Beyond your television
Lies vast hills,
along with many jumps and much thrill
Mario jumps
Zelda swings
As Kirby swallows
Donkey kong beats,
Star fox flies ever so high
While niko goes bowling
Roman started to cry
Meta knight stares ominously
As a goomba cautiously walks
A turtle shell turns blue
While the Mario kart racers get mad too....
We all know sleeping dogs don't lie
We joined a guild during an MMO war
Where we smashed every single one of our keyboards

It may not be too surprising, maybe it is
But the question I field the most in high school
Has nothing to do with calculus, nothing to do with biology
Hell, it doesn’t even have anything to do with colleges
People most want to know if I’m Chinese, Japanese, or Korean

Sometimes, when they think they’re funny
They like to pull their skin back to thin their eyes into slits
And their friends erupt into prepubescent sidekick laughter
And I’d laugh right along
Not because I was a prepubescent sidekick
But because those jokes didn’t bother me
That much

The first person to ask me that was a black kid who maybe stood 6 foot
As a freshman
Wearing his new LeBron jersey with the Miami Heat logo plastered in front
Complete with Air Jordan’s and official NBA socks
He asked me politely with his head bowed
Maybe a bit too low
I think I saw him snicker, but I was too naïve to be sure

Well honestly bro, I know which one I am
But I can’t tell you the difference between the Chinese, the Japanese, or the Koreans
Or in some of your cases, the Chinks, the Japos, and the *****
Cause’ even if I could, it wouldn’t matter
I’ve seen some of you ignorant ******* taste Sushi
and widely proclaim it as the weirdest Chinese **** you have ever tasted
Sushi comes from the Land of The Rising Sun, fyi
And one would think that you Americans would know more about the country
You guys basically nuked 65 years ago

But let me tell you about being Asian
Let me tell you about the ridiculous Asian accents done by ignorant classmates and even friends
Let me tell you about teaching simple words to the curious
Only to discover they’re really just interested in learning foreign swear words
C’mon kids, there’s Google translate for that garbage

Let me express the frustrations and embarrassment when you’re young
and only good at counting thus far
Yet you already speak the English language better than your parents
I used to always insist on leaning over my mother’s lap
So I could holler into the speaker at McDonald’s drive-thru

You guys want to rip me on my own driving too
Well I got styles yo, just like my hair
I got my Tokyo Drift, my Jeremy Lin, my Mario Kart
Or my turn signal on for the last five miles
And once you step into that high school everyone,
and I mean everyone, thinks you’re good at math and
expects you to give out answers in bulk like fortune cookies
You all think that I know the clever tricks
that Asians use for their grade-point-averages
Well, I have a C in AP calc
They say A stands for Asian
Well, does my C stand for, Caucasian?

Did ya’ll know that every year, my Swim team would travel upstate to Pekin High for a meet
And until 1980, they were known as the Chinks
And every time their football team scored a TD, a white kid dressed in Asian gear
Would bang on a gong while some players and fans would bow solemnly?

And when my boy Jeremy was dubbed by your boy LeBron
You guys all laughed and jeered when ESPN was headlined the next day with the phrase
“***** In The Armor”

For a while, I felt a shame for being Asian
I would express my private desires to be White or Black if I had the choice
Drawing the patient lectures from my parents that were admittedly, in poorly spoken English

Even now these so-called friends would still rib me about my ethnicity
This is where colleges come in kids
And yes, I got into a great school
But it is not the purpose of my life to get good grades, good colleges, or
satisfaction from my dad
I only strive to do what you all strive to do
and that makes me as American as you all
So it would be fitting for me to address the jury the way I am about to
Therefore to all you calc cheaters and arrogant good drivers,
to all of the fake friends and prepubescent sidekicks
*******

reality is like Mario Kart
dropping endless bananas on my heart
and time has gone too far
with all its technology
that claims to be smart
full of knowledge you can see
yet it goes dark for love
so I depart
I've had enough

Every time I touch a controller
I set a new highscore
I said a new highscore.
Look out behind you, *******.
I capped that ***;
You should've watched your back.
Now I got an L-shaped block
Watch as I drop it in that L-shaped slot.
Haters gotta throw the blue turtle shell,
Because they can't keep their kart on Rainbow Road.
Donkey's going to throw some barrels at me;
Don't worry princess, watch me jump.
I promise I won't get hit, not even once.
Hey there champ look right here;
I just stuck a plas grenade
On you right ear.
Lucky shot? So you say.
Still watching me tea-bag you
From the grave.
Pilot Wings, Punch-Out, Mario
Madden, Sonic or GTA
It doesn't really matter
The number of pixels we play.
D-Pad or joystick,
Night or day,
It doesn't really matter how you play,
Put me on tron I'll blow you away.
Turtles in Time:
You take that next slice.
Even blindfolded your no match
For my SuperScope.
Tony Hawk, what a joke!
In Pacman or Galaga in space
Even with the Kunami Code
You've got no hope.
So the next time you hear
Scorpion yell "Get over here!"
Have no fear
A Sonic Boom will soon be there.
Busting out Atari's Pong?
Noob, I'll pwn you
One-thousand to none.
Hell, not even Parapa the Rappa
Can touch my rhymes.
Read those initials
That score is mine.
I said read those initials;
That score is mine.

