Though you've barely had a ramble
are no wayward canine daddy of note
that brief encounter in our brambles
has left the experts fearing a cancerous growth

So we starve you of your pine nuts and bacon rinds
so we can feed you anaesthetic
and betray you to the thief of time
only to make you, I imagine, feel pathetic
And you often so full of life's exasperate scurry

I worry
will the shine stray from your eyes
those hazel pools of so much of
my feeling mature, just for
pertaining to a creature's care

 we all seem in too much of a hurry
to stifle what little spirit
that surrounds us
to wear
down on every minor aspect
of childish delight
in this silent sacrament
of the aging process
and with arguably years
of your fatherhood left
in the very ***** some dry eyed savant
decides it correct we should tamper with

Tomorrow I will snuggle you in favoured, bouncy eiderdowns
that will blanket your unknowing
and treat you as if
you were an eastering child
on cured hams and other saltiness
after you awaken
from those strangest enforcements of sleep
and through our eyes we will trade more secrets to keep

And we will hope, as we only can, that it was for the best
For you, Yorkshire's son, or Sheringham's
And consider with all of your
exhuming breath
That we meddled, stilling over life
To cheat a slightly delayed death.

she saw things that made her malfunction
she broke down to words that should've made her function.
she tortured herself with plastered screenings
repeated feelings
not wanting to be of perceiving  

she was in and out of it, saw the fault line, lingered a bit.
she then took it for what it was, saw what he was, realized he never was.

Next she then meddled with hard hit reality.
she understands to not give herself up, she gets the places it'll mess up, and all she wants to go is up.
So time dwells, she wants to be over it, she wants nothing of it, only to be everything above it.

she does not self harm anymore, because she is of no harm, she is just charm.
he's made her realize that.
he's accompanied her to that.
so she thanks him for that.
she will not whither, she is winter, with personality of a spitter
she is summer with hints of glimmer
she is now full of no more sorrow, no bitterness, or self wallow
she is content, she is fluorescent.
she is better than ever yet.

the muggy cloud has gone and surpassed
therefore leaving everything in the past.
so she says,
see you later,
thanks for the class,
hope everything works out for you in your middle pass,
just remember to not let the next one pass and remember to not be an ***,
with that being said with wise words from this ***.. that you can kiss.
hahaha so see you in the free world, and maybe then can we pass, hit a space migration for our integrations.

Manipulating information
To craftily plot your lore
Is necessary if you want
To continue an information war.

Specific example: Deny Russian
Collusion and interference in
U.S. elections, and do not stop
Seeking info that you can spin.

After months of denying Russian
Cyber attacks and election meddling,
Then admit the possibility
Through a little backpedaling.

Say that well…maybe they meddled,
But hastily add: so did others.
Say you'd still end all queries
And probes if you had your druthers.

It's vital, of course, that you keep
Bashing the press. Be sure to accuse
Investigative journalists
Of making up tons of fake news.

Finally, say the Russians will
Interfere in the U.S., and that's
How in elections this November
They plan to help the DEMOCRATS!

Why? Because you're so hard
(Wink!) on Russia. You'll be winning.
Your fawning fans will eat it up,
And you will have all heads spinning.

Your friends on your favorite TV station
Will help you criticize and demean
Those who don't agree with you.
Praise to your propaganda machine!

Who cares what the world thinks?
You've got your fans; you've got your base.
There's no match for a stable genius
Who says to the world, "In your face!"

-by Bob B (7-25-18)

Despite multiple accusations
Of ****** impropriety,
Trump still demonstrates
A false display of piety.
He knows his loyal fans out there
Would never, ever truly deceive him.
He denies whatever he wants
And they will all believe him.

Justice Brett Kavanaugh
Aspires for both fame and glory.
Somehow he got people to
Give credence to his manicured story.
Following Trump's slick advice,
He thought, "Hey, why not try it?
Whatever they accuse me of,
I will out-and-out deny it."

Putin said he hadn't meddled
In our twenty sixteen elections.
Although we know that Internet trolls
Were following his cunning directions.
Putin merely had to say,
"Mr. Trump, I did not do it."
That is all that Trump needed
To say to the world, "You see: I knew it."

Trump asked the Saudi king
If he had had a journalist killed
In Istanbul. That is where
Jamal Khashoggi's blood had been spilled.
The king and prince denied it. Trump,
Satisfied, said, "You see:
The king said they didn't do it.
His denial's enough for me."

Just deny whatever you've done.
That's the message we are getting.
Having to pay consequences
Can stifle your plans and be upsetting.
Just deny it, and you will have
All of your fans believing your tale.
Turn them all against the victim
To save your *** and stay out of jail.

