
This is my last piece of paper, I’m now pad free
I was watching rap battles on YouTube, So took you on this lyrical experience
I’m just a poetical lyricist

Rapula
back in the day where hustlers stayed there were those very afraid
he was born in the gutter his momma was a vamp selling her junk in the trunk of a car
up all night slept all day he was blown from the frey
viscious fangs that bite two turn tables with a mic insisted on a fight
******* the innocent patrons for blood right in the hood like you knew he would
Rapula the man, the myth & the legend
could very often see him in the back of a seven eleven drinking red slurpees

took folks block by block like giving him a heart attack just to fit his mold
no one came against him until that day in the crib Rapula lost his lobster bib
very often you will see him at the 8th Street Station spinning his records
there will never be another blood ******* brother so move over he's taking cover
Rapula wore a high hat tip on his temple driving a white Benz looking like Baretta


I am in the Father, and that the Father is in me
Supernatural
but it's so true
the world hasn't a single clue
borrowed basement pews
stained glass windows
a reflection of the cross
some will go before the toss

he was there from the beginning
he is the only one that's winning
perfumed stockings and a breath of fresh air
the willingness to share how you really care
if you have seen him you have seen the father
Jesus

Stop The Madness
All of sudden reality happens
Ruining my mind that's already jumbled
"where the hell did i just go?"
I ask to myself no one listens
Obsecurity is still in me
Recognizing situation where i have been
Looking up the sky it's already dark
Worrying something, i need to get up
Home, i need to find home
Stepping forward to pass the crowd
The longer i go, the quieter it's so
Taking my glasses off because its fogged
Focusing my lens but the blur shows
sigh
Now melancholy does it again
Lack of knowledge about locations
Lack of someone to be asked for
And there is no light to guide me on
Vision, direction, companion
I wish i could make them clearer
But in reality, they just disappear

Shaman Within
I met a dead poem in the shade of spring.
I was so sad I could hear the door bell ring

through the furtherance of a smile I became unglued
shadows block the motive bruised.

Beyond the sky set flight

Prison Of The Mind
able to be smart without words
its a topic of conversation
through words spilled out on the ancient path
meditate
lights out
beg, ***** & pout
the underscore read stop
I'm keeping on keeping

transfused and weeping
table talking
swallow its extremities
move the levee
strong will survive
thank God I'm alive
the moments the solitude alone

vibrations fixed temptations
sensations...
take me to the prison
three squares a day
a pillow and I pray
nestled the mood away

Getting Ahead Of God
hearken onto the voice of a still small way
let God show you the new found way
look deep into the cause of wisdom seek the shelter
God give the children right parents to help bring them up

you never miss out in obeying God
when you start off in life without God your in the wrong direction
God will tell you what he wants you to do if you ask him to
your life will be filled with joy, peace & happiness

the issue is its not your age but what is the will of God for your life
God always has your best when we wait on God
you can't tell by the way it works by the way it counts
you may have get by in life but you must deny yourself

people have to go through disaster before you surrender your life
each time we take a leap of our own choice we lose
out of the will of God you'll be disapointed
the issue is what does God want for your life

he acts on behalf on the one who waits on him
you can't get God's guidance if your living in sin
happiness, joy, peace & satifaction are very valuable
you made some choices but God will forgive you if you repent for them

its a decision we make if we confess our sins he is faithful & just to forgive us
it is a choice you make
remember you reap what you sow
you can't avoid or escape the things of your soul

whether your 16 or 67 its time you made a decision and surrender to God
I pray that every person that hears this message will stop to think of what they have done in life

Take It All In
God is a closer friend
come back to New England
plants, rocks, shrubs & things
suddenly I'm waiting here for you

it's a tick or take Sunday afternoon
waiting by the rocks they surface with untimely leaves
the leagues plagued with devastation
the beef stock through the goldie locks of here hair

Summertime is no better time
got this crazy feeling
I'm so glad that your feeling for me
with your heart you can unite the heart


Changes
a smile from a lonesome child
transformed through the eyes
the timeless cavity unleashed
through diverse port of space in time

the child in time grew now in there teens
sees the world through a fine tooth comb
at home being alone the horrific scene
through adolescence its a coincidence

now as an adult able to leap tall buildings with a single bound
the smile deminishes onto sophistication
almost a loose cannon
pronounced news to its folly

cover me with those tender leaves
falling from the stream let loose on my caboose
the stars all glitter in the darkness of night