This isn't going to be much of a poem, just a thought; something that I was thinking about today.
I was asked if it was weird to have dated my ex, since he was 5'5, one inch shorter than I am. And you know what, I've dated professional go-kart racers, jujitsu gold medalists and kick boxers, yes, all much taller than I am, however, none of them made me feel as safe as my 5'5 hockey player did. So the answer to that question, which actually surprised me as well, is no. It was not weird. It was not anything but another relationship, with another boy, who proved to be much more than how tall he was. Height does not matter to me and I don't see it ever mattering because he made me feel just as loved as someone twice his size could have. And even though he turned out to be a complete *******, that was not because of his small size, that was because he was, and is, a ****** person. Case closed.

By Chloe Elizabeth

Bordering the ear of Dyonisius, in the latomia stone cuts of paradise, they stopped at Syracuse. A certain flash of limestone reflected Wonthelimar's court; Marielle Quentinnais, wandering before him on calypso calcareous stones. Her superior powers made her eclipse her from an underground world, to mount towards carbonated stones that made egregious tilts to revive her in her arms. The end of a century became part of her heart with the premiere of the female species that led her to the Shemesh of Syracuse. The excessive temper strengthened it in everything, making it a revived stone from the Miocene with the Avignon characters, colluding through the Rhone until hitting this neat gold stone brought from the arms of Ezpaktul, transplanted with precision and gold typologies, with great Malleable morphologies that carried him across the surface where Wonthelimar was looking at her, his heart almost pounding when he saw her! the waters spoke of hydric morphologies that conferred of her on waters and springs that were inferiorized in disheartened lower levels when he lost her in the forests of Valdaine. Her brackish tears did not stop imputing a micro space with distinguished Psilocybin mushrooms, for an Ambrosia Mercurial compote that Wonthelimar chewed and that had been immolated from the remnants of Eleusis, helping to revive it from the lost space die of the Mausoleum of the Quentinnais. The mantles froze the cold and warm air masses in Syracuse, carried several meters above sea level, with eager extra surpasses by coexisting in the cave blocks, where she would rest with Vernarth in her arms. For the subjugation of the journey that would make him perhaps mortal, retreating towards a three-dimensionality that would raise him above the Pleiades, as Aurion would do behind with his club, but rather leaving behind the cavities that would put his quantum at the mercy of the tiny rosaries that she did, while he was getting ready to approach on the surfaces of the hypogeal speleothemes, like the Profitis of the Mediterranean who spoke to him of music, and of flood episodes with his spectrum in front of her, losing her in a melancholic fervor, being plunged into the hypogeum of Chauvet. The level of her vicious intrigues led him to follow her like an unattainable cousin, but with backwaters that compelled him to think of her master Vernarth, linked to micro images that warned him when he tried to get too close. The floating instants weighed more than a slight depth through accumulations of his retro memory, making him flee from her, and now she was fleeing from him, with large sprays of dew that filtered into her arid aquifer memory, superior to the kart that is established by correspondence when someone supposedly disappears, because their free will is entombed with their stone specter. Due to regimes suffered, there was only one monarch that rose in icy and polar vadose conditions, towards an earthly level where the feet melt the calcaneus as if it were a weak relative ascent towards a couple of beings who loved each other imprecise, and contexts when vivifying their hiding place. in the caverns of Chauvet. He can hardly recall it a shallow light, almost falling without mass towards the front of the stalactites, creating concretions of solid love under the deepest prodigality.

Wonthelimar, had had a vision on the vadose threshold when he came out to the surface with Vlad and Vernarth, being able to realize that the cloying environment made him subordinate himself in the altimetry of his maniacal impossible love, putting at risk the mission of overcoming the fluctuations of his visions, placing precepts in the sighting courses in Syracuse that had him dazzled, and very close to the entrance pit of the Ear of Dionisius. The puffs of caliginous air mass climbed before the beastly decibel of Vlad's chiropterans, falling through the marshes that were found from freshwater by several estuaries, and with decimeters when they tried to adjust their addiction. Solvents in the glaciers looked immutable when they were taken by underwater stimuli and models, still remaining after an extraordinary performance of vague probity, reviewing the details of actualism on the interfaces that led them, causing the water to flee from their bodies and inclinations. Only a few deposits favored the band mechanism to protect Vernarth's burning, which crystallized in excesses of the Sun, precisely when the fluctuations seemed bulky, by coordinating the foreign fattening in its arms, with which it would open the floodgates before entering the Grotto of Dyonisius, with greater rigors of concretion and emotion that flourished towards a maximum extension, which progressively gave rise to the devotional areas that received them at adjoining angles of forty-five degrees from its main arch, where frequencies stood out and the light with the mass of the Sun, distributed in small stars, which leaving campaniles that adhere to the normal area of distribution of the frequencies of the cave, on bands that reflected moved bodies on the mirror of rain that was shown on themselves, such as once striated towards a more tempting rib of the Coralloidal Speleothems. In Catania, they settled in the polis of Artemis's prosapia, on sieges where he led Marielle to past vigils with the Archons of Athens, not being able to subject her to arbitrary vexation.

Marielle was screened behind the Erithrina Coralloides of the Speleothemes, when this deciduous tree changed the color of its foliage in emerald colors, its spines served to deposit the Vernarth clone on its leaflets. After the libation of the alkaloid by Wothelimar, helping him to materialize the elusive effigy of her Marielle, making insertions in her disintegrated seeds allowing him to remove from her back some elytra, like those of Daedalus when she fled to Sicily escaping from King Minos. A snowy thread emanated from the similar ether that was picking through the noses of Wonthelmar and Vlad Strigoi, making it necessary to put wings on both of them to go to the cave of Dyonisius, toning the resins and aldehyde they carried to keep the Vernarth clone alive. Both rose over Marielle who was left with the custody of the clone, as well as their backs released red resins as consumed fuel, which was circularly reconsumed to rise up and enter the cave, resisting the arid aridities of the toxic fuel that was expelled on the Edens of Sicily.

