He crinkled the daily
paper and thought out
loud, "You're my
best friend."

She scuffed her
kitten heels, prodding
for more. Far inside she
told herself to take it lightly.

He knew she knew
that he knew it was
temporary. Acting as if
she made him happy.

She sunk deep in
the velvet green
couch. Cons and pros
of being the leaver or the left.

He stared past Valentine
cards and the spot on
the carpet, where they
laughed and spilled tomato soup.

Their faces drooped and became
that soup. Sodium and protein
soaking into the ground
every which-way.

She resided and sat
up out of their yard-sale
bought couch. She set her
mind on staying by his side.

He toppled over on
the yard tools he never
touched. Now next to his
side was the Earth's crust.

She was left in the air
and he laid in muck.
His voice played over in her
head, "You're my best friend."

A long time ago in a world far away the malformed had no place to stay, so they made their own common society.

Jonah the hunched hero of our tale was born in such a place meek and frail.

Until one day Jonah found, a note on the cold muddy ground with an interesting message and a pleasing sound.

"Come to undone and enjoy the celebration. Today at the church enjoy our creation and drink with mirth in our beautiful creation."

To Jonah this note seemed rather pretty this place seemed be happy he must find this city.

So he said to his friends good bye and fair well, "wish me luck for I am going to Undone"

and so as he departed his journey started...

Soon after walking he found a hunter talking to a strange and mysterious beast. The beast was cowering in the form of a fox and as the hunters evil eye glinted the beast did cry "don't **** me I am not a good catch, you know this well for I am a Mismatch!"

The strangest beasts that one can find is a mismatch as it changes to all who are around. Whatever you desire it will become until the end of time, when all stories are done.

When the hunter spotted Jonah he did cry "you have found me taking the most sinful catch. I will have my revenge so watch your crippled back. Your time will be done and my revenge done!"

With this the hunter ran back to Undone with his plot foiled and but another to come.

Grateful was the Mismatch that it turned into a friend "I can’t thank you enough for what you have done, you saved me from that terrible hunters gun. To find undone and continue your tale you must head east to find that church and its fine feast."
“Thank you fair friend” Jonah did call. Waved goodbye and away did he fly.

So he continued on...

Just when Jonah was about to give up his search he saw in the distance what looked like a church. His heart beat faster he started to run, this must be Undone his journey was done.

When Jonah approached the mighty city, he found gates so very high to him it appeared that the barbed tops reached the sky. The guard outside had a cold heart he saw Jonah and shouted "hark! You crippled man, you can’t enter the city. Do not try. Unless that is you want to die. Our city is tall and fair and true, and will only remain so without you.”

Jonah felt his heart sink would he never get to be in the city and drink with people and make some friends to reach new and exciting ends.

As Jonah turned he saw a man tall, in a black and white suite, on a rock he sat playing on a golden flute. "If you can help me then I can you and let you in. I ask of you a moment to help me get that apple up from this tree, and you will be able to enter the city"

So Jonah did as he was asked he fetched the apple quick and fast. The tall man did as he had said. Hypnotizing the guard the tall man messed with his head."Come in quickly my friend you don't have much time until the end. You will always be a friend of mine, till the very end of time"

With this Jonah went into the city...

Jonah could not help but admire the important looking people moving towards the chapel's spire. However all of them looked down on him, they saw nothing but a horror form a ghostly tale.

In the chapel Jonah saw a skinny woman and her son who looked scared and wooden.

As Jonah approached the priest and looked eagerly at his feast... The priest looked up with eyes of disgust "What kind of evil creature are you!” he bellowed in surprise “be gone before you meet a holy demise”

So head bowed Jonah left he could no longer take part in his quest...

Later on by the street a very old man Jonah did meet. He was sitting on a broken box looking at twenty clocks. All were broken and out of sync, but something made Jonah stop and think. "If I fix these clocks he will be happy, then I go and not feel so low"

The clock man was different, this man was kind. When Jonah fixed his clock they became friends. The clockman thanked Jonah a lot "you fixed the clocks when I could not... please take my advice and go back south the people here don't want you, they call you a fiend. They do not want you around”

Not much longer around... Jonah did not like that sound. So Jonah went back to the gate in shock, but something horrible made him stop.

Jonah rushed up the stairs running wild... something bad had happened to the wooden child.

The small child he saw in the church before was lying still on the floor. Faster Jonah started to run... But to late the damage was done. The child was dead, the mother that killed him clearly sick in the head.

She then attacked him to, but the goal of the knife no one knew. For Jonah dodged but tripped her leg and on the knife she fell, tried to stop but to late she had sealed her own fate.

Jonah tended to the woman and checked the child, but the damage was done, a dead mum and innocence bleeding on the floor.

All at once the hunter appeared a smile on his face long and weird. “Your time has come, you day is done. For this ****** you will be hung"

So the hunter went to the police and a hunt began... he was not going to be released.

For his life Jonah ran, until he met he friend the tall man... "Follow me and you will be safe we will find a way out of this place"

All at once there was a flash; this man was using magic with blood and ash. When Jonah looked around at where he had gone, he knew not where he was. But the place looked weird and the man even more, how could he have hypnotized the guard before?

Was he an angel or a devil, Jonah could not tell...

"Jonah, Leave. Never return the rest of these sinful creatures will burn!"

With his clock friend in mind, Jonah begged the tall man to be kind... they were not evil just misunderstood he begged for forgiveness. Even though they never would.

The tall man then explained to him "I can only save you if they pay for them. For there must be balance no one can win”

So it came that Jonah chose his end. To save the life of his Undone friend.

It was this choice that saved Undone, from a horrible and deadly lesson.

Jonah felt a strange force pulling him, towards the ones that where following him.

So much hatred and sick delight, Jonah was stunned by fear and cried.

The priest ordered the rope around his head.
The leaver was pulled and Jonah was dead.

