Excuse me while I insert
This logical probe through the frontal lobe
Of my emotional epicenter

This is a latency test....

Ratings of my muse
Are falling like waistlines at the mall
From the best of rhymes
Tacitly turned on wheels of subtlety,
To the jest of all time,
A lyrical mockumentary,
Starring Miss Pellings
And her first cousin Cliche

Excuse me while I excise
The phobias, limits and lies
Polluting my paradigm of choice,
Diluting the core of my creativity,
Muting the "i" in my voice

This latency test is now complete...

Welcome to my new Literary Bar
Raised beyond the average line;

The stars of our poetic destiny await....

~ P
(#latencytest)

Commence thy latency...do not guard
thy straits.
Of old and older days, slept lightning
layeth upon thee.
Unrehearsed homage, to what's unkempt
of the preternatural.
Commence thy latency...do not guard
thy straits.
The toppled onyx monument of sky
layeth above thee...uninscribed save for
flow of clouds.

Stake claim, enslave
Falling behind
A wake so odd
Cosmic, wretched truth
Will all compose
With repetition
Til all devolves

Equally wrong choices, with dire stakes
Options weighed, time again

Derived presets, and presupposition
Derivative motion,  placed on this clean slate
And left for a lifetime
Of horrid substitutions

You dreamed it once
The slow bend in the road
Past which the world delves
Into the realm of the unreal
Unrealised futures selves
That are as material as
Anything will ever be
In this stretch of land
Between here and infinity
Where a million bonded yous
Could be living in flawed
Synchrony, a dissonance of
Possible lives you will never see
Even now at the precipice
Of all that waits to come
The time it takes for a hum
To bloom into the vibration
Of a body growing wings
Is that step that lays down
The brick for the next
Two feet never together
On the same square inch of ground
There lies the sound of cracking shells
A chrysalis to which you are bound
By birth, where inside you lay the
Stones of the inverted pyramid
With each clean bone leading
Cleanly to the edge, the rising temple
Held up by the apex of the roof
Long before belief has penetrated
The invisible heart of the root

The man out of time, walking in silence along the lines.
Parallel as we all travel.
Problems inherited of decades old.

As the "out-of-place" mind progresses and becomes blackened,
he slowly becomes adjacent to reality.
Only through a kindred spirit can we find perspective.

No latency, no compounding mixtures; of facades,
or gut-wrenching quarrels of hatred and jealousy
in which are succeeded only by none.

As the man is fixed upon the stars, he only can wonder;
of what could have been and what was.
Through the eyes of the greatest beast can we feel chances of grace,
and grimace.

When the problems of our fathers' and mothers' draw near.
Conflict grows stronger between the epicenter and our devotion.
Will we truly be able to justify our existence?

The man, in the end, has to deal with crossing the river.
Looking for shadows that are under the skin of the water,
while guiding through life with no reference to measure.
Truth becomes a blur, only readable by love and spirit.

Tip Your hat
And curtsy low
The masses so mandate absolute guile
A handshake, a smile, a proper and refined bow!
To adorn thy head and semble wit
And do your best!
Take pride with etiquette
If not informed
Ye won't last a mile
And differentiation between animals distinguishes you,
Resplendent child
Wash your hair and underclothes with soap
Lest ye resemble sow
And goodness dear
Have I forgotten now?
Always remember to smile!
So I'll take your Winter clothes with zest
I'll scramble on point
No unruly mess
Oh, did i forget your coat?
No, I've got it, relax, care for a smoke?
My apologies, please forgive my latency
It must be warm in here for my blood
In fact...
Boiling over kettle within
Prevent me from committing sin
I do wish to vent
Pick up this pen
And release red wells from his dainty, fragile neck
Or...
The underbelly. It's beknownst to me entrails are thick
Now whatever shall I do with this fresh clutter?
I'll act for free, so cordially!
With my chivalrous lines
But can you, my friend, respond in kind?
After all, it's only common courtesy
It's over now, my fantasy
It dissipates with urgency
And this is my confession
Yes
Imbibed in me from every grueling, tedious lesson
An implication of uniformity
The daydreams borne from the perfunctory

Curtains, veils of virtual vice

So, gaze through the ****** intermix
of positional latency,
nano-notions lost in frantic phantasm,
requisites of an idle, unhealed mind.
Draw the virtual screen curtains open,
bring forth the lustful images to
feed the circuitous appetite, lurking
front-row-presence, at the keys.

Unknown, undertones
of desirability, poses in patient wait,
online implication of fallen ways,
predication of unveiling moments.
As any-time-**** pours its spill
of sickest gratification behind
the curtain tab selective viewing.

It is someone’s child the glides on rails
of drawn conclusions, through windows
where drapes of cyber mindlessness
hang on dank walls of seedy buildings.
The ***** grinder always plays the tune
to which monkeys happily dance,
in a world where Neanderthals hang out,
unperturbed with new technology.

perhaps just waiting
to be hurt
at last, and under-
stand this pain

The days have blended into a poetic haze
of mismatched syllables, hanging participles
accented with a hint of discourage.
My purpose use to be therapeutic.

Each rhyme I wrote was a comma in my run-on sentences.
And for awhile, I could breathe. Each breath became less wheezy, uneven and strained.
After I gathered enough air, I dared to speak.
Me? How could I even have the audacity to think!?

To my disbelief, my words didn't fall on deaf ears.
The anxiety, shame, depression and fear woven
into every poem made me familiar in the minds of strangers.
These strangers made me feel human.

With quickness that's comparable to the slickness of a parable
I was ****** from a catapult into the essence of prose.
However, the latency between the beginning of my literary journey
and the discovery of my gift for poetry was afflicting my sensibility.