You sit down at a desk, coffee in hand, and you try writing a joke for a humor magazine.

“Yesterday, my roommate Angie suggested that I should try being a male role model. And I totally would, but that would conflict with my dream of being a male fashion model. I have all the qualifications of being a model: I’m pretty tall, about 6 foot 3, I enjoy walking around with a constipated expression on my face, and since I’m Asian, I’ll look twenty-two years old for years to come. So ***** a 401 k and medical insurance, when my genetics will give me reliable job security.”

The sunlight hurts your eyes, the pencil point has dulled, and in the next room it reeks of boiled eggs and spoiled cream cheese. You won’t eat brunch for a month.

Angie watches TV on the couch in the living room, pours ***** into her glass of orange juice, spills a little bit of it on her jeans. Her sunglasses are black and make her look like John Lennon. Of course, she’s wearing a stone’s Tee, so you don’t bother to tell her what you think. Telecommuting has been her life for the past six months. She works as a consultant for Accenture and has traveled to Austin, San Diego, Brooklyn, even Miami. You’ve never been outside of Virginia.

Upstairs in your bedroom, you dress in a button-up: pretend you’re a 20’s something professional, instead of a 25-year-old going through a pseudo-quarter life crisis. Getting fired from the dealership wasn’t as big of a deal as losing out on seeing your coworker’s smile when you give them a donut from Krispy Kreme. When you’re in the bathroom, taking a number two, sometimes, you catch a glimpse of your old manager’s enthusiastic smile, and you feel like you’ve let him down.

Go out to the coffee shop on Main Street, sit by the window, scribble hearts on the margins of your notebook. Try writing another joke.

“Honestly any job is fine with me, but I'm a little afraid of going back into the workforce. The last couple of jobs I worked, happened to be with co-workers who ended up becoming my sister's boyfriends. My sister is in a pretty serious relationship now with a guy I used to work with at a tennis camp. So if I get hired and start working again, there's a very good chance that my sister could end up dating a guy who walks around in his underwear for a living,”

Google: starving artist. Consider the picture for the starving artist: straight, white, male. Ask yourself: why are the envelopes in the mail box, also always: straight, white mail. Golf-clap for the correlation created by your inner poet. Contemplate drinking wine during the day; red. Look for jobs on Indeed.com to pass the time.

“And if modeling doesn't work out and he ends up in a deep and dark depression. No worries, just make sure he eats excessively, and he'll be ready new career path as a sumo wrestler.”

Ask for a job application from the barista with the puppy-dog eyes. When you finish the app, intentionally smudge your handwriting to prevent employers from seeing your professional references. Your last six jobs ended in you getting kicked out; a world class record right? No one inside gives the impression that they want to talk to you. Crack your knuckles. Crack your back. As you casually take a drag from your cigarette next to the “NO-SMOKING” sign, wonder if it life would be different if you were Korean; Japanese; Chinese. Puppy-dog eyed barista bangs on the storefront window, mouths: put the cig out dude. Follow the instruction and feel guilt momentarily.

While you wait for the Wi-Fi homepage to load up, resist the urge to text Angie: how’s your day? Or: “Wanna read a joke I wrote?” Cold beads of water drip down the contour of your thumb; incidentally, nobody gives a **** about mundane detail like the one you just mentioned.

Ask the blue-scarf wearing girl if you can keep an eye out on your computer. She asks: sure, how long will you be gone? Don’t tell her you’re going to the bathroom to throw up last night’s combination of supreme pizza and several shots of Johnny Walker. Tell her: I need to wash my face. She nods and noticeably grins, as though she’s caught you doing something incredibly embarrassing.

Once in the bathroom, look into the mirror. Breathe: once, twice. Your hand starts shaking like saltshakers in a Ying-Yang twin’s music video. Stand over the toilet. Close your eyes before you dip your finger into your mouth. Refrain from thinking about her.

“The worst thing about driving in DC is having people call you out on slow driving. And then they see my face and they're like it’s an Asian thing. And I'm like no it's a speed camera thing. I tell my friends I don't think I'm a bad driver. And they tell me Mario kart doesn't count. I tell them I've never gotten a speeding ticket. And they say but you've been in four accidents. I say yeah but I'm golden in Mario Kart.”

You park your car in the driveway. Angie is sitting on a rocking chair and smoking a cigar. Radiohead plays from laptop speakers. Her eyes are puffy red and you wonder how long has she been sobbing for. Would laughter dry up her tears better than a box of Kleenex?  The grass sways. Cars pass by. And Angie pulls up a chair for you. Sit, ask her what’s wrong, and listen to her story. Wait for her to explain the situation, detail by detail, then tell her your best joke, and watch her face break out into a smile, as the smoke from her cigar vanishes into the air, a space opening up now between you and her.

There are many things
that you could teach me.
      to snowboard
      to be good at Mario Kart
      to laugh and have fun on my own
      to kiss with passion
      to let my walls down
There are some things
that I could teach you.
      to drive a stick-shift
      to do Pre-Calc
      to speak French
      to love other sports
There are things
we could help each other on.
      to get better at soccer
      to fix cars
Mario Kart is your SPECIALTY-as you say.
I've been driving a manual for three years.
I know about classic cars.
You know about new ones under the classic name.
I'd like to say that maybe we could have deeper conversations,
but we already do that now.
What could beat the PG-13 discussions we have?
If anyone took them out of context,
they'd be rated X.
By our word choice.
But within context,
they're perfectly harmless.
We make plans
but if we're gonna do anything
you might as well fill those shoes and take care of me.
Because I'd do the same for you.
*Parce, bébé, je pense que je suis tomber pour vous.