Pilgrims Progress
We need great golden copulations in the cemetery
bury your head beneath the limbs in part of a ghostly resolve
perhaps this was the path Brother Lawrence tred alone
underneath the interpass of denial of speculation

we have nursed path each quatrum with a deafening blow
to stand in one accord to each other as pilgrims rest after harvest time
Apple butter jam spread on fresh home made bread
the reflections of a timid squirrel on a limb

we have become immeasurable by your smile
she danced in a ring of fire yet throws of each challenge with a shrug
the cost of the pilgrims progress we shall never know
bust up the beat to promote its tempo

a beacon of light to a much hurting world in search of love
Does death hurt you the most or is it fear
beneath the timeless swell I live to tell
sought through the variation to its cosmic flame

Careless Whisper
a shoulder tender shelter to lie next together,
the swelter of a careless whisper left tempted
shelter lies dormant onto its beckoning plough
to thirst united with the throne

billow with asps of the new day's pride
thank God I'm still alive
to delve into the ridges of each dishes
kisses

the torment of each smile
bruisded reed tmpered on its poll
the thought of vanity
among humanity

the faint of your legacy

Spirit To Touchdown
Ten years since her husband's death
she still craved the sight of him and
his magnetic smile
coming in the door, his suitcoat
slung over his back. She yearned to
glance at him in a long black
coat, resembling a materialized
laser beam, as they
prepared to go out for an evening,
or in old bluejeans walking barefoot
with her on the seashore.
She knew he was always with her...
but wanted his spirit to touchdown

My Elephant
There is something about the Elephant I love very much,
I wish I could cuddle him but I know I cannot,
if they be my friend, I will play soccer with an Elephant on my side,
I will catch hold of his trunk and he’ll trumpet me to victory with pride.

There is something about the Elephant I love very much.
Although he is so big, he won’t give you a fright,
He lifts up his trunk and blesses you instead,
So different from the Lion and Tiger you meet,

There is something about the Elephant I love very much
He is a pure vegetarian, he won’t **** a mouse,
He is worshiped as God for all his good vice.
If we were to crown the king of the jungle again,
It will go to the Elephant our vegetarian friend

Proud To Be An American
I’m proud to be American
To live In a country that’s free
And we’re free to be who
We want to be!
We’re always
Free to try
New things.
And enjoy every
Experience that
Life may bring!
And I was taught
To stand up for what
You believe in
And never give up
On your hopes
And dreams
Because the sky
Is the limit!

Beach Canopy
The smell of fresh fry doe
Time had elapsed playing at the casino
Fresh lobster with a side order of fries
Those spacious wonderful sky's
Down at the shell the continental were playing
A walk by the lady of a statue in waiting
Flip flops and the sound of laughter
A playground for kids in the middle
The boardwalk with seagulls flocking over head
Fire works in the midnight air with a cheer
Love We Go
through the sweet vortex of our inner frame
we can dream of far off places with kings and queens
shaped through the fragments of are exploits
someday you will be all alone in your room
there you will read a text to reflect upon your life
we each are on a journey in this life
some ponder the existence of God
other reflect in the day to day toil
love is the mere essence of are existence
shine your inner light upon the twilight hour

shadows block the mere reflection of my frame
not having you in my arms is driving me insane
lest I refrain another door by which to explore
there is so much more in this game of life
within its given strife we can learn
one soul soars and another will soon burn
we better wait are turn in this wheel in the sky
the faint lulabye in its scope
Elvis In Vegas
Viva Viva Los Vegas
he came alone with a guitar in his sack
romance with the dice
he's giving back

a whole host of onlookers looking upon
he waves his magic wand
with a favorable song
swivel hips stand tight in his sticks

Elvis
Fun House
a blade of grass blown in the wind
heros have erected its course
leading folks away from divorce
in times of remembrances
thoughts shattered in the wind
coming apart at the seams

a brigade of thoughts
What is a funhouse ?
It is when the eyes of all are upon you
It's not so, but when you go through it is true

The funhouse is a form of torture where everything unravels around you
It is a commotion of nervousness and you just want to hide from all that is around you
It is a secret that you don't want to share, but there is one who helps just by saying I care
It's not what you say it is what you do

