The Night King Ego died...

The time, the place, the setting:

T'is some hour for sleep, prescribed,
For me, the reality of sleep, proscribed.

The strains of Bach's
Orchestral Suite No. 3 in D Major
Haunt.
Richard II's words
Give pause, precision refinement of my cause courant.

“No matter where; of comfort no man speak:
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the ***** of the earth”

Two am in New York, sleep,
As advertised,
Literally, a passing acquaintance,
Doesn't make it to
The side of the bed occupied by
100% of me.
Seems he went
From chimney to chimney
This past Sunday morn.
Not having a chimney,
He flue right over me.

No matter.
Company aplenty,
Ego and moi,
We, had a long talkie.
A bit of a wrestle, a staring contest
In a mirror, we watched ourselves,
In the pitch black
where clarity is perfect,
For nothing else exists,
But ego and me,
To distract us.

“I'll read enough
When I do see the very book indeed
Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself.
Give me that glass and therein will I read.
No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck
So many blows upon this face of mine
And made no deeper wounds?
O flattering glass,
Like to my followers in prosperity
Thou dost beguile me!”

Called my lawyer just now,
ordered her to commence
the divorce papers, serve them ASAP,
I need to rid myself of
My oldest nemesis, my oldest friend,
Mine vanity, my ego.

Let me explain
myself to myself.
You may tag along for the ride.

Writing is more important
than any of the individual
Five senses
That feed this addiction.
Without sound, sight, touch, smell and taste,
I can live quite well,
Thankee.

But ****** boy mind needs to write
Simple survival.
No write, no life.

But ****** bad boy ego is a curse,
A contaminate of each and every
Line, stanza,word and verse.

"Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus
Comes at the last and with a little pin”

At first, for an audience of three
I performed,
Me, myself and I.

But the suckiness creepeth in,
and etches my distorted face,
Salutations and gradations,
demanding confirmation
Of Shakespearen magnification.

Do you like me?
Do you love me?
****** all.

Curse ye King Ego and your vainglorious occupations,
Divorce me, from the sad isle of
Self
Self worth,
Pride, vanity insurance,
The most deadly of the seven
Deadly sins.

Ego desperate in kind responds:

"I live with bread like you, feel want,
Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,
How can you say to me, I am a king?”

Slime and slippery, want is what you feel,
Taste grief, need friends,
Sly devil, you twist thy cunning tongue,
The reverse, your plain meaning!
You need nothing but subjects,
In earnest and forever praise,
Absent them, you mood and whine,
A pretender, a poseur, a drug addict cursed!

Let us purpose to dispose of thy spirit earthly,
Slow starvation too good for you,
Poison, arrows, the hilt of my blade,
The neck, thine bowel,
Let me embrace,
Prefer your steel hot or cold?

If we both must expire, then it be so, for
My honor taken, my life forsaken,
My poetry in disrepute,
Until that day when I write for me alone,
And ally my scripts, in coffin, with me interred.

"My dear, dear Lord,
The purest treasure mortal times afford
Is spotless reputation; that away
Men are but gilded loan or painted clay...
Mine honor is my life; both grow in one;
Take honor from me, and my life is done."

It is seven this crisp April morning. In woods before the rising path reveals the heath, there, no there, just there are the first bluebells. Most still hide their pendulous bells in sheath-like petals. When open into a bell the end flounces, splits, curls back on itself. Then the petals reveal their delicate shades of light-thriven lavender. The stout purposeful stem meanwhile allows a gathering of bells, no, a necklace of bells, bells laced around the neck.
 
I cannot look at this flower without knowing it is the colour that so often graces your purposeful frame, arrayed in the simplest clothes, so often in layered friendly shades; so often falling, loose, quiet, light-enhancing as your blue with grey with green eyes that hold my gaze in pillow-closeness, in that magnification of those intimate moments when one can only whisper.
 
The common bluebell is the first whisper of summer. It is Endymion, of the bower, a 'bower quiet for us and a sleep full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing'. In that mornings’ moment I am John and you *****. May we this vernal evening sit together as the dusk gathers darkness 'and with full happiness. . . trace the story of Endymion. . . the very music of its name gone into my being'.

You will probably always
be savage
as a drop of pond water.

The unnecessary magnification
of this wee orb
always reveals monsters -

animalcules -

relax.

The background
is ****-green.

All of life
flows from

our scumminess.

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.