So after we got to the go-kart place,
we adjusted our hats,
and recorded our thoughts,
and until someone shouted our monikers
(Tasters of Life and Cool Guys,)
we took turns at the cage
while the others recalled their most
Jersey-like memories.

Somebody died on the beach,
and they chose to shut down our requests
for more info.

We ate with the lifeguard
who shook when he spoke.

He feels like sharing memes and finishing burritos; like snuggling on a bench when I'm shivering and letting me wear his jacket the wrong way. He feels like long phone calls and sarcastic remarks; like feeding ducks, and helping kids, and going kart racing, and being terrible at Mario kart. He feels like silly puns and bad humor, all the while still putting butterflies in my stomach. He feels like the heat in my cheeks when my classmates ask me about where my bracelets came from, and the pride in my heart when they say that he's cute. He feels like kissing in a park, holding hands next to fireworks,  and giggling at the movies. He feels like sunshine and Rex Orange County. He feels like home, like someone who will always be able to make me smile, like someone who will endure a hug even if its awkward.

But he also feels like crying at 10pm in my room on Thanksgiving and clutching my chest because I can hardly breathe.  He is in every sad song I've ever heard, and every depressingly artful photo I see. He is the bittersweet memory of a lost young love, and the fractured, splintery aftermath of trying to recover. He is sitting in a park alone for an hour, crying because you dont know if he's even going to come.  He is the anxiety of being ignored for three weeks, then showing up to a party I'm at. He is the tear stained pillowcase from every time he has asked, "are you a waste of my time?" -- each one a separate fist to the stomach. He is the fear of never knowing what is going on in his mind and the constant worry of not being enough. He is the sadness and frustration of every Sunday morning with an empty chair. He is the moments I lie on the cold wood of my bedroom floor in the greying sunlight, salt mixing with my hair, and feeling empty. He is like the ache between my ribs everytime I'm left on read.

But he still feels like home, and he still feels like the only love I've ever known. And it's all about how it feels, right?  And it's okay as long as he doesn't hurt those feelings...

Right?

Two small boys stand in the forest,
huddled around the burning husk
of an old go-kart.

A mute snow falls,
sanding away the sharp shapes
of evening.

As the tired light fades
back into frayed rows of black pine,
the boys begin to silently sway.

And soon, they nestle
in nightshade, are bewitched
by the murmur of milk.

Their eyes reflect the Moon.
Not her blush. Her distance.

Transfixed by the twitch of fire,
the still of night, the boys stare
into the metal husk at their feet.

Their hands begin to flutter
as in a death dance, moth-like,
delicate as rice paper cranes.

Small dim creatures,
cliff birds, hollow with desire,
tangled in night drapes
and flame.

Run through expensive hotels
Just to come home, play Mario Kart in our underwear
A high-stake love, we burn like fire and cry like monsoons
Holiday flashes become traditions,
Movements of our hands and our arms keep the peace
The making of our love sneaky and frequent.

Ask you to run away with me into the moonlight
To never be seen again
Messy wild and barely free
Eighteen with too many cares and too many scars to hold alone
So let's hold them together
You can't heal my wounds
But you help relieve the pain

Four hands and two hearts ache for one another
Let's build a fort under your desk
Stay there till the morning light.
Movies I can't help to sleep through
Making out through every *** scene
l'll spoon you, kiss your bare back
Hold you tighter than

Drive until there's no more road,
Hands on knees light in the rearview mirror
driving in lingerie just for the ******* risk

Showers shared soothe the soul so hold me close and dear
Wash my hair and I'll wash yours.
The spot in my back that only you can reach.
Feel your heart beat through your chest
Your wet hair slicked back
Piercing blue eyes that melt me like wax and a flame
you are my flame.

We're messy and wild and inconsistent and angry and loving and full of so much.
Keep me safe and ill keep you wild
Until you return, my dear.

Don't ever let my calm demeanor fool you,
you opened your mouth now its time to School you,
in the deadliest art, I tear you apart,
you're done from the start-get back in your Kart
and go blow your Horn,

while my Sonic Boom engraves my Chi into the Matterhorn
If I let rip they're zippin' up your rap crimes as evidence,
cause many moons ago I first set the Precedent-
Presidential rhymer but I'm no Twitter Twit,

When I bring the pain I like it to be intimate,
I'm Sado your Maso can't admit you're into it,
try to stop your toe tapping no control of it,
first strike Staccato, then smoooth like a Stiletto,
sliding into Silk Skin you let go ...

Chorus

Cause I'm your Sensei, show respect to your Teacher,
Bow Loooow cause I've a long way to reach ya,
won't breach your Confidence-just your Defense,
batter clatter shattered Armour-Helm full of dents

As I let go, ooh kid look what you done did,
Saw a Tigers tail twitchin' and then ya pulled it!,
shoulda mulled it over, now I pulled ya over,
now you're clickin your heels squeakin' no place like home huh?
      
                                *****
Your weak wordplay VS my Lyrical Swordplay
could put you down like child's play - *Behold your Sensei
Join the ranks? - no easy way, just the EC way...
don't like it? there's the door for the greasy strays...
      
