Do you remember anything?  
" I told them I didn't, But I remember it all.  It was darkness..  A sort of darkness that for a moment I thought no light could shine in it..  I was numb all over.  At first I thought I was dead.  I started to ask myself, (Is this what its like to be dead) but then slowly the feeling would creep back into my limbs..  I then heard three different sets of voices.  They scared me to no end because what ever they were they seem to be communicating with eachother. Their voices sounded like hisses mixed in with strange deep tones from an *****. Thats the best I can explain.   I started to feel pressure in my hands and feet.  Then in my chest and stomach..  After that I felt cold and hot, then hot then cold..  Next was the crawling feeling all over my body..  It felt like large cockroaches were running all over my body.  Then came the sounds. From my left side then my right.  Then both sides, and then all around me..  I knew I was being tested on by something..  The last thing I saw was a door of light. It hurt my eyes so bad.. I then saw three silhouettes standing in the light.. After that I awoke here in the woods.. It seem like it was a dream.. But my soreness in my body told me it wasn't!
----------------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------
Vialarkeris:  Data Human Lifeform"""Project Helix heal""""
Male human :  W.B.C. EXTRACTION..
Our planet is being ravaged by an acute viral nasopharyngitis.. We have no way to stop it.  Millions have died. No cure can be found.. That is until today. History has been made in the most wonderful way possible.. We infected a male human lifeform with the virus and found that his body (although super feeble) was able to fight of the infection. It took a matter of only 2 days for his body to fully purge out the virus.. We were able to narrow down a cell within the human known as a white blood cell (W.B.C.) which could counter the virus and purge it out of the body. Although feeble the humans have a much better immune system than we do.  The human was returned near his home and saw it all as a dream.  Little did he know that he saved an entire advanced civilization with just a veil of his blood..

But then, in that instant of plastic smiles and disco rain, I strode away from my first cradle. The air was northern and sliced my lungs open into startling clarity sliced my brain open into startling clarity. And when I looked around, I saw, and when I felt around, I touched. My trunk was slapped into shape, and in a blazing radio tower of language it became un-unique. I fuzzed my skull and rejected the lull and became recognizably human.

And while school strobed by in a prosthetic ferris wheel, I jazzed to a different beat. 'Cause my friends were kids, but neon dashed through my veins; playing saxophone with irrational exuberance. I woke every sunrise with an occupation syncopation: they breathed air while I smelled bass guitar solos in the sultry breeze blowing by the office's oasis. And paper is a flimsy wall for desire, and I never could read a point twelve sized STOP. I spread my arms and heart-orchestrated yearnings in the moon-clouded evening in the mist-drenched night in the raindrop-fresh awakening, but grey can't do but see only grey. And neon doesn't come in that shade.

No food but life no air but life no life but life. That advertisement sky is still looking at me, but I can see with my off-beat eyes that it was never a smile, but a frown of grim satisfaction. I was just looking at it upside-around. But my hair is people-colored, and my breath is derby muted, and no one puts money in my can. And then I looked around and saw, and then I felt around and touched, and then I

Those glass windows melted and gaggled themselves across my tongue, spewing honeyed drops on my flaring trombone soliloquies! My vision spiraled into a black pond of bebop and my lids and lashed fainted: up up and away into the fading light of day.

Something awful happened late last night,
And here I lie awake at six AM
Upon the sand of Santa Monica.
The cars drive by, but I don’t notice them.

I used up all my gas to get away
From the ****** pond on my bathroom rug.
It’s more than bleach can handle and I’m scared
That I’ve found a more seductive drug.

Fish intestines line the pier and I
Feel no misery for gutless souls.
The rocks are caked in birdshit, kelp and shells
And, as if in mourning, the cormorant calls.

Upon the rusty handrails, seagulls gossip
Just like feathered girls with brains, persisting
To trumpet my depravity in savage squawks,
And to harass the rest of us for existing.

The white-wimpled, cruel, sadistic nuns
Choose an injured sea lion as their prey.
Cowardly, they flee at his sharp barks–
It’s guts that will decide who wins today.

***** creep over the brown-furred body.
Fighting for its life, it bites the shell
And kills its fellow lifeform.  When given
The chance, I’ll defend myself as well.

what did it take for me to miss those days?
crawling breathless,
stomach nails for breakfast, ventricles of rust,
pounding on my ribs with any upright task
from soaking bed delirium,
corroded mind and eyeballs
tortured falun dafa tears
stinging on the walls a glowing red,
my branching veins encasing me in flaming
paths of mystery: to live or die, to try or fail
at simple efforts
--never gone without, since infanthood--
to stand itself a tissue horror
bathing in the needles of another lifeform's hold on me,
that spiral nesting multitasker
legions in the joints,
invading forces claiming spinal tower-riches
as if my thoughts will be my last,
originary flickerings of self, sacked and razed,
the burning out of novelty for bottom emptiness
and only sympathies malinger there--
yet vaster frame invisible to healthy eye emerged:
a sea, empathic with my prior paths from health diverged:
adrenal waves and dolphin plays of other air ensouled i purge
with cascade urges tension mixing universal breath
of statements, fears and wry coercings not to think of death
or tempting near the abolition of a system *****
for all the benison it's bound to store for years
of hiding blind and uttering the shield-word
of our sly, superficial, group-stock lies,
to have us screaming at each other out of only kneejerk love
a mask of fodder from our young dogmatic wanderings
they burn and burn and choke like spirochetes themselves
while shoving under family rugs the truth

