♦   ♦   ♦

She was an earnest devotée.
Her ideals, birthed in Chardonnay
were globally diverse (read: white).
A liberal bark preceded bite.
Her crystal clearer than her vision;
she provoked bemused derision
as she breathed intolerance
toward all who would not dance her dance.
She swooned for distant pagan tribes,
attuned to their exotic vibes –
rapt in multi-culti piety
strangely deaf to her own society,
judged by her as abomination;
unredeemed. The background station
always stuck on N.P.R.
(the soundtrack of her culture war,
Pacifica News and Democracy Nows,
and other progressive holy cows)
Her motherland a shameful mystery:
guilty first, and void of history –
its origins defiled, corrupted…
while she enjoyed uninterrupted
freedom to pursue her whims:
misguided one-world global hymns.
The sisterhood of hu(man) kind
was foremost in her earnest mind –
even should that same sisterhood
be sealed by her well-meaning blood.
Out on a date with global death
she hoped to unify the earth
in solidarity with causes
led by killers, warlord bosses,
thugs she never knew existed
who, if she’d met she’d have resisted.
Her theory landed far from her praxis
spun, by default, on an evil axis.
Hot with zeal she fumed and stormed
quite certain she was well-informed,
at benefits, non-profit functions
rallies, boycotts, left-wing luncheons;
warm with righteous spite for Israel,
aiding and abetting Ishmael
with fellow-travelers, like-minded
similarly hateful, blinded,
rattling sabers, scimitars, axes…
(lunacy never wanes, but waxes
hotter with the passing years
as activists confront their fears).
She finally shilled for the Intifada
(stopping short of reciting Shahada),
reaching out to the terrorist
with righteous raised progressive fist…
offering thus her neck to blade:
collateral to be repaid
by murderers who couldn’t care less
about her open-mindedness.

Like a meme of activism
This women's coalition
Mothers
Sister
Friends
Pioneers and heroines
There's courage in their convictions
A guild of collectivism
They hold luncheons in their kitchens
Talk of abolition
Mysticism
Feminism
Of heroes and magnetism
Seduction
Love
Eroticism
They scream like banshees at a crucifixion
About injustice
Dereliction
Terrorism
A tradition underwritten
With symbolism
Drums
Violins
Musicians
They may be sitting
They may be knitting
Baking muffins
Folding linen
Running errands
Stuffing chickens
A juxtaposition to their ambition
Of inspiring the unwilling
Turning derision to optimism
Their fire and brimstone
Will have history rewritten
Freedom of reproduction
Liberalism
Animism
They have wisdom
Intuition
Rhythm
They are fearsome
This women's coalition

Upper East Side
The Hamptons
Aspen, Colorado
The plastic people
Follow each other
Moving in herds
Like cattle to the
Slaughter

Drifting
Floating
Shifting focus
From one charity event
To another
Whatever’s trendy
Whatever’s fashionable
Whatever’s happ’ning
Whatever’s the need
Tainted new artists
Society’s rejects
The film-maker who fits in with
The flavor of the month
The disease or the cause
That captures the moment
Stigmas overlooked
Deformities relieved
By one hyper exertion
By one pseudo good deed

Changing bedrooms
Changing partners
New alliances
Noblesse oblige

Mrs. Astor’s
Four hundred
Reinvented forever
Reinvented with fervor
On the edge
Of hypocrisy
Keeping up with the Jones’s
Maintaining the houses
Paris, Rome, Cote du Jura
Malibu, Palm Beach
Couture fashion
Madison, Rodeo
Worth avenues united
Avenues of the liege

Location, location, location
The right address unspoken
Dinner in the right places
Sporting events to be seen
Three martini luncheons
Halcion evenings
Business is business
Where money’s retrieved

Look to plastic people
For fashionable guidance
No matter the moment
No matter the need
Remember to catch them
While jetting to Santa Barbara
Saint Maarten, San Troupe
San Marco, warp speed
They live in their milieu
Can’t function outside it
Can’t follow a shadow
That others believe

It’s easy to find them
They leave behind footprints
But barely a mem’ry
Or singular creed
Other than finding
The latest in fashion
The latest persona
Or new plastic breed

A Tale of ****** Excitement by Herr Barty Maulwurf

Often **** tales of my past I am writing and sometimes they are a little rude and porny but now I will try to be only slightly profane at request of new friends I am making everywhere. This tale very sensual story is, told by master storyteller (which is me). Filthy bits included. *Danke sehr.

Although I so much hate repetitive to be, Barty Mole must as always apologise for his occasionally slight errors in English-writing as he writes the English language not so very top-class (but he ***** English girls' tongues lots and likes them his tonsils to wipe so good). I (me, Barty) am German person but special type of that because as I are half-and-half black/white (not striped or even top half white, bottom half black, but mixed-up goldene-brun colouring), by this I must explain mein Papa was black US soldier in Germany who did enormous number of bouncy-bouncies with various ladies including meine Mutti (note to monoglots: this means my Mummy) - who was part-time Lili Marlen type tarty number, great **** and much-used **** - for tinned milk, coffee, ciggies, silk stockings and comfy underwear with soft non-scratchy gussets for once instead of unlined which tickle *****-*****, also she was a major sort of a ****** in her day so combined business with pleasure, and why not, we got these bits under our ******* so use them or they dry up (so thinks der Barty.). Also please you will remember black market utterly rampant in post-war period because the kind ****** Allies smashed my beautiful homeland (Germany) to little bits and then guess what even worse Russkies came and stole anything leftovers and did mass rapings of anyone with two legs (or less, in fact easier as poor tarts can't run away), but my Mutti ran and avoided Ivans, she not any kind of idiot, not going to give it away for free, and not liking cheap rotgut ***** anyway. Also Russkies never wash bottoms-hole so not much fun in the sack with smelly-bummed Ivans.