I succumbed to the bullying from hyperboles
and the taunting of iambic pentameter.
At times I was afraid to talk to neighbors
for fear of narrative structure overhearing.  

Now, I am wandering in a fog
though the hills of unpublished work,
echoed only by the crunch of "not good enough" beneath my feet.
This was therapeutic.  Now I use it to influence my movements.

Seasoned Love's silent discourse,
Dusk of the long distance,
Beneath the mantle of lament
The peak bloom, gnawing decay,
Obscure
The weight of favor;
Annealing fire, moulded by
Winds of duration
Unfastening the raw surf of sorrow.

Incipient caprice, theft of occlusion
Colored by common defiance,
Vile tremors of privation-
Native enclave,
The province of
Vacant, age-eaten elucidation.

The tangled weave, pathos and ethos
Vested
Interior acquisition,
Furrowed paths of countenance
Evincive and drawn,
Affinity found, inhabiting the palisades
Of Immersion.

A furtive glance harbors
The trained gaze whose
Immanent flame-
Emergent
Serous source,
Imbued piercing latency;
A taste of
The fountainhead.

Unprobed theater of the absolute.

Thin supple pith
Identity sealed in skin
Perambulator of meaning and
Lineaments of cure.
Bearing the image of ubiquity
Perceives in the other,
Immortality.
Sacramental Eros,
Subsumes the
Capacity to treasure.

©2013 W.S. Warner

Yes I saw the truth in the hillside freeway

In the grilled cheese sandwich

for sale on Ebay

With tortillas and butter they called me a ******

Because I saw the truth in the eyes of another

Who decided to feed me a line of such rapture

That captured my stature of pragmatic backed banter

Gathered the trappings disbanded, I could map out the standard

Wanting the pattern, the vibrancy frequented

Masking the latency, the reader obsequious

Addressing the nuance, ignoring complacency

Significance amplified, convinced of this elevated

Power to axiom, entropy celebrated

Wax to a fault with a message converted

While the layers of encryption serve to hold this position

A raw disposition, hoping to see beyond this decision

I can't see beyond the scope of the eye with conviction.

Why in the big government today,
are there so many politics,
and not enough policy.
Why are we like the mice to their cat,
as we run and scrounge,
and they grow fat.
Why do we sit and let them decide,
when incompetency and latency,
strip us of our pride.
As we sit and choose who is best,
we forget that these men must pass a test,
it is not about who has better hair,
or whether they say their daily prayer.
The test should be one of valor and bravery,
someone who can fight for our safety,
one who is even-keel and not unsavory,
and most importantly
someone who saves us from slavery.

I dreamt of Freud yesterday
With his imposing air of superiority
Suffocating my need
To have a little autonomy

Libido and Thanatos
Runs past my mind in fast succession
Oedipus and Electra
Pauses the screen in motion

I dreamt of Jung today
Diving into the collective unconscious
Floating on the symbols
That is universally serendipitous

Archetypes and motifs
Flatter the culture of humanity
Anima and the persona
Sheds self unto the lights in harmony

I’ll dream of the future tomorrow
When everything’s all said and gone
The old will always be with the new
As written of past in stone

Though conflicts harbour trouble
And dreams reproduce it’s latency
Anxiousness is part of life’s bundle
So conquer it we must, positively

An excerpt from           An excerpt from
a poem by T.S. Eliot.     a poem by the False Poets


Between the idea          no permanence in juxtaposition
And the reality              where Falls the Shadow, the shadow
Between the motion.     a divisive notion caught between
And the act                    composition & action, the response is
Falls the Shadow           Falls the Shadow
    

Between the conception grayed outline indistinct, the cognitive sap
And the creation              leaks, contradictions irritating birth sac,
Between the emotion      whereupon Falls the Shadow emerges
And the response            the response conclusive, occlusive, collusive 
Falls the Shadow             Falls the Shadow
                                  
Between the desire          juxtaposition insertion, need to achieve
And the spasm                 the blurted ****** of spurted letters born
Between the potency.      in the potent white seeds of black words
And the existence            coming into existence as a riptorn issue,
Between the essence        essences of scents blood+logic foretelling
And the descent               birth & death, descent & the ascent, both,
Falls the Shadow              Falls the Shadow

Between the desire            the desire desired, completed,
And the spasm                   the latency uncovered,
Between the potency         the potent toxins of spit and tears
And the existence              the birth fluid of  of existence
Between the essence          the formulation of the human essence
And the descent                 from blood dust to blood dust is where
Falls the Shadow.               Falls All the Shadows