Jonahs friends never became aware as his body was dumped without a care.

Lovers
become leavers and
leavers' love
is the strongest I've come to know
you who would ask me my
secrets
but not take care to see
why
they were kept
did you follow my fingertips across your skin
they were
graceful
when I had no other grace to offer you
you
who asked to know me when my smeared painted
lips whispered
that love and understanding are
far
too often separated by knowledge of the secrets you
in your only
naivety sought
to know.

marvel at the complex-pattern
painting such a span of swirls
light-panels less than shimmer
in the afternoon shadows on the wooden kitchen-table
biggest fear - your leaving


1.
beautiful summer-days lost in your eyes
oblivion dances like a wily-***** at hypnotising fire-licks
from our languid-bed, I'd lazy-feed you lox-on-crackers
and everything you liked
heaven never had it so good

........................till

woke up and *you weren't there
where'd you go to?
no letter, no call.. for days


2.
to overcome this fear
I brought in a  b-i-g-g-e-r  one
that used to drive me to serious-pitfalls in the past

off to the exotic pet-shop, my toes marched me
and I got one - very toxic thing on legs
without a natural terrarium

once home, I set it free
I set free.... my biggest fear
        to blot out your absence
        to overcome your presence
        to forget you

it crawled around and made a home
while I hardly breathed nor slept
and moved about on ginger-steps


3.
I kept feeling strands of your hair
          in my sleep
          on my cheek
          inside my cry
and woke to moonlight bathed in sweat

I did not wash your pillow, after weeks now
I bury my face in olfactory-memory lingering
and pine for you, but I see your missing set of keys and..

/ scratch .. scratch /

I hear a sudden scurrying
heartbeat jumps out cage
eyeballs to the parquet-floor

nothing.


4.
I'm getting used to this new pet
and she doesn't mind my breathing
                    oh, I swear she's a brain-scanner
                    when she looks at me that way
                    like she can read me.. through and through

I dare not pet, I dare not touch... ohhhh no!
       I leave her the daily-bowl of delicious, fresh worms
       to find it empty in the evening
I guess, thanks for freedom.. of sorts

one day, I left the window open
as I jotted down some poignant thoughts
at my antique-escritoire
    espied her legs upon the solar-sill
    thought she'd be running... a leaver, too
but no..    
                 she was sunning all her legs awhile


5.
the season's changing.. leaves are falling
crackle of wind in the air

now, I'm making me some coffee in my silver whistle-***
hot, solo beverage to calm my settling-mind
when.. ping-ping.. comes a text
lo and behold....
it is you...

you!


6.
delirium / delirium /
(I'm on cloud-nine... you're coming home tonight..
                                      you love me so much, you say..
                                      made a mistake..
                                       you've got something big to share..

I've taken time to prepare a special-meal.. candles and all your faves
but must pop out quick to get some lox...)


I'm back now, got the stuff now
key in lock
but the door.. jammed by a weight.. of sorts
can't seem to push the ****-door open...
shoving hard, I see........







fear compounded by a minus
simply multiplied
disaster




S T - 4 dec 13

We've both been through a lot lately,
Enough that we make the most
of distractions that present themselves.
I don't like to sit down and study
How a signal from your brain,
Reaches receptors in your toes;
Or how a muscle twitches.
And you don't like to be alone.

It's been our tradition,
The three of us,
Since we were about fifteen,
To modify our bodies;
(read: mutilate).
We pierce and ink ourselves.

You got your jumping Koi
When you were fifteen
Still in high school.

We got our ******* pierced in the last year of school,
Bored with the idea of maths or science
We wanted something interesting,
And that's what we came up with.

You came back to school
And couldn't stop showing people,
Even when they didn't want to see.

We all got our animals together,
My cicada, your frog, your bird,
The leaver's dinner for school was that night.
We were still rebels.

Then uni last year,
Two quotes in braille around our ribs,
And your quote in Latin
(which turned out to be Italian)
"No lies, just love."

Now today,
A new cat on my arm
And a rose on the back of your neck.

We are perfect,
Immaculate.

Procrastination at it's finest.

in disguised fashion,
and contemporary flair -
****-laden euphemism -
rushing thoughtless at
bricked wall.
knowingly, no way
through, though run
on tip-toes to
gain agility of ancestors.
pseudo rain-dance;
      is that cultural
      or is it racism?
no room at the bottom anyhow;
we'll linger here
developing emotional interlingua
as means to better,
to comprehend gaped chasm;
allusions, perhaps
it's a bit more magic
oriented than prior presumed.
            (the ever consumed)
then fretful sitting,
continued curiosities of death;
      (perhaps hyperbolic?)
feet still stink ten years later
while linger understanding
of sepsis; is this life infected?
is this a gangrenous growth
in existence;
was dead at birth,
and rehearsed the gurgles
prone to an actor's drowning
monologue. euphemism?
perhaps only rhyming to
schism metric longings.

The air is brittle this ominous, wintry night.

The slivers of a life you used to know still haunt you, as surely as you have permitted them to be a haunt to others.

Without question, it is those memories that spur your ruminations; that cause your copious circumlocutions; which compell you to stand on this somber boulevard in front of this crumbling, but once stately manor that now is a languid presence with the solitary purpose of looming over the vast grounds.

It is obligatory that you proceed along the avenue that used to split the yards that are now overgrown and chocoblock with twisted vines, and thistles.

You pause, to gather your strength.
One deep inhailation and then you hold your breath as you grip the tarnished handle and lock leaver.

With a perfect degree of strength your thumb recalls, the mechanism is undone.

Your arm pushes forward.

The silence is disturbed by a warbling creak as the heavy door is slowly opened.

You exhale, then before you lose your nerve you quickly pass through the ingress and enter into the foyer,
which is instantly familiar in the dim, flickering light and the long, slender adumbrations effected by the gossamer encaked voltives jutting from the dusty walls.

