Barbiturate is one of the few drugs capable of killing you painlessly, so of course the state has banned it. Instead we get paracetamol, a ****** over-the-counter painkiller that leaves you in pain for up to five days while your liver and kidneys shut down. Suicide prevention is a ******* joke. Secular appropriations of Christian values that assume life is worthwhile, whether you desire it or not. It’s long been known that rates of suicide rose dramatically with the birth of modernity—techno-scientific paradise for the middle-class which stresses efficiency over existence. New forms of automation, the human body disciplined into repetitious acts, the partitioning of workspaces so that no single worker could operate the whole—so that any worker could be fired and replaced with the minimum amount of training necessary for capital to continue circulating. The body is individualised, scrutinised, and punished by rich kids playing panopticon, so that any mass agitation is coerced into silence through the threat of destitution.

Slitting your wrists barely succeeds and more likely than not leaves you with tendon and muscle damage. Catalytic converters in cars now convert carbon monoxide into harmless CO2 and H2O. Drowning is one of the most painful ways to die. You cannot escape. The state places helpline numbers around suicide spots to treat life after the fact, rather than at the source of suffering. Vocal band-aids, ****** ******* aphorisms that seek to revert you back into a happy state-serving commodity. Things will get better. Life is worth living. Think positive. Alienation is omnipresent. Neoliberal discourse requires you to be subservient to the greater system of capital and the easiest way towards this is the instilment of comfort, of pleasant nullity, the circumscription of emotional capacity and reflectivity. Suicidal thoughts are abnormal, because life is worth living. Eat your packaged food item and watch Netflix.

For a drop into water to be fatal, it has to be 250 feet. Try to aim for your head to maximise brain injury. The most prominent suicide spot around here has a drop of 100 feet. They cordoned it off anyway. Your life doesn’t belong to you. The first time I tried to suicide my mother asked ‘why would you do that?’ as if it was the dumbest thing in the world. The second time, the doctor looked at me in an exasperated manner and prescribed me lots of drugs. Geettt bettterrrr. Nobody cares about you, they simply want you to return to normal. Normality as in serving your parents, serving your friends, serving the state, and serving the market. Normality as in not questioning social norms and institutions. Normality as in get a stable job (i.e. compete against other workers in an exploitative, undemocratic system that values and inculcates self-serving desires), get married (preferably to someone of the opposite *** who is middle-class and imbibes European culture), get pregnant/get someone pregnant (but only once or twice, because anyone who has more children than that is backwards), invest in housing (those students and lower-class families need to learn how the world works; really, it’s a benefit to take their money), watch sports (to instil national pride in your children; no son, we didn’t colonise the Pacific Islands, keep watching the man with the wooden stick hit *****), eat out every week (preferably exotic restaurants), go see the world (preferably exotic locations, so you can be served by exotic people, take in exotic sights, then leave without considering where any of your money has gone to, whether any of it has reached the slums, whether the beach you lay on is accessible to the people living there, or whether it has been privatised by the tourist firm so that only rich tourists like yourself can lie on it), join a club (those capitalists were innocent, it was the indigenous folk that were making a ruckus over the new golf course; it’s not like we’ve been colonising their land and culture for the past three centuries), donate to charity (but never any charity desiring systemic change; that’s crazy), consume, always consume (keeps the economy going; why question the desire for infinite growth in a world with limited land, resources and markets?), replace your phone every year (those poor workers in Asia need our help), repeat to the point of nausea.