-by Bob B (10-16-18)

it's just a word among many others,
as ridiculous in over-usage as the word ego,
it's not exactly referring to a being
that could give you a skateboard or an aeroplane
gratis, i treat the word: less allahu akbar...
and more: red in conjunction with yellow
gives us orange: no church, no deity,
only a way of perfected communication
to a inclusive rather than a exclusive - or god
forbid a chiral - interpretation
(much of what i write that i cannot understand
by my self alone, is due to slack punctuation,
for punctuation in both speaking as in
all relevant musicology is misunderstood
via anomalies in punctuation, the higher
tier of syllables, in ref. to).*

the pre-secular world defined itself
with the word god,
the secular world defines itself
with the word ego:
amusing... considering you use
a blender, a kettle, a smartphone
and you can't associate yourself
with the thing fully:
we're hardly the ones who meddled
in designing it, manufacturing it,
or distributing it, alias:
when Descartes met Freud...
the it and the i bit... the substance bit
is fluid and ineffectual in terms
of argumentative trouble, but the extension
bit is necessary:
on the great Libra...
when Descartes met Freud the dispute ended with
like a poker game:
- o.k. Freud, i'll give you the extension
   if you'll concede that the extension is defined
   by dreams, and thinking remains a substance.
- Descartes, i think that thought is an extension
   and that dreams are the substance.
- you're sleepwalking then!
- you're not thinking then!
- o.k., but we're agreed the prime suspect is the ego?
- no, the prime suspect is the id.
- so you're telling me i can only identify myself
   when boiling water in a kettle and not
   nonchalantly perched on a windowsill smoking
   a cigarette?
- i didn't say that.
- so what are you insinuating, changing id from that
   to it, i've checked the scrambled dictionary,
   it's an omelette to say the least.
- the ego extends within the substance differently
   and outside the substance differently than the id.
- thank god you didn't mention your zygote superego
   monstrosity that would give me trans-role theatre
   where as a son i'm the father, and as a father i have no
   son... or is that too new testament for you?
- it's perfectly adequate.
- so to settle the matter, we have a unit,
  we have the end result and we have the multiplier,
  the unit is respectively split as:
  a. i - the noun collector / the noun user / the identifier,
      abstracted toward talk of identity is meaningless
      if you remember things based on their communicated
      bias of their inability to spontaneously explode
      into nothingness, memory erasure to boot... and
  b. i think - the non denoting activity, thinking while
      walking, sitting, eating... the inability to think
      while asleep produces dreams... it's non denoting
      easily the most complex expression of its ontology
      as in writing / not speaking / not really expressing
      the need to / optical entertainment on the page /
      a black & white movie encoded with letters...
      there is very little grammatical association with the
      action, almost all categorical associations are deviant
      when cognitively vectored, in cognitive terms
      vectors become tangents, the grand crushing wheel
      of thought only also a butterfly kiss of comprehension
      to necessitate rubrics of sloth slouch and hunchback
      years spent over an open book...
- Descartes! you're trailing off, i don't know where you're
  going with this!
- this, my dear fellow, is called abstracting consciousness,
  it's not really a representation of heraclitean consciousness
  or that irish jive of joyce far from dublin,
  i know i missed a point when i became over excited
  on the two themes of the unit, the spare unit
  and the engaging unit: one unit the vocabulary
  and the other unit the sedimentary composition
  of wrinkles and experience and replicas...
- but where are we? i feel i'm the dante and you the virgil!
- one's own depths are the chasms within the chasm that's hell.
- but in all honesty, i could have spent hours talking
   to jung, and with you i want the conversation to be
   as brief as possible.
- ideally i already mentioned everything i needed to mention,
  you basically do not identify your prime unit
  (the id) as a possessor of any activity, i already told
  you that the reason we dream is because we can't
  think asleep, dreaming is the by-product of the
  cognitive inhibitors we have in place asleep,
  we can walk and sit and eat and think,
  we can't sleep and think, hence we dream,
  that's the mediating extension of things,
  your substance is the unconscious
  my substance is being conscious (consciousness,
  as if that added any quality to being),
  your unit is the id (which is like a cursed scalpel
  cutting into nothingness), my unit is
  the dissociation from nouns and the association
  with action, primarily thinking, whereby
  thought doubles up as categorisation of substance:
  consciousness the glass, thought the water in it;
  etc. etc. etc.

Crossroad horizon colored purple blue and burned
Sister sadie purrs as the register drawer rings
And the horses all gallop and dash entrancing the sun.

A naked flower forms meteors in metered time.
When I was nineteen I lost every single fear.
Tear away the fabric, rip away the sheets, open up the signs;
There just ain't enough time in this world to be unkind.

Understand thy fellow brother.
See their shining God as ye' see yours.
Another night away from her
Is like being shot down double musket undeserved.

A lonesome river runs through the mountains gate.
A man who believes in himself understands that fate
Is neither fair or generous, only a state
That cannot be meddled with or stripped to debate.

Golden fawn springs from the bush to the forefront.
Twilight salutes in a dutiful stunt.
When I don't love, I don't live.
And when I don't live, I don't deserve to be.

Crystal bells, silver whistles and jade scorpions
They hang like a gang from my rooftop.
Apricot juice, dandelion wine, and attic finds
Are all a child's dreams until they stop.

Day here, day gone.

She complains about life, as
I wonder about the knife
Which Macbeth did hold,
Flashy like a maroon marigold.
Was it silver or was it a copper mold?
There are some secrets in this world
That should never be told.

Brown sister holds her books tight to her chest.
Her brother has been lost to some kind of quest.
The yellow ball sits on the edge of the corner pocket.
She grips in her hand an old rusty locket.