                           ++++++++++++++++++  

but if you stay?--- you'll learn from the best,
lyrical onslaughts Dim Mak sounds stop hearts in chests,
or open  minds to other possibilities...
Stick with us kid, find the Sea of tranquility-
become a Warrior Poet heart full of Nobility,
use words as weapons to expose Fragility,
then some day you too can be a Sensei...

When you're a Sensei you discover lifes the Teacher,
Open up your Third eye, let the whole world reach ya,
I greet you - as a worthy Proponent,
always ready for the next opponent...

Some just can't and won't learn the lesson,
even when I break it down to the essence,
essentially your Sensei sees...
at least four **** moves ahead o' ye,

That's why i'm so relaxed while I'm battlin'
your nerves are fraught your nails bit-teeth chatterin',
face scrunched up in fear of the batterin'
you go from Rambo to Lamb as I unleash a Cataclysm

                         ******

A Thesaurus Tesseract powerin' a Juggernaut,
Bipolar Jaeger Driver Plasma weapon o' thought,
my life is a War zone my weapons are words,
Paleface Shamefaced attacker reveals a hidden sword

but I've met ya before defeated with metaphor,
Meta-Physical giant like fallin' through Smithsonian floor,
Deception meets Conception like Inception,
then my Dai Katana rips through your mid section...cause

I'm a Sensei-world class instructor rhymin',
you lost the beat and now you're off timin',
a wounded Gazelle limpin' cross the plains,
I take aim - release you from your Pain*

Cause I'm a Sensei use my art for my Zanshin,
reflexively inflexively effortlessly Dancin'
across the page across the stage across your lives...
Cause a true Sensei knows the real teacher...is LIFE

Love you all, stay strong, stay positive Act- don't React
Mr Sandman 11/07/17 (4:47!)

I wanted to be there with her
downtown
before she had to work
so i could plant one on her at four
and say,"your mom grew up eight hours ahead of us.
so there's you new years kiss"
but i wasn't
i left her on facebook
with a quick,"brb"
cause i had to run to the store to buy biscuits for dinner,
and with my family,
that become a half hour trip
two blocks up the road.
I got back and she'd already left
so I watched the clock change to four,
went into the bathroom
and cut, a few times
not a full relapse.
just enough for blood,
not to feel anything,
not like i did a year ago,
screaming at the world
at the stroke up midnight,
one knife in my hand,
another somewhere on my dark bed
the neighbors riding their go-kart drunk outside.
I bite my lip
and keep my face looking rougher than most days anymore
but,
at midnight
I don't break.
And the tears and blood stay in my body tonight
leaving only old tears tracks
on my tired, bruised cheeks
and four recently dry scars
on my hairy, pre-scarred leg.
And i sit here in this worn office chair
watching peoples words flit by on this screen
when her name appears,
just home from work.
i didn't expect to see her,
but she stopped to simply wish me the best
before she collapsed onto her bed
after a long horrible day
that's left her so exhausted i can't even ask.
but she leaves and so do I
I hope she's smiling
half as much as I am,
but she probably isn't.
so I tell myself
"someday i'll make it so she is, because of me".
Sometimes the promises to myself that I'm sure are impossible
are the ones that help me fall asleep,
and I'm asleep before I hit the mattress




©Brandon Webb
2012

Cloud gazing, and yet head hung low
Duct workers maintain their pumps
Assumptions of the first red curtain show
Will the Black Lady come up trumps?

Defending she does of a savage blow
Boundaries pass, still have that lump
Fear dissipates fast, you just know
Wet fish slap, touch down bump

Mission seamed so clear at this fresh start
No predictions of a brain confuddulation
Hike, zigzag, spin to the coldest part
Lump no longer lonely, face mutation

Back to back days of kart
Winning is a fictitious temptation
Easy(ish)-flow braced up for the heart
No longer now is there frustration

Excitement and passion, give me a smack
‘Give a ****’ overtakes fear in a split
Dee Bath bound, spells **** good craic
‘cos you know darlin’, you are fit!

Anticipations of caressing your back
I’ve even tidied up my flat of a pit!
Panic not of spending a whack
Fly when cheapest, I’ll see you in a bit…

If you stay awake with me long enough to watch the sky give birth to the colour blue, long enough to watch the moon finally deny it's 7th encore that night... if you stay awake with me long enough to see the streetlamps go out... I will be 6 feet under before I forget your name.

It's ironic really. Had actually been that far underground your sound would still pound across every surface it found including... my sleeping skin... and in the face of anyone who asked you, "Are you trying to wake the dead?.." you'd say no... the people at this party are already taking a break from living... the dead you speak off is everyone dancing, everyone singing, everyone drinking and getting really ******* annoyed at the one guy with all the red shells in super Mario kart. This is our Día de los Muertos. Our day of the dead, organized by the dead for the dead. Death was seen as the ultimate escape, but we're too young for those kind of commitments, so we fled the world in what little ways we could. Often found in bottles or cans, or in the arms or hands of others. Some get lost in the beat, let it travel from our ears to our feet. Greet our friends in dance moves as if there is so much noise in the air, it's the only language we can still communicate in. I ... invite you to the sofa... where there is already a gamepad with your name on it, and what we play is never nearly as important as the fact that we're playing. However... at some point I will expect you to play super smash brothers and if you dare pick Zero Suit Samus I will call you a ***** and show you the grave error of your decision... Unless you beat me, at which point I will commend your skills with the utmost sincerity... *****....

Regardless that's my 2nd favorite thing about parties. The thing I love most are all the people being more than how they appear. Spilling life stories of their glories and tragedies, watching the guy with the with the topknot become the warrior who survived several broken bones after a motorbike crash. See the girl who loves flapjacks become the next Beyonce in the making hear her voice light fires in the in the minds of those who had forgotten what talent looks like outside a TV screen...