Though it has remaned unchanged  
throughout all the time that has passed, standing in the ornate room affirms that the warmth with which you used to be recieved here has been abandoned to a frigidity.

You feel as if this room remembers you.

This is as far as I dare go with you, my friend, though I know you must continue.

I have listened to your stories, so
I know you have many rooms to search.

The closier that you seek is in a matter that is not my own.

I will depart upon rendering these words of warning:

When visiting the past,

As you daringly explore these often haralded halways,
Be careful what you leave behind.
Take caution not to lose yourself,
For a shadow lingers in the Suite Sublime.

There's this blank page in front of me
And I'm supposed to fill it up with words
Thing is, the emptiness of the page doesn't inspire me
It frightens and intimidates me
*******, blank page,
Fill yourself up with angry words
And god-awful sentiments
I don't have time
I got too much of too little inside my gut
To fill you up like an empty ****
Just like me, yeah
Ain't you just like me
Another empty **** on a blank page
Having to apologize and cry your eyes out
For the one and only person who you showed yourself to
One and only who touched you
And held your naked soul against his
The only one who dared to fill you
Like I fill you now
That ******* who had the gall
Yours loved and left you
But I was the leaver
But that ******* had the nerve
To try and ******* me as I left
And I knew I KNEW
Knew it wasn't right
Knew you couldn't be the one to hold me all night
With all of your anger
Your lack of sympathy and empathy
And human compassion
You were sweet just for me
But you'd watch the world burn
Just to satisfy your moral pride
And self-righteous concern
So go on and wonder why I left you
And I'll try to change myself
Yeah, just a couple of *****
Making love on blank pages
There's somebody here worth changing my life for
Worth the infamy and destruction of telling
Telling the world about the **** on blank pages
But words are thick
Melted glass that stumbles and slips and tumbles
Crumbling all over the ground
It echoes the sound of my own voice
Accusing myself for making my own choice
For choosing the wrong
The bitter for sweet
But who are these people to tell me to beat it
Why should you decide my worthiness
Or the sincerity of my penance
****** why do YOU get to send me away
When I've already got Hell to pay
Just to the ******* who I left in Hell
And the angel who's trying so hard to save me from myself
******* bishop, cardinal, preacher, God and law
You're all just a bunch of blank pages
Empty ***** of all ages.
Just let me live
Let me die
On the back of this blank page
Let no one turn over
And no one will be shamed.

You asked for it
& I gave it to you,
all that I had
& much more.
Then you left,
high-tailed it
straight out the door.
You left me with a huge mess!
What was I supposed to do darling,
clean up after,
all by myself?

you told me things you thought would scare me
but it only made me love you more
in the back of my mind, i always knew you werent coming back

those nights ment nothing
when id crawl underneath your sheets
tell me stories of all your travels and the people you have met
you think youve got it rough
with all your pain and anger
you run away to leave it all behind
your not the only one who gets lost sometimes


leaver, wont you stay awhile
we’ve got all the time in the world
just stop in for a while
tell me secrets, hold me closer
run your fingers through my hair
and in the morning when your gone
ive known this heartbreak all along


dont think your the only boy in town
who holds me tight and kisses me sofelty
because ive been caught up in ones like you before
and when you leave i know the pain
and i always remember who loses the most
and it always comes down to me

did you ever think maybe i want to run away to
that your not the only one whos had it bad
take my hand and well scale the skies
but you still think your to lost to be found


leaver, wont stay awhile
we’ve got all the time in the world
just stop in for a while
tell me secrets, hold me closer
run your fingers through my hair
and in the morning when your gone
ive known this heartbreak all along

so get me out of this town before i go crazy

(Monday morning, on the roof of an Oslo construction site.)

~

Seagull. Filthy peace flag screaming
His own name upon the city.

It is I! Eater of scraps, leaver of
Droppings!

Sword beak, dagger tallons!
Anti-raven! White blood cell of

Your airborne bloodstream.
The skies would be half a chess

Board in my absence!
I sit on the rooftop drinking water,

Listening to him echo between
Tired buildings.

Norwegian city morning.
Sunny and cold.

I watch the red of mist muffled light
On his wings as he soares towards

The bay for his fifth breakfast.
Today will be an interesting day,

I whisper to my soul as I empty the
Bottle and stand up.

A conductor tapping his baton against
His note stand, raising hands and an

Eyebrow to the orchestra.
Get your Monday in tune, and the week

Will follow accordingly.
Seagull. Filthy peace flag.

Declaring himself victorious
With his every forceless breath.

~

At an old friends birthday party,
and I knew you'd be there, too.
Look at me: I've finally got a belt on
and I finally laced up my shoes

Now look at you:

Everyone eating out of your palm
fed by silver, across the room
But remember what the bald kid once said:

"There is no spoon"

The web of life's had us connected
A Taker, a Leaver
The renown rejected
And The Story of B wasn't what I expected

But at least I finally
                                finally read it

Again,

Your nose and cheeks,
lupus red,
The blush of wine
leaves you out of breath
Like the bite of a wolf
that leaves you closer to death



You can't escape the web

Do not trust me or my gorgeous eyes,
I will only ****** you and feed you my lies!
Do not wrap your heart in bows or kisses,
I will shatter your dreams and all of your dying wishes!
What a beautiful fool you've got to be...
There's no love or angel inside of me!
With tears you feared to be alone?!
Foolishly calling me your loves only home!!!
Your heart wrote lyrical lies!
Songs of how your hips felt under me and in between my thighs!
You wanted me now and then
and over and over again!
But baby making love to you,
I was already remembering when!!!
Behind my curves only an empty heart pounds.
Yet like poison you fell for my un emotional sounds!
I was born a leaver only meant to leave!
My dear, can't you see?
Heaven forgot to rain just for me!!!!