Near the Richmond train and the Sacramento river
Sits a dead man with eyes spilt into a frown.
His wife left him one morning to marry his brother John,
And he sits, waiting there for his soul to come along.

Abandoned love's color is that of a charcoal dove.
The bones of the pure cannot be broken or charred.
Blanket of stars partake in the ceremony of the monkeys.
I see the shaman and he's dressed as if he aims to be wed.

Oil on the streets. There's oil on my hands.
There's oil everywhere around us, but in the land.
Can't see through these eyes of mine anymore.
Can't breathe through this mouth or nose of mine neither.
Somethings telling me I've got to change my point of view,
Though where to start, I haven't a clue.

I like this place.
I like what I can do.
But some days,
I just feel cruel and I
Act like a drunken fool.

There's a place I can smell in my dreams, in my sleep, when I feel what we truly have.
And when it goes away, the only thing I can manage to feel is 6 feet down low and sad.
Let's get out of this place as soon as we can. I'll pack the bags and you pack the animals.
Out on the islands, away from all of man, we'll live by the eastern wind unplanned.

Clock strikes the fortieth page of the hundredth book of the eighth king.
The day man truly dies is when he forgets how to sing.
I cannot elope my mind to the calculations of times subtractions of the body.
Either everyone comes,

Or nobody.

A ****** descent.
To favor no gain.
To feign,
or favor fate.

My heart was full of hope,
And lust.

I fought,
For love in vain.

A fragile thing.
That thing of hope.
Forever I the fool.

And couraged through,
A loss of heart.

And found my answer plain.

So, be it so.

My choice
of fault.

Hear

as

I

Amend.



Stripped of guile.


Of

will
And wile.


And pray my heart to mend.

fall hoppers kick to grass
as I walk down
sun-bleach lane

the anhedonia I felt yesterday
is pelted by the wind
away
away
to the breeze beyond
trash-bin creek

I walk past
a meddled roadside lover
kissing her own bloodied hand

must have been
bitten by the white-thing
panting at her feet

the image comes
and passes
with the balanced
autumn sunshine

I touch the twist of barbed wire
that guards a
re-habitated pond

a drop of blood
wells and surfaces
a moon-blazed penny

the dulled copper sting
of flesh and money
merges in the glory
of shortened days

all is accorded to the fleeting
nature of my heartbeat

that which comes and passes

So oft I delayed and waited
For I meddled only within my own affairs
I only became something I would come to hate
And failed to provide you with all my cares.

My heart now, resides with your hand
The choice between an orange or an apple
Oh, which of the two is more bitter?
Oh, which provides a superior sample?

Which I am in which hand, I know not
Yet let me cry for what I may be!
We have arrived at the crossroads
Before ye steer, observe my story.

In the beginning, I left the womb
And times of many moons passed away
Till the time came with craftiness I,
Assembled a ship to sail the ocean sway.

Twas the first chosen isle at sea,
And I commenced to approach in naivety
Fierce was the reef surrounding all
Though I caught glimpse she cast me to sea.

So on I sailed and stumbled upon
Another isle I felt worthy of time
Yet already populated I did not last
She was already sinking - a foreboding sign

A score of moons later did I flee
To eventually find a better one beam
For my miles at sea were providing me
A chance to prove myself less green

This sanctuary that held no silver
Yet to me was pristine and true
But yet I know not a secret it held
And yet at the end my time was off cue

I wallow through the ocean's rage
Discontent and bitter at the helm
Until one day a shipmate cried out,
"Land **!" Thus entering a new realm.

Upon this isle, it was as no other
Something pure about it captivates so
An air about instilled the fear of God
So exploring what majesty I did not know

And glorious the findings, I took delight!
Proceeding on with a cheerful fright
Over a score of moons I rejoiced
Basking within the dew ever moist.

Yet then did I tarry and labor to,
And cut down many a precious tree
Stomping the reef, ruining around
All my actions, how blind could I be?

Oh woe!  Twas there mutiny yet,
For in my slumber a shipmate schemed.
And whilst the dark ruled o'er the sky
He untethered me for an isle redeemed

In a jolt, in a panic, I arose and woke
For was I already distant in the seas
And stricken with agony, what could I do?
Yet here I am, at the bow, on my knees...

For all the glory the work my hands bring,
What does it matter?
If I'm alone...

For if on stage I walk with Latin praise?
What does it matter?
If I'm alone...

For a handshake high and a pat on the back
What does it matter?
If I'm alone...

For upon every exploration of this world,
What does it matter?
If I'm alone...

For the moments of laughter and moments of cheer,
What does it matter?
If I'm alone...

There are only so many isles worthy of sea.
On my knees, I pray I'm carried back that way.
For mayst it take over one hundred moons more...

To discover an isle at sea,
Just as thee.

I met you,
And you met me
Despite all the possibilities

A billion people,
Inhabit the earth.
A million people,
Much more than i’m worth.

And somehow you settled,
with little old me.
I couldn’t have meddled,
To make a better history.

Because I have you,
So perfect, unearthly.
And you have ultimate power,
The power to hurt me.