See the the one in the corner with a mouth like a clam shell, finally show her pearls. She told me told me about all the things that were hurting. All the people she's scared of losing all the drugs she was using and all the people here... who were amusing. The fact that she can feel so broken but still hold herself together here was a greater compliment than anything her clam shell mouth could articulate. She had finally explained all the bruising, all the excusing, all the substance abusing and she found it confusing that I was still approving. I said 'tonight what you told me was moving. You've proven you're more human than what people have been assuming so.... smile for me' ... It will be a long time before I forget your name so I want whatever I remember of you to be good.

If you stay awake with me long enough to teach me 1 reason you're hurting but two more why you can keep smiling, long enough to have us make memories out of cheese burgers and tap water, Carl, Danni, Matt, Alex, Eden, Jade, Sean, Sebastian, Katy...  If you stay awake with me long enough to watch the street lamps go off, I will never forget your name.

The Tightrope
I know I said he's my favorite
And it's true.
But, he can't always attend to my needs
He can't always do everything
Like I want him to do.

Because he has his own life, you know?
His own friends
Who he likes better than me

And I get that, really
Maybe you don't understand
But take this for example:
During a birthday party, he was there
I didn't talk to him at all
Why?
Because he acted so happy
Shouting, "Why is this game teaching kids to do drugs?"
When someone yelled that he got "four-twenty" coins playing Super Mario Kart
And I didn't want to ruin it.

Because I'm afraid
Afraid if I do something
I'll tip the candle
And break the tightrope

But you're like, he's not like that.
He'll still be your friend.
Whatever you did.
He's not that mean, right?

I'll have to remind you
It wasn't always like this
It took a long time
For us to be even friends.

I mean, think about it
I thought he hated me for half a year last year,
And at one point, he really did.
Not even that, look before
All those years
That had passed

And remember,
When there was a barrier?
That may have changed
But only for one part:
Online

Because I'm afraid
Afraid if I do something
I'll tip the candle
And break the tightrope

I should be grateful
That we got this far
How he still cares
Even if only a little

I shouldn't be sad
And so I distract myself
From dreams
That could never be true
And then I wake up

So I'm afraid
Afraid if I do something
I'll tip the candle
And break the tightrope

And blindfolded I'll fall
----------
The Candle
You may be the blindfolded tightrope walker
That can fall if you tip the candle
But the candle is just another car crash
On a highway, as
The candle never burns fast enough
To cut the tightrope
You may get to the other side
And the rope is only singed
Besides, I can be the net below you
So don’t be afraid
I'll always be here for you

All of the movies are the same. Watch this and have your eyes open to both the secret of world and the ending of it.

Every movie is about the stars. That's why every actor is a STAR.
KING OF THE UNDERWORLD-
OSIRIS/SIRI/YOUR EYE PHONE (IRIS). ISIS. HORUS.
THIS IS THE SATANIC TRINITY.

LION KING.
Mufasa/Osiris/ king of everything the Sun/light hits. is set up by his his twin brother Scar/set ruler of elephant graveyard/the dark. Simba/horus goes into hiding/the underworld, who then later returns to **** Scar/Set and take his rightful place as "King".

BATMAN.
Thomas wayne/Osiris is shot and killed by a criminal/set. Bruce wayne/horus goes into hiding. Then comes back and fights the "Joker" Who becomes leader of the criminals. Batman/Horus wins and liberates "New York" as a king would.
Adding. Jokers catch phrase "why so Serious/sirius" with a smiling face, just like the one amazon uses is a hat tip to the solar eclipse and the star sirius. Sirius is connected to Satan worship. It's why they made us feel sympathy for a diabolical character in the movie Joker.  The devil loves SYMPATHY!

EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND. (THE SUN GOD)

TRAILER PARK BOYS.
This show is so occultish you will never believe it.
Characters. (The show also revolves around Ricky/horus)
Ricky/****/horus (the symbol for horus/osiris is an obelisk aka a *****)  his father Ray/osiris. Rickys wife LUCY (Need I say more?)
and Rickys daughter "TRINITY". Notice how his daughter is the Trinity?
This is where you MUST know freemasonry to understand the rest.
Rickys two best friends are the two pillars of freemasonry. Julian/boaz/strength. Throughout the show they even brag about Julians strength all the time. Then Rickys other best friend is Bubbles/Jachin/swift. Bubbles character is known for always driving a go kart. Hence "Swift".

THIS IS THE STORY PLAYING OUT BEFORE YOUR EYES!
If you can figure it out. You know what's coming. This is the secret of freemasonry. Freemasonry is a "CRAFT"... WITCHCRAFT.
The king of freemasonry is Osiris who is Abbadon who is Appollo who's is TRUMP.
17 is the letter Q in the alphabet. And the number 17 is the number of abbadon who brings plagues unto the earth.
His son is Baron/lord/Horus is a GIANT.
Trumps ancestor from his Mother's side is the Viking "Olaf Mcleod" King of man. (Was his title)
The odds are McDonald's is donald trumps. Appollo has a golden bow. McDonald's has the golden arches. MC is 33 is Jewish gematria. McDonald's character is a clown with RED HAIR. And on his chest is the emblem of the golden arch infront of a solid red circle. That red circle is the blood moon donald trump was born on.
The odds are MC stands for Moon Child.
On Donald trumps coat of arms you will see the same golden bow.  Through that bow is a hand holding a spear. That spear is the same spear of destiny. The one that stabbed jesus is the rib cage.  It's prophecy that the antichrist will obtain the spear of destiny. Something ****** failed to do.
Donald Trump also has a gold course in Scotland in "Aberdeen"
Translates to "Mouth of the don".
A-BBAD-DON-ALD

You don't have to believeme. But the end is near. America is babylon. That's why we have "Hollywood". Hollywood is what witches make their wands out of..