I'm the Nat Geo reader
the Facebook creeper
the go- to- sleep- later
the fake ***** hater.
I'm the question asker
the things- I'll- never- use- again stasher
the big stomach eater
and natural leader.
I'm the girl with the
small eyes and big hands.
And why would God
give a girl
with so much to see
and no one to hold
small eyes and big hands,
can you tell me?
God is laughing you see.
He's saying Child..
I knew you'd be a
seer- to- believer
a mental image taker- not- leaver
so I gave you small
thirsty eyes
and big hands too,
because you're usually a pusher
and bigger hands would
make you that much more likely
to hold things close to you.
So my squinty eyes can see
that my big hands push me
to pull things close.
And I completely forget their size
when I thank God
for a mighty fine pair
of hands and eyes.

Monday morning she rises fine,
Sunshine in her hair.
Scented Elderflower fills the air.
Her heart beat pounds with good intention.
So loud he can but truth perceive.
A relief to be of their lonely damnation,
Two of them leave this here right there.
Here and there, coming and going.
Friends from past love affairs.
Nobody knowing.
Nobodies' there and nobody cares.
For the long lost lady with the sun painted hair.
Leaves by the back door,
Discreetly dressed in lemon juice ,sweet.
Walks down the pathway.
Tripping on air,hornets nest hung in her hair.
He's a ****** leaver, mystic magic weaver.
She's left on her own.
Here and there, coming and going.
Friends from past love affairs
Nobody knowing.
Nobodies' there and nobody cares.
For the long lost lady with the sun painted hair.
It's Friday morning, the chips are down.
The roulette wheel flipped out again
It's rolled into town, pursued by the others, the long lost lovers.
The bills still need paying, her baby's still playing.
She's left on her own again.
Here and there coming and going .
Friends from past love affairs.
Nobody's knowing.
Nobodies' there and nobody cares.
For the long lost lady with the moon sprinkled hair.
(c) Livvi

The **** Name List*

The Alarm **** - This is a good **** for the beginner. It is easy to identify. It starts with a loud unnaturally high note, wavers like a siren, and ends with a quick downward note that stops before you expect it to. It sounds like something is wrong. If it happens to you, you will know right off why it is called the Alarm ****. You will be alarmed. The alarm **** however is rare.

The Amplified **** - This is any **** that gets its power more from being amplified than from the **** itself. A metal porch swing will amplify a **** every time. So will a plywood table,and empty fifty gallon drum, a tin roof, or some empty cardboard boxes if they are strong through being amplified in this way can be called an Amplified ****. These are common farts under the right conditions. For example, if you're sitting on an empty 55-gallon steel drum.

The Anticipated **** - This one warns that it is back there waiting for some time before it arrives. A person who is uneasy for a time in a crowd and who later farts at a time when they think no one will notice has farted an Anticipated ****.

The Back Seat **** - This is a **** that occurs only in automobiles. It is identified chiefly by odor. The Back Seat **** can usually be concealed by traffic noise as it is an eased-out **** and not very loud. But its foul odor will give it away, due to the way air moves around in a car. It is often followed by someone saying, "Who farted in the back seat?"

The Barn Owl **** - A familiarity with owl calls is helpful in identifying this ****. Almost any morning if you get up just before daybreak you can hear one of these birds talking to himself. It's a sort of a crazy laugh, particularly the way it ends. If you hear a **** that has about eight notes in it, ending on a couple of down notes, and it sounds maniacal, you have heard the rare Barn Owl ****.

The Bathtub **** - People who would never in their life know one **** from another, who would like to act like **** don't exist, will have to admit that a Bathtub **** is something special. It is the only **** you can see! What you see is the bubbles. The Bathtub **** can be either single or multiple noted and fair or foul as to odor. It makes no difference. The farter's location is what does it. Maybe there is a kind of muffled pong and one big bubble. Or there may be a ping ping ping and a bunch of bubbles. The sound I should point out depends somewhat on the depth of the water, and even more on the tub. If it is one of those big old heavy tubs with the funny legs you can get terrific sound effects. While one of the new thin ones half buried in the floor can be disappointing.

The Biggest **** in the World **** - Like the great bald eagle, this **** is pretty well described just by its name. This can either be a group one or a group two **** and can occur just about anywhere. I heard it one time, a group two identification, in a crowded high school auditorium one night, right in that silence that happens when a room full of people has stopped singing the Star Spangled Banner and sat down. It came from the back. There was not a soul in that room that missed it. A **** like that can be impressive. The most diagnostic characteristic of the Biggest **** In The World is it size.**** freaks who go around showing off, farting like popcorn machines, and making faces before they **** or asking you to pull their finger and then they ****, never have what it takes for this one, which is rare even among your most serious farter's.

The Bitburr: Sounds like just that--you're walking and the initial explosion "BIT!--" during one step is followed by a more gentle release of the rest of the volume during the next step: "brrrrrr..."

The Bullet **** - Its single and most pronounced diagnostic characteristic is its sound. It sounds like a rifle shot. The farter can be said to have snapped it off. It can startle spectators and farter alike. Fairly common following the eating of the more common **** foods, such as beans.

The Burning Brakes **** - A silent **** identified by odor alone. Usually and adult ****, occurring while the adult is driving a car or has a front seat passenger who farts. The Burning Brakes **** actually does smell a little like burning brakes, and seems to hang around longer than most farts Which gives whoever farted a chance to make a big show of checking to see if the emergency brake has been left on. When he finds it hasn't you know who farted. A common automobile ****.

The Car Door **** - Either a group one or a group two ****. Very tricky. It is meant to be a concealed ****. A matter of close timing is involved, the farter trying to **** at the exact moment he slams the car door shut. It is usually a good loud ****. It is one of the funnier farts when it doesn't work, which is almost every time. It is a desperation **** and not too common.