The most successful method to suicide is a shotgun to the head; high calibre, slug rounds. Of course, with all these methods, the chance of failing may leave you disfigured, paralysed, mentally disabled or physically crippled (spinal damage, broken limbs, failed organs), with no guarantee that your family, or even your state, will allow for euthanasia. After all, the popular discourse paints suicide as selfish—an irony, considering liberalism places the self first and society second. It is viewed as sinful regardless of context—deontologically detached from anomie, alienation, material deprivation, social pressures, psychological affectations, any cause or structure. Life is worth living. This ignores that the subject is situated in existence. The subject moves through existence to live. Life, then, is the totality of the subject’s interactions. It cannot be universalised into a single state or judgement that merges all subjectivities into a catch-all worthiness. Worth is dependent of the subject.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe I just want everyone to **** themselves, because the world is ****** and the majority of people are ******* it worse. Most people think being nice makes them good. They turn blind to the systems of oppression they partake in. A while ago my mother was asking if I’d heard about the mass suicides happening at Foxconn, the largest electronics manufacturer in the world. This year she showed me her new iPhone. I don’t ******* understand. I don’t understand how people can be outraged at humanity abuses, yet do ******* nothing to help or change their ways. Yes, market solutions are ******* ****, but these commodities are still coming from somewhere, and while capitalism is in place, our money is still flowing back. I don’t understand how people can be concerned about ecological issues, then pour dishwashing liquid down the sink every night, dissolving the gills, eyes, and organs of fish in rivers and oceans. I don’t understand a ******* thing. I feel physically sick most days. I can barely function outside of university, because engaging with real people, in real systems, just reminds me of how careless, worthless, and disgusting they are. When I first turned vegan, my dad simply said plants are living too. Well no ******* **** dad, why didn’t you ask me my reason for turning vegan, rather than simply repeating the dumb **** everyone else says? If you were stuck on a desert island. Well I’m ******* not. I’m stuck on this **** world filled with nice people who don’t give a **** about anything. I’m stuck every week walking the same roads, to the same university, where I become more and more distanced from reality through abstract philosophical theories that no one else cares about. I’m stuck walking through the supermarket every week, to purchase overpriced commodities produced by transnational corporations I don’t support, but nonetheless have to buy to survive. What alternatives I buy are mocked because it's so funny being ethical in our day and age. Because it’s so much more normal eating pies, and drinking beer, and treating women like objects, and affirming nationalistic sentiments of white supremacy, and making fun of ethnic minorities while they’re incarcerated, and beaten, and killed. All lives matter, the liberal conservatives cry out, while doing ******* nothing to help any cause. I don’t understand this world, and I have no desire to be in it if this is all there is.

Sofia Vergara satisfies her post-work out sweet tooth by sipping on a protein-packed smoothie that tastes like chocolate ice cream.

The Modern Family star, who is famous for her curves, isn't a fan of exercising, so she has found a way to maximise the efficiency of her gym visits.

"I'm the first to admit that I hate wasting time in the gym," the 43-year-old tells People magazine. "I'm not one of those people who spends hours on the treadmill or takes three spin classes a day. When you work out smarter (and of course, eat healthy!), you'll love the way you look and feel, and get the most out of your sweat sessions."

The Colombian beauty has shared her top five tips with the publication to boost motivation, and her first piece of advice is to get caffeinated.

"Sip coffee on the way to the gym," she wrote. "Who doesn't love starting the day with a delicious Colombian roast? Sure, it's tasty, but it has so many benefits, too! It'll wake you up and get you energized for your workout, and it's been proven that drinking coffee (caffeinated, of course) helps your body burn more fat during exercise. Every little bit helps, right?"

Sofia also recommends recruiting a "workout buddy" to help with the exercise inspiration, insisting hitting the gym together also serves as good "bonding time", and she advises her fellow females, "Don't be scared to lift weights".

Sofia goes on to suggest tired treadmill users trade in any machines, which "get boring fast", and try something "creative".

"Dance cardio classes are my current obsession, because there's nothing better than turning up the music and just letting everything go," she explained. "But really, making cardio easier to knock out is more about finding something you really love. Whether it's surfing, biking or jumping on trampolines, do something you enjoy. When you have fun during workouts, it's a lot easier to commit to doing them - and they don't feel like work."

And finally, Sofia reminds readers to "treat yourself afterward".

The actress reveals she always looks forward to her after-gym treat, and although it's chocked full of healthy ingredients, it makes her think she's eating something yummy.

"It's tempting to go eat something that's a little unhealthy as a reward, but instead of undoing all my hard work, I treat myself to a satisfying, healthy snack," she continued. "My go-to post-workout smoothie has chocolate protein powder, almond butter, coconut water and goji berries on top - it tastes like chocolate ice cream, but has none of the guilt!"Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses

Backpack a bed; for a full rainbow in a head, can only be seen while taking a plane.