When you enter my world of the funhouse, you assure me that God is in control
that with him I don't need to be afraid
It's the gentle way in which you talk when once you have entered into the realm of commotion...
It's the assurance of your sincerity that softens the blow
Soon with your special way the inner strife goes away
A Thief in The Night
Jesus
he that hath an ear let him hear
when all was said to be good
let it be said calamity

have you ever been down to the lowest pit
you look around and no one gave a ****
By His Hand
through long lines of being transformed to clean my room
in the late month of June we move too soon
we remain vital to the oncoming spirit of the game
filtered through those tiny reasons to spice up the season
the God Lord up above has carried us by his hand
Poison Ivy
there are pillars being built
for those who pusue the chase
we each are in a battle
some have retreated at death's door
lest I implore something more
a quaint visitation with your higher power
in a world torn up in misery & sorrow
hiding behind a false hidden garb of compromise
can't we easily see through those twised lies
yet we embark on a new journey of are own
having a house but living all alone
out in the street where people meet
had a gun at my head thought i was really dead
out of devastation I reached right for the bottle
like having a gun in hand to release its throttle
the world is in misery torn
some insist to curse they very day they were born
eyes to see but can't
hears to hear but won't
there's a true lesson to be learned
one soul soars while the other soon to be burned
we must all wait in line for are turn
each of us will have a day in the sun
now I'm off on the run
searching through pictures to put on my wall
to stand ten feet tall amidst the social resistance
join in now I must insist this
casualties are enormous
for a stated cause that's plain atrocious
have we taken the time out to notice
yet many of us have given up way to easy
caught in a rut in are society
out of desperation there still is a plan that we can see
someday be fulfilled as a reality
if we only believe one will be set free
Break Away
break away to a brand new day
perfect display we come to pray
faint sounds of grandeur
right down to the wire

share with those you have heard
Thirst
thirst after the water that has been spoken
look deep beneath the vines of realization through thought and mind
breath deep inside let your breath go complete
with words of heightened anticipation

go deep upon deeper be the keeper of the gate call it fate
the twist and turn of the music to loose it
the world spins like a top
negotiate your buyer

sweet songs of praise
sweet moments raised
in a time well spent in thought
the spinning wheel stop just like a top
remember me in times like these
sheltered through the breeze crushed upon the leaves
in midnight hour with pulse through the flame in moments of granduer
sharpen your arrows to calm the breeze nestled to your knees
cultivated with a smile to know all the great while
a helmet for the passing fawn the bear from its nap with a yawn
in columns of portals sprinkled dust in the wind
the habitation of a needle visible through the shadows

remember me in times like these
through the training of the leaves taunt the moment
an explosion until sunset the bill of sale
A Gun For Hire
there is a direct correlation between time & space
scented across your universe base
the climb to approach the summit peak
with words do you seek

famous qoutes and pictures for your desire
coming down to the wire
a gun for hire
Beyond Her Tea- Blurred Vision
The powerful voice of loneliness is screaming through her mind of twisted halls,
All too painful to hear, she absorbs them into her cotton ball walls
But, beyond her tea-blurred vision and through her pounding heart

She hears the voice inside her that is worse
than a dagger through her heart
Her shadow's darkest moments are filled with hopeless pride
And her tongue tied conscience is all whom she has to confide

But the rose that is trying to bloom, within
her salty hand, will never wither, and never be taken away,
Because this, and this alone, is
what keeps her going day by day

the embrace...
Shelter From The Storm
outside violence
inner silence
shadows now block the vortex
spaces for places & midnight traces
coming apart at the seams
jelly beans

breath deep my pale sister
confide my shady brother
undercover as lovers
sign so simple the *******


shelter from the storm
curse the very day you were actually born
a world that turns
suffer inside the place to hide


let go of any ambition
what are you *******
cap the cosmic clap
faces in the window having storms in the night
Celebrate In Twilight
the crimsome tide
we all want to run away & hide
although we suffer inside
enter through the canopy of a velvet song

lines drawn in the sand
when to understand
give yourself away
take heed to pray

no cornerstone
no bridge unknown
through the sunlit ravine
The Knight Of The 1,000 Eyes
softly now faintly
ode to the serpent's tale
dismiss the dread to reclaim its saga
in darkened dungeons fit for conquest
come away for a rest
most of life is but a test

treasure the mantle to the I am presence
delve into the sacred flames within your heart
enter the center of your being pull back on yourself
a still small voice within you saying be not afraid
I am here I am your heart I abide in the holy temple in the center of your being

you have climbed through mountains you have found me after a very long trek in the darkness of human misery
I am the pressence that looks through your eyes
the knight will rise of the 1, 000 eyes
filtered through the shame
who are we to blame
infinity is my measure
you beloved heart belong to me let us be one once again
allow the shell of outer human pass away