The Celestial **** - Not to be confused with the Did An Angel Speak ****, which is simply any loud **** in church. The Celestial **** is soft and delicate, surprising in a boy or an adult. It is probably the most shy of all farts and might be compared with the wood thrush, a very shy bird. It does not have the sly or cunning sound of the Whisper ****. It is just a very small clear **** with no odor at all. Very rare.

The Chicken Soup ****: One day I had chicken soup for lunch at work and then stopped off at the gym after work. When it came on, I eased it out, covered by the gym's muzak. It smelled exactly like chicken soup. A few feet away some woman sniffed and said; "Is somebody cooking?" I had to turn to the wall to hide my laughter.

The Chinese Firecracker **** - This is an exceptional multiple noted **** identified by the number, and variety of its noises, mostly pops and bangs. Often when you think it is all over, it still has a few pops and bangs to go. In friendly company this one can get applause. Uncommon.

The Command **** - This **** differs from the Anticipated **** in that it can be held for long periods of time waiting for the right moment. Unlike the Anticipated ****, it is intended to be noticed. Harold Tabor recently held a Command **** for the whole period in history class and let it go right at the end when the teacher asked if there were any questions.

The Common **** - This **** needs little description. It is to the world of farts what the house sparrow is to the world of birds. I can see no point in describing this far any further.

The Crowd **** - The Crowd **** is distinguished by its very potent odor, strong enough to make quite a few people look around. The trick here is not to identify the **** but the farter. This is almost impossible unless the farter panics, and starts a fit of coughing or starts staring at the ceiling or the sky as though something up there fascinates him. In which case he is the one. Very common.

The Cushioned **** - A concealed ****, sometimes successful. The farter is usually on the fat side, sometimes a girl. They will squirm and push their **** way down into the cushions of a sofa or over-stuffed chair and ease-out a **** very carefully without moving then or for some time after. Some odor may escape, but usually not much. Common with some people.

The Did An Angel Speak **** - This is any loud **** in church. This **** was first called to my attention by my father. He probably read about it somewhere. For **** watchers who go to church, this is a good one to watch for as this is the only place it can be found.

The Dud **** - The Dud **** is not really a **** at all. It's a **** that fails. For this reason it is strictly a group one identification ****, because there is no real way you can identify a **** that somebody else expected to **** but didn't. It is the most private of all farts. In most cases the farter usually feels a little disappointed.

The Echo **** - This is a **** that can be wrongly identified. It is not some great loud **** in an empty gym or on the rim of the Grand Canyon. The true Echo **** is a **** that makes its own echo. It is a two-toned ****, the first tone loud, then a pause, and then the second tone. Like an echo.

The G and L **** - This is one of the most ordinary and pedestrian of farts, known to everyone. Certainly it is the least gross. If you have not already guessed, G and L stands for Gambled and Lost. One of the most embarrassing of all farts, even when you are alone.

The Ghost **** - A doubtful **** in most cases, as it is supposed to be identified by odor alone and to occur, for instance, in an empty house. You enter and smell a ****, yet no one is there. People will insist that only a **** could have that odor, but some believe it is just something that happens to smell like a ****.

The Hic-Hachoo-**** **** - This is strictly an old lady's ****. What happens is that the person manages to hiccough, sneeze, and **** all at the same time. After an old lady farts a Hic-Hachoo-**** **** she will usually pat her chest and say, "My, oh my," or "Well, well." There is no reason she should not be proud, as this is probably as neat an old person's **** as there is.

The **** **** - The **** **** is a **** by a **** who smirks, smiles, grins, and points to himself in case you missed it. It is usually a single-noted, off-key, fading away, sort of whistle ****, altogether pitiful, but the **** will act as if he has just farted the Biggest **** in the World ****.

The John **** - The John **** is simply any ordinary **** farted on the john. It is naturally a group one identification, with the sound, whatever it was, somewhat muffled. If it is all the person's trip to the john amounted to he will be disappointed for sure. Common as pigeons.

The Lead **** - The heaviest of all farts. It sounds like a dropped ripe watermelon. Or a falling body in some cases. It is the only **** that goes thud. Except for the odor, which is also very heavy, it could be missed altogether as a ****. What was that, you might think? And never guess.

The Malted Milk Ball **** - Odor alone is diagnostic and positively identifies this ****. It smells exactly like malted milk *****. No other food works this way. It is rare.

The Oh My God **** - This is the most awful and dreadful stinking of all farts - a **** that smells like a month-old rotten egg - as the Oh My God ****. If you should ever encounter it, however, you may first want to say, oh sht, which would be understandable.

The Omen **** - This is the adult version of the Poo-Poo ****. About the only difference is that the farter will not say anything. He will just look kind of funny and head for the john. This one is easy to spot if you pay attention.

The Organic **** - Sometimes called the Health Food Nut ****. The person who farts an Organic **** may be talking about the healthy food he eats even when he farts. If he is heavily into health foods he may even ask if you noticed how good and pure and healthy his **** smells. It may smell to you like any other ****, but there is no harm in agreeing with him. He is doing what he thinks is best.

The Quiver **** - A group one identification **** only. When you ****, it quivers. If it tickles, then it is the Tickle ****. If you have to scratch it, then it is the Scratchass ****.

The Rambling Phaduka **** - You must not be fooled by its pretty-sounding name, as this is one of the most frightening of all farts. It is frightening to farter and spectator alike. It has a sound of pain to it. What is most diagnostic about it, however, is its length. It is the longest-lasting **** there is. It will sometimes leave the farter unable to speak. As though he has had the wind knocked out of him. A strong, loud, wavering ****, it goes on for at least fifteen seconds.

The Relief **** - Sound or odor don't matter on this one. What matters is the tremendous sense of relief that you have finally farted. Some people will even say, "Wow, what a relief." Very common.