much of the time Nietzsche was wrong,
in that claiming systematisation in philosophy
is a form of dishonesty,
perhaps, but for people having to wake up
to an alarm clock at 7 a.m. for several years
there's hardly any dishonesty to think about,
no long lost dream...
what bothers me is the supreme (apologies
for the adjective) usage of maxims in
the English speaking world - they're everywhere,
it's almost parallel processing of the maxim
and an advert snail (slogan), Achilles did
indeed lose in Zeno's paradox (fair enough
it was a tortoise and not a snail... but i
did mention slogan)...
English society hardly reads, hence it stresses
maxims, extracted from texts like it stresses
advert slogans... plenty of soul-mates about...
it doesn't read, hence it pressure to pretend it reads
by the process of regurgitation...
but it doesn't regurgitate what's necessary:
a unique interpretation, heretical, it just regurgitates
****, maxims... i find great dishonesty in the maxim,
it's a flimsy truth that attracts no bothersome
experience, observationally speaking... it's true,
but it's hardly experienced... that's the greater dishonesty
Nietzsche claimed paired-against systematisation;
any number of maxims can disorientate a man,
systematisation places him in a cohort,
in that great summer of 1961... re (i.e. repeat)...
in that great summer of 2005... re (  "        "     )...
English society doesn't read because it's saturated by
the virus of advertisement... the iconoclasm of
fonts, the swirly and curly coca cola insignia...
the proof that it doesn't read is the French work ethic...
and the fact that it's too eager to regurgitate maxims...
it's basically stating a philosophical bulimia,
although a bulimia of having eaten an anorexic's
daily allowance of a malteser and a lettuce leaf,
puking out more acidic saliva than the content of
what the oesophagus just constricted down like
a boa into the lake of Hades know as λιμνη ασιδωρ;
grapes of wrath? more like sour grapes, or simply
gooseberries. honest, they don't read, they just
maximise what's intended when it isn't intended,
they have no narrative, and if they do, they narrate
with images like some obscure rekindling of
Egyptology from the Suez clan of those ******* Africans
who built graves so high that it took the Eiffel tower to obscure
them. so no, Nietzsche was wrong about systematisation
being dishonest... what is dishonest is his excessive
maximisation, overly utilising maxims, truths that
very few will experience given the σ paradox
in practical saying: no plumber can or will experience
**** or skydiving, horse riding, **** ***...
i.e. the totality of all possible experiences... hence the
by-product of the σ paradox is the observer,
who utters many truths but experiences only a fraction,
a dividing summation, as in Nietzsche's case,
a descent into madness - σ of course refers to the mathematical
understanding of anti-phonetic encoding: sum of, total.

Awake in the night listening to rain
Well placed ice packs when feeling the strain
Spacing those tents to ensure a safe distance
Getting it right aides coexistence.

Welcoming all with smiles and sweets
Giving assurance with replies on repeat
Directing the lost with maps and good grace
Shifting the freezers to maximise space

Finding the child who wandered from mum
Keeping kids safe while ensuring their fun
Spraying the sinks and mopping with vigour
Trying and failing to pull down that zipper

Queuing for showers at early 5.30
Teens these days don't tolerate *****.
Whenever you need them they'll sort out the flushes
And when the loo blocks they'll get out the brushes.

These are the heroes of New Day each year
Whenever you see them give them a cheer
Enjoy your time with us, have a real blast
We're all here for Jesus - the first and the last.

I'm a man because I take a stance against *******, or modern day slavery
I'm a man because the beast inside is uncaged, my focus not wavering
I'm a man because I see beyond my nose, beyond horizons
The man  in me recognizes the lack of agility, and not the size of a python
So I chose not to fear
But to make sense of situations
And maximise self expression
The distant look in my eyes
I see it too
In Barack's eyes I've seen it too... it's true
I tend to fall off, and slip off the track sometimes
But the Almighty's seen me through the toughest of times
I'm proud to say that I know what my purpose in life is, it's mine
But to get there I've got to keep myself in check... in line
It probably will never be easy, I understand
But...
I owe it to God to remain strong and stay "This Man".

it pains me to say: and it just so happens that the culprit in question was a Muslim... oh hell, i could have all the Malcolm X positivism concerning Islam about how it's the grand ethnic plateau... it pains me to write a near cliche of current affairs... i was open minded enough to emerge from Catholic bureaucracy without being confirmed... apostate that i am... i was open minded and trying to short-circuit the microchip implant of god in my mind... i was ready to do all those things and immerse myself in free secular love society... but after a certain incident at the stated location (https://goo.gl/MKNAWZ) i wasn't given much choice... my heart hardened and i became prone to zeal of throwing **** around - a Zealot without a definite grounding - i wish i could undo everything, but at the suggested U.R.L. is where it all began / after the incident i didn't start a cult, i phoned my ex-girlfriend begging her to come and meet me with bread and water... that's what defying the munchies does to the mind after the terrible has already happened, that damnable coercion of the politics of experience... you see me running around the amazon rain-forest with a bunch of zombies citing fragments of the bible and waiting for their salvation in a suicide pact? you can't be frank these days! you trying to keep calm and continue? what do you think i'm trying to do? fiery-tongued stink up a pulpit?!*