Nowadays Barty (that's me) am not so young, indeed now out of work living in Hamburg (home of inventor of hamburgers, Herr Wendi McDonald-Burgerkoenig) but I remember some super **** going-ons from mine mis-spended youth and middle age, my God I was a right goer, make no mistake about that, I had more lady friends than most people have hot luncheons mainly because I inheritated huge lovepole (23 centimetres, well over 9 inches in UK/US measurement style) from my dear Poppa, God rest his swindling soul. And ladies like the big bronzed stick as ramrod lovepole, you bet your fat wobbly ***, dear reader, 100% sure.

As often I say to my multitudinous readers, I never accept that it is only top-class ***-event to make love-humpings between male person who is in all one piece (full complementing legs, arms, naughty pieces etc etc) and lady who in similar state of repair (2 legs, 2 arms, 2 boobos, back and front naughty areas also) so I shall now recall romantic interlude with one-legged groupie I am meeting at rocking Konzert in Berlin with famous German group DIE TOTEN HOSEN (this means "The Dead Trousers" look them up on Google you think I am joking? no, German musicians have great sense of humour and also almost for free get to **** a lot of birds).

This story are total true, swear it on Mummy's honour (big joke, what honour I hear you said out of side of mouth, but watch your manners please or I smash you one in your effing gob) this not so explicit as usual so much apologies to filthy pervies wanting cheap smuttings, you come in wrong place (*******).

So now here we go with telling of how I got on good and ***** with one-legged lady I meet in bar of Grosse Konzerthalle in Berlin after we go from Konzert by Toten Hosen - noise so fickende loud we not able to hear each other talk as we total deafened for at least 1 hour, so just wink over bar to each other and Robert is dein Onkel.

I digressed - when I saw really pretty girl at bar with **** three-inch bolt through her lips and I think, WOW, if she got so much metal in her face, what the Fick she got in her *******!!!!  I notice she leaning against wall, I think she a bit drunk but I find out she only got one leg and it's because she has only one leg she would go falling over if not lean on walls. Never mind, I think to myself, I'll try this out for size, in for a pfenning (penny), in for a pfund (pound), except now it's in for a cent, in for a euro which sounds naffs. So we have several dozen beers and a couple of schnapplis and she is good fun, laugh at all Barty's filthy jokes and innuendos and then, out of blue, she says with naughty giggling, "The night is young but we're not so effing young and when you have any more beers you don't stand up, fall flat on handsome face, and not able to get great big ****** up me to shove it", WOW I thought, this is some forward one-legged piece of work. So no more further ado and we jump in taxi (pay 50:50 as Barty is gent and refuse to allow her pay whole fare) and go to her place.

Hildegard is her name and she was pretty good looking bird, great booboes, narrow very **** waistlines, very cute botty sticking out like great big pair of rubber footballs, but let's be frank, liebe Freunde, her main claim to eternal fame in Barty's immense ***-memory bank was the leg-stump, only one of them she had. She tells me missing limb result of accident with vicious bacon-slicing machineries at LIDL and I not like to probe too deeply, because I leave the probing up to my 23cm (9 inch) lovepole instead.

Thus we had many love-makes that night and I got to find her stumpy-thing quite **** in weird kind of way, very smooth skin on it and odd colour (purplish) too. Only problem of was hard to do it Alsatian-style as she topple off bed and me with her, especially since we have many more beers down hatches by that time. Never mind, make up for this with very high class (FIVE STAR!) "neunundsechzig" (German for 69 just in case you not understand)! WOW she utter hot stuff in oral department store. Her tongue like starving St Bernard guzzling the bowl of nice fresh spring water on hottest summer day in century! Swallow everything, stray hairs and all.

Also Hildegard very noisy lady when she does the comings, which Barty likes very much indeed. Like demented demon being bashed around her head with three-metre long metal crowbar every single time she gets one off, she screamed. "Ooooooh, ich komme, ich komme, ach, ja, ja, ja, ja," she shrieks GOOD & LOUD like fat Wagnerian heroine with immensely red hot poker up backside-hole (which not far off the truth when Barty gets stuck into his fabbo ***-rhythm, like whirring up and down piston on Mitsubishi motor tricycle). Even allowing for drunken prematured senilities lapse, I happy to recall seven times for me that night and maybe twenty for her, WOW, what a filthy one-leg hornbag!

We meet a few more time for repeat bonky session but never so good as first time round, but that's because Barty sober next times, nothing new in the history of love there which is very philophical pensée. Also Barty's interest in the leggy-stump waned a bit after a couple of weeks.  But Barty has good live-action photos to keep his memories warm, WOW, they are some totally hot ones! I know Hildegard must have the equal happy memories of old Barty, bet she never saw such a big ***** as his ever again (NB: 23 cm lovepole)!