Fell heal over heads
          in love with a poet,
  he's mostly a rhyme schemer
       likes Poe and his dark Raven,
  in actuality,  I'd fancy him more if
    he were like Pablo Neruda, but I digress
I'm much accurately fashioned after Emily Dickinson
        chasing heaven's June bugs toing and froing,
we'd meet at a perfectly superfluous coffee shop
    he'll be murmuring elegiac pentameter
I'm simply looking to devour precious words,
    we'd argue about abstract destinations,  
            straight forward persuasions and
               premonitions of wayward ink allusions,
some days I want to claw mine own eyes out
               amid all that nonsensical alliteration
  others, I want to rip out embellishments
                   of his black heart's magnification,
he mutters tumult under his breath,
     states he's abundantly sickly tired of all my
         fanatical froufroutant  flourished fantasies,
albeit, we're mild mannered artistes
         of overstatement and simplification
               thus, we continue laying it on thickly
I, with my hyperbolic cuppa tea and honey,
       he's all brass tacks, no nonsense black coffee
ultimately, we reservedly seek gratification,
      envisioning who functionally makes it first
to a finished line of manifestations's publication,
           in eternity's poetic intentions and beyond

Hills, brown rustic reds
skies pile colored layers on
Rattlesnake vertebrae bones
scent of creosote
high desert home

Lover, painter
wild poppies - orange paper
petals, sepal magnification
watercolor, oil painted
gradations

Abiquiu home,
desert ghosts, coyotes
wildflower gardens grown
to pick, to paint perfection
a flower
alone

the corner of my fetal
mind paste
what about the skin of demons
the shadow that turns away
a slow placid individual
hollow from everywhere the caution of snow-wheels
cling to manifest
the picture burning inside an apartment for rent
outside walls carried memory of days
eyes and bones demand face
what if nobody’s here
the idea  
myself as sunshine with so much to offer easier
what is the difference
the sentence that defines
unbelief the chain
breaks I wish
dilate the never-belief
wondering effect paste my ***** on your voice
an animal feel i cannot deal with your sense
an unborn skull
the wallowing feet under cypress
skies of fleece and miniature dogmas
slices of fragments red purple green crows sound
the deep drum beat i accept
where i fall
a flashing voice collapsing towards the inside
throwing punishment the idea that i am foliage
corresponding thought process that machines never
agree
pale doledrum insomnia my hands
the lines of another car
the breath of being manipulated
killing instant
the shoehorn a new salt visiting magnolia
a knee high minute falling upside
my carpe diem **** fist theory
and all day i plead for the corrosion to move within you
the system eating itself into oblivion
i announce it when ears are in rooted to the floor  
i had a dream of a jesus picture on a fanbelt  
curved ***** **** on the outside  
apocalypse on my lips
fumes down on the floor
a few hours’ days
gone
i am stripped
speechless walking home
for me
can this be your silence pregnant with strange
looseness in its belly
stars fragile your arms
pins forced into throat calming
touch faking the ***** sounds of avocado
thursday lust
driven into soiled ground
crumbling face in another room they lay your hands on
me
a fragrance of wings missing
an unexplained
dense and unchanged
kind of melting from you
i give in
the shoulder manufactures what is real to the sound
life is liveable
nothing accepted when offered
the thought process of engines
an angry naked shout
the underbelly of hanging
to what i show you
baking soda explosives
cake walk fixations on the vaginas of modern andromeda
i hope to never be lost with your sanctuary
dog sized emotions
a world punching out its timecard from the slot
a season for betrayals
the mantra of your dreams
dead enough to explain myself
a sunken cheek caring for the sun
a sweet lullaby placing of hand
the round syndrome between the
****** thighs
the strings attached are anything but labeled
upstairs is another passenger
first name last name
instead
mute all that is here
ashes
unnecessary you
the collective harm of all those images which if excluded contain
the replacement address of my kidney being
molested
or is it the usage of hiding
anything
dove’s postage junk mail
what you’ve seen before
the cost of being asked two days late
my fluorescent teeth the talk of spit blood
and ****
magnification of insects
the body moves
fondled colors blend
a ******
the ****** the cortex of beethoven
no answer yet  
on the verge of letting
go
wall of trees
a crowd of tongues the simple denial of light
my envelope seed
in cornucopia grinding
teeth machine a pullover switchblade
wake up from me
given the distant sun wrapped in
****** on clothes my miracle
tomorrow
  your fingers in me contemplating the ounces
of an inch thick sore
calmly anything in surrounding
distortion a weight of idle hands
needles
the acid belly
fortress within
your tourniquet
the victim of my believing in you
silent dead motionless
butterflies cradle the eyes
in the slit of dawn’s early malice
complacent and mind full
the choke hold is apparent in you
i wanted it
heart and throat convulsions the situation derives in itself
the wondering thought
your sickness dives among our ***** oiled mouths
spread like a homeless saint
save your self from the outside of me
as i look up you dissolve
the undeniable number of times
i spent inside you
it beats on
one short felt breath
my time is gone
everything’s alright
on my back
seeing unreal reasons for wanting
a crawling thought a
slip off the hand
grinding small animals the
door opens still life asphyxiation
the roundness of my echo
inside this explosion I ask for
blind allegiance to your *****
the simple duration of lust and gasping
acquaintances I have had
but all in tiny dreams that
eat away at my intestines
and rows or birds wait for their turn at me
for empty boxes cold whispers
and dead words
are what is left

Driving down the road
I experienced the glow
Of daytime's luxurious light
That was until it became night

Now that night has happened
A light follows me from the darkness
It pervades my rear view mirror
It's blinding magnitude magnifies upon reflection
The light intimidates me

Like the time
I didn't know what to say
And you had nothing to say
So we went our separate ways

Traveling alone
The light seems brighter
It's constant peering presence disturbs me
I feel this condemning nightlight is my jury

Like the time
The ****** I injected landed me in jail
I used it to sedate the voice that I failed
When you saw my love and bailed because I'm male

I drive lonely and high
There's an exasperated sigh
When the lights gets closer
I feel it may bring closure

Like the time
You entered my vehicle
To protect me from the light
I confused your compassion for love
I felt so stupid
When foolish fits me like a glove
I feel so putrid
The odds of someone being gay are slim
So why when my hopes are dashed
Must I crumble into idiotic ash?