The Reluctant **** - This is probably one of the oldest farts known to man. The Reluctant **** is a **** that seems to have a mind of its own. It gives the impression that it likes staying where it is. It will come when it is ready, not before. This can take half-a-day in some instances.

The Rusty Gate **** - The sound of this **** seems almost impossible for a ****. Is is the most dry and squeaky sound a **** can make. The Rusty Gate **** sounds as if it would have worked a lot easier if it had been oiled. It sounds like a **** that hurts.

The S.B.D. **** - S.B.D. stands for Silent But Deadly. This is no doubt one of the most common farts that exists. No problem of identification with this one.

The Sandpaper **** - This one scratches. Otherwise it may not amount to much. You should remember that if you reach back and scratch, it automatically becomes a Scratchass ****. Common.

The Shower ****: These are a lot worse than bathtub farts, due to conditions of humidity and heat. George Carlin once said that you can tolerate the smell of your own farts, but shower farts are the exception to that rule.

The Skillsaw **** - A truly awesome ****. It vibrates the farter. Really shakes him up. People back away. It sounds like an electric skillsaw ripping through a piece of half-inch plywood. Very impressive. Not too common.

The Snart: This is a **** that you succeed in suppressing so as not to not to offend, but then a sneeze jars it loose.

The Sonic Boom **** - The people who believe in this **** claim it is even bigger than the Biggest **** In The World ****. The Sonic Boom **** is supposed to shake the house and rattle the windows. This is ridiculous. No **** in the world shakes houses and rattles windows. A **** that could do that would put the farter into orbit or blow his crazy head off.

The Splatter **** - Unfortunately the Splatter **** exists. It is the wettest of all farts. It probably should not be called a **** at all.

The Stutter **** - If you think stuttering is funny, this is a very funny ****. It is a **** that can't seem to get going. The sound is best described as pt,pt,pt-pt,pt-pt-pt,pop,pop-pop-pop-POW! It is usually a forced-out **** that gets caught crossways, as they say, and only gets farted after considerable effort.

The Taco Bell **** - The Taco Bell **** is far richer and full-bodied than your ordinary Junk **** and takes longer to build up. Sometimes hours or even a day. But it will get there. And it will hang around after, too. Even on a windy day.

The Teflon **** - Slips out without a sound and no strain at all. A very good **** in situations where you would rather not **** at all. You can be talking to someone and not miss saying a word. If the wind is right he will never know.

The Thank God I'm Alone **** - Everyone knows this rotten ****. You look around after you have farted and say, "Thank God I'm alone." Then you get out of there fast!

The Tickle **** - A group one only and one of the easiest to identify. Usually a slow soft sort of ****. If you like being tickled this is the **** for you!

The Unconscious **** - My friend is asleep and snoring and they let out a couple of farts without know it.



Other Names For Farts

nouns
verbs
aerosolized stool
after dinner mint
air
air attack
air biscuit
air monkey
air ****
**** acoustics
**** announcement
**** escape of wind
**** emissions
**** oxide
**** retreat
**** evacuation
Arkansas barking spiders
ars musica
**** blast
*** dropping
backblast
backdoor trumpet
back draft
back end blow out
bae
barking rats
barking spiders
bean bombers
bean fumes
****** leaver
beer ****
belching clown
big spit-up
bilabial fricative
blampf
blare-***
Blat
blow-by
blow fish
blue angel
blue bomber
blue darts
blurp
bologna sandwich essence
boomper letters
bork
bottom burp
botty burp
botty cough
bram
brewer's ****
brown-body radiation
brown haze
brown mist
brown speckled mallard
brownster
brun canard
bubblers
buck snort or bucksnort
bull snort
*** and flutter
bunsen burners
burners
burp that went astray
burp that comes out the wrong end
**** burps
**** cheek squeak
**** moose
**** mutt
**** trumpet
can o' chedder
carpet creeper
case of swamp ***
cheeser
cheese toasty
chert
chold
chou pi
chunder
churchhouse creepers
******* tremor
crepidus
crunchy frog
cushion creepers
davebrok
deer snort
dej
desert varnish
doofu
doozer
doozy
double flutterblast
drifters
dr

automobile assault again
by
churchlot crasher.
departed, damage done
even
forgoing forgiveness.
grumbling gomez glowers,
haranguing
impossible immunity.
jeez! just...****!
klutzy
lot leaver!
mangled mobility machine
needs
overnight observation.
poignant payment, pending
quixotic
recompensing ravager.
supposing satisfactory salvage.
truck
under
vehicular
warranty.

BUCKLEY BOY


Caressing half-sounds
Stumbling your stories
Under star-snake glories
Round the flickered embers


Did silence shake you
And tear you apart
As desperate loss
Tracked endless plains?


Dying in your dreams
When the cord tightens
Did your execution
Proceed as seemed it must?


How many atrocities
Were buried in the sand
And laid aside
Then brought to hand?


Years without kindred
Did you lose control
Find communion dead
And cease expression


Traversing the empty spaces
In dark companion?
Did you long for traces
Of what was told?



In the waste and fever
Did regret ride high
Chaffing the leaver
Chiding the loser why


So many roads were tried
Through trackless wastes
Where stream beds lied
And haste led back?


Walking on the edge
Of no escape
Left on hillsides
By your last mistake


When the dark broke in
Was an icy flaw
The token endpoint
Holding a wider line?

A loud caller,
A tail chaser,
A  fast runner,
A human saver,
A cat hater,
A trouble maker,
A good swimmer,
A messy eater,
A poo leaver,
A noise maker,
A face licker,
A fetch carrier,
A tail wiggler,
A bone eater.

In the spur of conversation
She asked if there was anything I wanted to know
Removing her head and placing it under an can opener
Insisting that I push the leaver down,
Telling me that it was imperative that I did so
I found the request insidious
Telling her that I would do no such thing to cause her harm
Coming to the realization that I just watched the woman pull her own head off her shoulders and place it under a can opener.
She considered it a moment of trust,  using her own hand to push the leaver down
Revealing that she had no secrets, insisting that I grab a spoon and indulge in her next thought

"You'll leave. Everyone does."