I will be the service to life that passes through you
do not accept as real to what is in the outer world
fear not I am the life inside your heart
I am inside you together we must intoduce ourselves onto the world.
A Gripping Fairy Tale
long ago let the truth be told
in a city far far away
lived a young hobbit who drank
there was woods to hide his visitation

a taste of hungry exoneration
A fare maiden was on the throne
ruling her army from the barren city
enclosed was a message of honor

high off traction from the waiting pool
the kingdom was now silent
These Words
these words are wrapped among a cordial smile
cemented like glue for what are we to do
come now let us leave the door opened,
a demonstration of trust in a world in quite a bit of a rush

the door swings wide to the enforced way
a beautiful flower display
ample time to pray
therefore everything will be o.k.

the knock on the door
lest I implore
a distant shuttter of languished circumstances
with a heart that's been renewed

these words stand still amidst the night's appeal
the even keal behind the spinning wheel
trust is completely most like a seagull off the coast
a reason to really trust
Surfing The Internet
Today I'm on point smoking a fat joint relaxing basking in the ambiance of the hour
folks need to take a cold shower as they admire the scented perfume through the room
we have become combersome with this world as a child as if you never really heard
Leonard Cohen with his famed song "Suzanne" really makes you think about life.
Through the negative light of affliction we have every bit of reason to be standing chosen
yet we have are back against the wall when all attempts of standing ten feet tall,


Each of us has a reason to discuss the mere notion of love sent from up above
Rat *** tat tat on that *** no one gets by on any free pass we need to make are way
look to your neighbor for any favors we can all learn to trust & savor
Each new moment that comes along with a fast paced moving vibrant song
you unleashed the inner lion in me with a whole host of chemistry

Surfing the internet may not be your thing but prayer can unleash the fires within
storms of life come to either make you or break you whats news for you might not be for you
life is like a jagged edge roller coaster with its twists and turns
one soul soars while the other one burns just wait your turn
Empty Leaves
onto the seventh hour of the seventh sun
beckon to rule the new day's dawn
the lovely fawn sitting on the lawn
vibrations to great temptations

captivated by a smile
to know all the great while
the wilderness beckons a response

of wild beasts among us
Light Brevity
thoughts of brevity about the city
stay close to me a whole host next to me
got rhymes of choice stretched to the opened door
the willingness to be explored

stand firm in the wheel chair you know my condition
to what I've been dishing
kissing
twisted stereo lies by the bars swift no surprise

captivated by her smile
still to know all the great while
as if a little child
faith pierced the scene

eating fantastic cuisine
the turning of the page
is it safe to ask you your age ?
the band played on
Agatha The Princess
she was on the throne
far away from her home
uniting hearts to ne fond heights
carrying herself with a song

Agatha the princess
will lose their influence
soaring to new frontiers
left her to tears

took walks in her garden
beautiful flower display
led to thoughts to pray
with tears in her eyes

came as a big surprise
delicate hue wth borrowed lies
she walks the flats on the lonely pier
rapers and dishes she would hide
leave behind

the careless whisper
a shoulder to cry
the soft cascading vamp
shine on her eyes

to beg or even borrow
moments of sorrow
to cleave to her young
the living stone

have we just begun
Back To The Front
plunged into uncertainty
the quest to be a want to be

shining on mental enhancement
there's joy in the progress

smoke on my ceiling

highway of what I'm dealing
******
bang bang shoot shoot
you took my nephew Shane
let me be the first to explain
Shane used to live with us so long ago
until he shot up ****** he died in are house

such a dark force
it starts with a promise to relieve
then one gets too deep
falling apart at the seams

beg, borrow & steal
for your next fix to even the deal
some take it with a needle others snort it up their nose
but do you suppose there's always a shipment coming from Rhode Island