My eyes grow larger
As death's sights grow smaller
And death's light grows taller
My mistakes create magnification
And I begin to drive erratically
When you are my love's activation
I continue to die sporadically

A shadow holds me in his grip and seeks the bones that he must find. The grazes of ghostly fingers on myself remind me of my ending youth and the ticking time that is left.

I’ve disappeared into the morning fog as the people I love have begun to stare straight through me They strain to look at me although I vanish upon them catching a small glimpse- I am acid to the cornea causing burning blindness and hatred.

These bones are brittle and the wind has picked up, the sky is darkening as if to rain and the rainbow day is done. However, the rainbow days were spent as a child whisked to the side to be plucked like a fruit all of the brightness and sweets taken, leaving me dull, laughter drops from me like a stone.

I attempt to concentrate on the slivers of light peering through the bars of my own psychological prison cell, but such magnification did not set my heart on afire.

Rain droplets ******* skin, unraveling at the ripples as 3 lightning bolts fork through the houses, 7 claps of thunder, 12 bursts of laughter in the house next door and a thousand tears rolling down my cheeks. I suddenly realize that my head was severed from my body days ago while lying sleepless on the worn couch.

Each season the garden dies, i die with each, until i die no more- although his death and mine were not the same, we still rot underneath the dirt in worms and earth as the city streets blacken and decompose.

The tears cling to the sleeve of my jacket mucus separating with a sticky pull and the dolls and smiles of my life are gone replaced by the headache and the row of cuts on my thighs.

Told me the company you hang around together with and even I'll try to tell you all about those feelings. Sounds very unlikely? Appeal to celine bags. You observe, we sometimes accept the emotions, doings and then attitudes of such we tend to meet up with. For example, for example you now have the pal and / or colleague that's invariably filing a complaint. She actually is talks unfavorable approximately her own figure, the job, their family relationships plus her lifetime. This girl anticipates spending time with you because the device grants the girl to be able to port to get relief. And once she has by using, she likes to lightweight, freer and capable to take your ex moment. Your sweetheart really likes talking to most people for the reason that you're very good show goers Hermes Outlet, providing him / her to get read and also valued. That work well to be but just how sometimes you may feel? You truly feel exhausted, deflated plus uninspired. Despite the fact that any intention was to turn into a close family friend, while you started to be included with your in your own colleagues negative opinions, you are produced all the way down together. At this point on the other hand, for instance you will have intentions to visit a colleague who might be jovial, zealous and embraces everyday life by way of keenness and even zeal. Simply pondering the companion offers a grin with your ****** area once you find out you'll certainly be enjoying yourselves not to mention taking part in one another's company. When your energy and time together with each other, that you are thinking about your other afternoon. You should record every single minute and watch all of the magnificence which may be you live with. Your acquaintance might not have by design got down to alter your wondering however the good process and even disposition had been transmittable. In which individual is better for your health? Research has revealed which optimistic thinkers have got a 55% decrease danger of demise from all results in together with 23% smaller probability of passing with heart inability. This is simply not to speak about the fact that the more positive man or women doesn't practical experience just about anything disagreeable. The truth is, the confident, upbeat personal perhaps have seasoned much more sad cases when compared to the poor, negative personal. The result of these kind of experiences however departs all of the impressive thinker with a higher respect, opinion together with perception of enjoyment. They are really glad for the purpose individuals look at while having because they could quite possibly have an item not as much fulfilling to be able to it all together with. Once they encounter a stressful problem, they are for tactics to elevate it opposed to letting it use them all. Where a difficulty rears its ugly head, they do business with being a way to consider the correct alternative, other than house and even magnification most of it is removed bad Cheap Hermes. The actual bad guy will work substantially specially. They be expecting damaging effects and while it happens, a couple of seconds verifies just what on many occasions they'd in actual fact projected. They are surely handy evaluating, gossiping and also criticizing because inserting some others affordable provides them with some relief using their company discomfort. This bad man or woman handles the role regarding "victim" in the software the girl with penned pertaining to themselves. She feels other artists lead to your girlfriend "lot found in life" and often works by using this as reason to settle wherever the woman with. Around everyone is often a wide variety for thoughts.

An excellent optimist won't just experience satisfaction and then the pessimist doesn't only adventure lack of enthusiasm. It is merely the fact that the optimist wants one can anticipate happiness, success as well as entertainment also, that maybe what they can acquire. That pessimist prefers to make sure you replay negativeness which usually give you unfavorable success. That's a determination. We elect how you like to believe that, truly feel along with function. While aren't turn out to be taught to assume and also start up a certain way, as we do not like the outcomes it will be our own decision to shift. That's for what reason any time were working hard in the direction of adjusting the way you presume, really feel and also start up, you should be thoughtful in regards to the families that you are spending your effort by means of. Try to look for like-minded people that help and support, stimulate and encourage an individual. Restriction your time with normal folks who exactly drain pipe Hermes Bags, ticked-off as well as frustrate everyone. Heres your existence. You are the motorist of one's car with respect to happiness, bigger motive and even peace.