It happened so fast,
In one little glance.
I hope it will last,
after all, it was just chance.

An unexpected ****** perceived love
That her own young heart could not suppress
The gap of beliefs meddled their serene relation
A realization opposed the pragmatic conclusion
Torn the petals of the lovely flower
Later has come
So much had changed
Lives have swapped throughout the age
To an island she escaped
With the man whom she revolted against ages ago
Who shielded her with the raging bullets
Her father unconsciously saved for her
But remnants of the past pricked her once again
Yet the timeless love constantly lingers
Another fire is kindled
But one love is replayed
As their emotions once again flailed
through the secluded piece of land
A land that was situated to engender a sensation
A land that was meant to bring madness
A land that was brought to life by their love
A land of waters
A land of fire
Island of fire.

i love this quote, esp. the way it’s orientated in terms of functionability of deciphering the timing and what-not:

"a  poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but  whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the  cries  escape them, they sound like beautiful music... and then people  crowd  about the poet and say to him:  "sing for us soon again;" that is  as  much as to say, "may new sufferings torment your  soul."  ~soren  kierkegaard
it’s:

a. ambiguity par excallence given that no one has yet sorted out
    quotation markings in the english language -
    so why does the “ “ enclosure really deviate from
                                                        “           “          “
proper usage?

oh it means quoting aloud what you could think of...
how about starting with ‘a poet...’
no? oh well,
but how did the english language begin with
using both “ “ notation and ‘ ‘ notation?
no diacritic on e o a c r and so many others...
typical stiff upper-lip bits and pieces...
- not content with the polish / irish (joyce’s ulysses) notation.
- i am sure of it.
- you’re not more sure than the reality of such blatant misjudgement.
- really?
- really dee dee indeed e.
- by hoghorn and the grunting snout!
- smoking cigarettes smoked outside, whiskey drank indoors,
   i’m really feeling a tango will precipitate.
- first good night of the thrill of a chill this year.
- i entered the supermarket with blood-red hands.
- it rained, remember?
- it did, and the air eased the chiseled of ice breathed into.
- are we really one but representing two?
- it’s the neo-fiction model,
   not first person third party smallprint
  sign the contract get satellite t.v. for 2 years and not the legal 1
  to mind changing the provider.
- o fortuna!
- dressed in a straight-jacket announcing the x-factor fudge-packers
   of taste by populist consenus.
- my that’s witty...
- it’s not, i borrowed it from psychiatric books:
   two schizophrenics in the nest of cuckoos’ borrowed eggs...
- technically and with proper terminology?
- see that dust over there as if it was winter in auschwitz?
- yep.
- that’s called the ready model / safe model,
   we’ll never get rid of it in either first or third person narration,
   we need to invite gymnastics into the realm of typing & typos,
   get the first person splits-aware...
- right on - tom petty’s last dance of mary jane...
- ever see stoners dance?
- yeah, once, when they abstracted the word dance
  and visualised it for the sake of giggles...
- exactly...
- what now?
- now you pretend to be the protagonist and
   i pretend to be the narrator
   and we mingle, leaving us with the only acceptable equation:
- narrator steals from the protagonist the limelight!
- yes!
so now that we have the whole problem sorted into tight
boxes, we can reclaim the bulge of plato in the demise of existentialism:
i speak the truth... although truth is “truth,”
it’s technically ~truth... ah... that’s better... better notation
that “truth”
which gives me worry though... so the guy who said the bit
about poets is approx. the guy who said the bit about poets?
that’s doubly confusing...
- i will tell the truth with ambiguity...
- but how can you if you take to be an ambiguity per se?
so if an approx. man said an ambiguous thing in relation to
a definite thing... an inapproximate replica of the man
said an in-ambiguous thing in relation to an indefinite thing...
vomo maxim;
the truth is bewildering within the realm of proximity:
the prefix-affixes do their dues to add to the confusion:
it’s a ceremony down the middle so nearly missed
but not so nearly meddled with:

definite article                                                         ­ indefinite article

red
                                                    ­                                  mars
                          ­                                                            fire
­                                                                 ­                     sunset
                                     ­                                                 apple
          ­                                                                 ­           cherry
                                               ­                                       (burgundy
                ­                                                                 ­      crimson
                                                         ­                              pink
                                                            ­                           coral
                                                           ­                            salmon)

                                                    ­                                 sea
azure
artichoke
asparagus
fern
admiral
brighton lauerel
aegean
arctic  
storm of the gray earl (etc.)

whatever... i'll just pour myself another whiskey and laugh it off.

used to think
i stumbled upon an angel
dressed as a human being

but as wrong as i always was
i meddled with a demon
disguised as someone too beautiful
for me to resist

there’s usually two ways of writing an abstract
like one might have written one for
a chemistry experiment, a debriefing, a plot
summary as you might have it, although
in philosophy it’s either geometric of algebraic,
to take into account a chance meeting between sartre (b)
and descartes (a) i can only utilise the algebraic
in a framework of a platonic schematic, i.e. dialogue,
and since dialogue then casually, in conversation, like so:

example no. 1 (exercise of good faith)