cicada shells clung eerily against the burls and branches
of a monumental tree itself a deathly symbol bare of green
like ornaments of rhythm upsurge birthing into death digest
the exoskeletal remains, under finger crunched as
up the bark i climbed
to view what death had taken value on for me, and balanced
up atop the hill of faded names i yearned the meanings of,
and in the clouds
a part revealed
a sunny mist,
to paint me colorful again--
and in that mood a hail began to tick on forest floor:
the brittle dead a singing whisper flaking brown
on brown, on earthy brown to gather white within the paper nooks of leafy drums

how whimsically to service death
anon anon for now they're always lying there
across the road atop the grave hill,
from other species hunted here
but this, that time it was a carved skull
hacked or sawed but yards from peaceful temple yard
another, cleaner omen skull had led me there,
ochre red with emerald mold
the cranial pale divided stop and go
and led me wondering within the stream
to notice other signs i half-expected mystically:
surreal blood abundantly with vulture feathers carpeting the scene:
a stag with missing brain, missing hind and organs
chosen how, i'd never know
--i saw the arrow though, a barb of certainty--
and old fur, gray and white, a timely passing then,
to make of gore a sacred right,
and in hale ignorance i prayed like only atheists can pray
with self-disclaiming smirk but
humble authenticity of unknown forces
biding in the impulse-meaning-gathering of earth,
now memory to glean and hold to live in me

"you throw like a girl"
"you run like a girl"
i'm not belittled nor ashamed by this comment
as it show us that men and boys will repent
i am not implying that girls and women do not diminish theirself
but I am telling you we will fight in good and bad health
do you know what G. I.R.L stands for?
g is for Glamorous, I is for intelligent, r is for respected and l is for lifeform
so if I throw like a girl I'm honored and so should you.

Hush.

Cease your noise.

Fall silent, all you who gather here
To lay down the suffocating burdens
That rest so unforgivingly
Upon your weary souls.

Your lamenting shall bring you
No greater harm,
Nor any relief,
While you are here.
Your cries will go unheard,
For we have either heard them before,
Or we cannot hear them over our own.

Your tears will be free to fall
But none shall amount
To any great difference.
If you must cry,
Water the earth with your expression,
And return to her
What she once gave you.
Do not let your tears
Of loss,
Be a loss themselves.

We are here together
To break free
From all that binds us,
All that holds us back,
Holds us still,
Holds us captive;
All that has broken us,
Beaten us,
Forgotten us,
Used us,
Taken advantage of us,
Looks down upon us
With the kind of sneer
That could only come
With deriving great pleasure
From causing great pain;
All that has brought us anger,
Sadness,
Incredulity;
All that has taken from us
The light by which we once
Tread our own paths,
And as it grew dimmer,
Our paths,
Winding,
Weaving,
Twirling,
Crossing
But never so that we met,
Became one.

And we are here
To let go of all
Of these things,
Because of which
We have harbored
Unspoken rage,
Unshed tears,
Confessions that were
Never made,
Or perhaps,
Never should have been.

We are here to release
The binding ties
Which in love,
Would bring us together
But in their hateful existence,
Have driven us all apart.

I stand before you with a match.
This match,
A rather unremarkable
Piece of timber,
Was tucked snugly with its
Equally unremarkable
Brethren
Into a pouch.
Thrown among a heap
Of the same,
With no consideration
That it might have
Been better off
Remaining a part of the tree
From which it came.
It was one tiny part
Of that tree,
But what of the possibilities,
That it might have been
Something great?

It might have been a branch
Upon which an eagle
Built its nest.
Or, even more incredibly,
A twig that helped compose
Her nest,
And for however long,
Supported the incubator
That would bring her legacy
To life.
It might have been a part
Of a ******'s dam,
A vital part of an ecosystem,
And whose absence could mean
Life or death
For so many others.
Or it may simply have become
Compost
When the tree had died,
Become a part of the soil
Which would support
Future generations
Of every lifeform imaginable.

But now...

Now, we will never know.
This little match,
So very typical,
With its plain composition
And tiny red cap,
Will fulfill a typical purpose,
Today.

I strike this match
And say to you,
The flame that it will create
Will be the new flame
For your personal path.

It represents illumination,
A casting out
Of the darkness you were in,
A reawakening of all that
Might have been lost,
But can now be saved,
Or that has been lost,
But now makes room
For something better.

It is a rekindling
Of the joy that life once
Brought you,
And the magnification
Of that joy
Which it will still yet bring.

It is a revitalization of the good in you,
The light which you shed
On so many unappreciative lives;
A light which
You still have the chance
To shed
On those who truly need it most.

And it is a reminder to you...

...to not be a match.

Do not let them throw you in
With the rest,
Assort you as though you
Are common!
Do not let them pull you
From everything great
That you might yet achieve,
Just so that they may
Assign you a typical purpose!
Do not let them light you once,
Use you,
And then cast you aside,
Having already taken,
In that one small flame,
Everything that you had to give.

And now,
I light this match,
Upon the branches
You have laid here.
The branches that
Have broken off of
Your tree of life,
And now can be no more.