DISCLAIMER: READ THE WHOLE THING IT IS MUCH MORE GENIUS TOWARDS THE END



Bypass the circumlocutions of elementary rhetoric and the obvious bulges into the ethereal realm of supersolid supercalendar emigrations of the wednongues of vogue emigrating into a new frontier of boundless awakening that blisters the sore solid metaphors of a crumbled bricolage of articulate history becoming a reiterative gabble of entropy that curdles the blood-boiling hatred of those envious of those that capitalize on the true girth rather than the flaccid otiose etymology of differential physics becoming a denatured figment of prideful imagination on a frolic with desuetude in the normalization of the wernaggles of ewnastique that defile the ridicule of even the most astute aspirations of those that despise history rather than reveling in its subtle ironies that swelter in connotation rather than suborn the cadged bridewells of those that are estranged by the Dousk Remix rather than the Voulez-Vouz Danser populism of true urbacity expanded upon a national stage as an anthem not for profligate saturnalia but rather an ode to the odium of the reckless titanism of titanic intellects clashing with the dudgeons of intermittent eye-rolling irreverence double-dealing a stacked deck of pleckigger on an intellectual stagecraft for bandwagon apostasy that leads to solidarity among tentative allegiance. We barnstorm for a grift in the grimace of an alpenglow winter to lead to the salvation of all people united under the banner of neat nexility rather than long-winded elocution reserved only for notched caliber against the nativist diatribe that serves the subservience of the engineer of the white chattel indoctrinated into turnstiles of professed irreverence for demarches of solidarity that is gainsay for gain rather than pittances for pitfall. Rhetoric should be duly curtailed against the overcomplication of hypertrophy and trimmed into the sweet success not of saccharine fads of foofaraw but engineered resistance that galvanizes albatross intellectualism into a revved engine without purpose that mobilizes because of estranged impotence in the revelry of the subtle rather than the cordial tethers of emergent entelechy of the esemplastic orthobiosis that we should all strive for not just as pioneers of the socially engineered harbingers of a remedial society but also for the trendsetters that communicate with the canvass and the celluloid rather than spelunking dormitage of drifted anomaly perceptible to everyone but heralded as prominent by the rigged ambeer of a toxicity of a plumage of city over state and country over planet. We need to provide the verdure of the verdant forest that survives the conflagrations of rage indoctrinated by systematic attempts at stilted ignorance that is engendered more by Leftism than Right-Wing thinkers because in general when observed in organic settings we notice that the Right-Wing escapes the sloganeered jaundice of limited bounds for otherwise boundless thought and provides more seminal pathways that reconcile normative virtues with entrenched inveterate harbingers of economic success. The faulty deadstocks that propel the retinoise of the anomaly among Leftism to disregard the girouettism of a world that is so piebald with dishonesty that it elects a patronage that seethes with passion but aimless in its curiosity for deeper embedded candor because the popular might count themselves among the aristocratic Left but the truly Promethean belong to a centrist tribe that borrows the ingenuity of spurned but never spurious interpretations of a sputtered history that remarks with revelry  rather than disdains with #CancelCulture irreverence that seeks to deracinate all context for insipid utopianism that is a shared prerogative of the delusional Left against their complaints of Sebastomania among right-wing zealots that are equally invalidated by the frogmarch of a dilettante history curbed in storms of a pure tempest rather than a banal reiteration of novelty phrased with participant intonation rather than blathers of whispered arbitrage ennobled by hypocrisy immune to criticism among those that crusade for economic justice without understanding formal flombricks of the true gnomic riddles of alchemy fundamental to global panoramic pleonasms becoming the aleatory vagary of admonished warning that spars against spartanism. Instead of pilfering from the exorbitant defalcation of immunized partisan bromides against the ratcheted warranty upon defective obsolescence we must coalesce around the imperious ****** of divinity bequeathing the living water of a fully-lived life that qualifies its felicity not by junctures but by an overall harmony that conforms to the finicky demands of an overly polarized complexion of dimpled conformity founded on girouettism that earns more traction than the deasil sundial emergence of brimstone rejection for alabaster limelight we must urge others to ditch the conformist utilitarian usucaption of the usufruct of manipulative sports for domineering talents suborned into inclement straits because of unwitting albatross that replicates into a fission of uniformity encapsulated in the half-assed witticisms of attempted belletrist succeeding only in alienating the noxious fumes of alveolate diminutive reduction rather than expansive detritus that scrapes the wreckage of a turmoil to build masterworks out of broken sculptures themselves indemnified from a categorical judgment by the panoramic oversight of proctored civilized ambition. We need to exhort self-education that hinges upon not a listless acquiescence to a second-exit impulsive barnacle to the urchins of brimstone because of an insipid blather of flapdoons of brittle banality because the hackencrude is an outmoded entity to the vast resources of the sizable capital of the growing power of the intelligentsia over the weakened grasp and wrangle of terminus meeting consuetude weakly enough with pleasantry to appease but ultimately a complete witwanton persiflage of sizzled destruction rather than the savory contemplation of the cotqueans of majesty derided but never derailed by terminal revivals because the generativity of the titanic original might not be a popular indoctrination but the liberated thought of the untethered is ultimately more decisive in world affairs than the synergistic hive of bees building an imperious defense against dynasty built only upon provincial hatred of hidebound illiteracy combustible into the brazen bravado of a reckless intrepid effrontery against civilized chains into the ******* of complicit interconnection rather than dissolved dissolutions that solve global problems more fundamentally rather than driving through avenues of wide pressures gilded with expansive growth but ultimately bereaved by the ultimate succor of the youthful exuberance of captive audiences rather than the wily connivance of genius