(a) i think i had
     a brain haemorrhage
                                                               (b) i doubt it.

example no. 2 (exercise of bad faith)

(b) i had
      a brain haemorrhage
                                                               (a) how do you know?
                                                           ­          (i.e. i’ll deny this statement.)

it really is as simple as that, after all, all the ball of wool
untangling in the standard philosophy books is meddled at times,
it is hard to craft an entry of a decent dialogue without
the one-sided stance of monologues that fill the pages of books,
but take any major tenet of the two philosopher’s works
and set a scene of two buddies talking in a pub, and that’s you
having skipped the best 200 pages of untimely meditations
and about 400 pages of being and nothingness - not out of rudeness
but on the simple basis: ****... i understood it!
so if anything can be relevant in modern philosophy, and that’s
modern from 17th century to the present era
it is only relevant when applying a platonic schematic,
because it has to be talked about, and when talked about
simplified, because why would anyone want to over-complicate
and apply an aristotelian schematic of inspection
by writing very crude philosophies by the simple process
of over-complicating the thinking process as that, which
does not necessarily need thought attached to it - like at present,
with western society debasing any original theology
by forcing all the ills of the world as the adequate justification...
the origin of this, you will find,
is not from the people who suffer as such,
but from people who are safe, healthy and satiated with
adequate materialism,
the kind to have a very english middle-class sentimentality
to care for whimsical sensibilities, prudences and etiquette in general,
that's how placebo atheism works, it's still a ****** theology,
the real atheists? hmm, guess... the list is pretty dramatic
in the way they approached coupling freedom and will
and others - that's why i prefer my invention of coupling
a placebo effect with atheism... rather than writing out
a theology of absence - look... here's a trick:
a theology of indefinite absence (a) / theology of definite absence (the),
and then the ism from empiricism.

We met at the junction of your misery,
both high-strung and molars grinding like toothache.

Maybe it was my fault
Or maybe it was your folly,
But neither you nor I were aware
that this was a swath that brought us to our disrepair.

I should've known better,
I should've handed you my resignation.
Even heaven knows you've always had a palisade mouth;
sharp edges with misspent words,
teeth kisses with minor incision.

But we were shipwrecks coalesced by force,
fate's own masterwork where devils meddled their crooked hands in the ***.

Like a time bomb awaiting to explode,
we were in for our imminent destruction.

But I had nowhere else to go.

He lumbers, he doesn't sashay.
Aware enough to catch a 'think-fast' pass.
He's an analog man, and not a soothe-sayer.
He was a zen buddhist, and a nudist whose wardrobe was air.
He always wanted kids but could never think of names.
His truth is so spreadable it's incredible
His credit's so meddled with it's debtable.
He moves peanuts under walnut shells,
less talented than critical.
With passion like the hypnotized
limits were his starting lines
He was never very impressed with things,
would say 'ignorance doesn't exonerate’—He broke alot of hearts and earned alot of parking fines—‘Income doesn't make the man' unless its not coming in.
His only wish was for a time machine;
He could be ambassador to the past.
he could relive his endings
without missing anything

Do you spend nights wondering about the all things you could've been?
I barely know you and yet I did all the things I did
I settle in these thoughts, thinking I shouldn't have meddled in
But you gave me a call saying you regret letting me in
It's funny, you're not the only one with a past
You see a smile on my face, and all the green in my grass
Halos and wings is what you think I have
But what you see is an act, everything is a mask
Don't you ever tell me you're too broken for me
I got pieces of broken mirrors I'm never willing to see
I couldn't tell you this the other day, I know you wouldn't believe
But you're perfect for me, there's not a thing you need
But no matter what I tell you, I swear you never listen
All you say is I wouldn't get it
"You don't know me, just forget it"
I know you're brokenhearted with a lot of regrets
I know you've been trying to fix what came to be a mess
Trying to sew together of whatever is left
We're both just two emotional kids trying to feel something again
I wrote you a text but I never got the courage to hit send
It's hard to tell you that I've been through it too
I know when you're trying to be together but ending up breaking as two
You begin believing in someone so much you don't know what to do
To a point you're looking at a mirror, asking yourself, are you really you?
Your insecurities trying to find security
Start giving them a love you never really had like it's a piece of charity
I don't want to hear another promise, I just want you to have some clarity