Even when there could be a large number of detours, you possess the chance maneuver yourself on what ever path you prefer to set off. Should you want to feel good, guide yourself toward having a positive perspective and allow your partnerships help support the bring about. Before you choose negativity, distress prefers organization and you will find lots of people comfortable an individual inside their adverse organization. Much more simple an outing and we will not journey only. Who're one getting in your experience?
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the internet wasn't originally intended as the playground for the young, who have no reason to convince themselves of a need to either dogmatise proper spelling, or proper diacritical-punctuation... hálo humpty-dumpty! utter that hark like a dragon!

i have something more volatile than atoms
to construct an atom bomb and
cite Oppenheimer -
i have letters as atoms, words as minor
twitches, and language as Samael:
the death-breathing harvesting resurrector...
  i call the film *a beautiful mind
a perfect case of a beautiful propaganda
machine that backfired...
  if that mathematician who died "tragically"
in car-crash was anything to go by
with having his negation of ease hijacked,
exemplified, magnified to scare the public,
then Gabriel must have been a really sweet
soothsayer in Muhammad's ear...
   because someone with that kind of imagination
to conjure up people should have never
worked for the emerging C.I.A. or F.B.I.:
but Walt ******* Disney... to be sure of it:
Bukowski run parallels with the story:
staying drunk: to keep up with the sober-imaginative
collective: i would have done the same...
can you believe i've passed the 50h mark
on not sleeping under a self-imposed
example of what's barely a scratch of the
siberian gulags?
                   can you imagine that i...
simply had a fetish for it? imagine being awake for
over 50 hours... and having a nearing-****
audacity to not fall asleep for a minute?
can you imagine the military rigour of such
an endeavour?
   must have been self-taught and therefore, very
much indie: selling to the highest bidder.
oh please don't take my literal Monday's worth
of vocabulary truthfulness on it:
i'll play truant on it:
   i don't have people-friendly devices to keep
up with gossip, the rule is:
you can only go mad once,
you can play double jeopardy with madness...
    talk going mad a second time...
        i'll talk about recreating carnage park
in essex... you know what's scary about
that horror movie? it happens at high-noon...
there's nothing eerie about the night...
with the night i think the solace of death
and the never-ending and the never-shifting queue
of names, dates, and the ultra sensitive invocations
of faking epitaphs, i mean, inscribing things
on graves the people who "own" the graves
never had the capacity to say, in the first place.
but you know what scared me about
the film carnage park? the first horror movie
based upon Hitchcock "resurrected" -
but it was never about it... there's no close-proximity,
you actually see the culprits face...
   the idea being: humanising the man executing
moral justification by tugging the guillotine
or pushing the switch on the electric chair...
it's all about moral ambiguity,
hence the horror is all about daylight,
daylight representing the quasi-assurance of your
own judgement: and could you do the justice
by bypassing all jurisprudence paperwork?
  daylight is important in this movie...
                 nothing is hidden, nothing is romantic,
because the man in question is a ******,
he's not a torturer... the invocation of agoraphobia
is seminal! no... subliminal! Greeks invented little
fears and allowed them to be wedded for magnification
given that theatre is extinct... little phobias
create big budget exploits...
   but this is a first of exploiting agoraphobia...
       and agoraphobia could only be exploited in
high-noon... when i think of night these days
i think of the j. r. r. tolkien romance novels of
what man once had... adventure...
these days? plain talk? tourism.
                            i never could think it could be done:
but apparently is has been done...
           the ever distant voyeurism is also gone...
how can anyone be voyeuristic in an agoraphobic space?
   you're basically knitting and deforming
a large space into a pixel... there's no sadism either,
no loch ness barrage of torture methods,
only what man employes to capture animals...
   it's militarism: solo...
        the true essence of a renegade:
   antidote to indoctrination...
             exemplified by the fact that no matter what
mask you give the horror, the mundaneness of it
doesn't go away: because it's not hidden,
  the placebo horror scenario -
          we fake hiding from it... horror these days
is medicinised by fantasy... which is the abhorrent
quality of our times: over-assurance...
    our times are too self-servient, too self-assured...
too comfortable... we're championing
arrogance, calling our predecessors incompetent
*******... oil on the flames? maybe...
                       we prefer to imagine dragons than
see actual dragons among us...
                       that's why we seem to begin with
congratulating dinosaurs into having begun
   as abstract spines that the serpents of our times are...
us? to our inheritors? brains in pickle jars.
we have already started the process of pickling ourselves
by extracting as much as we could from our being
and encoding it into artificiality...
        anyone with a global invasion tactic can easily
tap into this "economy"... it's not an encyclopedia...
it's an economised unitary model readied for
exploitation for invasion...
       do i share the film's culprit paranoia?
well... i share his defence of environmental study...
but having provided the most adequate striking-point
             with the utmost drama of cyber-warfare debate
and all counters against ourselves...
            would i choose this maniac over a wall st. yuppy?
          what's that... vomito ***** vs. huey & the news?
if only i was paranoid after having watched this
movie... i'd see it spread akin to the bubonic plague...
but it's apathy that's the bubonic plague:
since it's the most effective safety-mechanism virus...
you get that docile look and try to suddenly say huh?
with surprise, but you get a choking sensation
as if you just swallowed a hazelnut.
      people get these fantasies about other evolutionary
lifeforms... it's not ******* c.i.a. crap about
      everyone working for them being called mr. &
mrs. smith... just so they can dodge bullets
   and buy milk at their local supermarket...
                      without being asked for autographs and
selfies... and have you ever seen a film critique engaging
with a character that says very little, and then
hysterically laugh, with a sense of music akin to
playing front 242's album 06:21:03:11 up evil?
      the true test of horror is music... the visuals can
be Marquis de Sade in Disneyland... and no number
of groans will do it... if the music has
         transylvania's chant of the chastity of anti-sodomites
written all over it... you're in for a knee-jerker...
the diabolical thing about this film is that it
has the double-effect whether it's watched at night
or during the day... the first horror movie that
doesn't invoke close contact between predator and
the prey, along with not even making the night
as something orthodoxically necessary to craft
                                      horror thematism.
well... plus it's a testament to existentialism
in the case of the hostage being "unrightfully"
attested in a crime... the existentialist would
simply conjure up: possible bait / excuse and
unwillful thinking necessary for his own
             victimised self-reflecting-counter-via
the reflex-of-against-self-discriminatory-collective-input...
radical­ised into a reflex puritanism:
   abiding by cohort norms was not enough
                for the cohort minimum:
                    pyramidal elevation was necessary,
               and there was no human explanation
beyond certain matters, all else was justified
in the three digressions: diabolical, angelic or genius:
the madness only came when one claimed to
hear instructions from the devil, or from god,
                        or claimed to be a geniusº.
  disregarding the two fabrics of a self,
the one prior and the one post collective-input
    regarding a doctrine needing a "self", an "individual",
nevertheless: but a pawn.