For everything that you have lost,
There is a branch for it.
Remember, now,
That what once was alive,
And has now been separated,
What is now dead,
Can no longer
Serve a purpose.

So I tell you,
Pull from your heart,
Your mind,
And your soul,
What has had the undeserving
Privilege of plaguing you.
Extract it,
Remove it,
Cast it into the fire.
Set it ablaze,
And while it burns,
Abosrb the warmth
From these flames,
Which remind you of
Who you are,
What you are worth,
And the warmth
With which you will
Illuminate
The darkest,
Coldest places
Where you, yourself,
Have returned from.


Cast them!


Cast them now!


Push aside the weakness -
That is not who you are!
Summon every fiber and cell
Of your newfound strength
And let all of it go!


And now,
It is done.


Now,
They are ashes,
To be blown away
In the same wind
Which dried your tears
These many years,
And will do so
For years to come.

Incinerated,
They are swept away -
The broken hearts,
The lost and forgotten dreams,
The stolen opportunities,
The harsh and unforgiving words,
The hopeless, sleepless nights,
The sunrises which brought no new promise
But reminded you of everything
That could go wrong -
They are gone!


They are nothing now!


But you,
In their absence,

You...


...are everything.

I feel I am the living dead,
A staggering soul wandering
Across brittle, rocky, dark terrain,
Which has still more life than I.

Through lifeless eyes I still can see
That I am but a stranger here -
An undeterred tourist
With no purpose
And no path,
Merely here
To enjoy the scenery.


All those
Who I once knew
Are still the same,
Have never changed,
But it is instead
Me
Who has changed,
And so it might as well
Have been
That they did, too.

For we no longer
Share a home,
No.

Home?

Do I have one?

I used to think so.

But life's incessant patterns
Continuing
With a brutal
And mocking
Repetition,
Drove me out of that land.

I needed change.

A change, yes!
Why, of course!

A shocking concept
So common
So simple
I wondered why
I had only thought of it now.

So it was over
My weary shoulder
I slung my tiny pack
Of simple things -
Hope,
Determination,
And strength,
And from no
Particular direction,
Headed in the very same,
I left.

And lost myself
Along a dirt road,
A beaten path,
Traveled by so many others
Whom no one hears from now.

They are, like me,
The living dead.
The silent travelers
Who still exist
But in a different place
From what we see.

A quiet place
Behind an invisible wall,
Which is to say
They are among us,
And we could,
Should,
See them,
If only we would look.

I am sure
So many think
That I know some of them.
I do not.
Why?
Because we
Are not a people,
Not a group
Which joins together.
Instead, we wander alone,
Looking in from the outside.

It is not our desire
To find others like us,
To exist on our own
Where no one knows we are.


It is not that we have died,
No,
We are very much alive.

But we have moved on.

We are the living dead.

We have let go of
Everything
That made us,
That once composed
Our beings
And our lives.

That pattern that I spoke of -
It is tiring, you know.
You realize that
The same routine,
The same places,
The same ways of life,
Become a rather daunting,
Exhausting task,
As opposed to being
The joy of living.

There are those
Who had no choice,
Who existed as
Limp puppets,
Having their every move
Controlled
By hands they could not see or feel,
But knew quite well were there.

I, too, have been there.

But!

Even dictating
My own rules
Was not enough.
Still the patterns
Followed me,
And with frightening fervor
Attempted to define me.

But in a moment of clarity,
A glimpse of sunlight
Through a crack
In the prison wall,
I summoned a strength
And energy
I knew not
That I possessed.

And so,
Without ever meeting them,
Speaking to them,
Or truly knowing they existed,
I joined them,
The living dead.

What it was
That we lived for,
That we strove for,
That we laughed,
Cried,
And sacrificed for,
Slowly,
Slowly,
Passed on.

With the chains
That had bound us,
All of those things
Passed away.

Dissolved into a sweet
Yet bitter smoke -
A gracious,
Graceful wisp
From a gentle power
I cannot see.

To lose your life
Is not so tragic
As they tell you.
It is but
An unreal relief
That no drug
Can provide,
Only available
To those who
Truly desire it.

To lose your life is,
In fact,
To realize that you
Were never alive
Before that moment.
You only dreamt
The things you did,
Words you said,
Faces you saw,
Hands you held,
Bonds you formed,
Steps you took...
None of it was real.

Some take longer
To leave that
Dreamland,
A place where they feel safe,
Where they believe
That everything,
Including themselves,
Is in place.

Others do not leave at all,
And so they do not exist.
They immerse themselves
In a place
Where we cannot find them,
Where they cannot be rescued.

They remain among
The common living.

But I,
I,
Through clouds
Of silver smoke
And painless fire,
Through blinding
starry nights
And endless days,
Through gentle forests
And lethal gardens,
Found my way.


It does not hurt,
No.

It is but a surreal
And binding release
Of all that you knew,
And all that you were,
Into the depths of space
From which no man,
No machine,
No lifeform
Unknown to us,
May retrieve it
In even the greatest attempts
To bring back
Into the present
What is now cemented
In the past.


I walk among the
Common living
Each day,
Wandering,
Wondering,
Watching.

Their lives
Are not so different from mine.
They only lead them
In a different world.


I feel I am the living dead.
A steady soul limbering
Across a paradisiacal plain.
Which, as you well know,
Could have no more life than I.