Mit freundlichen Gruessen
von Ihre
Bartholomew Mole (=Maulwurf)
(23 cm brown lovepole)

Having style doesn’t necessarily depend on the size of one’s budget but on the breadth of one’s mind and creativity. Likewise, enjoying the rewards of philanthropic giving is not only for the rich and famous. The lovely philanthropist, style icon, and socialite, Jean Shafiroff continues to encourage people to practice strengthening their generosity muscle—inspiring others with her grace, style, and her first book, “Successful Philanthropy: How to Make a Life by What You Give.“

“I believe we all have been given so many gifts. We must discover what they are and share them. Philanthropy is not just about writing checks, but it’s about giving of yourself—your time and your knowledge. Anyone and everyone can be a philanthropist,” Shafiroff said during her book signing party in her Park Avenue apartment.

An inspiring and practical guide to becoming a philanthropist, her book includes quotes ranging from Audrey Hepburn to Albert Einstein; a foreword by Scott Elkins, the U.S. Campaign Director of the Margaret Thatcher Scholarship Trust at Oxford University and CEO of SE Advisors; and a special introduction by Georgina Bloomberg, who started her own charitable organization, The Rider’s Closet, with her love for equestrian sports.

“First, you must start with yourself—start with your passions,” Shafiroff said during the interview for this article at her home, just a few hours before she would prepare to go to the American Ballet Theater Gala. She had a rack of designer dresses waiting for her to choose from.

After you find your passion, “then try to find a cause and a charity that is a good fit,” she said. It’s comparable to finding the right outfit. “When it comes to style and fashion, it’s very important to feel comfortable in what you are wearing. Otherwise don’t wear it,” she said. So when it comes to philanthropy, make sure to contribute in alignment with your passions, your values, and with your vision of the legacy you would like to build.

I always try to be kind—this is very important. I’d like to be able to build people up, in anyway that I can.

— Jean Shafiroff

“Successful Philanthropy” is the kind of book she wishes she could have read when she was younger. While her generous sensibility, like her sense of style, was already well entrenched before she even thought of becoming a philanthropist, Shafiroff now hopes her book will effectively influence anyone, and especially younger generations, to take the essential steps for creating a more philanthropic culture in general.

“There is great reward in knowing that you are helping to make the world a better place,” she said. She then coyly pointed out that being a philanthropist may be seen as a little selfish in that regard. But she said, “I see nothing wrong in building up our members of society. Those who give, build themselves up in the process because they will feel fulfilled, and those who receive will grow. It’s a great gift to be in a position to give,” she said, smiling.

“If people, at any age, are just starting to get involved, hopefully they will get some useful tips from the book. I would never say that I have all the answers, but this is based on solid research and on my experience,” she said.

For years Shafiroff has raised funds for charities, including the New York City Mission Society, New York Women’s Foundation, and Southampton Hospital, and the Couture Council. She serves on seven charity boards, organizes and hosts charity luncheons for various causes—all voluntarily. Having traveled extensively to places as far as Cambodia, China, and Nicaragua, she’s very aware of how much need and suffering people experience all over the world, including New York. “There is poverty everywhere. In New York, one out of three children live at or below the poverty level. These are very serious statistics,” she said.

The antidote to not turning a blind eye to such need, she says, is first and foremost in valuing oneself. It’s the starting point. “We live in a society now where many people are depressed or sad and most of it is because they don’t understand their own value. But everyone has so much to offer to society. Everyone matters—that’s vitally important.”

She explained that most of us participate in acts of philanthropy every day. “If you make the effort to reach out to someone by lending emotional support or showing kindness to someone in need, you are beginning your journey as a philanthropist.”

Shafiroff’s way of defining and reframing philanthropy targets every level of society, from those who barely have any savings but who can offer their time and knowledge to those from the extremely affluent, who may be in need of exercising their generosity muscle more. Overall it brings more meaning in life.

“I believe I can continue to live a good life, but it’s my obligation to give back. When you see people starving and who are barely making ends meet, I think it’s wrong not to do anything. We are not just here to take. Rather we are here to give. If you have resources then you must give, and ultimately we should give more than we take,” Shafiroff said.

While she enjoys dressing up in stunning gowns to attend various social charity-related events, she carries herself with profound purpose, quite apparent below the surface of fashion frivolity. “When I wear a beautiful gown, I feel good. But what is most important is what you try to do to be of help. Also when you go to an event and you dress well, it is a sign of respect and a reflection on what you think about that charity,” she said.

She also pointed out that because black tie events are so formal, people are willing to spend more for the ticket, which means more money for charity.

Fundraising is a tough job, but Shafiroff has all the social graces, stamina, and wisdom to do it well and has done so for many years.

“Volunteer fundraising can be very difficult. Sometimes people can be rude. They do not realize that you are not asking for yourself. There can be a lot of rejection associated with asking. However, a ‘no’ today can be a ‘yes’ in the future. Always believe in the work of the charity—and make sure it is well run—before you do any volunteer fundraising. If you are uncertain, then back away,” she said.

Still Shafiroff wishes she could do more. “I always try to be kind—this is very important. I’d like to be able to build people up, in anyway that I can,” she said.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cheap-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/****-formal-dresses

Like Most People I Try...
To Show GOOD Judgement... !!!

But It's Easier Said...
Than Done For Sure... !!!

Like Patience... ESCAPING...........................  
POOR Judgement Is Stationed...
Right Next To IMPATIENCE...
And NOT Being... WISE...
When It Comes To The Vibes...
You CHOOSE To Live By...