unbounded. God is obviously a benevolent provider of all bounties and despite the conspiracies that predicate heterodoxy the uniform mannequin of a mascot Democracy ultimately becomes a fickle bandwagon allegiance to relationship rather than a true witness to authentic ******* to a subservient relationship to a creative God synergized with energies that should exceed all galloped windlass into demarche and expose rather than rundles of ridicule interminable because of the permanence of kitsch memorial rather than living sculpture that breathes a swiveled light that beckons preened self-accountable responsibility to a dutiful matriotic duty of optimism rather than a contrarian futility of those that despise the unequal suave crackjaw dementia of the temulentia of derangement among crowds that provide fewer bounties and more deprivations calculated to indenture need rather than motivate want. We must motivate want by fueling ambition rather than quelling dissent in defensive posture because that strategy of antinomian discord is a dead-end street against an inveterate enmity that can never be fully deposed but only opposed with nominal futility raging with violence rather than seething with the motivation to reform because reform is an efficacy mobilized. Novelty of wednongue propriety grown through the heirs of drastic impertinence gilded from the siphon of lavadero hypogeiody blasphemous in bletonism that guards a piebald scrivelo because the sought dementia of an overwrought alacrity is a purpose without a terminus but an ambition soaring through scraped ice cream stratosphere that marvels at the minutiae of the civilized anthill that becomes a beehive of industry when the rationale of moral reform becomes insuperable rather than suborned into effete recursive cycles of pittances of pitfalls obsessively pondered but never solved because the fustilugianation of a forever tampered travesty is the esemplastic rejection of a categorical aim that leans of windlasses of elegance that surpass the levy of hatred and achieve sizable filagersion to squirm above the squawk upon populace rather than the consternation of an urbane but cloistered metropolitan arrogance contravened by the historical emergence of happenstance locales fostering the most well-guarded treasures of bohemian pedigree rather than dimpled resolve faffling on ergasia in bromidrosis rather than cavorting with a skeptical indoctrination by default evaded by those that equate an improbable scenario with a definitive solution to acatalepsy quandary because by reckoning with indeterminacy we grow in historical lineaments and solve global detritus by recycling the rattled brevity of promontory preens of plumage into a recursive ostentation defalcating heavily from sturdy macroeconomic proofs of the trendsetter rather than the trend and therefore grapple with profound personalized disdain rather than cordial harmony. Essentially by the logical positivism of proof we remind ourselves that obviously a chattering blather swims in tentative irony as long as it is a penultimate relativity because the lack of capstone ensures that the relevant treads beneath the mountain of rapprochement in benign endeavors to survive and thrive in definitive conclusion rather than intermediary conclusions of amnesia in jaundice. By the gnomic apothegms that guard the fortress of the demassified we have quantulated that the preposition of continuance is in fact a guarantee of the fickle supremacy of the recent and even more preponderantly the supremacy of expectancy of latent junctures that never manifest becoming a dictatorial rule of driven alacrity of wastrels that should fast from conclusive opinion and rather favor the primordial fabric of the inveterate truths rounded by the conversion of alchemy solidified by calculated canon converging with esoteric apartheid against the simultagnosia of the simpleton drivel of primordial myths bowdlerized from history neither lewd nor depraved but moribund because of the conclusive ****** of a peremptory intermediary certainty predicating a more precise foresight. The lackluster luster of numinous foghorn subliminal graft is a nativist confusion of legionnaire mettle swaddled by the cosseted grasp of interminable boundaries that demarcate linear time even when supersolid filigrees of elemental confusion erratically swerve into oblivion that becomes a forestalled happenstance so hapless that the connivance of alveolate synergies necessarily precludes event from becoming indelible because the tentative judgment wallops the tributary incontinence of the warble of axiolative jaundice materialized by crystalline fabrication neutered by soundbyte sclerotic calculus inveterate in summations of conclusion only because of peremptory weights upon geometric certainties rather than logarithmic dampers of attenuation that spar against spartan priggish epithets upon the flamboyant grit of grisly specter of speculative sepulchral venal vanity. The timberlask cineaste irony of the partisan usucaption of sapwood is a pirated timber of startled alarm becoming a useful or useless cacophony of barnstorm for the deadstock of past cadasters of rigmarole in the docimasy of pretense in impartial circumstance in specialized oratory bounded by a hemmed bailiwick of verdure denatured by the flombricks of subtle persuasion that ignores minority fringes of opinion that occupy that majority that cowcatchers brush aside rather with cruel contemptuous unkempt slippery agenda for drivel that spawns ingeminated redoubled explosions in participle bias rather than conglomerate arraignment of arrayed brooked swamps turgid not with the pettier travesty but the charade of a brokered ceremonial calculation against the wrikpond spurious by degeneration into corruptible complicity that thrives in obscurantism but never obscurity when the omnified owns a capitalized swiftboat of never a temulentia but always an optimism in the curvature of lineaments into the self-educated shepherd of the ultimate autarky rather than insubordination in the scrappy schlep of demographic ripples of swift enrichment at great personal flops in the floppy disk of a Democratic enrichment rather than a parched rectiserial hidebound tome. A quirky time stanched by tomes of patricide against family ingratiated by parrots to anthem but lacking the lettered verve of ignoble but parsed parsecs of finite light captivated into prismatic conscience we launch the demerited ploys of foible into the heralded controversy rather than the unheralded mercenary hands behind dogmatic ripostes livid because of the suave prestidigitation of the sublime mastery of the syncopated irony of mismatch attuned to radical rhythm we become bloated slaves to a rich lineage decried widely in attempts of covert coup raxes of a largesse of continual primipara perversions of courted cotqueans of uxorious justice that by defalcating from