She gave me the Plankton
The lowest lifeform of her being.
Anointed  with this discovery
I too gave in and shared with her a deep
and impenatrable solace within me.
Such truths arent always shown in sight
of others.
Nor are they whispered in ear shot,
But somehow
She burrowed right through them.
Empathy in a female form!
And not jaded and wrought with thoughts of imorality.
Day by Day she would come and take frlom me these
deviant caverns and restlless ideals sprung forth from
absence of maturity in child hood and loss of faith
as a growing man in the seamingly uncommon trait and
beauty each human claims the next has deep within.
The savage mastication of delerious greed
Usually self righteous. Sweetlt nipping at the arms of the impoverished.
the malady spreading further through while the ogres stomp their feet for attention
puffing up their chest like creatures and only for a moments pay they contract a virus
all to familiar in their learned ways.
her delicate hands grouping at the flesh id presented brushing away the small
inconsistences and as i vaguely remember now and to this day
she slipped a finger inside and in the membranes and masses an ease would fall over me.
the rush of expelling all that ales you within is a euphoria like no other.
Yet each time she would leave something behind.

Within every face we see, also, a mirror
within every silence, a breath
within every soul is the path growing clearer
within every lifeform, a death

Our stuff is the stuff of the planets and quarks
existing as one in this space
'till that universe distant and showering sparks
stands ready to take this one's place

A day is as a thousand years
a thousand years as a day
yet human psyche interferes
and would find a better way

The thing that most matters, which few understand
for which many continue to die
is that Unification of Physics Grand
I am you, as you are I

Because you're smart, right?
Pretty charming, right?
Love the way the wind whispers and the rain cries.
Love things other than what Girls like.

Because you like bare face, right?
They're a carbon copy, right?
But you, you're a gem in the rough, undiscovered.
You, you're a lifeform with all of nature's secrets.
You, you're much better. [Right?]

You, you're different than those other Girls,

Right?

I misseth her in daylight
I misseth her beneathe thy moon
I misseth her at dusk
Buried in ourn tomb
Misseth her in voice talk
Wherein us two did laugh
I misseth her sensual voice
To make angel trumpets blast
I misseth her caressing
The way she made me smile
The way she showed me heaven
An unborn unearhtly child
I misseth her lifeform
Not d.n.a to any men
A seraphim and cheribum
A lifeblood
Mine kin
I misseth her funny ways
How she doth make me chuckle
Now she's gone forevermore
And this heart is broken buckled
Maby she won't forget me
Maby tis
She'll cometh back
I'll forever Love mine baby
Tis
That's a fact!!!

Crawdads have a crazy *** life. There's not  
much to courtship and no real copulation. Boring  
as this may sound, it's somewhat engrossing  
for me. Likely more than any lady crawdad ever  
thought of it. I would think most women might
agree. Sadly, reminiscent of **** really. Males
act like ruffians, catching females like prey,
turning them over, and leaving a sticky deposit
on their undersides. Worm like sperms adhere
to her, which she carries with her until she lays  
eggs. I've seen this while preparing étouffée.

Not the *** act, just the worms.  

Life is a multiplex of convoluted situations.
"Please yes, oh no!" What's going on in those
crusty little heads? It seems such a foreign
lifeform. Still, eerily familiar to what I've found  
at the bathhouse. I think I'll fatten up my tail,  
wear some antennae and pincers this Halloween.

Mmmm... Étouffée.

In the center of the fire
is red
a nucleus of the flame
a lifeform all its own

And the ripe apple
and the toy engine
and the toenail paint
and that part of the pupil where one sees the soul
and the stained-glass window
and the Native American
and the Fender bass
but most of all
the love that cannot be captured, caged or killed.

There was no kind mechanics to it. No kind of matrix.  It was strange indeed, strange to see what made it live.  It had awareness it seem to be afraid of me yet fascinated.  It was also curious and wanted to know more about I. It did not have any pulse waves.  Instead it seem to be made of some sort of soft texture.  It was by far more advance than any of us. Yet it was frail. So easily breakable.   The thought processor was located in the head of the being.  It survived in conjunction with a beating pump near its chest plate.  Many other aspects had to be working within this lifeform for it to survive.

This is not an apology or a plea.

Instead I'm building a home in your hipbones where i was too afraid to lie before. Our hipbone home will be made of titanium and the softest Egyptian cotton i can find. Security is our solace, and although solitude is my familiar friend, I'm trying my very hardest to be good to you.

This is not an apology or a plea.

But if it were you would feel the sincerity in the marks I've left on you. My intentions are left in bruises, as not so pleasant reminders that i am inconsistent. I am not apologizing for my lack of empathy, or the fact that i know when things end. My hardest parts will batter against you and you will take it, because i know you.

This is not an apology or a plea.

If it were i would most certainly plead guilty, but honesty was never my strongest virtue— or one of them at all. I will never take blame for my incomplete promises or the messes I've made.

This is not an apology or a plea.

It is simply a warning for anyone who tries to fill a crater with a footprint. Maybe i am speaking to a nonexistent lifeform, or maybe i am speaking to the eighth wonder of the world.
To anyone who thinks their footprint will fill a crater: the first man on the moon matters more than any asteroid.