POOR Judgements Breed FIGHTS... !!!!!
And SNIFFING THOSE Lines...
That BLOW UP Weak Minds... !!!

Whose Judgement's UNWISE... !!!

These Days I Now Find...
That Judgements Can BLIND...
Your Mind From The TRUTH... !!!

Most Now Use Their Eyes...
As If They're SHUT TIGHT... !?!

So Are Therefore INCLINED...
To... Mentally BIND...
Themselves Into Lives...
Where NONSENSE and LIES...
Are What They LIVE BY... ?!?

The Question Is... " WHY "... ?

It Seems Cos' Most Judgements...
Are Now Fuelled By... PRIDE... !!!!!!

And... Modern Day Platters...
Like Whose Lives Should MATTER... !?!
... Black Peoples' or Whites... ???

As If There Aren't Colours...
of... DIFFERENT Types...
In Our HUMAN Kind... ?!?

Which PROVES That Some Smother...
THEMSELVES From Their Brothers...

Yeah HUMANS That's Right... !!!!!!

A Lot of BLOODSUCKERS...
Now ROAM Human Kind...
WITHOUT Facing JUDGEMENT...
Because of Their CRIMES... !?!...

From Police To Our Leaders...
To... SICK Paedophiles... !!!!!!!!!!!

Who KEEP Running A RIOT...
With Young Peoples' Lives... !!!

Who SOMEHOW When JUDGED...
For... ABUSES and CRIMES...
Are NOT Made To SUFFER...
By JUDGES And OTHERS...
Whose Voices DON'T Rumble...
Like Boxings' Mike Buffer... !!?!!

They QUICKLY GO Silent...... ?
When People Face VIOLENCE... !!!
Because of THOSE SIRENS...
That Now Harbour TYRANTS... !!!!!!

Who Wear UNIFORMS...
And KICK UP A STORM...
Whenever Their Judgements...
Are Brought To THE FORE... !!!!!

The Judgements They're Bringing...
May Breed... " Civil War "... ?!?
That Has NO Web Slinging...
Or... HEROES Who SOAR... !!!!!!!!!!!

But VILLAINS Whose Law...
Is Making Blood POUR... !!!

So Here Is The SCORE...

MY Judgement Is THIS...
What Are They GOOD For... !?!

If You DON'T KNOW The Song... ?
I Think Something's WRONG... !!!

Wars Are POOR Judgments...
ENFORCED Over NONSENSE... !?!
As I Said... BEFORE... !!!!!

PRIDE Is The Key...
That LOCKS Peoples' Chi... !!!

From Those NOW Gum RUNNING... !!!
Role Models Like... " Upton "...
Who CLEARLY Are JUDGING... !!!

When She Should Say NOTHING... !!!

Cos' When Police FUNCTION...
I'm Pretty **** SURE...
That She DON'T Feel TRUNCHEON...
When She's There At Luncheons...
Where Anthems Be RUNNING... !!!

That PLAY For DUMB ******...
Whose Actions AREN'T PURE...
When They Reach FOREIGN Shores... !!!!!

And HISTORY SHOWS...
How Their Anthems Then STOLE...
MORE Than... Pots of Gold... !!!!!

They STOLE Rights From People...
Who CLEARLY Were Feeble...

So Made Some POOR CHOICES...
INSTEAD of USE Voices...
To WARD OFF Their EVIL... !!!!!!!!

Which They SHOULD of Done... !!!

Instead of... BECOME...
A People Who Kneeled...
When WHIPS Were The SHIELD...
That THESE Anthems Stemmed From... !!!

So LISTEN Ms. Upton...
Just STICK To Your Function...

To... PUT ON Your Thong...
And SHOW OFF Your ***'...

If Kneeling's A PROBLEM...
Then You Should STAND UP... !!!

Cos' Judgment Will Come...
For You And Your GODS... !!!

SOLDIERS And COPS...
Whose Songs Play At GRAVES...
of People They've SLAYED... !!!

While IGNORANCE Claims...
SUPREMACY Chains...
That YOUR Forefathers Made... !!!

Aren't THEY A DISGRACE... ?!?

I Guess NOT To THEM...
When They Chose VIOLENCE....
To FUEL Their Anthems... !!!!!!

So That's Where I'll END...

NOBODY's Above...
Facing... Being JUDGED... !!!

But DON'T Let Your PRIDE...
DEFINE What is Right...
Or Be What Supplies...
Your... INNER MIND's Eye... !!!

Because You May Find...
That... WAY Down The Line............................... ...................

That You're LACKING Substance...
That Leads To... POOR...

..... " Judgement ".....

Maybe one day I'll make finger sandwiches
for classy luncheons
in a pagoda in my backyard.
We all will be jolly
and have balloon laughs
as we sip our aged merlot.
  And my young children will waltz in
  with their curtsies and bows and then
  go off again to be with their nanny.
And I will be occupied
with the things in my pocket
so I won't know what the dark is anymore.

                                                       ­                I'd rather live in the dark though.
                                                         ­                   In a raunchy studio apartment
                                                       ­                          with a semi-attractive but
                                                             ­                  the most beautiful woman
                                                           ­                                who is educated
                                                        ­                   and still knows how to color.
                                                           My children will understand what it means
                                                           ­              to be alive and I'll let them decide
                                                          ­                               if they appreciate it or not.
                                                                ­   We will feed the ducks every Sunday.
                                                                ­    I want to be among spirits not bodies.