      ºthere's no articulation of god, which is why
we have no article ascribing a definite or an indefinite
nature toward him, which is why paupers reduce this
argument, debase it to the level of pronouns -
the reason why we cite a genius and the devil...
is because only angels have names...
                              even the fallen ones...
           for they have a misnomer of god, as we have
a misnomer for many a good things.

As she runs through the forest, smitten with excitement, she passes tall pines and even fallen pines, in an effort to find the lover ahead of her.
He walks in a daze, as if stuck in a daydream, rendered useless by the magnification of her beauty and the way he feels with her arms wrap as tightly as she can around him in embrace.
She stops to call his name, never thinking of who, or what, else may come calling instead, for she does not fear the woods, but the thought of never seeing her love again.
He begins to become impatient with not knowing the locality of his precious love, and he begins to quicken his pace in his most confident direction, feeling only with his heart.
She is having indecision in her selection of direction, and doubts her current course, stopping again to ponder the true path she should take....creeping thoughts of the forest come after unfamiliar noises arose.
He is in full sprint, looking franticly in each direction as he runs, yelling her name with each possible breath he can spare, sure to find her quickly reserving no vigor for potential encounters.
She is starting to despair with the thought of being lost and never finding her prince, she cries such tears, that she creates a stream with the tears for her lost love.
He begins to tire and feels distraught over the whereabouts of his love, he know she is alone in the forest, and in his anguish stumbles upon a stream, he splashes the warm water on his face washing away grief.
As night falls, she begins to realize that she may never find her love, and she cries harder, until her tears and herself...become the stream in her bereavement
As shade covers all, he sees her in his heart, but fears he will never see her again, and to avoid cold he finds refuge in the pools of the warm stream....becoming a tree in his sorrow.
Ages pass...a young boy sits at the base of a very large tree and watches the stream of the warmest water disappear into the tree...living together forever...one is the purpose...the other the life.
The tree cannot be without the water......but the water is not needed without the tree...

We need more patience
Excitement
An array of food eludes
Prelude to a kiss
At his glance
Strawberry of love
essence

Earthly food cleanser
rinse
Better planning
The host appetizers
Little bites big mouths
Love commanding
Kiss worth
Still crying at birth
Food date
masquerading__

So much posting
postprandial
She is cordial
somnolence.

Your best foods in
France

Love and marriage petit four

The finest ingredients
La pour

Marriage to be obedient

"Patience is a Virtue"

Like a Professor of food,
it's so deliciously

She's the artist melts
and blends
artsy fruity deviant

"Painting the Marriage"
what colors
would you use?

Everything alive
The fruit stays fresh
Changes after awhile
Like your marble tile
The fruit that once was
Big teeth smile
Now got slightly
bruised
and you threw it

Kinda shabby chic used
A love sometimes
not to digest
So spoiled like a pest

A + love so valent.