Restless
Wounded
Weary
Wild

Working
Waisting
Wasteful
Vile

Hunting
Hurting
Hungry
Guile

Soothing
Smothered
Sinful
Tried

Wouldn't
Willful
Could
Repeat


Shouldn't

Wouldn't
Revel
Met

Wonder
Wander
Meddled

Spawned

Common
Shuttered
Humble
Harmed

Careful

Calculated
Course

Drawing
Waiting
Last
Recourse

Homage
Engorge
Gutteral

Gainful
Grieving
menial

Spew
Dispatched
Dispassionate

Great
Aloof
Merry
Spoof

Wander
Willing
Youth

Cancer

Crevasse

Comfort
Pain

Cuckold
Credit
***

Steward
Swear
Sally
Forth

Slither
Sully

Glum

i meddled in egypt a third time,
and all i said was...
a. you ancestors will say the same thing
i said, but unlike me
your ancestors will say it unto you, directly;
b. never meddle in the affairs of female
genitalia of poetics of the burning bush / *****;
c. you were given judaism, christianity,
islam... instead you settled for mongol;
d. begin to believe
that riyadh is further east than expected,
as is the warsaw pact closer to the west
than the right blink of the eye of john paul ii,
FOR, I, WOULD, REMAIN, ENTICED, BY, A,
HOMELAND, I, RATHER,
THAN, TAKE, OFFERS, OF, A, SAXON, TO, EMIGRATE,
I’D, DRENCH, MY, HOMELAND, IN, BLOODED, NILE,
TO, SEE, THE, WAKE, OF, MY, THOUGHT, ELSEWHERE,
OTHER, THAN, THERE... HAR COO! JANISSARY OF VIENNA,
signed the he of whom read the book above all other books,
who wrote against the book poetry,
who wept, who liberated the eye from the mind
and endeared it with a heart,
of the slave kept captive in solemnity
for the once thought of encryption of the eunuchs,
of those who read but dared not speak,
who thus was made the claimant of the title:
the bridge over the waters of Bosporus... that kindled
the turkmen with the ottoman and the mamluk sheiks.
indeed what pretty cauliflower for a daffodil in hymn...
but lessened beauty if one should come untamed and hooded
in footstep of being recognised -
then the merchant’s (muhammad’s) price would be less
than that of an antique dealer.

Am I moving really fast?
is everyone moving really slow?
Won't brake  I'm trying to bend
the time space continuum/
But I'm impatient
I had to give time some-time/
I was in a-maze
the search engine oblivi-on/
The abyss
Determined to confirm myhths/
When I thought I had it
I lolly gaged it/
choked on procrastination
Evoked madness/
My ideas was clamored
Tightly coiled
crazy intentions loco motive/
Meddled in my mental
steel ideas the conductor/
To link the train of thoughts
When if ever I was flustered/
I mustered all my energy
Just to catch up on/
All this ammunition
I've been schooled with/
all these definitions
In lieu of/
this vocabulary
i've been frugal with/
Let me stop
Who am I kidding
Or fooling/
I didn't write none of this,
I just googled it!!

She never knew how much fire
she had inside
She was never told
to dim the flame
She was always burning

Burning everything she touched
melting hearts and igniting wild fires

She was never told to be careful
"not to play with fire"
for she was an expert
that meddled with danger

She was never told to silence the sparks
she let them echo in places where
they'd reach those who need some
spark in their lives

She kept going
moving forward, fire never leans back
She held on catalysts
that fed her flames
She grew more and more
for she was never told to settle for less

She was a fire sign too
what a coincidence
she sometimes found solace in reading
her compatible partner
but never relied on them

By: Cedric McClester

I believe and know
That Trump has got to go
But while that may make sense
We’ll just be stuck with Pence
And it’s become crystal clear
That he hasn’t a rabbit’s *** idea
About what the Americans people need
And it’s not more avarice and greed

I believe and know
That Obamacare shouldn’t go
It needs to be repaired
Instead they have us scared
That we’ll lose needed services
Because they’re true conservatives
And be that as it may
They’re gonna rue that day

I believe and know
That the Russians meddled - so
It’s fake news they might insists
But we have to get to the bottom of this
And no matter who’s at fault
Trump’s people or Bannon’s Alt
Wherever guilty parties are found
We have to bring them down


I believe and know
That you can’t clean the swamp, then go
And pick a bunch of billionaires
Which only shows nobody cares
They haven’t had a hungry day
And while I’m at it let me say
It’s impossible for them to identify
And that’s the truth no lie













Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017.  All rights reserved.

It's not often that mere conversation like we had makes me feel so intrigued, but when you sang those few songs your voice made me feel tranquility in a dose I've truly never felt. My heart fluttered, and if I hadn't been floating in a pool I would have had to sit down, my knees were so weak. You couldn't see in the darkness but I was in awe, so much so that if we had been standing in a room full of art, I only could have looked at you.
I swear you turned the night sky into tie dye, a hippy haven for my mind. On heavens hill I found my soul, all my anxieties flowed out. I drank more slowly once your voice came forward, it was much more intoxicating than the lager I had chosen. I knew all these feelings may have been the alcohol, but I decided, **** it. I never feel intrigued, I was so surprised to have my interests peaked, that I would entertain myself and you, because for once, I didn't freeze.

I awoke the next morning, after sleeping off my chemicals, both the ones I ingested and the ones my body produced at the sight of such a pleasing specimen of the female form. I found my head hurting, but remembered the sights I saw, the glow of the stars and string lights, melted in my memory to form a tie dye blot, the colors meddled together. It was as astronomically beautiful as you had been the night before.