i don't know if i write good, i mean,
i enjoy what i write sometimes -
so i guess it must be bearable rather than good -
along the path i spotted philosophy
books that use really airy words and nothing
concrete in terms of grammatical
classification to shorten argument (but i do
like spaghetti waffling to be honest,
unlearned to read a novel with many characters,
instead learned to adore how philosopher
change between pronouns and not a single
character pops up, true to narration, and
not a single act of distancing and claims of
persona) - i can do with philosophers despising
poets (primarily for not reading their works)
but it has come upon us that poets hate
poets... but you know what? i'd give up
whatever natural ability i have for this form any day,
just so i could get a natural night's sleep,
and go back to manual labour and all my prior
physical strengths like riding a bike -
i'd return to where my soul was - that long
forgotten ease of thought that never cared to
be materialised into a poem - i'd give up every
single poem that i wrote, do a Anna Kavan
treatment to it, burn all the manuscripts,
promise to Franz Kafka that his books build burn...
or like Jack Spicer and Lorca... here's me and Kafka...
Franz?! are you sure? you want me to throw your
outpourings into the flames? you joking or
being half serious? you know, after your kinsmen
left Europe and the Muslims were invited
we've been arguing with tailors and not really
producing anything artistic... it's Sahara at the moment...
rap and viking metal... now the Europeans are
waking up and thinking: maybe the Jews really knew...
you see a face you trust a face - the English
called it Satan's postbox - free-stamps to boot...
seriously Franz? you being serious about your
work or aiming for a prophetic cameo at the
Opernplatz of 1933? on a personal note though:
if i could go back to the time when my brain
was not like an intro of a Marvel comic movies sequence
where evolved dna meshed with existing dna
(in my case blood forming Lichtenberg figures
in my brain, exciting grey matter and the "delusion"
of the grey citizen) i would - i wouldn't drink
to maximise the usefulness of sleeping pills,
i'd fall asleep naturally - i'd be breathing the fresh air
of the rooftops of London, and with good connections
might have ended up as a surveyor on construction
sites, given a degree in Chemistry -
whisk me away from my stupid heart, where i trusted
someone i can't be blamed for, where in a matter
of seconds i came to carry a tattoo of a crucifix -
and then, suddenly, my language exfoliated to
what it is now - i write like i don't care to speak for
such affections - i'm not saving anyone, i'm keeping
myself afloat - the once famous substance of ease
that allowed me to be thoughtless while high on marijuana
is completely in ruins - i can't rebuild the soul -
hence me, a body, and the mechanisation of the soul
that has for me become an entire world -
as some believe in a personal god with their soul intact -
i believe in an impersonal soul with god proven
in some kind of marriage of night and day and dislodged
moving stars - what remains personal is this writing,
and the mortality of my body, never to arise again -
for how can you caress a thought once more rekindled,
if the person who hurt you you played happy birthday
for on a guitar? i'd rather get gas chambered by a ******* ****;
cos if it ain't outright ****** it's physically modifying
to a disable former essentials - not quiet a burden
for the family... but the source of all ******* ridicules that
you almost see punch after punch and the zombie-gangrene
core of western hip-hip-hooray at a cricket match
with diluted Pimm's at 7 quid a glass!

I'm random, I know
But random is something that I appreciate being... and that's why I grow
As I maximise my verbal flow
Without thinking, much more powerful than speaking
This written stuff never fails to show
That I can go... to lengths
No poet has ever gone before
More for the sake of being real to myself, than for show
Different is how I go about it
Hard to concieve just how I would ever be able to flow without it
This 'random'
This thing that I do
As I put forward my thoughts to you
Always true, never overdone
I would emphasize on two true points, before I ever trip over one
Infact, I would never trip over one
Because I don't lack this... thing they call skill
Product of a combination of practice... and ill will
Crazy is what some may call it
Phase me?... No, none may foil it
My plan
Still remains greater than
The majority... words dripping with controversy and personality
On another level, who's talking equality?
I don't overthink
And still express it to the brink
My idea
With no fear
Get it clear
It's real poetry going on right here.