Like a science within us,
food so good
is desirable
Woodsy Robin Hood

Rich man poor man
Marriages hit the fan
But food talent.
So Lucent
With delicate style
of patience
Our Galley Kitchen Spices

He's like the tycoon of
the magnet

Your eyes sleepy
"Racoon"

Like a magnification of love

He's the Baron with the
richest herd

of sheep's

Your digestion tryptophan

Roses all over the quilts
"I love you"

Being a sweet potato
your marriage

Gold ticket of casserole's
winner lotto

Food significant
deep thought

like the movie role
you're finished

Science the anatomy
perished

The apples of
cider spiced
chilled

More advice
"Applique"
how it's written

is it true?
Or mystique with
magnification

Hot food steams
like a furnace,
different

flavors of taste
The smells come
Strong with intensity

What marriages like
demolition of guilty
breakdown
Breakdown of food less fat
and the right calories

Art shows vibrant galleries
She is cooking up a storm
In her Galley
There she is racing
Mrs.Mustang Sally
Accountant of food
Mr. Tally or Dr. Love
Dr. Who competition
Who knew

Antique art Risque
So divine
things hold low down

He's looking up traffic
moves with shapes
Graphic
The pears divine
Apple pink lady tree
It groves like a
Honeybee how it
(Stings) with mystery
The history of historical cars
Bentleys don't break
my Brooklyn bridges
Variety page of
food mixed
with
Clarrisa & Chutney

But the stars just stay so
Movie Robert Downey
"City of Soho"
**-Oh! No

Marriages come and Divorce's
that once were

Those frequent traveler
to "Rome"
once bare he sees me
there

You breathe out to take another
breath help me

Who is out there to listen

We need to light up
Eiffel Tower to glisten

All you see are new
births to
have and to hold

Everything feels out
of touch but the food is hot

But it's like the time of
depression shot

You keep shredding
more tears still

eating jolly the fine bites
of "Holly"
Jolly Mustang Sally
Parrot Miss Polly
Marriages of food diary
Zen of Topiary
Love to be kissed
with food for thought
Nothing more than love
Cook workout to be sought

Those abdominal crunches
no belly

Apple sparling Sipp
Organic

More marriages built
with love gigantic
Ships for lovers
Titanic

Love became an
assignment

Your quite the product
so regimented

An exotic smell
women's scent
The sense of
Realism present
The soul our heart
Prism
Another soul takes over
Food of empowerment
to address in the kingdom
Wat too much food wasted
And the war goes on with
terrorism
Our futurism
More food and strength
to build this world
Again at birth

Radiating and sparkling food will always be
Energy ;ike no other striking

the wilds - my eyes focus on a fragmented figment a magnificent magnification of my dreams, it’s enigmatic, electrifying, enchanting - bogged in a dismal murky muck of lost hope, worn splendor, a broken down, lonely deserted caboose waiting for a jolt, i watch my happiness, & my fulfillment steam away as i grow rusty and dilapidated - forgotten about - but as this fragmented figment magnifies magnificently, i feel the warmth, melting my heart of rusted metal, and loosening the hinges on the doors, as the figment enters the doors, i feel fear and terror, but blissfulness and amorous, i will be rebuilt again, and you’re the one, rebuilding my heart, my soul, and this dilapidated metal frame. Shape me and break the smoldering mold for me to be yours, so i am just that, yours.

Writ and posted here,  one year ago today, and one ego later, progress made...




The time, the place, the setting:

T'is some hour for sleep, prescribed,
For me, the reality of sleep, proscribed.

The strains of Bach's
Orchestral Suite No. 3 in D Major
Haunt.
Richard II's words
Give pause, precision refinement of my cause courant.

“No matter where; of comfort no man speak:
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the ***** of the earth”

Two am in New York, sleep,
As advertised,
Literally, a passing acquaintance,
Doesn't make it to
The side of the bed occupied by
100% of me.
Seems he went
From chimney to chimney
This past Sunday morn.
Not having a chimney,
He flue right over me.

No matter.
Company aplenty,
Ego and moi,
We, had a long talkie.
A bit of a wrestle, a staring contest
In a mirror, we watched ourselves,
In the pitch black
where clarity is perfect,
For nothing else exists,
But ego and me,
To distract us.

“I'll read enough
When I do see the very book indeed
Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself.
Give me that glass and therein will I read.
No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck
So many blows upon this face of mine
And made no deeper wounds?
O flattering glass,
Like to my followers in prosperity
Thou dost beguile me!”

Called my lawyer just now,
ordered her to commence
the divorce papers, serve them ASAP,
I need to rid myself of
My oldest nemesis, my oldest friend,
Mine vanity, my ego.

Let me explain
myself to myself.
You may tag along for the ride.

Writing is more important
than any of the individual
Five senses
That feed this addiction.
Without sound, sight, touch, smell and taste,
I can live quite well,
Thankee.

But ****** boy mind needs to write
Simple survival.
No write, no life.

But ****** bad boy ego is a curse,
A contaminate of each and every
Line, stanza,word and verse.

"Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus
Comes at the last and with a little pin”

At first, for an audience of three
I performed,
Me, myself and I.