Hello Nicole,

Its been a while since I've thought of your name... Today I read a poem that brought tears to my eyes at the thought of you, but I refused to let them fall.

I am alway's being told to forgive you, by clueless friends and family, that you were young and didn't know any better. But hell, you were old enough to know the difference between right and wrong. Plenty old enough to use some basic common sense. Common sense such as

"Dont leave your 2 year old daughter in the car in the summer for hours on end"

"Dont leave your 3 year old daughter at the park overnight"

"Dont bring your 4 year old daughter to the house of your married lover"

"Dont take your 5 year old daughter to a ******* and leave her in the car"

"Dont allow your ******* of a drug dealer to care for your baby girl"

Last year in total you sent me 6 packages, called 8 times, wrote 5 letters, wrote or spoke I Love You 16 times, and yet not once did you apologize. On the 8th call, you told me you were pregnant again, and it was going to be a baby girl. I cried harder than I ever had before on that one phone call. You asked if I was happy that I would get another sister, and as calmly as possible I told you I hope the baby is stronger than all the rest, and to lose my ******* number.

A total of 4 children, 3 of which you don't even see anymore. You allowed us to go through hell and beyond in your care, only to be tossed away into a somehow even more unfortunate lifestyle. Yet you somehow expect me to be happy for your pregnancy of a brand new lifeform.

The baby is now alive and kicking,  and I heard she looks exactly like me even though her father was as Mexican as they come. I also heard you get ****** when people compare me and the baby's looks.
Good.
I hope she is a reminder of what you did to me, so that maybe, just maybe, you treat her right.

I wish I could say I wish you the best in life, but that would be a lie. I do hope you get better, for the sake of everyones lives around you. It was nice not talking to you again.

No longer your's,
Victoria-Rose

Mine skeleton conveyed
Through the *****'s of death's cave;
No longer incarcerated
Free from being a worldly slave.

I hadst to absquatulate
As I needed to escape the afreet;
They reached out their talon's
Hooves wrapped around their feet.

An amphisbaena was awaiting me
To taketh a bite from mine soul;
Yet God was mine deliverer
He carried me to his abode.

The anguilliform couldst not grab at me
As they called out mine name;
"Brandon, cometh here they saidst"
As I saw the rising flame.

Though tis mine creator kept them back
As mine lifeform left the dust;
He sprinkled the aspergillum
As mine spirit was drenched in heaven's musk.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

I awoke to a circle shaped chamber made out of some kind of rock and golden wood. My bare feet touched the golden wood floor and my senses activated with delight.

A golden like fine sand kissed the bottoms of my feet with a dreamlike sensation of walking on a heavenly beach.

The rock walls seem more natural.  Felt a bit wet to the touch.  But nonetheless natural.  

Very strange creatures also occupied this Circle chamber in the rock.  

A Peculiar like body orbited the entire circle chamber .  It had long silver white hair and a very small head with green glowing eyes.

Then to the right of me a Mantis like creature with yellow eyes stood so still I  could not tell if it was a statue or a lifeform.  It finally revealed that very answer when it blinked its eyes.  

In front of me on the other side of the circle chamber was a cluster of bubbles and lights.  The bubbles moved about chasing the small little lights like a train.  Never did they pop.

And finally a familiar view but altogether beautiful.  A woman with flowing red hair and deep fiery brown eyes made contact with me.  

Neither of us could speak. But we were still able to hear each others voices somehow.  

We both had the same questions.  

And we both did not have the answers.  

The Mantis like creature then spoke to us in a series of hisses we somehow understood..

It said. "  Welcome to the Boardwalk across the universe."

If you want to feel alive
Again, or check you exist
Then lay in the bath
With your ears underwater
Not silent, but still.

Hear your own heartbeat,
Listen. Absorbed and soak;
A lifeform floating.
Like when you were
Consumed in the womb
And others thought about
Your heartbeat.
But not you, you were
Too busy trying to live.

Now you are trying to
Survive, but also thrive
And running water, like
Your veins, now afloat
Amongst the disorder.

The Alliance Project raised an eyebrow and said, I have heard of him before.
But I thought he was killed by Paris in the mythological Trojan War
They used a bow, and he was hit in the heel and fell down dead and simple.
I remember I hurt my heel once but I survived, so much for him being invincible.
Message looked at him and continued, He was to get the Parisia Bow that slayed.
Lady of the Night and Breastplate-Bearer looked at each other the same time dismayed.
The Covenantial Project chimed in, He is the son of Vibrate, who was also known as Thetis.
Feces? Asked The Alliance Project, No Thetis, the one who got the remains of Achilles
She vowed that any lifeform who would do this was only worthy of death.
And since Troy was gone, Thetis said that no one could survive who had breath.
Message and Lady of the Night stood there were mouths open, astounded.
The Covenantial Project said, She was given the powers of Vibrate by the Founded.
She then set up the Council of the Faceless Tongues, and made an alliance with Drozen.
But watching them do all of this was a supreme entity called the Committee of the Chosen.