there's no sense in the judgment that we make
concerning all the tricks of the old trade
nor in belief that turns out to be fake
in all those things that are fated to fade
the world is as it is and what must come
is less not more than what we'd thought the sum
of what we earn in simple steady pay
but given to us with little delay
we're far too eager and give in to haste
the infant mind attains its highest sway
so what is human ends up most abased

our duty never got an honest shake
but found its honour hidden in the shade
while we were learning good things by mistake
and wondering why none came by to aid
for our relief we did not earn a crumb
while happy others made off with the plum
meanwhile the foolish urged us just to pray
as if that answer were more than cliché
while our best efforts had to be replaced
and matters finished in another way
so what is human ends up most abased

the truth is clear we could not get a break
from anybody here the whole charade
was guaranteed  to maximise their take
and in the process our spirits abrade
dumping us all down in the meanest slum
because we were so obviously dumb
we were served up upon a silver tray
trapped and devoured to our immense dismay
our skills dismissed and all of us disgraced
moulded and shaped just like the softest clay
so what is human ends up most abased

prince you observe as we suffer this day
ordering whips our tender backs to flay
you think this moment easily erased
yours is the power and the word today
so what is human ends up most abased

Sympathy
Disguised

Lashes
Volume
Maximise

Pencil
Brows  
Pull
Together

Concern

Whilst
Tilting

Under....
Stand.....
Ably.....

From
Side
To side

Sympathy
Is in
Disguise

how they are enjoying themselves!
I want to tell them a haiku
or a senryu or a tanka or something
but no one makes time for minimalism.
(how they must maximise everything!)

writing to a few has become wearisome,
so wearisome i'm about to give up,
and when i do i'll be relieved,
i'll finally enjoy drinking and not talking
rather than my version of slapstick humour
in mime, i.e. doing the excess body language
shaking off phantoms of ghosts enticing
signatures in the frost of car glass.*

carbon monoxide in cigarettes is most
effective after a dinner or a midnight feast.

man, i'm just tired, touch too irksome,
i have 10,618 poems on my facebook page
that no one will read,
i'm about to publish a book, yes papyrus
print on the continent, but
i can't be bothered to feel excited,
i feel like alexander dumas having written
so many novel but only being remembered
for the three musketeers,
and that's how it's supposed to be...
but it's so damnable, i can't believe i'm
to enact a constant here, of myself or some other,
it's can't be so damnably courteously 70 years in
and nothing more,
one might say: one thing to conquer the world
and loose a soul, another to conquer the world
and loose all sense of continuity of furthering
generations of brown-nosing a mozart...
the joker's interpretation of nietzsche:
what doesn't **** you... only makes you stranger...
i have no fighting spirit left in me
to pay honesty to the maxim, as philosophers
are quick to maxim / maximise a non-existent
exemplification, in their spare-time they provide
all eloquence of a stated truth but no example to follow:
i could write you 20 maxims about something,
but none of them would be true had i to write
about it in transit of experience.

A readied man prepares himself for the schedule he can keep
But readied men are not prepared for the undetermined deep
The readied man will hold his page of dates and names and numbers
But those prepared for certain doom uncertainty encumbers

In I ride with fist held high
Burning gleam in either eye
Shouting upward at the sky:
“Burn the syllabi!”

Those ready men with paper sheaves, fledgling spears, and Pilot pens
Will find that with the chaos waves of fractal truth the world bends
And in the bending all exists as nothing more than blank code
So ready then your warships, but you’re tacking down the wrong road

In I ride with standard high
Burning gleam in either eye
Shouting upward at the sky:
“Burn the syllabi!”

The Four Horseman: Complexity, Uncertainty, Recurrence
Trajectory will maximise Lyapunov’s occurrence
Put on your scheduled armour and when you ride that rigid line
Remember that you penned it in and you claimed it would be fine

In We ride with fists held high
Flaming embers in place of eyes
Shouting ‘til the echoes die:
“Burn the syllabi!”

Dreams committed suicide.
Skirts worn on a low aside.
I could write you a song but I'm afraid it sounds like others.
The reflection of a glare that leaves the dark side of life.
For you were told that's the bad side of life.


Whatever you think about
speak about
you create about.
That's your power.
What is it this power.
That I cannot define but simultaneously express and simplify using reduction
setting aside marking the difference with a countless vision and division between a rope tied binding our minds.


They say you a *****.
I'm in love with you.
You a keeper.
A soul that seeks equilibrium with love and self
Isn't that a parallel play ?
A fine wrath with a critical eye
My job is to give you what you want.