And as for t.v.
Never watch it.
TELL-A-VISION. Who's vision you might ask?
The CABALS/CABLES.
You see this is why the call television shows "programs" and you get your programs from channels/channeling "stars" Who are embodiment of the "STARS". SATANIC WORSHIP!

LOVE AND GOD BLESS.
Be vigilant. Your enemy's is waiting in the shadows like a lion to devour you.

He looks at me hard, with disproval or disbelief, I cannot tell
He blinks twice, fast
Licks his lips in anticipation
Because what he is about to say can be taken so many ways
A lot of them badly

“Dude, you date her?”
“Yeah, I do”
“You love her?”
“Yeah, I do”
“You kiss her?”
“Yeah, I do”
“But she’s---” (shuts up)
“Yeah, she is”

Black
Before he spouts out another protest
before he blinks twice, licks his lips all over again
And points out that Asians shouldn’t date black girls
false
I ask him to take a look at what we’re both wearing
Black
Because quite simply, black looks good

So does she

He asks me why,
and I proceed to give him more reasons on why I date a black girl
than Republicans can against Obamacare
1: Black looks good
2: She’s a track star; runs like a horse
3: that’s really hot
4: Her eyes turn me into the walls of Jericho; I crumble down without resistance
5: She has the most beautiful smile that I have ever seen
6: I don’t need a 6

A thought for the public
If Beyonce dumped Jay-Z due to a sudden hunger for Asian men
Posted online for all the “single calculus geniuses” to meet her at a certain point
on a coordinate plane
I guarantee you that she’ll find a crowd bigger than both of their reputations combined
They’ll come in droves, driving like fanatics
You got your Tokyo Drift, your Jeremy Lin, your Mario Kart
and your blinker left on for the last 5 miles

Another idea to chew on
When my sister was asked who was the most attractive man in Hollywood
her response time was faster than Usain Bolt’s
She picked Anthony Mackie; I see some of ya’ll nodding
She even nicknamed him “Black Beauty”

Well my Black Beauty is in this room
She’s my own Queen B
Got me so drunk in love
My friends be scanning the sky for Cupid
Sending arrows from above

So why do people question the logic on whom I date
If I love her, that should overcome all misgivings
Not like they should’ve existed in the first place

I implore him to revisit this nation 170 years ago
when ***** wasn’t yet a racial term
rather it was the sound of the clanking of metal to railroad
as the slaves built train tracks for this country to be connected

To this day we still have more Emmitt Tills than we ever should
Trayvon Martin
Sean Bell
Oscar Grant
Rhamarley Graham
Jonathan Ferrell
The list goes on and on
Just like the subtle discriminations the black race still endures

At this point he might say that I am off topic, overboard
that I don’t have a clue of what I’m talking about
He’s only partially right because I am Asian
Not black, but yellow
But I can relate just a bit

And even to this day, white boys in school halls try to talk black because they think its ****
Rich women still clutch their purses tighter upon seeing you in public
Nervous people in elevators still eye you and your tats and make bogus assumptions
Authorities still follow you just because you’re wearing an oversized hoodie,
sagging your pants, and showing off your under armour

You know why these people point and stare and whisper
when laying eyes on you
making you feel like you’re courtside at a Clippers game
Some do it out of elitism and habit
Others out of fear
And some do it because quite simply, black looks good

And even though I intended to stop at 5,
He now has millions of reasons on why it’s ok I date a black girl
And rest assured, he is not the only one who needed to hear them

He blinks twice, licks his lips one final time
“But she’s black dude”
“Yeah, she is”
But she is so much more

Like a lightning bolt, on the last stretch, of the last lap, of Rainbow Road, in Mario Kart...





You leave me wondering how life could be so cold, I'm falling apart,
and recalling the start, of our endless summer.
Went from loving her heart, to trying to take it from her.
So I can make it tremor, shake and quake, and sever.
The debate of hate holds no weight forever.
Love doesn't wait for you to stay a beggar,
and showing up at my place, doesn't make it better.

You're the bad part, and that far from gratitude.
Your attitude has challenged you, Boo, and that's the saddest truth.
I was doing what I had to do.
You think no one can handle you?
You can't handle yourself that's exactly why you're mad at you.

Denial lifestyle.
You've been living for a while,
but haven't felt alive since the day you had your child.
He's not the only one that's damaged from you always acting wild.
Always on some ****, ******* and getting loud.

But if nobody listens,
the only thing missing from the vision,
is another unsuspecting victim to dig your petty grips in.
Hate with love mixed in
Mixed up, you missed out
On this, how?
The distance.

No more goodnight kisses, here's some goodbye wishes.
You've burned a lot of bridges, but I heard a lot about, these good fine fishes. No longer distressed.
You're just my dismissed, distrusted, mistress.