tributary orthobiosis in specious conjecture esteemed by rattled martexts aspiring for fraternal solidarity with the ****** esteem masquerading as the auctioned flivver that the merchandise of fluminous optimism cannot be an effusive blanch of blarney bolstered by bumptious bromides of brunt blackmail but rather the artform of subterfuge needs the insidious and invidious traction of creepy Thriller subtlety to garner the vapid traction of immobilized discontent foster to malcontent rarely abridged by even the most polite courtesy of diplomacy because of inherently insatiable demand that it skulks in undetected quarters flexing in the shadowy penumbra of transparent crackjaw enigma becoming an obvious blister or a gabble of raw jaundice sweltering into thermolysis by the eventual convergence rather than the improbable divergence of fissile time beckoning its own flashy revolution while denaturing the very presence of delusion as a herald more of the authenticity of animadversion rather than the sclerotic carapace of ragged asphyxiation in the aplomb whisper entombed forever by milquetoast inefficacy in hypersensitivity rather than a flourished malfeasance of a predatory grip upon seizure among catatonic graves of incontinence braving tribulation for crucibles of the most prosodemic surgeries of the furtive froward recalcitrance of deliberation in ignominy that enables that transmogrified skyscraper of Titanic lies to become a sunken vessel of harbored prestige lost on penultimate dice rather than winning pokerish villiany. Essentially the jeer of Morel Under a Disco is a winning brandished authority to chug the capers of inscrutable difference in blandishment imposture to cavort with an elegant plot twist that enthralls abiding decay to revert into a primordial confidence of livelihood to deter the frogmarch of time into the despairing quagmires of a livid balkanization of a simultagnosia of ageotropic monoideism fomented on fervor that leads to the paralysis of privacy and the expedited furor of moribund depraved proclivity so that the offset of morale and rationale can outfit civilization to brave the tempests of cordial divisions cemented by courtesy in order to safeguard against the yeggs of paranoia seeking ultimately the craven caper of disillusioned subconsciously felt retraction of indelible deeds into evaporated constructs that vanish too quickly to spawn the vigor of a cadged and utilitarian expanse of reiterative generativity that sustains the spanned sapience of primordial alacrity to ensure that brevity in outlook becomes longevity in subsistence because without a logical positivism grounded in unshakable tenets of God the demoralization of the vast majority is ensured and entombed in aimless squalor that leads to sheepish temerity compounded by wistful latency in regretful regression rather than a spandex bluster of a bravado of obesity to weather the persnickety wednongues of perdurable badges of instinctual shame slandered into prima facie denatured transmogrified cultures seeking cosmogony out of ordinary bricolage because the eventful triage of the nimble eludes parochial sight while the vastly capable outfox and outpace with such frenetic verve that they fasten against accident and transcend against heterochrony in ridicule that the unseasonable but seminal sauce flavors better the partially indentured optimism of a curated matriotism better than it serves the obviously interminable cycle of listless demiurges of malcontent that fuel conflagration rather than reformation to their own remorseful peril. Thereby, it is obviously concluded that to micromanage a society you must exert the capacity of a selective magnetism obviously predicated on demassified capacities for oaths of gratitude to endear and endure in the humane heart for the majority that sway few but encounter many that they find proper scruple grounded on axiomatic God to sustain not a lifeless priggish inclination but a bounded felicity that is not a carapace of an indigenous and insidious decadence to the extent pursuits of happiness swelter among the marginalized majority bereaved in powerless squalor slave to temptation not to derelict fascination but to provide aim to aimlessness and predicate their worldviews not on Racial Identity Theory which postulates too many counterintuitive pessimisms that are essentially neutered fustilug predicates of a world that requires such drastic seismic reforms in societal dynamics that the earthquake capable of such a realignment would exceed a 10.5 on the Richter scale which is 32x more powerful than the biggest earthquake in recorded history that would be so catastrophic in its implicit implication of the pretense that the consummation of the theory achieves the traction necessary to jostle every crowd into alignment that the collateral damage would endanger the very integrity and vitality of the Republic itself while exerting a tremendous existential dread of radical permutation that enables many travesties that abnegate the prerogatives of a privileged society in search of a facetiously engineered impossible utopia that could only be achieved by a dictatorial authoritarianism working in concert with benumbed sloganeering to engineer pessimism and malcontent rather than nurture the fair-natured optimism of a society that flourishes because it assumes naturally that the universe conspires in the favor of prosperity. If any hint of casuistry is evident in these postulates I wouldn’t be surprised but for rhetorical sanctity it is necessary for a nation bereaved of national icons not to despise the captive imagination of tyrannical transparency but grow from the liberating and partially liberal parable of a life maximized in limber for romantic enthralled growth that heralds with due consideration the paragons of time with reverence rather than soundbyte enslavement of parochial interminable twinges of a newborn and widely shared collective guilt of a decisively antinomian and pessimistic view on the evolution of human societies beyond catchy kitsch verve nexilities of bravado mutilating thirsts for inclusive mandates that are Boa Constrictors prowling with serpentine vitriol to vastly over-represent extreme fringes to dissuade nuclear families in an overt ploy of depopulation because the truer pathway to liberation is one that feeds the hot hand in the casino and bets that the winners will always win by deregulating their ability to bet large sums because of a transcendent supersolid mastery of time that the march and demarche of a boundless prosperity gouged by the fair demands of egalitarianism enables the card counter to achieve such a decisive advantage that his indentured socially coerced eleemosynary inclination to feed the flock endures throughout all epochs because of the necessary and incumbent scruples of God-fearing men to distribute their winnings won by cheating time to conquer time itself.