My jaw always think about change.
Isn't that a deep failure of human complexity.
Our knowledge is inversely proportional to the truth.
Earth.
Life.
Are you a brain teaser?
You vain.
You raucous.
The system is upon us.
Imaginary is trying to rationalise stupid phrases.
What if you just a phrase.
Is your name insane or sane.
That was rhetorical.
You renounce my emancipation.


History told me who you are.
It told me you a perplexed dogma.
A rapid rotation in a circular form.
You take half the turn, You don't maximise your circumference, double your radius and square your diameter.
Clarity.
Enlarge your area.
You Ying in the Yang.


Your humor is designed to accommodate those who seek knowledge first.
Such a disturbing environment.
Death examines the cost of the land.
Awkward mournings are only recorded in our minds.
I don't need a piece of paper to trust you.
I don't deserve a ride.
I know how and when to trust.


I'd be skeptical.
How many times have you killed and left wounds lazy to heal.
See, with my abilities in life, I'm satisfied because I can't return them.
Unless I alter them.
Life is an act of offering services and products in exchange of capital charge per item.
My life charged me 5 adroit items:
• Independence.
• Brilliance.
• Maturity.
• Progress.
• Cash.
(IBM-PC)
In the end...
You just a set of events.
I define you.
You just a set of words.
Only self defined and irrationally undefined.

lighter, on balance or noise? I imagine
minds must be spirit first. I maximise… diffusion

or do I surmise? I promise, a maxim,
I do not know, but may
I say to my self who has the keys,
and find
qwerty guy, let us pull the thread, I said
- inner self ware SDK-ith {Writ in LISP}
- Soft-ware Deployment Kick-in-the-head
Okeh, says my eye listening to BBC 4,
from everhowlong ago,
Auden and Turing, lauded by geeks
and the per-ifery of no-repro-models, idividuating.

Laughing I hear it said, College Students
believe every thing they read, is known
you belive, for a second
all of this is true, or may, could, be maybe
to all who read things they read right.
- or do they believe the things they read? Critical point.
---------------------------
True story, on the trail to Admah, from Zeboiim,

-later, maybe

Change from good enough,
to best imaginable, actual
heaven ahead of schedule.

Let us literally agree, literally means:
since the 1530s,
"in a literal sense,
according to the exact meaning
of the word or words used,"

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=literally>

According to knowledge,
as my granddaughter, Delaney, has noticed.
Knowledge, itself, per se,
is the ultimate authority. She was seven.

To go into the garden, we must love each other or die.
The Daisy ad, played to boomer voters, reared
in public schools
with current events mandated
tested ala spelling bees, current events champs,
all aspiring Jeopardy champs, after retiring from…

That was the grey flannel mind, reset-
Total War, the 1965 one-off comic,
Musgrove ran away and joined the army.
- scattered brains far better than none
- -----------
I was away in 1968.

And when I returned,
I hid in here,
undermining reality, souldout.
- as conjecture has it I was expected
- to go into the ministry.
- It seems a deal was made,
- for my sister Peggy's unbaptized soul.
- I was sould to the Child Buyer… 1951
------ jump cut-
I escaped the historical 1970's

but for the mind virus common to cults.
--- my world furled tritest tricolor flat real.
TV Ad… in passing 1972… ALERT… no
repair called for, idle threat redeemed
in time, though, you know,
- hell, what if, Jesus is a Sadist?
idle threat, you
better believe, I am
gonna vote for good.
JBS library, and the KJV
Meldau's The Messiah,
in Both Testaments.

Phreak me out. This is that Neal Young trip.
Journey Through the Past,
Handel's Messiah, live from the Alamo Cult.
- we elected our own Mayor.
- So, sit on your bayonet
- Mr. Cahill from Rolling Stone…