But the suckiness creepeth in,
and etches my distorted face,
Salutations and gradations,
demanding confirmation
Of Shakespearen magnification.

Do you like me?
Do you love me?
****** all.

Curse ye King Ego and your vainglorious occupations,
Divorce me, from the sad isle of
Self
Self worth,
Pride, vanity insurance,
The most deadly of the seven
Deadly sins.

Ego desperate in kind responds:

"I live with bread like you, feel want,
Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,
How can you say to me, I am a king?”

Slime and slippery, want is what you feel,
Taste grief, need friends,
Sly devil, you twist thy cunning tongue,
The reverse, your plain meaning!
You need nothing but subjects,
In earnest and forever praise,
Absent them, you mood and whine,
A pretender, a poseur, a drug addict cursed!

Let us purpose to dispose of thy spirit earthly,
Slow starvation too good for you,
Poison, arrows, the hilt of my blade,
The neck, thine bowel,
Let me embrace,
Prefer your steel hot or cold?

If we both must expire, then it be so, for
My honor taken, my life forsaken,
My poetry in disrepute,
Until that day when I write for me alone,
And ally my scripts, in coffin, with me interred.

*"My dear, dear Lord,
The purest treasure mortal times afford
Is spotless reputation; that away
Men are but gilded loan or painted clay...
Mine honor is my life; both grow in one;
Take honor from me, and my life is done."

Adorned!
Adorned in scarlet,
Love as she bleeds,
A heart torn out still beating,
Bathed in claret,
Drenched in tears,
Silent, cowering in vacant corners of abysmal dismay, in total disarray of obsolete dreams,

Tears flow as torrential rain,
Spirit vacates words, as lies corrupt and die,
Doomed to wait in misery while eternity waits impatiently,
Cloven hooves etch on worn ,
Welcome unto desolation in degenerate spirit form,
Burning as lightening catches me, electrifying fingertips,
Kissing in magnification,as spirit charged in justification,
Live to love another day,from whence pain came and went astray!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

I've been using my computer's HDMI chord to connect to a T.V. in order to game, but I've never written poetry on it.

The magnification of the words and the fluidity of the transfer from keyboard to screen is magnificent.

It's giving a kind of otherworldly, surreal feeling to the pieces I'm creating.

Our ancient lineage contains folds encapsulating hidden wisdom
unfurling at the weathered edges.  
Curling inwards in attempt to direct us to the origin.  
Source.  
Deposits of insight lie within our bloodline,
spiraling beside genetic codes we have carried through lifetimes.  
The quickening has arrived,
through comprehension acceleration and universal language of Love translations.  
Verdant roots nourishing, allowing spiritual nutrients to enhance our brilliance.  
We are
Telluric creatures:Natural teachers
essential to the transfusion of energy between the moon and the sun
We are
the ones, responsible for our is-ness magnification
outgrow foundations we have constructed to keep ourselves from seeing past this self inflicted ceiling.  
It has withheld us from feeling anything beyond this consumeristic dogma implanted in our society,
force feeding us its enigmatic conditioning.  
Detach pre-determined thinking to allow this ever-flowing journey of contemplating mysteries,
abolishing worries of fear in the becoming.  
It takes courage to assert ones self beyond what we have been taught,  
to unlearn ready made thought and rewrite our own scriptures.
Our ligaments are sacred scrolls awaiting our blessing, allowing them to unfold  
leaving lacuna spaces for existence to experience traces of our essence.  
Children of mother earth in collaboration with father time,
the genesis of this breath has appointed us as divine,
intertwined into a perfected geometric composition, we are creation curators of this generation
woven into synthesis,
mastered with our gift of presence,
god-head recollection.

the city of lost gold
some settler found it
iron in a bouquet

suffrage wants no magnification

did we separate them long enough

lust and la la la love

they make an iffy couple

let alone combo

nitro

glycerine

cheap

risk

   and pink cement


babe dont mean anything
different
               to me

here i am with envy
     I'm cheap cigars
youreover there
sta sta staring again
at me- throwing questions
            with grins

no i dont want a negation

british accents or something

                weak

i just want to talk
and keep our services out of the back
youre just my customer now
in this 5
            Man
                Town
I want nothing more than to take

     both of the kids and leave

due to my internal magnification
process
you terrify me
your level of actual terrifying-ness
notwithstanding
i withdraw
on sight of you
and am already
searching
for a way out
before you
look at me
and say
hello

neither my brain
or your brain
get this right

you think
what's wrong
maybe
is it me

i think
i cannot think
nor count on speech
near term

body bails
brain out
back peddling
to safety

When the day is a flickering bulb .. Doldrum afternoons , uninvited hindsight
The enemy continuously cruises by in different vehicles
Telephones are coiled serpents , televisions-
attempt to monitor my every move
My dark , hidden existence ..Tenth power magnification
Eating raisins , hoping for rain to justify-
my lack of worldly participation
Reading Melville and Grotius with waning passion
Secretly bored with silly public games

it’s a dare. i used to walk alone in central london.
daffodils bloomed in early spring;
a celebration of greenery and my desire for a neon bulb in a heather grey landscape.