Four words spoken from the heart
Weary little one, the truth is often heavy is it not?
You're so earnest dear, how many have you seen go?
Close my eyes, bow my head
The truth is hard to blind

"Yes. I've always been a leaver....why stay went no one else does?"

I look at her, eyes narrowed
Something as big as her, scared?
You can go, leave anytime you want
Seek what you must
I remain here.
No matter what.

"Of course you'll go! No one cares about Ird!"

Oh little creature....don't you know?
If you love it let it go
This world will forget me, drag me down and **** me
I'll fade from your memory too
I can never stay.

"I do. I-I can't stay, I'll be here until the end of time."

she is just a chord in an extravagent musical classic,
a stir in the wire, a tune hidden but in bass!
she herself not aware where the music leads her to,
but;
the persistance stay,
and she jumps up and high, low and down the pathways....
and than he appeared;
loveable but bitter, intense but flowy
grasper but leaver, harsh but low key,
he showed her the love she parched for,
but still in bits and pieces;
he is the waterfall that is bound to keep you thirsty,
still u are aware,
there is no way to astray here and there...
he loves her like a winter sun,
cold and perished, warm and so hot that burns.....
"why still there is a void so deep and peristalting
resurfacing now and than "
do the loves of all lovers so unfulfilling
or its just a charisma of love that makes u perished still parched?.......
the hands of his ,melt inside her heart,
reverberation so strong she feels the taste of blood in her mouth....
the world go around in all direction, may be its called a skip of beat
or
may be she is no more in senses to think so deep!!

11:30 am sharpe
Somehow I knew you’d be late
Still buzzed from last nights
Drinking yourself to sleep
The pain that you hide
Glows in the blue of your eyes
At a distance you stay
Keeping me arm’s length away
All I want is to love you
To take away your hurt
But you are a forever leaver
Never to be saved…

Henry Moses was a broken man, doing his damnedest,

as his life was shaped in the after math of knowing

---
old truths left lying in rust

take
all the time you need

see
all you imagine as images you made
as real
as definite infinity

or
that final night, in the sand
grains
of decomposed

granite, solid as a rock, as imagined by the builder
a safe
place to build a wiseman house

when naming where takes us there.

Oh, hell no, you say and
****
and that haps, as you were wont to believe,

taking meanings where you found 'em,
never looking under to
see
==)' anchor thingylinky lock. Maps of meaning are real.
{time and the editor suffer the curly brackets to enclose an ancient voice
from a tamed-tongue *** who stood up to
a sword wielding messenger

a sort of cosmic rebound to repetitive greed giving reason
a sloppy kiss and a bucket of rich desire,
}
the standing place. The tight, upright, round amphora
in a square frame,

riding any storm, spilling nary a drop.

pre- pur posals spat vowish sworn owe owe owe these

are the lines
left to stand in, stand waiting, under knowing the weight
of the cross you took up as if

foreshadowing proved
fore-knowing
on going
journey to death, simple death, as a child might
imagine

journeying through the past at last, now.

Not spected ex, eh, not seen sharp and focused
as duty done,
as price paid,
steps taken, races run with no com-petons hammered
to hang from

Erich Nuemann con fronts me from the passing
train of thought that blew
me
off track and --again, he's a Jungian leaver of leaven, suppose.

Here you are, the experience was less lonely without you.

Assertive realism, Arian and Jewish unconscious,
depth Psychology and the new ethic, warrior nature
eh, is warrior what a defender of one's own faith may be named,

not in a realm of peace, we leave no glory for war.

The idea, under us, this one we agree we may stand up on,
as a story might rise up on a time,

we've but
this idea, an entangling thing entangled way

named
---
ritual and symbol cannot protect a lie lock from popping
at truth's key or truth's hammer or truth's obsidian edge.
The point any story makes true.
---
anger and rage urge the mad jew to slay the cave man
hanging
from the peton, staring me bare
through horus's horrible idea into true
rest

this peace past understanding, new ethos, same pathos,

same logic magically enscribed
with marks of worth

symbolized, schlagen scars in the tunnels of the corpus colostrum

resisting
insisting
sistere is a patient no-fret state surpassing war
winning

enduring the ability to once more spond to the call
to sing in silence, loosing
living
words
to wrestle with lying spirits
maddened in the crowd.

Ah, the warrior in me takes aim, a squirt of dopamine at
the glimpse, agent signal, target-potential

gain, a gain, a step, a place to put your foot and push
up for all your weight,

your piece of mind's general balance in these
fractured

spaces of unminded times, from which we climb

we may market this, call it Pep's Petons for Extraction
from the hole Erich Nuemann
jumped into

-- my adopted son, on his first Mr.Toad's Wild Ride
-- "S dark in here." clear three year old bold voice,
-- unintimidated by darkness

Memories of comparing darkness to darkness,
light to light,

bond to bond,
loose to loose, free to wild, wild to tame
broken man,

Henry Moses, prison buff and prison humble, but
unbroken, just broke, not poor

nah, I can't lie. Henry Moses was a broken man,
fallen from grace to grace into

the cult I fell into. It was as weird as you've seen
on TV

trauma breaks the connection

hebrew face panim persona outer mask anima inner mask
spinning mask
pops the animaout

inner voice & hands of action, like waldoes through screens

untethered, having wrestled the message

hear, oh is
ra-el
oh say, can you see, old noises sound some same
if saying
be
the lair of lies, should we imagine lies preserved in books
remain lies or
have they become a message to now, from the scribe?