I'm not a sheep amongst the flock but a wolf amongst the sheep
Not a carcass left to rot but the butcher slicing meat
Because someone gotta survive, and its gonna be me
You can pull the wool over my eyes but you'll end up losing sleep

See you can lie to my face but i can sniff out the truth
Not everybody's buying *******, we are wiser than our youth
I may have a young face but my soul is in pursuit
Of old age, divine space, that's ruthlessness for you

See my stamina is boundless and i have that pack mentality
I can toggle between the two, loyalty or reality
You can make all these promises, but you cant promise me
That you're not another poser because you reek of it to me

Imma howl at the stars just to keep you awake
Outside growling at your window just to drive you insane
Because you messed with a wolf and thats a fatal mistake
Now I'm putting pen to paper just to put you in your place

You, dont know what you're in for
You, aren't getting away
You, are already falling
And now, in your head, I'm here to stay

You, me, crazy
You, me, crazy
You, me, crazy
You dont know what you're in for, and now you're going crazy

The possibilities are endless like the power of Infinity
You stop dead in your tracks like you just had an epiphany
You can't lose the trail when i **** my head, listening
Your voice trembles with fear and I'm feasting on the signaling

Your muscles race with adrenaline, a system overdrive
To face what you can't see admist the shadows of the night
All your senses quickening, preparing for the fight
Because you're in the corner now and there's nowhere left to hide

Hands shake, an earthquake, i hear the drumming of your heart
Jesus Christ, any faster and it could tear you apart
An explosion from the inside, you glow in the dark
From the heat that you expel like the embers of a dart

Eyes wide, pupils large you know this is your fate
Wishing you could go back but you know that it's too late
You meddled with a wolf and now you're filled with doubt
Things are getting serious: head down, claws out

You, don't know what you're in for
You, aren't getting away
You, are already falling
Check under your bed because the monster's here to stay

There's so much left to do,
And so little time,
With nothing left to lose
It's time to set things right

You can't play, Chinese Whispers
With me, because, I hear everything

You, don't know what you're in for...

You, me, crazy
You, me, crazy
You, me, crazy
I've got so much in store, enough to drive you crazy

You, me, crazy
You, look, wasted
You, me, insanity
You don't know what you're in for, and now you're going crazy

I want you to go now,
I think you should leave,
Too much time has been wasted,
On the things you make me believe.

These thoughts are overwhelming,
This pain I cannot bear,
Confused and worried sick,
About things that were never there.

I understand truth,
And I can decipher lies,
Still these pointless battles,
Bring  tears to my clouded eyes.

Love is often heavy,
When so much is based on trust,
But doubt it is corrosive,
And It will cause your heart to rust.

No longer are you welcome,
For you have meddled far too long.
I was once convinced you were right,
But now I can see that you are wrong.

You are a slow and deadly poison,
Coursing through human veins,
Innocent souls are tortured,
Until evil is all that remains.

May the Lord bless and protect me,
And deliver me from your curse,
As I shall pray for others,
In hopes that your corruption may not disperse.

lets be honest
let me be honest
when I speak of the precautions
of the extents
where my skin feels the need to come off my body

I dont know if I want to wait till it sheds
or if I choose to be intolerant
and simply rip it off my muscle

the skin that you have touched
let it ware away
anything please
just let this violence settling on top of my being
just ware away

I have been there
in the inner most deep depths of your freckles
and Im meddled
so lost
in your extrgavance
something put me out of this state

and the last time we spoke, I spoke to you with a tone of hatred
and I would never let you know
that, moment was my love manipulated

into something so much deeper than what we were
and why is that
why are you
you
and why am I me
and things trail down this little road of our
personal caotic catasrophe

the clouds bleed out our meaning
everyday
when the sun is out
and its light everyday
and it brings me into a retreat
you make the light do this to me

hopefully
somewhere in between the stories
ill find myself pleading
and then I will find an answer
to this endless mind thought
love forgive me
the passion itself
please

your hands so female
declare suffocation in every bone

It will be strange to see you again
after so much time
has meddled with us both, it
Will be strange to sing with you
now that we're both in chorus
and know what we're doing
more-so than we did two years ago, it
will be strange but
We are not strangers, and
I look forward to the day

i'm always ashamed because i'm doing live editing, and because of live editing, i can never really appreciate my work, as if it was stored in a cabinet drawer, unseen and unread by a curious passer-by, this live editing fuels a feeling of shame... but it also fuels: iftaḥ yā simsim (open sesame)!*

the success of u.s.e.
(united states of europe
homogenised
into a monochromatic
use of the english tongue)
will be built upon the
failures u.s.a.
and the failure to feel
guilt for Hiroshima & Nagasaki
like the implemented
guilt the Germans are fed
with Auschwitz...
we have a cold war to stage
the actor's stage fright in
raising up a hand and a cold
hearted democratic ink blotch
of the testifying index finger
that meddled in the shuffling-chess
affairs of electors and parliaments;
it's not that relative things matter
(only einstein could have pulled that off
somehow giving us ripples
of vacuum when space and time collided
without poetic agreement about
fluctuated nostalgia of expression),
we're all abhorrent of moral relativism,
but not taking blame for
the two neutron bombs makes
me a bit sceptical about where this
train is going: it's hardly Zion,
but certainly the fenced in Israel.