These are our times,
Each of us in our cyber shells,
Stagnantly appealed to atrophy,
Sailing in search of the long
                Lost spirit,
That one gleam in our existence,
That esteemed ambrosia,
Callused palms,
          Achin’ back
Stars shooting themselves,
Through our wings.

We can dance on moonlight,
We can sing right to the earth,
We can move atop,
          Saunter into the horizon
Yet we safely sit nestled,
Afraid of our neighbors,
A new paranoia,
McCarthyism eat your heart out,
          They’ll ban freedom,
          They’ll root us out,
If only we could come together,
I fear,
That no one is left,
To live as,
The fearless had.
That the once,
Benevolent virtue,
Of being human,
In all that horrid splendor,
Has washed away,
The spirit left on the shore,
Waving.

I haven’t seen anything,
Like the Ol’ Seraphim saw,
Or the Ol’ Duluoz saw,
O has it all been lost,
Somehow the latency has produced,
A grand homogenized pile of ****.
With everyone afraid of the shadow,
Imagined,
Looming overhead,
Heating the backs,
Tearing at the truth at heart,
The sight unbearable,
People try to be people.

The impact of what had happened,
Now riding the rails,
Still on the course,
This wild horse will take,

Things will always change,
There are truisms to be had,
Dissolved into the land,
I hope for a band to come out,

A real group,
A bunch of people all there,
Out there,
In here,
Over there,
Everywhere,
That can think,
Feel,
See,
Be seen,
Communicate,
Chanting,
Silently,
Beheaded,
Buddha-fied,
Chr­istly,
Godliness,
They are bare,
Naked,
Covered in the filth,
Of pure humanity,
Celebrating breath,
Creating something,
It wouldn’t all have to make sense,
Some of it may be hard to follow,
--misinterpreted—
Partitioned as pure nonsense,
The lama lama ding blah blah,
Could come off as that fevored,
Sought after rhythms,
Straight ahead to the main destiny,
That inevitable fortitude,
Caught in the clouds,
Foretold by the unseen Unknown,
Chaos imbedded in our skin,
Slinking off,
Erupting into the cosmos,
Connecting our bemused souls,
Like the rain toppling down the mountain,
No picture can encapsulate
This mosaic of mankind,
But this is our time,
Right here and now,
While the whole thing is still moving,
Almost tripping over its own feet,
As it has always done,
The sigh of relief when,
In the blindest revelation,
In the darkest caves of ignorance,
In the coursing waters,
In the towering worlds here,
Even the truest of falsehoods,
Makes the whole thing called life,
Worth a ****.























Drawing in Dawn:

The sight of it,
The sun,
Being birthed,
From the womb,
Of the Horizon.

I draw a breath,
As I watch,
Reminiscent of,
The Moon,
Entangled in,
The eternal,
Nightly web.

The forces,
The push and pull,
Waves in,
Counter balance,
Like the,
Drawing in of,
Embrace,
The pull of,
Ever drawing time.























The dusty rag tumbled down the mountain,
Only to be shunned by everyone,
Destitute in absolute desolation,
Roaming as it had always done.

Then it came to rest beside the grove,
In an inlet that rang with melodious wonder,
It became awashed by the world’s beauty,
Lost in the splendor of it all.

Time passed faster as the grace seeped in,
The pores of its flesh inflated, elated,
The flash of fiery thunder roared,
The sand fell onto its back, and dust returned.

Time had come to move on and break aloof,
From the fortitude and pleasure allotted,
For the call of the wind was too great,
To ignore for any longer.

There is speak of latency
and pregnant pauses,
for epochs.
From Cambrian to Devonian,
and all things antediluvian.
The stone, the bronze, the golden age.
and the age of wood and wool,
Of wool,
and wood.
Of mahogany,
and mohair.
An age of comfort and kindness,
of nanas wasting idly in rocking chairs,
Knitting sweaters big as continents,
for the sons and daughters,
Of their sons and daughters.
with the loom and swoop and stitch.
While each toc and tic,
Turns grandma to dust
and to death
Then to be latent again,
in a universe of dust.
A star, with a secret harbor,
of virtue.
A constellation, lassoed,
in her honor.
Blessing all with patience
Shining benevolent,
and intentionless,
For all to see.

Silence upon other silence grows;
Taller than any skyward cathedral,
Wider than divisions, between two brothers.

The only sincere silence is natural,
Or found by a flickering candle’s flame,
And the latency, of a sleeping child.

After a death, some silence may roar
Down zigzagging corridors, of dazed;
Haunting midnight's vertiginous dreams.

Numbness opens vast reservoirs of quiet
And in the resultant- preternaturally stilled-
Silence sometimes finds its earthly voice.

I now present to you, Silence itself-
Bereft of courtesies, or dignified flourishes;
Bare as a babe at death- or birth.

Five hundred moons the bud
on slender, lithe, soft-skinned stalk
belies its strength in quiet latency
bundled in its own promise

Nurtured in ancestral love's soil
bending, bowing, under weight of rain
shedding seasons in quiet deferrence
unaware, its own verdure burgeons

Soft new petals on florets of truth
weep in its turbulent spring
gentle drops of elven victuals
mustering, nourishing itself

Twin blossoms of vibrant azure ice
blazing brilliance, fulfillment
I am a humble bee in grateful witness
Yes, your eyes

Bed ridden,
Cold,
And Barely breathing.

I await you to drift in,
Like turning leaves in autmun wind.
Chasing your shadow through the corners of my latency

Make me believe in fairies.

Dance me in violet haze 
twirl me with nymphs of woods everlasting  
let me prance my weaknesses down 
Through apath of serenities among orange speckled wild lilies 
Take me where I can breathe 
Besides these letters of make believe pages.

Holed up in a closet with half a pint or so
Too slowly disheartening for the time it takes
And far too enigmatic for the plans I've yet to make
Yet I move with every atom drawn emancipated

Yet the context of neurons
And bitter sweet memory all a fabrication
Another thin layer of nostalgia to force feed the sleeping beast
And even as I disregard, it comes up through the latency so brazen
Another helpless mess of chemicals to feast upon

Boring

A **** shame as well
Charismatic yet moments away from being half adjusted
Using every empty vow of justice to reciprocate
He must've mustered every ounce of faith based forgery
And the internal jury applauds

All is for naught, but drowning in waste deep
Self pity is for suckers
I can drown in less than half an inch

Selfishness is only realized once
Pride stops you from making friends
Maybe the fear hits nearer to home
Reopen its wounds like the case that lay dormant but provable
Felonious though it may be once you disregard empathy
You know he did

And yet it bleeds

Still it moves

Cognition taken for granted, but by who?
Sure, the long since departed had so much to lose
But If with every passing breath they would've ****** down oxygen
With the same callousness he possessed
When cutting off their heads