dodge the bullet feel the passion why am I asking
****** scores a perfect 10 in the mind of an addict
it takes your body then your soul
engulfed in flames bust up the beat to promote its tempo
Soft Parade
the tear drop fell from the ceiling
no matter what I'm dealing
the ocean has a delicate spray
through loose lines let it go

time well spent in thought
through the day springs hope
left nestled on its undertow
the stereo swell

basking in the hour of belief
sorted flowers in its incredible epitaph
The Waiting Suspense
there are pillars
in doorways
loosed to become forgiven
loose engine
the pulsating of a river
where is the trigger
gets bigger & bigger
Destination Excellence
the thought of letting go
a far to time before
waiting to explore
the opened door

life can be quite a bore
the longing for more
road up ahead
avoid the living dead

thoughts inside my head
The Arms Of Rap
into the arms of rap that's where its at buiding through the confusion in fusion
got flames coming out my baseball cap I'm in need of a nap keep close to the doorway
fresh rhymes I'm still on time you maybe brave see me at the arcade park my Benz in back
folks tend to over react but I tip my hat got news for you all bridge the gap know what's up

Chilling at the grill with my girl sporting heavy studs think that I'm in love you see
there's brilliance in a piece mark the ege of my teeth stand still & repeat
bars watching souped up body kit cars looking to the stars a view from Mars
Pina Colada does anyone grow fond of Starsky & Hutch another push

grasping with tender faith in my hand when will folks understand stick it to the man
years have passed still having every reason to grasp the solitude in that I'm still in a good mood...
Feeling high anxiety got folks sitting next to me living out my legacy of what I used to be
Sipping my favorite sauce to the max you tend to over react got to stay in the zone

Summer time boogy time get your cash and stand in line frozen in time
Through a variation of a dream peeps do scream eating delicious ice cream
Souped up high hat as if in a tempo taking you places that you need to go
playing a little Spanish fly i got words by the fly your my favorite guy

on my human side stand still I'm happily alive got to put first things first
this is how i flirt got words for Lavert put back your gold in a purse
Trump is getting busy but he makes me awful dizzy better listen to Thin Lizzy
they say i'm institutionalized but I got words from the hive it's best to dream big
Let Yourself Be
A reflection I will be, for today
I looked into a mirror and much to my surprise,
what I saw was all deep, deep, inside...
There it was, all exposed, the inner me

right down to my very soul alarmed, shocked, and surprised, what
I saw wasn't really me on the outside
What have I done ? Where did it go wrong ?
Why isn't the inner me the same as the outer soul ?

Then I could see way beyond it isn't just me, but everyone.
Life is a fairy tale to most for the really don't accept the Holy Ghost
If all would look within their self, and
see the person that is there,

open up your heart, let it out
don't pretend, just be proud, for the person
you really are, is just what God wanted
for he created you as he chose

Don't fret, or whine, just be proud, life's riches you will surely find
Now when you look at me, a mirror you will see
for when you look at me, what you'll see is the inner me
For I am the mirror of the real me

To everyone in life who feels they are not special,
you really are, you see, for God made you that way,
if you'll only let yourself be...

“I want to be famous.”
Is what I used to tell my parents.

“Why?”
They’d ask.

“So people will love me”

Now that is partly true,
Who doesn’t want to be accepted and loved by those around them?

But

I have something else to say.

I don’t only long for the people to love me.
I long to stand up for the people who don’t know they’re being taken advantage of.
I want to open people’s eyes.

To show them that there is more to life than
work, or politics, or who’s dating who, or what the **** the Kardashians are wearing today.
There’s beauty in everything, but the media blinds.

I had lost my vision for a while.
I’m slowly recovering.

I used to think of material things.
Superficialities.

Now I think of how stunning the way the light reflects off of the brightly colored walls of my room.
I think of how sad it makes me to see trash littering my city’s roads.
I think of my friends on the other side of the world who are doing their own, normal, mundane, beautiful things the very moment I am laying my head down to rest.
I think of injustices being shoved into innocent faces.
I think of my future and what I plan to do about it.

but I think that little parts of me,
Still wish to be loved, no matter how cruel I know this world to be.