You say we're just writers
Twiddling our pencils
Twisting your words to
match our ink meddled minds
Display our work of messy art
into something wondrous enough
for some to find intriguing..
For some to find truth..
You say words don't mean ****
So why is it that,
you react so harshly to our actions
When you know our art packs a punch
Don't **** with us writers
Because we know just how to expose you for who you really are

Dear death,
I am a waste.
I am a waste of space, of air, of life.
I am a waste.
I am wasting away in this darkness of memories that I can’t seem to let go.
I am a waste.
How do I rid myself of pain that strings along the chords of my heart,
Playing it as if an instrument.
How do people make sense of the waste?
How do they learn to appreciate how their mind was meddled with and how their heart gave and gave only to be unappreciated?
I am a waste,
And I still cannot figure out how to make something out of nothing
I am still figuring out who I want to be and where I want to go and all I can seem to think of is you.
Death,
What do you do to people who are wasting away?
Do you **** the breath out of their lungs leaving them to slowly decay and turn to dust?
Or do you hug them tight and tell them everything will be okay even though all you’ll leave behind is a mess?
Death,
I can’t put my pieces back together again.
Sometimes it’s hard getting out of bed and I call you,
Yet you never pick up.
Sometimes I long to jump off of bridges and land into the arms of comfort...yet I never have the courage
Because giving myself to you or to life means commitment and I’ve never known anyone to be committed to me.
Sometimes the waste pulls me in and I drown in a sea of my mistakes; the ones people constantly remind me of, and it seems easier to let the water fill my lungs and sink than fight against the tides.

I am a waste,
Yet I’m still figuring out how to be more.
How to evolve and progress and become
To simply become something more
To want more
To experience and live more
To have said a waste but I certainly am not.
I have been put on this earth for a purpose, and I’m on an adventure of figuring out what my reason is.

The bi-headed bi-polar global axi of supposed power,
The remocrat, capitalist totalitarian/notsee one,
The united **** of assassins, and the notsee/totalitarian
Extreme capitalist communist/socialist one, the Russian
Cleptocracy ('cause, if you want to double your pleasure,
Double your fun, you have two, two anti-christs in one),
Attempting to determine no one can even perceive
The possibility of being non: materialists, humancentric,
Criminally insane, are having a tete en tete in Helsinki
Tommorow, where our king-sized terrible-two, Prump,
"...Will ask Tutin if he meddled in our election...",
"...He's not expecting a Perry Mason...", Tutin to confess,
"...But he'll ask...".  This, after a year and a half of
Prump's making believe "...Tutin may have not done it...",
And over 2 years after our intelligence community definitely
Knew about it, way to go first responders.  They'll probably  
Meet totally alone again, no cameras, and the only way we'll
Be able to dicipher how it went is from telltale signs like
Smeared lipstick, and others from the press, the Russian
Press that is, 'cause ours won't get a word from Prump on it,
Like the last time they met alone.  Later, I think he falsely
Projected that "...they just talked about...", the purchasing
Of Russian (white) kids, "...adoption...", for an hour.  
C'est la unvie, no?  When's Mueller going to be done,
Before or after Trumpler's visible coup steals the midterms?
If you didn't vote for Hillary, you voted for Prump/Tutin.
"...We(e),..." must protect the vote, vote early, GOTV,
And protect the results more than ever, before the country
Gets used to being drunk on democracy's backslider's wine.

Long long, ere long ago
Adam was adolescent
Eve was effervescent
Both were glad in body clad    
  
Adam and Eve exposed each
The duo explored to match
Adam was adulating to catch
Eve was electrifying to ******
  
Pancreatic hunger in one way
Pubertal love on way any way
Cupid apple drooped in sway
He grappled apple-gel of angel

Couple cuddled and meddled
Kindled, spindled and fondled
Fire of passion ceded seeds of love
Shy free, sky free, spy free, scot free
Capsule of calories captured
Rupture turned into rapture

Head to head dual bite at sight
Headed to fuel the duel of luring love    
Adam was adamant on that eve
Eve spelled eventful gospel of life
Only lonely lovely pair espoused  
Exploded mirth of birth on earth

For others Valentines day means love.
I've never had a good view on this day,
Mostly because I, myself destroyed the positive.
I meddled with my own love,
Contorted it into something I didn't recognize.
I sought after the culprit but never expected it to be me.
I looked for myself in the love once again,
But only found a empty hole, a canyon.
He was cool, sweet and nice.
I didn't realize it in time.
In my mind it crossed through over and over,
But in the end I was doomed to relive it again

Long long, ere long ago
Adam was adolescent
Eve was effervescent
Both were glad in body clad    
  
Adam and Eve exposed each
The duo explored to match
Adam was adulating to catch
Eve was electrifying to ******
  
Pancreatic hunger in one way
Pubertal love on way any way
Cupid apple drooped in sway
He grappled apple-gel of angel

Couple cuddled and meddled
Kindled, spindled and fondled
Fire of passion ceded seeds of love
Shy free, sky free, spy free, scot free
Capsule of calories captured
Rupture turned into rapture

Head to head dual bite at sight
Headed to fuel the duel of luring love    
Adam was adamant on that eve
Eve spelled eventful gospel of life
Only lonely lovely pair espoused  
Exploded mirth of birth on earth