strange,

there is a chance I’m lying

i have yet to recover my woolen heart
so desperate to seek city werewolves
and drink lemonade even if it’s always raining

i trade this taciturn muscle
for a drum that is manual, complete, and is alive
at every rockabilly show
(the singers say they’re from glasgow)
where my hips are pressed into my girlfriend’s
who drinks candied snow

and it’s strange,

how the sweat never leaves my brow
it lingers like the scent of potpourri
scattered on linoleum floors of generic bathrooms
with fuzzy toilet seats and powder pink tiles,

i am the one who never leaves
because i feel
all things that I shouldn’t feel;
a magnification of contagious sentiments
i am the last of my kind

i am a daffodil;
i lie, but only in my own reflection
and if spring time is patient, i shall float on the central city,
sighing and gasping at the other neon bulbs
that bloom before me,

strange

Snowday, too, on top of the Monday Fed Holiday.

Nations are minds made up. Agreements, elders made
with all they made believe.

Let's pretend, after seven decades, we are children,
let us spout off about absolutes and insoluble angst,

natural, in unconstitutional retyings of the national
spirit,
we
the
people most exceptionalistly educated and ---

Confuse, confuse muse and music?
Magnification and magic, majesty and jest, me?

My first thought on waking, or reaction acknowledging,
science, if any thing is sharp, it was made to become so.

Crystal vision, any reader in this medium has,
an attainment,
merit worn
by knowing
words hold
thoughts and thoughts occur in superstringy gnosisnot.

To whom one is loved,
To be loved delivers
In return
A natural state of what
It means to be human.
And all along the river
As the waters whisper moments
In a running stream
That makes what bearable
Pre existing emptied
Soul poured into the flesh
And left to settle into the dust
What one can manage,
Only the love returned fills
The soul,
And family, friends ,
And lovers begin the end
In a flash so bright
It blinds a star
And what is born is life,
Each a tiny universe unto
The self,
A portrait of a person
For better or otherwise
Solidifies the magnification,
Love is Spirit,
And I am magnificent,
Because I know I will
Die of life,
And I lived,
All that one can do....

I can reminisce about hearing the quote, "Some infinities are bigger than other infinities." Now in the present day I'm more near to the understanding. In this certain moment my mind is cluttered with a certain category of infinities. ***, relationships, appearance, conversation, dating, personalization, and self-esteem. This experience of profanity has my attention in a bind. Or would be call this profanity? I haven't the slightest idea. I have this attraction, I have this intense desire. And I have a particular longing and needing. But my emotions are always different; never the same. At a point, my desire for sexuality has never been higher. And at a different point, it could never go lower. He revealed to me his entire being, which to me was never intended. We live in a world of confusion. The land of the unknown. We fear what we do not know. Do we know anything about this? Do we know what the other is thinking? Or what they mean? Or their intentions, actions, or thoughts? I believe against that. We will never know. Only once in the greatest while do we put someone else into prospective. WE care only for ourselves and what we want. No is starting to mean yes. *** is starting to mean marriage. Relationships are starting to mean appearance, or self-esteem. Conversations is starting to mean personalization. Ideas are different. Opinions are different. Goals are different. And in the end, minds and lives are never to be in comparison. Respect is coming out to have no connection whatsoever to responsibility. Changes are dramatic. Society is the evilest of all evil. Minds are tuned, and so are stomachs. This world has to so greatly. Differentiation is something some wish to be a necessity. Real generalizations, and to practice realism without assumptions would be the greatest glory. These thoughts are probably irrelevant to the most abstract minds. Minimization and magnification are used repeatedly; maybe even without recognition. What shall I do to speak my mind without judgement; and be the change I wish to see? To see a different way of seeing. To display examples of the contrast in minds. I have an answer to this, "What shall I do," question. It would be to learn that some infinities are bigger than other infinities.

Ink
Is
But
A
Magnification of though in true form.

O eternal father,
I lift my weary eyes to you, for you are the sustainer of my soul.
I come before you with the dirt of the ground permeating my clothes,
Yet you love me.
You accept me as one of your own
And allow me to approach the throne
Of you, my father.
It is truly an act of grace
For me, the worst of sinners, to enter this place.
The Holy of Holy's, where priests would get struck down
And their bodies pulled out by a rope,
And I am able to sit here and revel in your presence.
If eternity is a magnification of this
Then I can't comprehend how my soul will contain the joy
Of sitting with you as a child with his father
Listening to his booming voice
As we grow up we see our fathers as superheroes
Which is an understatement for you
You first allowed us to rebel
And then sacrificed part of yourself
To right our wrong
How could I ever deserve this.
How could I, the lowliest of creation
Deserve a relationship
With you, almighty God
I pray
That I will never allow this salvation to waste
In the grave
For you are the resurrection
I am so susceptible to the strikes of man
And would turn a blind eye to the glory I know
For the chase of the vain lust of the world
Lord, slay this part of me
As you laid your son on that cross in my stead
Don't allow me to go a day without reminding me of the sacrifice that was made
To pay
The debt that I made
In my rebellion to you
I worship you, the great I Am,
For in you I find the provider of my soul.