Doesn't the burden fall on you as well...
Sending a man to hell is no easy task

Bask in the grace you made for yourself
Bending the page with ink that you've layerd
With blood and homage to past ruling lieges
That murdered their wives for no ******* reason

Tragedy only strikes in pairs
Taking the same heads off twice
One visible, the other not so much

I'm a daredevil with the wordplay
I'm the father nature of words
I cause metaphorical earthquakes

I create verbal distortions
real-time gravitational pulls
My words create wormholes
for you fools

I'm never one to get caught up
With those three-lined time wasters
Small words are for felines, not dog chasers

Now watch me enter your ear like q-tips

Whether you recite this mentally or with two lips

Watch my words blossom then spring like tulips

My tools are to equip, I do this

For the sake of being an artist
We are now in the future
You can be a man that is heartless

I swear his organic heart was replaced with turbines
YouTube it, google it!
We are now in those times

Enough about those lives
Let's embrace my current state of mind

This current age, only a fragment in the stain of time

Minimum wage has me working over time

Maximum rage could be the case if I let go of my

Elusive state, I'm in a place where my conscious mind

Has embraced all of my thoughts upon these words of mine

I hoping that these words can turn to wine so that all can drink, then have high spirits

We are all passengers upon our own body's can't you feel it?

lag and latency upon your current actions

tell your brain to move a finger, then see what happens

It's crazy that only 10% of our brain can be accessed

Is this a myth or a fact?
I have yet to fathom

My bed is double functional
I use it to make love on
And it is where my mind becomes extracted from my body and goes to planes of potent virtuosity
Where the sheer sound of self-reflection is an incredible pleasure
The body, a conveyor of material wants and superfluous desires is left behind in puzzled abandonment
But the mind does not lament
It blasts out of the squaller of the western world and all of its heavy reliance on demystified theatrics and the attempts of restoring a cleavered generation gap
The mind’s finesse and savage grace carry it to a hypnotic river of awareness and comprehension
The river bed is self-continued
The latency stage is over, all indications point forward to end the played out injustice of self-deprivation , run with fluidity and quit the life of a spectator
Then, pool into the communal crown
Where we are all holy royal
Where we are all enrolled enthusiasts of freedom from one’s own shackles of doubt and shame
The corrupt coercion is out of favor and now we've assembled without the fear of involvement
For we've been in play since we crawled out of the womb
But it is now that we have decided to speak
And this drastic turnover is first and foremost and idea, no more no less
Not a law
Not a war
Not a religion
Not and organization or a political party
It is an idea to let the mind wander and find independence
Independence from the body, the world and all the smoke and mirrors that pollute it daily
Then grab the vibrations of positivity in terms of thought and action then touch with an extension of personality
So go, live in your uptight, delightful, tangible world and dispel this theory
I’ll stay here sitting astride this moot point
      -Tommy Johnson

Seven crows eating road ****, backdrop a rest stop. This is either a nightmare or my drive to work. And then there's cold glass and yellow latency, the heat turned up.
And just kidding, it isn't hidden - it's in my hair, the giant suckerfish, arranged like a headband - it's sick, this sizzlepop bad dream. Kind of sick. But really, just kidding, like the clown wearing a bowtie and selling catatonia down at the morbid sequin.

“Blight into cold blue and obsidian water sky.
I await to graciously glance at sunset and smile,
I must renew my bones in dynasty of deity,
I have been feeling an awakening sensation,

I must still clear all my earthly levies,
As I sense awakening of a simmering rage,
The day that since has died a desperate light,
That light that must get stronger by the day,

Today is dead latency in the desolate land,
My heart welcomes you once again my love,
My season my woman my deity my immensity,
Every road leads to the door step of my heart,

For without thee I will roam with a hungry heart,
It is blunt to pause to make an end majestic creature,
Nefarious it was for suns to store and cache my will,
Skies black water befuddles me and constrains me,

Moving heaven and earth that which we were,
Made all the stars weak by time and fate,
Every ode will disperse and die as soon this will,  
Ode to Blackwater”
By Andrew Guzaldo 09/20/2018 ©

Drift
Away
From
The relentless noise
Of the mind
And enter
Another world

A space
Of latency
A realm
Of potential

All comes through the body
All that we are
All that we do
Is carried in our flesh

Look at your fingers
Look at your knuckles
And wonder
What things
Have you done
With your hands
What things will you do?

Latency
Unborn
Yet to arrive
But certain to
In time
Pervades existence

Dig deep
Into your soul
And allow
Your dreams
To materialise

Give flight to your greatest desires
Give them space, air, room
And then
Imagine
Your dreams
Transforming into reality

Allow yourself
To become the protagonist
Of your desires

And live
With renewed
Hope

can't let go
I grasp I take hold
And I can't let go
My hands sweat and slip but I grasp harder
Wondering if it would have been smarter
to just not grasp at all
To just surpass it all
Because now the collapse of it all is on me
And things like this don't have a plan b
... so I think
Wondering about the correlation
Connecting the links
the what ifs
Pleading the fifth to all the things I can't explain
Perspiration runs now like rain down my finger tips
Under looking the bliss
Measuring the ignorance
Memories like fingerprints engraved on us two
Enslaved to the emotions and memories of you
I wish that I would not have taken hold of you
Hands stuck as if glued
With vision skewed
And thoughts just as lewd
Wishing our hearts did not have **** encounters
Wishing that thoughts transcribed were not vouchers
Feelings and emotions for you cower in my brain
Perspiration from my hand like rain makes a puddle
As your actions are rebuttaled
I notice the subtle grit in your voice
the off step in your poise
hands overly moist
overlooking the choice to let go
aching to let go
Heart in hand
hand in heart
I can start to feel the asphyxiation
how can I deal with the gratification of vacancy?
The truth in the blatancy
So I wait and see what will happen
Stuck in the latency of entrapment
A stagnant motion
The collapsing notion of lungs  
A grasp that has my neck rung
Hand in heart
Heart in hand

-

~since the Past is a memory
supported by evidence  
of what was once "now"–

~and the Future is a mental
projection forward since it
has not yet happened–

figuring for the nerve impulse
latency to the brain, which
in turn must process
this information—

we therefore experience
the Present in Past tense,

relying upon the Future
to fuel a continued
existence.