Strange
How when all is going
According to
Plan

The record stops in spin
Clouds turn to black
And the round back straightens

I'm awake here
Seeing bare
Attending to cares
But unfulfilled

There is a liar amongst us
She smells of raw fibs
I run my palm
Across my bare chest
Feeling ribs

We are bones
And meat
With a mind we can never fully

Control

A mystery
To myself

Born again
Dying again

Re-living
Nothing

Attending
To
No one

There's a white envelope on the nightstand
With a sum of unmentionable dreams and desires
The shelf stands *****, but I am crooked
Burning a candle in the twilight of midnight
Reminds me that a gift is also fire

And then there is the fact of movement
Evolutions only prime device
There are no tricks
There are no riddles
There is nowhere you can tinker or fiddle

Overtime, we only get better

Move her
Admit him
See that I
Am inside every syllable
Etching a private universe
To perfection so whomever
May choose to enter
May re-live and experience

Matters of Heaven and Hell

Closed off
Sending smoke signals
To
Irritable Gods

Bunk beds with religion
We amass our hatred
For one another

Then play chess with jazz playing in the background

Red oyster shell wrapped around
A ghost white finger
Music tiptoes under my doorway
And the mailman is late with my paycheck

When I worked
As a paperboy
I enjoyed
Riding the bus to school

Because of late night snacking
I now have anxiety
About free breakfast luncheons

A next step for mankind
Seems like a lot of work
And very little pay off for the rest of us

Why are buses designed so poorly
And have no Maximum Occupancy?

Say goodbye to late night friendship
With snapskypefaceinternaboutfacecreditreport.com

She moved her hand
Over her eyes to block out
The sun. The brightness
Comforted her, but, being
An only child, she disapproved
Of anything resembling comfort.

A new noon is upon us
I speak for anyone with a pulse
A new moon has arisen
Any speakers of tongues shows false

Anonymous fortunes
Have arisen between the black and white
Bed sheets are randomly bursting into flames
And grandma weeps regularly

When love dissolves
Like the first fog of dusk,
The sun burning through
Mists futile efforts to shroud we dead men,
Put your ear to the ground
Hold to not make a sound

Witness the frost break
As the business men cut their steaks
See the poor out on the gutter
The addict trip and sputter
Change is not around the corner
The lies are as thin as the coroners smile

This kind of place
Smells of dry skin and regret
Dead brush and a unforgiving sun
Love takes off
Its always on the run

Sometimes
I don't know the difference
Between me and you
Sometimes
You try to tell me something
That I know just isn't true

White cut on the hem of her dress
She says something to me
But I can already tell that she's in distress

"Let me in your taxi," she squealed,
The bangs of her hair bouncing over her face,
"I'll tell yah something. I'll show yah' some lace."
I opened the door with a stone hand
And as she sat next to me I looked over
To see she was holding a beat up tomato paste can

Whispers of truths only turn into bigger lies
A butler coughs as he adjusts his tie
"The body needs to be washed up around the thigh,"
It explained, a shadow under each of the mans eyes
"There is no instrument man can trust to rely,
Other then that of God and his belief in the upside."

A road
Dispelled

A life
Cut short

A boat
Drfiting
Into Port

At last the fog has burned away
So we can decide
Whether you go or you stay

Soccer moms and sander scars
Suburban life is strange.
Play dates and in-line skates
Schedules to re-arrange.
Yoga teachers and lay preachers
And those are not a metaphor.
Costco trips and air-kiss lips
Nobody trusts a bachelor.

Coupon savers in SUVs
Never use turn signals.
Driving while chatting hands-free
Wearing golden **** whistles.
Appointments to make daily
With exercise gurus.
Cocktail luncheons for charity
Toddlers wearing tutus.

Traffic jams of cars and vans
Honking at each other.
Double parking on narrow streets
Calling each other mothers.
Starting out fifteen minutes late
As is the usual way.
Somehow never figuring out how
To have an on-time day.

Screeching home a night in time
To throw together a meal.
Watch television with family
And pretend that is all real.
Put the kids to bed right on time
Try to have quality time.
While the other half is half-asleep
From that second glass of wine.

Naysayers gonna nay say, vacayers gonna vacate.
I like that I don't have to use hate;
so strong of a word to perpetrate,
this simple feeling of discord brought up on ones own accord.
Throw your hands in the ayer
if your a straight player
of the blame game,
taking in all the shame
like a flame that maimes
consuming and fuming

Get on some level
not on my level,
its reserved for those
dare devils
who can't care
or share
but want to.

cut that can't
or won't
*******.
just don't.
its a moot point and
It ain't fair
but to be real
its about the pair
that the universe designed
and that was meant for you
to complete.
you're a night
to some ones day.
youre standing in the spotlight for some one standing back stage.  
a yin to their Yang.
the turmoil
for some ones ecstasy.
or even being alive
while your other half dies.
you never know, but that's the way the world spins.
now
Steadily peel your skin, thin, kin like.
let's not succumb to the vast misunderstanding of human aesthetics.
one just can't belong to someone that needs anything.
to truly love someone or something you must first truly love yourself.
could you love me in this skin alone, walking around unbound by blood and bones and consistency and veins.
because I could,
would
and have done.
to believe you are a shell of yourself is like being your own exoskeleton.
having an out of body experience; lying there looking up at yourself wondering why you are here at this exact moment.
and why
did all events in my life culminate to this one moment of pure universal ebbing and flowing.
now read up on shedding,
that layer you just grew out of,
is unvieling this new glove.
rise above,
this is it.
feeling fit, feeling right.
3 am. weekday night.
widen your peripheral sight
its alright,
your slight change of might
may evolutionize this transition over night.
so its time to revolutionize our position for the right.