Lady of the Night asked, So what do we do now, and The Covenantial Project said.
We must get that bow to shoot Achilles in his heel, so that we can **** him dead.
His heel is his weak spot, but also he is looking for Hepastionite armor to wear.
But this armor causes madness after a while, because the strength is too much to bear.
The Alliance Project said, Then we must split up, and make sure not to confront Achilles until necessary.
Because if we try to take on Achilles without our full strength, he would get the best of we.
Message said, There is one more thing we need to get, and that is the Myrimidon Helmet.
This Helmet gives the wearer war-vision, and makes him invincible in combat.
The Dragon-Power then spoke as a whole, The resources of the Federation are at your disposal.
Because our brethren dinosaurs are not alive to see this because of Vibrate, they are all fossils.
Lady of the Night took her Nike sling and said, I will get the bow and act as the marksman.
You two lovers get the rest of the other stuff, we should start moving and stop talking.
They set out to find the weapons, which were a needle in a needle stack.

Breastplate-Bearer asked Message, do you measure your life by human years or dog ones?
She shot him a look that told him and everyone else in the room that she was the wrong one.
They walked out of the door of the Arurian Tower, and Message and the Alliance Project left.
The Covenantial Project went to communicate with the rest of the Federation with his heft.
The Alliance Project said, It’s getting late, so we can search tomorrow, today we play basketball.
Message jumped up and down and said, Oh goodie! I bet I can put baskets inside of them all.
The Alliance Project suppressed a smile as they came to the court, and gave Message the rock.
Message kept shooting and missing and The Alliance Project called out in his talk
You’re supposed to shoot as if you want to make it, as Message ran after her shot.
Message held the ball out with her hands and said You take it, This basket hates me a lot.
The Alliance Project took the basketball and shot it, all of his shots were swish.
Message looked at him with her mouth open, as The Alliance Project did not miss.
He said, I used to play college basketball, and I still play pick-up games without defeat.
We can play one-on one to 11, and I will school you on how to play basketball in these streets
Message tried to play defense, but her stance was all wrong and one time she got crossed.
The Alliance Project scored 5 baskets in a row, and she looked very lost.
Suddenly she smiled, and then as he got the ball to shoot she got close.
The Alliance Project looked into her eyes, and suddenly he froze.
Message stole the ball and went in for a lay-up and threw the ball in the air.
She raised her hands in frustration and said, You win! I cant make it and I don’t care.
The Alliance Project got the ball and said, It’s ok, we can call it a tie.
We are all good at certain things, you might be good at,,, at,,, Then he sighed.
Good at what?, She demanded, as she approached him like it was a march.
The Alliance Project stepped back and said, Good at having the keys to my heart.

A moment's attention to an hour's raw worth.
This is the mind ****** experiment, last try...
back and forth until it breaks,
touch the edge, feel the heat.

On knowing, first taste, it is believed,
mankind's first mother made all mankind,
all from first mother
on to logically, eventually,
us;
You and me,
as we slipt the Matrix and uttered
the first breath wail that clicks the post womb life.

First thought that death ought be feared
has not yet been given the beguilement needed,
to make a slave to the mission revealed by truth's
spirit form, wind form, mind form, time formed point.

Knowledge, forbid my ignorance, but should one,
such as I, not die before my **** hair thins,
to lay bare the scalp that covers holy access
through the window in the top of the skull;

well, then, a certain respect is due me, a love, proof
that my reasonings were honed sharp enough,
early enough to form hooks to hang strands
of fullered fibers of gnosis from.

Prepared stitching thread, twirled intwining line
of reason, plumb weighted to hang straight,

perpindicular, swinging when to when, then
to now, to day from night, to ready after letters
are fitted to let us take thought, while attempting

contemplative temporary causal agency,
mediating meditation's worth versus daydreaming.

--------------
Standard transmission, clutched, loosed,
engaged to catch a spark and start the process

rolling presently from past instances of learning.

Motivational motors of minding one's busyness,
catch a spark mid sequence, in a valved chamber

whooshing to push to shove to pull, and push
to displace and **** and shove to push and roll,

extending any individual's reach, confining
one's attention to inner reasonings, efforting
to steer the convenience compelling consciousness,

paid attention to terminii in reality set by science,
acknowledged used to increase the mobility of our kind,
mind you, promotion demands hands and eyes,
coordinating coy and ardent wills worth observation,
as will to be useful as  arms and necks and nerves
and muscles and ligaments to tie bone frames,
to controls allowing fingers to steer,
as tongues do, as rudders do,

as my will being done may do,
we imagine as children watching adults work wishing.



---------
the efforting, effectual, fervent umph
applied to being useful on the whole,

the efforting made good by limitation
on liberty, free-state of matter, under
gravity and velocity, bound and determined,

to obey the binding force realized in thought,
leveraging aging winding springs force holds,
cogs to stop grinding gears, catchments,
mind hooks with torque converting aspiration

grasping reasons to resist inertial entropic
good enough reasons to sit still and wait.

------

guaged goodness, measured mind width
comprehended, held with thumb and fingers,
in our combined ready writer mind, manipulated

muscle memorial cause confirming, progress
toward our common, shared joy strength

winging lift up from least useful of creatures,
unselfsustainable --nidicolous, nest bound,
bald baby birds, or pre-birds, evolving
into functional forms for use in life
as we, the best form
of life we have conceived.
-----------

We have, behavioral autonomy, only
to the degree, the measured
parental investment, we need to have
and keep hold of having grasped, as
behavior becoming to beings of this kind.

Word smiths, mind adjustment experts,
fed from stacks in libraries so vast, that

now, we know, no mortal mind can hold
half of all we have experimentally proven
good for any word using cluster of us to have

to hold and use to make might be rights.