I do not walk around searching for acceptance from others.
No I do not care how many likes I get on that new selfie, I like photography and I value beauty in many ways.
No matter how much you think so,
I do not need your "incredibly life changing" word that Jesus supposedly gave you for me.
I definitely don't have to speak in tungs for God to hear me.
I don't need to have one night stands to feel loved and have worth.
I do not need your money, and no, money will NEVER fix all of your problems.
No I don't know the latest of what's happening with the kardashians, I have better things to do.
I don't need a big house I'd be fine with a one bedroom apartment.
I do not plan on marrying into money but if that happens, great.
Yes I like graffiti I think it's authentic and adds to the experience of the city.
I don't need or want **** or alchohol to have a good time.
I don't need to hear what you have to say about my make up or how I dress.
I like how I dress and I like me and I certainly  don't need your help to make me look how YOU want me to look.
I hate stereo types, I think you should too.
I like classical music and also rap.
I think to have dreams in life is a gift from God.
I see the beauty in tattoos and skin with none
I see the beauty in pale skin and the beauty in dark skin.
I don't think there is a such thing as a "normal person."
I'm real with God and talk to him about the confusions I have with him.
I say if you like ranch on your burger, get it.
I think piercings are fun.
My rooms not always clean.
And all together that sums up me:)

Affluence creates
distorted dissatisfaction.
It makes morons want
to be the Kardashians.
It makes kind people
ignore the world's misery.
It makes unkind people
arrogant and pig headed.
It crowds out those
who are really important to you.
Eventually, it becomes who you are
and then you are no one at all.
All that's left is your stuff and you.

  ~mce

Alright, world. It's time to get down to business. It's time to start caring about things that matter again. So take your mind away from all the trivial, superficial things and thing about the important things that change the entire dynamic of global society. I had a class last semester about Marx, Nietzsche and Freud. Those men amaze me. There was a time where there were people like Karl Marx trying to change the world. Forget whether you agree or disagree with his opinions. Whether he was right or wrong, he was convicted. It was his true beliefs. If you don't understand what I'm trying to say, think of Adolf ******. Some people agreed with beliefs of ******, some people didn't. People to this day are still agreeing and disagreeing with the beliefs of ******. Forget about all that. Even he, someone who was considered an awful man, did something. He tried to change the world. Yes, maybe he ended up changing the world for the worse, but the point is that in HIS MIND, he thought he was changing it for good. And after the existance of these people, all that stuff just... stopped. Who do we hear of nowadays who's trying to change the world (regardless of the outcome)? NOBODY. And the people who are doing things to change the world, nobody gives a **** about because people are too entranced with the more important things like What Not to Wear, the Kardashians, Honey Boo-Boo, and people being famous cake-makers. How many great philosophers, poets, psychologists who really care about the public do we hear around in this era? None! Of the few people who do try to make a difference in the world, none of them get recognized. Well, that is besides those celebrities who ***** a school in Africa because it's a good photo opportunity. I want nothing more than to even do the tiniest thing in my life that will make even a slight impact on the world; write a book, publish a philosophical transcript, but I'm starting to feel like there isn't even a point in doing so anymore because despite my efforts, in this shallow society, nobody would even take a glance.

politics, teachers in school, parents all of it is bafflegab to me. I run my own life, don't need anybody to tell me who I should be. Lie's and conspiracies have corrupted this once great society into todays monotony. Bafflegab everywhere, propaganda in the air, what matters to others doesn't mean anything to me. Why do people watch that trash called the kardashians or justin bieber, third world countries are dying but we are to busy with our drama, have we truly lost our humanity?

If only we'd known
A dead child was what
The white people needed
To start to care and solve
The problems of the war-torn,
***** Third-World.
We could have drowned one
Years ago in a luxury
Bubble bath and saved all
The inconvenience of
Distracting us from
The Kardashians
And making us uncomfortable
And having to worry about
Whether they will
Take our jobs or
Become our neighbours
And then we would
Have to stumble over
The pronunciation of their
Very foreign names
And worry about their
Very foreign ways
And whether or not our
Train journeys to work
Would be targeted by ISIS,
Or, perhaps, our holiday
Flight to the Mediterranean,
With its simply darling little
Features that are just so
Intimate.
At least it would make a
Tragic story
To discuss over brunch
With the ladies of leisure
While they get off
On the intimate pleasure
Of donating old clothes
(Expensive ones mind you! -
The refugees won't know
They're born) to charity.
If only we'd known.
We'd have been able
To help ourselves sooner
Before it stopped being chic.