Enveloping this
eloping of collective consciousness, knowledge and intuition,
is the slow mellow bass of the  monks on mountain tops or in monasteries;
chanting as well as enchanting beautiful sweet moments of life and strife alive in our NOW.
carrying monotonously and steadily with mellow vibrating chords this unknown marriage of the cerebral bonding of these simple words.
for they are the key to your light and might and tight nit click.
get it?

I'll slow my roll for the roll call of my souls haul and ma's tall story of how worried she was  for her curry eating potato favorite
with some bone marrow on the down low.
she may be sad; however she will be had when the cab arrives.
its funny that he thrives off her drives and my strives for money.
I hope this makes sense, but if not get some intense metaphorical pretenses
up in that co centric dome
let this be known, and let the flowers of a new era be grown upon the previously sown, drones
of past scone munching, baby punching, number crunching, people at luncheons.
who needs that mess
we've got free press
and I'll address
what I think needs said.
so go with it, go against it, either way your thinking about it.

and when the truth is spoken
you will always have your token person,
who thinks their outspoken opinion has never been a
'not to mention'
and needs to be mentioned
but the tension isn't right
because they lost most of their night contemplating their own contribution rather than
what was the plight of the group as a whole.
they may elude the **** and bareness of the truth
but when truth is exposed
all doors are closed.
one can see the hosed, declothed and opposed inmate
for what she really is.

lady liberty and me, we're a lot a like as is, but to be on some other plane **** she ain't on some plain ****.
justice is her forte and the order of the court is death by a journey to sanity and back.
we have continuously for decades been doing the same things over and over again with the same results.
by choice...
this is the opposite of the definition of insanity which is only expecting different results. we have thrown ourselves into a will full suspension of disbelief and it will be our downfall.
who was the deciding factor in this big meeting where they decided how humans would lay out their lives according to a 'normal'.
but wait, justify that.
who can, just sayin, cause she nor me can but blame on any man, woman, can can dancer or politician that has the freedoms of any human being. yeah there are morals and ethics;
but what about those reefs of coral
and jungles full of antibiotics that laugh in the face of illness. who will stand for them?  
Ahem.
we can't say one thing and do another, oh wait.
that's the human resolve to almost anything really.
we don't recall its involvement in our lives, however we let it govern this encampment we have pioneered along the edges of our souls.
Oregon trail for minds veiled seems to fail and impale the true nature of the creature ruled by outside elements all the while toiling and searching for the yearning that it may quench with only the comfort of another being.

any situation, reveals that
there is unlimited potential in this gradual change we are experiencing.
a change for the bettering of humankind.
its provocative and emotive and natural and easy and thought provoking and beauty evoking.
but I'm smoking here and its bad for me but that doesn't stop me from poking my free will into this
while I sit here and am continuously choking on my own words I can't get out in the sequence I desire.
while making what few pointless decisions I get to make in the scheme of things.

why do I get to do that?

why must there be anything else. after all, if all that we are is not spiritual but physical, physics.
then wouldn't my purpose be to completely oppose another force within this environment equally and with as much force as it exerts on me.
something like an equal and opposite reaction.
or
a completion of a pair.
I'm out to find, define, refine, get in line, make mine, and waste time with my equal and opposite reaction.
please take action,
in any case, situation, point, or debate you come to find yourself placed in at the moment.
if you don't
then don't.
I can only dream and hope for a better world for the moment.
at least until I can get into this one deeper than I am already.
those of you who don't understand this I feel for you and hope that you come across some sort of super explanatory device because I'm never going to get it out right on paper in complete thoughts all nice

Antrorse are these two stretched hands! Parched unto the atmosphere, colorful stratosphere dimmed, yet not darkened yet!
Burgonet feelings are quite openly. Outspokingly disgraceful. Some wear marvels, others turned disgraceful.. How distasteful!!!
Burlap past times and I'm still knitted in, wherein memories are the remembrance of a past who maketh thou to be thou. Buskin druid....
Flustering is soo highly overtaken, for thine innards goes outdated, as prayers are daily struggles. Mixed and ruffled, as the freckles to ones current displace..
Foxfire flame can be seen in hidden oaks, wherein thou art clogged by forest smoke, yet/ made by thine own destructions... Rich haveth luncheons, as schooltime sells cheap embargo's!!!renew tomorrow!!!!
Icterus slumbering dots have taken the whole!!!while t.v rots thy soul, the news comes day in day out!!! All the same but worse!!!!battle dispersed!!!
Indign I am to past the pearly gates! For to early or to late, its better to make it in than not!!!!