May might used right take thought, aye, may
be the will to have right use honed to one point,

new known pastless place, farthest edge
of ever after all we think or ask has proven,

patient stasis, waiting is, suffer it to be so now.

Some times and one times,
revisiting the process, producing me
and you, the processors of our realif-ications.

If as a condition,
in an ifery state, sticking to any matter realized;
we think as if one of us thought first, in time passing

now, from then, in your mind, my mind leaves reproof,
constructed to prevent the falling back into doubt,

two heads, four minds, one wind to share
in time passing as when one now meets a then,
when all attention ever once paid this now, turns

this time into a part of ever after all,
as words speak to heart felt conscience use proven
good, clean, pure state of first interest bearing lent
ears, hearing entertaining causing agents taunting troof.

Prove me now, herewith. Have I not filled your lungs,
have I not granted science right use of knowledge needed

to keep your nidicolous naked soul inspired to continue,
sowing kindness, same mindness, ag, agrimental agreement

we think, we thunk,
we thank our lucky stars, time and chance,

taut twang strangs of our hearts and minds, "chu-hoi",

big hugs, evahboty be nice like G.I., open arms
sự đầu hàng

bring before us the machine gunner called Whykill… begin
judgment near the incident, sự kiện, 29-02-01968,

There we was, me and Frenchy and Culpepper or something,
I forget, and now, I'm dead and all you all have are artificial
memorex versions of things I said I was a witness to, as a liar,
-nothin' but a houn'dawgnosis
picking old scents of sense we made in conversations,
so far past the point of no return, that none on the other side,
can contain innocense, livery of consci, where in our uniformity,

protrudes through old time religious linking thinking, wonders if
we might imagine living on in other words, after all's been
said and done… Whykill's dead. Hohlenstein's dead, and I am not.

Can you hear me now? Earth, earth, can you hear me now?
I hear your brother's blood crying out,
what now, this
now,
you know,
all those idle questions, you know? Did you
feel me lie and tell me no, no, man,
you can't do that.

And be not deceived. Single mind dominance, flat
left and correct, right, right, create an ifery wasery when,

then, let us form a means to use this ifery wasery when,
now, let us form
in time as realizable, vision, written plain,

set in new fangled fonts unicoded
common computable convertible
to bits in math-mental fundus corpus us,
beyond infinity through absurdity to us
becoming these thinkable thoughts,
living words all googly translated on demand,
rethinkable, as entertaining shapers of our kinds
of minds, keyed to constant news alerts, looking
for spots on the walls we pass along, hedged betting

this land is Nature's God's land, and this pasture,
green and lush, this leisure time, as advertised,
mine, my last wish
combination running streams of hot and cold water,
memory foam souls in my Adidas, as I did, assume
the role, Balaam's ***, or donkey,
if your public ***** word filter
hides ssscertain ifery essence
as sounds shuffled schitteringshits.
saint's accuser user rights assigned, runs
Phunky muse, ish bin, dasein, by das zeit, okeh
become alright already, done did done, done, indeed,
desired right to design, knowing already
the idea in the seed, was in
the virus first, and some say
long before long now,
in long then when nothing was a thought.
Knowledge was used to expose us all to living words.
Such as =
U can hold, as a mind let be formed
from mere wish it were
so easy
to fall in love, silly, blessedness
sensing mothering wombed men,
led astray with stories as wild as Theresa wannabes can conceive,
barren womb conceptions, dared define this penetralium,
esoteric guts of all sacred oxen processions, announcing
****** births reportedly
become motherless *******, and such
become outcasts, who often as not,
survive and thrive on wilderness.
Day and night, seedtime and harvest.
Learning from wind and sun and water and dirt and stone,
presoil granite, lime
from primordial sealife eons
on eons awaited, according to Devine wedoms
aspiring to some day become those cities of marble long ago
- replicate forming a marble pillar,
- from seaformed life forms turned to stone,
- in the kidneys of the world.

slow sea settle the white cliffs, pile
on pressure from megatons
of solid ice, firming fractious soft muds
at the bottom
of ancient land locked oceans,
frozen, squeezing solidified worths
weights of rainfall reacting first time
to climates constant changing
pulls from lucky stars and
guiding stars and
disintegrating
ancient's land marks, Casa Bonita,
those Bhuda reps
in the basalt, reminding
remember nothing is real,
blank slate, po' preserver of first impressions, lasting
lifetimes in words never given a reader's added weight, but

by a kind of more than once might wish
to ask, effectuality try
proofing insulation umph
opposing imposture syndrome,
with functional Dunning Krueger
inate cognative imbalence, valenced
within the pre pancreatic failure gut neurons bias…
burped bubble perception, whole self tuning
entire being concept, repenting ignorance begging
truth be known, make me unbelieve beloved lies,
other wise
make me
Art
Intuited, as a weform lifeform,
a we of three neuronal territories,
thinkers reading doer's reports from ports far afield, out there

where shapes of things that were some time ago,
can be translated into two dimensions fitting this window,
using these letters whose sense we all may use to think

translate me, the living word reminds the daydreaming monk,
consider really the stars, for number, now, and take that,
knowledge, a ledge on an oblique inleaning facet of us,

and walk along it not looking down
on or as, may be
the we form of one ready
to be reading ready we state,
in a punctuated equilibrium *** *** ***
Drums
Timpanis, Phrigian rhythms boom boom booming,
Zildjians , krashing and rolling into boingingnodes, domes
of dones, tells holding long forgotten legends for a time.