I hear the melody though it skips a beat each time an arrow strikes
A sweet tune your personality plays leaving me to feel so enticed
Sometimes you drain me but it's like my glass never runs out because you know how to refill
It's delicate tank that on average was a desolate wasteland with no will
Think of it as a car with a messed up engine that needs a push to start
Or one of those moments you're losing the race but you receive a golden mushroom in Mario Kart
The feeling you bring chips away at my icebox and melts its inner shell til you can see what it was protecting
The barren but hopeful ***** that destiny and love were always neglecting
I can't picture many days where my face didn't light up just because I got to be with you
I know I see you almost everyday but you're like my Pokémon, I always want to Pik-a-chu
To be honest you remind me of a nice adorable little poodle and I just want to take you home
But since you're a poodle and all dogs go to heaven it means I have an angel in my midst to change my tone
I get all bubbly inside and carefree just being around you on a daily
It's like a sigh of relief, an Hakuna Matata, the only thing that keeps me from going crazy
You're the spice that seasons my character the taste of life I've longed for
The only reason I keep this electricity flowing is because you showed up with an extension cord
Even if I wanted to I couldn't deny the emotions I've been picking up lately
I just hope I'm not the only one that feels this way because you're the most incredible young lady
That I've ever met and honestly if I had to man up and tell you the truth about what I say in my mind
Then I'd tell you I could care less whether I'm called a friend because I always think of you as my future wife in due time
The bond I feel goes deeper than any mere infatuation
It passes a barrier that leads to a deep heart palpitation
There's not a chance that I'd miss if it meant I could capture your essence but from a closer distance
In a heartbeat I'd give up a fortune if it meant I could join your resistance
Because I can't resist you it's like trying to separate Martin Luther King from his dream
Or like trying to rip apart your favorite shirt seem by seem
I know that I can't explain deeply how I truly feel
Simples words can't explain what actions can though I have a hard time trying to reveal
My emotions through my actions because my body can get a bit stiff at times
And once I'm able to each action will amount to more than just some cheap rhymes
You are a beautiful flower, a caring spirit with a delightful attitude
An intelligent individual, a dainty little ole lady who can never be devalued
I can care less what anyone has to say because beauty is in the eye of the beholder and I definitely see more than beauty both inside and out
I see things I can't explain though they drive me toward you, reel me in, have me toss and turning in excitement and salivating from my mouth
And don't worry about the pain you once felt that's a past I will never let you look back on as each day passes
It doesn't matter how you look or who you turn out to be, I love you with both your braces and your glasses ☺️
We can both get cozy, live lavishly and live with this neverending luxuriance
Me and you together, we can explore with each other and make this A Wondrous Experience

sitting cross-legged
on the floor
bare right foot over
left knee, tilting
the controls like
that will give you
more control as a
kart hurtles down
rainbow road—
ever the hardest track,
but the one to which
every child comes back
time and again—and
to think some of us
will live there, will love
in prisms of light with
no railings, sit
among the stars and fold
paper cranes when
people ask us to explain
our pride
as if they have never
heard of love.

when you fall off the edge
everything goes dark
but in this life the ghosts
don't float you above
it all to get your
bearings back; somehow
you have to do it without
the benefit of afar; the stars
don't spin around your
head while you count
your scars; in
this life the ghosts
are dead.

I turned off the TV,
I watched a bird cross
the street, scurrying
on its little feet
and hopping onto the curb.
It did not use its wings
once. It does not need
to see things
from far away
like I do.

Green
Blue
Gold
Many colors
Earth has many colors
Earth has many mysteries
Earth has many creatures
Earth has been alive for millions of years
But what's to say Earth won't die
Earths main enemies you ask?
The only creatures that can talk
The only creatures that can drive
The only creatures that create and destroy
Humans
Humans need to stop
Humans need to change
Humans need to learn to grow
A flower would be the perfect teacher
An animal would be the perfect master to the student
I would know
I ride horses
And even though I have a human instructor
My ultimate teacher is my four legged go kart

The second light of sunrise filters
through the blinds of a broken transom window, gliding the kitchen.
There’s an instant
in which bottomless jars, worn out dishes
and a headless Mickey magnet that has fallen off the fridge
Seem to levitate in a sea of dusty honey.

I haven’t witnessed the scene.

I think about all the other ordinary prodigies
That must be happening somewhere.
A trembling chrysanthemum blossoms in the frosty gardens of Nagoya.
Six grey wolves fail to hunt down a white deerling.
A middle aged man whispers into a hollowed stonebrick, then covers his secret with mud.
Two  giraffes disappear in the middle of a starlit Colosseum, to the astonishment of a roman dilettante.
Twenty years of boredom; then an ex con feels the tact of dewy grass under his feet again.
In a balcony over the Seine, two lovers prepare a padlock.
Some skinny kid from La Matanza scores a last minute free kick to win the neighborhood derby.
A pretentious teenager watches The purple rose of Cairo for the first time, and  discovers his true calling.
Days before dying, an old man stops by a bakery and inhales the same caramel fragrance he would inhale in the afternoons of his childhood summers.
An older brother decides to throw a game of Mario Kart to his sibling.
On a deserted reed bed, a blackbird sings the most beautiful tune in the world. There is no one there to listen.
A single mother finishes cooking breakfast for his son, and decides to let him sleep for another five minutes.
A physics grad student solves the meaningless quantum noise model that’s been torturing him for weeks, and stops wondering why he didn't choose to be a lawyer
Two old friends share the same espresso in a hidden Manhattan coffeehouse, perhaps for the last time.  

None of this everyday miracles are
happening to me.

a man walks a tight rope,
the wind does kart wheels across his nose
reminding him of unwelcome territory
and the rope complains bitterly about how he's unfit for the job.
holding the balance of one man's life is too much for me it scoffs.
the man laughs.
life? he thinks.
what a unfortunate thing to be a part of.