I'm bout to pop these xans
it sounds like a plan
you ain't slick just cuz you got a pistol in your hand
we all know you not stuntin'
cuz ***** you be frontin'
you ain't got no lettuce but ***** I got luncheons
and I'm munchin' on these bunches of drugses from my plugses
oxy
hydro
perks
vico
anything to get my brain high
when my heart low

Rivers of sorrow
Valleys of shattered souls
Stolen childhoods,  
Self interests of the masters

Beastly hunger,
Rewarded narcissism
Luncheons of meat and wine,
Decaying flesh and blood

Tainted,  fine fabric,
Disgusting games of folly
Echoes of hypocritical laughter,
On neatly furnished wood

And hidden gold daggers,
Windowless stone houses
An assassination burglary,
Lone dark nights, long

And clothed in honor,
veiled in arrogance
Despicable faces,
Masked with expensive makeup

suffocating perfumes,
A rising air across the gold mines
The soulless humans
The slave masters of the century

Antrorse are these two stretched hands! Parched unto the atmosphere, colorful stratosphere dimmed, yet not darkened yet!
Burgonet feelings are quite openly. Outspokingly disgraceful. Some wear marvels, others turned disgraceful.. How distasteful!!!
Burlap past times and I'm still knitted in, wherein memories are the remembrance of a past who maketh thou to be thou. Buskin druid....
Flustering is soo highly overtaken, for thine innards goes outdated, as prayers are daily struggles. Mixed and ruffled, as the freckles to ones current displace..
Foxfire flame can be seen in hidden oaks, wherein thou art clogged by forest smoke, yet/ made by thine own destructions... Rich haveth luncheons, as schooltime sells cheap embargo's!!!renew tomorrow!!!!
Icterus slumbering dots have taken the whole!!!while t.v rots thy soul, the news comes day in day out!!! All the same but worse!!!!battle dispersed!!!
Indign I am to past the pearly gates! For to early or to late, its better to make it in than not!!!!!

I would trade the thrill of one million explosions
to see you find your smile for more than a minute.
Even for the revolution, or some convoluted invention
of peace, I would sacrifice it for your chance of oxygen;
to breathe amongst autumn leaves
and orchestras, bringing sound to your afternoon walks.

There must be coastlines or hill-sides to walk on,
beyond the traffic roar of peak-time tourists.
All in time, or out-of-time, I would forsake the freedom
of some distant land of people,
if it ensured me a date when I would hear your voice
as you recited your short-hand in a meeting of the minds.

I know that vinyl scratches over time, but at least
the melody stays unhampered; only nuanced in lectures
on how not to set the dial, how not to play Scrabble
in darkness. I suppose you are gone from me now,
with tasteless luncheons
and a lack of real punctuation to your long days inside.

Miranda felt for the light-switch after stumbling through
the hall. You heard her snorting in the bathroom
and crying over the phone to a dealer who promised love.
We were all hooked from the start, over the thought
of cardboard boxes and dogs,
yet were left howling at reality and superstitious woe.

Did you see her pass the ice-giant? Stuck to a cold heart
for life; until a meteor passes in her direction,
or until the Sun burns out.
Did you see her circling Neptune in REM sleep,
or else faltering in her tobacco pouch for papers;
a way to set flame to those  consequential reminders
of a lover long left to a misery of doubt.

They called him rebel
He talked the talk and walked the walk.
He was a man of his people
He sold what he taught.
He taught what he learned
He grew up with nothing.
Became friends with politicians
He found out their crookedness,
That's not up for his discussion.
He joined whimsy luncheons
No more time-cards or punch ins
He came out of nothing .
Something made something.
Now he lost all
Because he gave nothing.
Now he lost all
Now he's gaining something.
He's seeing himself.
He's learning his way's.
He's trying to be the man of the people again,
By taking his past self away.

Funny that the family
Doesn't have any gatherings
Functions or luncheons
Guess they like to cover those Bases
At funerals

A tuckered bucket of preening primroses,
satcheled over the left-hand shoulder,
eyes hooded like awnings over bread tinged luncheons,
its been eons since rendez-vous took your shape and form,
perilous verbosity rots away on my tongue,
my eyes are a hostage on your figure,
the gentle malice is almost imperceptible from here,
or it is but an illusion of my grandeur,
that you and your majesty had ever broken down my door,
moments leave us as prey to the day to day,
the regretful palm out gesture is unrelieved and we part,
like the single stem of a shredded begonia, petals astray and seeped.

Ya Know...

... THOSE Who CONTROL...
KEEP Playing... DUD Notes... !!!

From Musical Movements...
To... Social Improvements...

THOSE Who CONTROL...
KEEP Dealing In LOOSENESS... !!!!!

The... I.A.A.F...
Seem To Have NO DEFENCE...
For... Steroid ABUSERS... !!!

So WHO Are The Losers... ???
And WHO Are The WINNERS... ?!?
When It Comes To Their Luncheons...
And... PLUSH Award Dinners... ?!?

And WHO Are The SINNERS... !?!
Muslims Or... Christians... ?!?

Of COURSE They DON'T SIN... !!!!!
ANYMORE Than... Their Kin...

EVANGELICAL Leaders And CATHOLIC Preachers...
Whose Version of Hope Works Like... " Rope A Dope "... !!!!!

You See THOSE Who CONTROL...
Left ALI To BLOWS That He COULDN'T DUCK... !!!

So Parkinsons' STRUCK...
While THEY CONTROLLED Bucks... !!!

You See THOSE Who Control Just Can't Get ENOUGH...
of MESSING With Lives While They SET The Price... !!!

And The Price Can Get HIGH If YOU Are NOT Wise... !!!!!

Now... CONTROLLING Guys...
WILL... PREY On Their Wives... !!!

Everything's NICE Til' ABUSE Starts To FLY... !!!
Leaving BLACK Eyes... And Women downsized...
To ***** In A CORNER Like... " Lil' Jack Horner "... !!!!!!!!!