Nineveh, the repentant city, eh,
to the level
of its labor class things, fasted an acceptable fast,
miracle of miracles, the city did not fall, the miracle
of Jonah was that the city changed behavior
to such a degree that the God who had used Jonah,
made him a story in himself, used to glorify truth,
and someday make gourd growers
proud to be shapers if Meerschaum puff clouds,
made him a creature with no comprehension of mercy,
to use him in a great sorting out testing of spirits,
in the great game of the being edge overlapping gains
taken as granted grace, readers rule non readers,
see the images on the wall, hear the actors in the back,

break a leg, bad luck magic insiders hold true good,
encouragement to fret nothing, as a dancer does,
when listing with the breeze through new chance,

on the page, a pause,
a breather taking lax laze lize guessing others wise,

we suspect ourselves of hubris, as if the other wise
reason for the functional faith in goodness is done,

sneezing phase is past, if you've read this far, by now

you are infected, and as you know, knowing too much
can **** a mortal bent to believe an institutionalized PR
Q-code/ begging oppositional support,
for the dam whence the boy pulled his finger and stepped

back to be blown downstream in time to let the last salmon
spawn and bring worth back to the rain always falling,
mainly on the plain,

Habakkuk habit, artistic intuition patterns of stroke, for luck,
let role in lines intending to hold the slightest smile,
thinking I know, this is not the same vale,
this is not the same current, nor same opinion worth a look,
streaming, not rowing, life
at the moment
is a day taken
for daydreaming equivalent
to a koan ridden
to its vanishing point
on the horizontal insistence
of our mutual peculiar leanings off center,

in a phi mark pattern pearling things think through,
doing words a proper spin,
to hit the nail on the head,
pop.
Stop/ now. Taste the pudding,
is there proof now from then?
D'he, ahe he he - didja ever have the ware withal
to make up
your own mind?

-------------
Yes, walk away, daydreaming boy,
location and possession of means,
for deciphering Emperical runes,
put into my craft and trade in
Calabash pipes, seen, but unseen
gourds employed as smoked ****
and fine tobacco investigatory oral
fixations prominent during the nicotine
DNA adaptation,
{took five generations}
from popular pastime
of blowing smoke, after effects
took on global societal ruling lines
of taut strict reasons to keep smoking,
keep on, keepin' on, minding solo scriptura,

in smoke filled rooms whither whole new forms
for holding mental tyranny enough to wage war,
took shape to govern those who must fight for
the cost of power contained
in a concept with kings,
and us, or Gods and men…
opposed to, leaning against, acting
as scaffolding holding old dams destined
soon to break,
"and at that time thy people shall be delivered,
every one that shall be found written
in the book."

Johnstown flood, was a true historical news worthy event,
unlike the name of any person whose name is in a list
of souls departed from the frail shell of mortality,

ready or not.
Fret not, and naught, aye, no thing or thought
Christmas angel say aight, be not afraid of knowing,
good new things to know, whole old truths put to rest.

Here come Jubilee, one last time,
big time, big time revival of the truth conception

creator of the whole shebang.
Biggest to infinitile insignificance, in fancy other words.

But thou, O Daniel,
shut up the words, and seal the book,
to the time of the end:
many shall run to and fro,

Assisting intelligences shall seem as guides,
Michael models will seem like second comings.

in implodelusive spurts… as can be imagined
reviving old lies for new carnal mind tweaks.

Viruses, bane of existences
Invading other lifeform,
To create environments so they can perform
Destroying everything in their path
Just to propagate and infiltrate

Viruses, destroys your systems
Using up resources
Leaving empty land and destruction

Viruses, many and a lot
Unending, Unceasing
Unstoppable ,Uncontrollable

Viruses, proud to be one

Cut her open
and you will find
immeasurable potential
hiding behind
skin and muscle.

Not a casual canal
but a tunnel to life,
brewing ingredients
deep inside;

The chance to grow
a being who will
develop unforeseen
ideas for humanity,

the chance to harbor
a hopeful artist,
soft hearted songwriter,
social worker,
teacher, scientist,
painter, activist.

A man does not wield
that level of power,
that wild wonder
of a body working
to put a new lifeform
together in a womb.

A woman’s body
is a gateway
to all worlds beyond,
it is the center
that pushes our species on.

Sometimes
All it takes
Is a ******* a plane
Sitting next to you,
Her notebook sprawled open
Her pen furiously spewing ink
Into the lifeform of a human face-
To realize that you’ve been missing the chaos of art all along

"They say soulmate is a perfect eternal lover that fate brings into your life, is irreplaceable. You can find your soul in our universe even if your light years away and in another lifeform. Every soul has a soulmate that offers powerful love energy, it's an equal exchange."

Then if it's so obvious, can someone just come to me and tell me" hey it's me" no need to worry anymore, not pressure, no society feeling nothing. Just easy and eternal unconditional love.

Anyway, if it was that easy peole would have already make business out of it. But i beleive in miracles, so I will wait.

carbon water and energy
an intelligence being be
a lifeform-ed from clay