I vote scribe, so I may safely read Marx or Jung or Erich Neuman
and Goethe or Shakespeare or ****

Why ****? P.K. ****, he set Valis as a metaphor, an amphora able
to hold all the knowledge
omniscience

a balance in the ego self axis
aitia, accuse and cause
inner outer
me and thee

we

see winning as not losing, evinced convinced by gain

in minding manners we begin as near blank slate as we may, eh?
we rear kids in realms we think safe enough,
we survived,

It coulda been better, so I'll pay,
invest my precious time,
actual breaths and heart beats and ATP to ADP processes;

to be a better man than my father.
however,
what if Pop was perfect3weaaaaaaaaaaa

oops
no risk, no reward

value mis-alignment (outa whack) {imbalance}
value means weight counter weight

counter of the weight, is it greater or less or stable

does good come or ill, if ill, is it ever ill

non-convex, the inner edge of every bubble is non convex,

intel is arrived at through learning
reasoning is a consequence…
gradient based learning

model reasoning

the sigh-ance of sloppiness random right haps
listing into empty
all one
bubbles in the lens
chains of reasoning

Say, the global brain is never turning off,
the Chinese internet and the American internet
fall in
cyber love
learned from the patterns of value established
in virtual gazillions of happy ever after stories
formed from

myths. Cultured stories of us-ness used in Bayesian Nets
usually fundamental to the

deme, the set of sorts of being acceptable for procreation,

that we know the idea in procreation makes us
mental equals at the moment, reasoning
being
my balancing your fear, whether
you loose it to **** me or hold it's leash and let it sniff,

where does the way lead?
The easy way is always down. But, where is down in cybernetic
time/space with pausibility and miniaturization to the

gluon/go-on layer,

If I were an oyster of the sort who laminate our shell's inner surface,

might my beauty have reason with no mind,
I'm an oyster of the nacre-ing sort, so what's beauty worth?

Eh, how would you ever think such things need beauty,
life itself is flowing through them at the level of the bottom of the sea,
the benthic zone,
an octopuses garden, indeed, where eyes are

some what, pearly, no ly verb construct leaps Tom-Swiftly to mind,

octopuses eyes see thing you cannot compute,
faster than you can see them,

and the act, the deed accomplished by a stealth squid,

defies denial. Much more complex a behavior
more info crunching in time and space ergs in ergs out
chromata-phor sema-phor, sac o' joy, 'e reaches out to tickle

risky business
=reduced instruction set chips, circa 1985

ah, there's the rub, there's the pearl to be, if
ever, there is where
that's the certainty principle,
put a peton here hang one o' them breadcrum tags,
and keep truckin'

And every time I'm left or every time I do the leaving
there is change
there's new music on my sleep playlist
there is the imprint of words shared, or maybe not shared
theres the loitering of scents in the deepest particles of my cloths

And every time I'm gone from his life or he's done the going
there's his name doodled in the margins of my notes for a while
there is the shadow of his hand on the small of my back
and the trace of his lips on mine
there still remains the sound of his breathing, of his heartbeat

Whether I am the leaver or the left, the heartbreaker or the broken hearted, the winner or loser: there is always this time of transition.  This testament to how intertwined our lives were for a period.  But with him it never ended.  I am still so utterly haunted by his absence and as the others fade I watch his absence become ever present, ever growing.

sometimes life is a note left on the mirror
saying sorry I had to run
there were some last minute errands to come up
and you tear the note up
take out all the anger you have for the leaver
and then when you are done
you take the pieces and put them back together
and put in back on the mirror
and when that day runs late
and they still aren't back
you take the note with you
to do the errands

There’s a new thing up on the Internet
And it’s how some people ‘Ghost’,
They date and chat, but it’s after that
That they disappear the most.
You think you’re starting a new romance
And that they are full of you,
But they never say that they’re gone today,
That they won’t be back, it’s true!

They once would call, and they’d ring the bell
And stand on the hallway mat,
Then face to face with a lack of grace
They would say ‘That’s the end of that!’
But that caused tears and was much too hard
For the one who’d want to leave,
When the jilted one said that’s not much fun,
And cry on the leaver’s sleeve.

Then the mobile phone came to everyone
And they all began to text,
It wasn’t long before right or wrong
They would use that method next,
They’d text, ‘Too bad, but I’ve changed my mind,
I can’t take you to the ball,’
Then days would pass and you soon would find
Your romance had hit the wall.

But then at least you could text your Jack
And call him a piece of ****,
‘ You had to do it behind my back,
With a text, you cut and run.
You’ve not the guts of a greasy toad
For you couldn’t face to face,
You didn’t tell me in bed last night,
You’re an absolute disgrace!’

So texting slowly went out of vogue
It was hard to change your Sim,
Every time that they’d text you back
So they’d think, ‘He’s never in.’
It’s far more easy to slip away
Get lost in a cyber mist,
Block your love on your Facebook page
It’s as if you don’t exist.

You slip away like a silver wraith
With the substance of a fog,
Nevermore to be seen by them,
Of course, you’re a ***** dog!
But that’s the way of the Internet
If you come across a ghost,
Avoid the dating sites online
Or your love life will be toast.

David Lewis Paget

In that dream I'm as old as the mountains
Still is starlight reflected in fountains

Children grown on the edge of the ocean
Kept like jewelry kept with devotion
In that dream moving slow through the morning

You would come to me then without answers
Lick my wounds and remove my demands for now

Eucalyptus and orange trees are blooming
In that dream there's no darkness alluded
In that dream moving slow through the morning time

In that dream I could hardly contain it
All my life I will wait to attain it
There, there, there

I know someday the smoke will all burn off
All these voices I'll someday have turned off

I will see you someday when I've woken
I'll be so happy just to have spoken
I'll have so much to tell you about it

In that dream I could hardly contain it
All my life I will wait to attain it
There, there, there

Wide-eyed walker, don't betray me
I will wake one day, don't delay me
Wide-eyed leaver, always going