THOSE Who CONTROL...
Leave Women In HOLES...
BROKEN And... " COLD "... !!!!!

So Girls READ The SIGNS... !!!

If He Is The TYPE To DENY Your Freedom...
You REALLY SHOULD..................... Leave Him.....
BEFORE You're Left BLEEDING …
Because of His TREATMENT... !!!

Of COURSE He'll Start PLEADING... !!!

When You EXPRESS Feelings...
That State That... You're LEAVING... !!!

DON'T Let Him TAKE HOLD...
of Your Mind Or Your SOUL... !!!

You MUST Take CONTROL...
Be STRONG And Be BOLD... !!!
And LEAVE His... CONTROL...
REMOTE And...... "Alone"....... !!!!!!

Now Fellas Take NOTE...
of THIS... Simple Quote...
Girls Who CONTROL...
Will USE... " ***** Holes"...
To Make You PAY TOLLS... !!!

As If Having... " BEAUTY "...
Should Have Man ON DUTY...
To Be Their... MALE GROUPIE... ?!?

Now THIS May Sound COLD...
But THOSE Who CONTROL...
Are RARELY... " Nice People "... !!!!

They're More Like DEAD EVIL... !!!
From THOSE Under Steeples...
To THOSE Who ARE... " feeble "...

CONTROL's What They WANT...
To Make Them FEEL STRONG...

Because They Are... NOT... !!!

Like THOSE YES Directed In Movies INJECTED...
To Gain OSCAR FAME Who NOW Want To CLAIM...

" Diversity ISN'T The Name of The Game ! "...

So... Who Is To BLAME... ?!?

They've GAINED FAME And FORTUNE...
Being Treated Like... SLAVES... !?!

They Should Be... "Ashamed"... !!!!!
You've Been PAID... Why COMPLAIN... !?!

OH... AWARDS And APPLAUSE...
HELP Films Get SEEN MORE... !!!!!

I Guess That's... " The Score "...
WITHOUT......... Refugee WARS........ !?!

Do The OSCARS NEED Coppers...
For Them to Run PROPER... ?!?

That Line's A SHOW STOPPER...
That Cops CANNOT Conquer... !!!!!
Because... How They CONTROL...
Has... CLEARLY Been SHOWN...
To Be... Quite IMPROPER... !!!!!!!!!!

Like... Usage of DRONES...
In CERTAIN War Zones... !!!
Where INNOCENTS DIE...
While They BOMB From The Sky... !!!!

So What About THEM... ?!?
The Military HEADS Who CONTROL The Feds'... ???

In FACT What I Meant Is...
... " SERVE and PROTECT "... !!!

These FEDS' And LAWMEN...
When They DISRESPECT What They REPRESENT... !!!

When They And Their FRIENDS.....
CONTROL Like TYRANTS Who CLAIM To DEFEND...
The Masses From VIOLENCE And SOCIAL UNREST... ?!?

That's NOT How It Seems... !?!
In The World I NOW SEE... !?!?!

From FIFA To PREACHERS...
To... MODERN Day Leaders...

It Seems It's... DECEIVERS...
Wife BEATERS And TEACHERS...
Who Play These DUD NOTES...... !!!
... WHEREVER They GO... !!!!!!!

But THOSE In The KNOW...
Seem To Like Being TOLD...

HOW It Is That They SPEAK... ?!?
In LIFE Or... ON SCREEN...

Which CONTRACT To Sign...
Via SOME Dotted Line... !!!!!!!!!

And To KNOW HOW...
........... It Goes...........

If You... DARE To Be BOLD...
OPPOSE And DEPOSE...
CLONES From The Fold...

of.....

... " Those Who CONTROL ! "...

These gatherings had become somewhat regular,
A short drive for most involved,
Having stayed behind once the mill closed
(There were the odd out-of-state license plates,
Mostly Florida and the Carolinas,
The vehicles' occupants sporting incongruous tans,
And they were treated with a certain reserve,
As if they had breached some faith,
Had broken some covenant)
And they were invariably in the morning,
Leading more than one wag to note
Well, at least we're all on first shift now.
And the talk outside of Wiegert's,
Shambling old funeral home a little more care-worn
With each generation of the family it fell to,
Turned to such things as Butchie's unusual good luck,
How he'd remained more or less unscathed by the mill,
Losing only the tip of a pinkie finger in a roller
(It was said that, back before the dining room
At the Montmorenci House
Had been converted into a tattoo studio,
You always shook hands with the left and right
To ensure a full set of ten fingers in the grip.)
And how he had, even though he was among
The most reticent of men, been a regular
At the retiree luncheons at the diner up in Wilcox
(The timing of such events subject to certain vagaries
As an infrequent February snow storm
Or the less uncommon changes in ownership)
And how he once explained his presence,
And then only when pressed,
By quietly noting Well, I figger my will-be's
To be a solitary thing, and the only folks
I share my used-ta-be's is all of you good people.

Integrity with specialized heat for my ******* husband...
Turn from **** into a something
Adorable. And functioned
Like fall for me with pumpkins
Halloween and turkey luncheons
Stunting like my daddy batwing
Butterfly is coming
Christ is love man...
Why my country man..
Take Trump and hatred over planet wide perfection...
Correction earthly disturbance...
Of emersion into determined lunchkits of love abundance fam
Meant to stay the fist of hunger
Like a mother gift consumption....
From the stomach of another man...