and what else might I be
gonna vote for?
You can do anything with bayonets,
it is said, Napoleon said.
better believer, raises the ***,
_ there are two kinds of knowledge
------------ jump cut from the cover
of Rolling Stone. Bet me…
Genesis. Call, I raise you M-DNA.
good and evil, who told you she was naked?
-- is this poker or Go?
I thought it was truth or consequences,
from yes,
-oh, yeh, same…
They let anybody in this spirit realm.
------------- garden of LBJ's inaugural vision
Only evil knowing, no evil doing.
You never forget that.
--- the wedom I was
Divvied up to be.
Eretz
Persona. We ache
at evil's constant threat, gonna
gitchagitchagitcha
rub you raw
itchy ear, you hear,
have you never read,
-- SYTFiction formally,
some things one learns,
there comes a state… as
minds conform to standards.
-Same Yesterday Today Forever,
wake up.
face the music, pass water and cess.
Get the act together,
put the show on the air.
-Radioman remincing
-how he helped Sisyphus try once
more,  to activate the effectual
fervent mode
on purpose, roll on,
a job, from Truth, per said.
-----------
All the gangs I ever was near,
as an eligibility tech,
in the war
on poverty,
during the crack baby scare-
scare that was viral at the time.
-- those grew from wild boys,
corralled in the system,
susceptible to spiritual advisory
boredom
resulting in, yep,
the legendary wasted mind,
-time in mind, time may be deemed.
Used, not wasted…
made idle instead of being made
an idle mind's workshop,
fabricating confabulated reasons
for war, on call, pull the trigger,
ryhmes in y'mind, you know
- whatcheworth, y'little devil?

workshop… an idled mind, kick starts.
-New reality, a first whatifier glimpse.
May, I nod, may is your word in my wedom.

Look around, all these stupid
crack babies we was warning
don't you dare be born,
boy… you'd be better off dead.

-- what are we up to, wh'sgwanon?

We were born with a sense of common,
we know, without the filters emotions use,
we see through the glass at UHD and beyond

on wifi-only cellphones unupgraded years ago,
we are the world-
on the internet from McDonald's,
Persona Eretz,
we who read this line, we are attached
in context at the time, we are aware we are
in formed
ware, words in congress with progress,
pining to say, I think, Jerry Pournelle said:

Pens with motors are more powerful
than swords with motors.

Ai say, Intelligence twisted to defend oaths,
is powerless when opposing basic ethical I
Ai Go, win, causing no shame,
win by least possible point, of course,
through human events,
living history doxology. Sign off,

Three key salute.

Dignity is measured only
By if one has a heart
Which giveth to the meek and lonely
And doth Love's truths impart

Not one of all the prosecutors
Who get the people's prophets
Can act as legitimate interlocutors
For indulging whims of profit

As they - conceited - lying
Maximise only their own gains
I see my kin above them flying
And write them sad refrains

They have a mouth with sharp teeths
When opportunity presents itself
They tear you like a Sea Lion
When they open their mouths
Therefrom comes blessings and curses
You chose what you get
Don't say I didn't warn you

They have intimidating personas
They are soft touch, yet so powerful
They are extra ordinary species
Crafted by the greatest Porter
From the best of clays ever moulded
My best advise to you, by all means is:
Don't cross their path, things can change very fast

If you say they are weaker vessels
Why do they dominate the management airspace?
Countries managed by them scored A+ in Covid management
They are fast gaining economic powers
They just need to understand how to use this power
So as to maximise their potentials

I would rather stoop to conquer
Allign with them to un-learn, learn and re-learn
That I may learn wisdom of the ages
And **** from their breast of knowledge
The milk of wisdom, knowledge and patience

They are enigmas with unpredictable odysseys
Great connoisseurs in matters of rare importance
Yet when she says "I'll show you..."
You are doomed already; seek peace at all cost
But behind their veiled expressions, a heart of gold
When you meet a pantheon of them, they are deities
Seek blessings, espexially as you plant your head "between their betweens"

It is for a reason that David fell for their charm
Samson lost his ministry to a Delilah
Solomon understood this with 700 concubines
If you listen beyond your over-bloated ego
You will understand why we are the head
And they are the neck, that controls the head
Be wise, change your narratives and stop the stereotypes

You look like me.
Jolt to the heart.
Arrogantly (I now see)
I had thought he’d never do as well
again.
And yet, you are beautiful
and seem kind.
It arrowed sorrow through
a gap in my armour.
I’d thought it *****-proof.
His best self again
after abandoning me?
I was great too.
I’ve learned new words though,
and I hope you know them too.
Emotional abandonment,
control, choice, trauma.
I’ve grown beyond them, so so far.
Green leaves, blue sky.
You, kindy teacher -
help keep my kids happy please.
I work hard to maximise the good
for them.
And, good luck with the rest, lady.
Not that I’m saying, but —
I wouldn’t recommend.

Juxtaposition
Does not entertain
*******
But
Encourages
Harmony
To maximise minimalism
More
Or
Less
Is
More