Meanwhile...


s jones
2021


.

A billion fingerprints on a dollar bill
Only wash the hands
After wiping forth and back
Habits accumulate and
Tend to follow
Or tend the rabbits
But anyway
The second path
Is always
Incommodious
And then from outer space
Half a flick of dust
Only palpable
In someone's memories
On someone's mind
Behind the eclipse
And the bright lights
Face to face
You are a block
Of organic matter
Stuffed with minerals and latency
A resonance in the air
Heavily drifting
One picometer above the ground
Hazardous vibes of tranquility
Are emanated by the frustration
Of fuzz
Covering the back and neck
Not being able to come to an end
Overextension
Where the point meets the previous point
The perfect angle
And a goosebump followed by goosebumps
Tend and stretch to reach
But all little fingers choke
Are tips of pint-sized bunnies
The color of mist

Borne under the good sign,
Or the bad,
If the enigma caught on,
to the trailing self,
it would be a question,
would the superlative,
be monstrous?
Or the make shift believer;
Would it all make sense?
Scribbles...
Either I have signed my life
or destroyed it,
In the pursuit.
It is the mental mind,
That produced this end,
The markings the etching,
That causes a chasm,
It will obliterate the skies!
Magnitude.
The sense of belittlement,
had been extinguished,
The tribes borne of the future,
would marvel at etchings,
Engraved in sand,
The beauty all extinguished,
Among the belittled beauty, at,
simple existence,
of complex life,
The hereditary displacement,
coherent to our establishment,

There is a latency
in progression,
The mixture's
Teeth,
Bind,
Conform
In singularity,
The future forgets itself,
the zen logic is missing,
between pustules,
between synapses,
between the heavy,
and the lucid.

-

Just basically an accounting of
language as it is conveyed
between media types

namely,

Air, Silicone and Mail ;

in Air,
you have to
basically be ready to
respond within a reasonable
period, say about three or four seconds

upon Silicone, you could "afk" and then
mix a drink- rinse out the mixing
utensils and type a response
with some degree of
forethinking

in Air,
you could breath
in the real-time vibes that
trigger automatic subject sensitivity,
like, (something too disturbing for me to detail here)

upon Silicone, you would be able to digitally
sort and discard these disturbing elements
and then lie to yourself about the
true weight of the
conversation


in Air,
a comedian can
deliver a punchline in
order to impulse a laugh out of you,
even to the point of spitting out your wine

upon Silicone, latency can cause punchlines
to be misinterpreted as an offense, which
will likely sully those carefully
established digital
relationships

—

You
could encode
the Air in the fashion
that Native Americans did
with campfires and blankets,

but i would never suggest that
you try and breath Silicone__ !

nor pattern the "the ins and outs"
of breathing within the basic scope
of a vacuum in order to encode
it upon a microchip that
can only be read by
a machine—

either way, in case you
may not have noticed,

Personal Letters are —at this moment—
asphyxiating into blue screen
oblivion,
deep inside the
Lost Mailbags of Redundancy...




"Comm_Check"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved


.

Should I dare to leave your side
You grimace, blinking vacantly
‘I couldn’t bear to be alone if ever I died’

In latency, the true mask of life hides
Your whole world would be empty
Should I dare to leave your side

The lace of your last dying wish untied
Loneliness is absence recurring eternally
‘I couldn’t bear to be alone if ever I died’

I won’t leave the room sufficed you’re still alive
What sort of gratitude would it show of me
Should I dare to leave your side

If I gave in reluctantly, famished, red-eyed
Your disquiet would grow infinitely
‘I couldn’t bear to be alone if ever I died’

Love is all that stops me from dying inside
There would be no final anything
Should I dare to leave your side
I couldn't bear it if you died

The only thing that can surpass the grandness of my intellect, is my unrelenting naivety
The only wisdom I lack, is that of experience
I assume all the things that I neglect, in my late latency
But, lately I attest, I’m quit definitely delerious

I want to build grand monuments to loved ones, but I’ve never been an engineer
Pass down grand teachings to my sons
Yet I’ve never been a father, in any year

I wish to love a woman, like no woman has ever been loved before
To tell her irrelevant stories, and only store memories in the drawer.
To take her to places she hasn’t heard of before or even seen.
Create! The things that she can adore and make the chaos serene

I am no fool, I know what I want.
I desire commitment, I long for Freedom and independence
I decided her love for me; I’ll proudly flaunt
But, internally keep it secret, to nurture my own dependence

One day, she noticed that her love for me was gone
And all the little things she loved about me, all of the quirks, and unintentional foolery
Had turned into insufferable character traits, and puzzling conversations
She no longer loved me, and I love her still.

But, I could not love her, the way she wanted to be loved and cared for
And eventually she could not love me as well
She needed to be loved, but only from a distant shore
Her love, in kind, I could not compel

I need to say a million things to you, tell you how I feel, show you how I hurt, and imply what I desire.
I wish to scream, loudly and often, let the air wash away the bitterness from my lips, and try to rekindle the fire.

But, instead. I stay silent, and act benign
And when asked… I say : “I’m doing fine”