The new Genre Tourist Punk
is sailing the nation.
Hawaiian shirts and white keds are lining up all around Orlando to see
up and thrifting bands like
Lobster trap,
Lighthouse tour and
Dogs welcome.

Founded in a Starbucks
by Toni and Dash,
two MECA grads one student loan away from selling out and getting involved in
the lighthouse painting business,
The Band: Lobster Trap
gave birth to a whole new genre.
TOURIST PUNK
Toni and Dash decided they needed to provide music that was expensive. niche.
Something unspeakably mundane.

With smash hits like
"This traffic is *******"
And "My name still isn't Joe".
Lobster Trap is flying
up the American top 40
faster than you can say socks and sandals

Sales of "I HEART LOCATION" merch has skyrocketed with every launched tour.
Crowds of L.L. bean boots and visors are Moshing, breaking poloroid cameras over each others heads in a salmon rage.

old school punk fanatics were skeptical at middle aged middle class suits getting into their scene.
until it hit them that they could now throw punches
at every pedestrian who ever cut them off.

"Hi thirsty, I'm Dad." By Land of the Polite
Has been played more times in the last year then any taylor swift song.

Money once invested in college-bound middle class vacationlander spawn is being wisely spend on bands like "discount Polo",
and "Local Diner"

So listeners.
if you spend an obscene amount of money on travel fair, and over priced, cheaply made souvenirs;
Or Work in customer service thriving to see those leaf peepers choked out by their own ***** packs.
Do yourself a favor.
road trip into your local bullmoose
sporting your states name on your chest.
And Treat yourself to an exclusive new album
of TOURIST PUNK.

Hot/Cold, Part 2

Hot endings, cold starts.
Hot feelings, cold marks.
Hot temper with a cold reaction.
Hot double barrel with cold pump action.
Hot church with a cold congregation.
Hot merch with cold affiliations.
Hot meat, cold wine.
Hot dollar, cold dime.
Hot queens with their cold mink.
Hot kings with their cold links.
Hot art with cold reception.
Hot mirror and a cold reflection.
Hot woman with a cold reputation.
Hot main chick with a cold side on placement.
Hot funk and cold R&B.;
Hot world but the colds all I see.
Hot information, cold intelligence.
Hot faults, then cold recompense.
Hot forgiveness, cold mistakes.
Regardless of what the world intakes.
Hot ignorance and cold oblivion,
are bliss to those who favour dominion.
Hot pathogens and cold diseases.
Hot gold with the cold diamond pieces.
Hot gat within a cold Gucci belt.
Hot knife inside the skin it starts to melt.
Hot love for God and the cold religion.
Hot pain after a cold circumcision.
Hot skin, cold whip.
Hot hands, cold grip.
Hot city, cold ghetto.
Hot calls, but no memo.
Hot rapper with no demo.
Hot baller with no c-notes.
Hot thoughts, cold emotions.
Hot theories and cold notions.
Hot models with their cold body motions.
Hot love before the warm heart ceases.
Hot hatred 'fore the cold heart seizes.

mvp arena
s pearl st
albany, ny
8/30/22

(to summarize how
we got to this point

i was in the
darkest year of my life
and in my pragmatism
self-inconsideration
i gave myself
an out

the only way i could
survive was to
tell myself it was
going to be over soon)

i’m screaming
the words into
currents
of noise

i should be
happy
still hearing the ringing
in my ears and
seeing flashing lights
in my eyes

(9/25/16
was the day
it was going
to end for me

concurrently
i discovered
a genre designed
for kids like me

spent hours
in full blown panic
not at the disco but
twitching on the floor
trying to drown it out
with fall out boy
nights that didn’t end until
dawn picking apart
twenty one pilots theories
in razor free showers

and then
my chemical romance
was back from the dead
10th anniversary album with
new tracks
coming 9/23/16)

things have changed
i’ve changed
and yet still
traumatically
dramatically
the same

”what’s the worst that i could say?
things are better if i stay?
so long and good night
so long and good night”

(and i realized
there was something
out there to
look forward to

maybe
just maybe
i make it through
just for now)

”we’ll carry on
we’ll carry on”

i did
and i made it
all the way to here
found a way to
scrape myself through
every lonely night

but in that
moment the
crushing weight
of my own
insignificance
caught up to me

i should have been
happy
to have made it
to here

but the only thought
in my mind
was that
if i hadn't
made it to here
this moment
in this sea of
misfits and margins
in this sweaty stadium
four hours from home

if i hadn't
carried on
nobody
would
have
noticed
my absence

i'm reduced to
a face in the crowd
twenty dollar bills
in a merch line
a scream in a stranger's
snapchat story

and the world doesn't
need me
one more person
to add to the chaos

i should have cried
happy tears
but instead
i began to regret
what makes me
strong
what got me
to this point

would it be better
if i had ended it?
would it be easier?
does it even matter
either way?
because i'm
beginning to think
it really doesn't

and i know
i made it this far
i have his hand
around my back
and don't cry
alone at night anymore

but in the cosmic
scheme of significance
(which i want there
to be and i want
to be in)
i just don't
think
i don't
know
if it matters enough

what's the worst that i could say?
are things better if i stay?

"so shut your eyes
kiss me goodbye
and sleep
just sleep
the hardest part
is letting go of your dreams"

Poignant prose chucked out and recycled by morning.
Turned out trick repeated til boring.
The local band just started touring.
Sonnet's blasted until the ladies are 'whooring'.

...

Roxy Music dropped David Byrne.
For Ellie Goulding and a remix of burn.
Robert Johnson's been reworked.
Ratatat rap as interest is perked.

Dylan picked up the silent game.
Making ambient noises which all sound the same.
The Rolling Stones joined the church.
After buying some of Hoosier's merch.

Nicki Minaj claps her ****
Laying down a tribute for Terry Fox's stump.
Benefit concert soon to be run.
By the played out Glee Club composing Fun.

Beach Boys dragged in with the tide.
...And Stars Collide.
NOFX has gone clean
Fat Mike's gone and become a dean.

Tom Waits stomps out to Kendrick Lamar.
Hacking up bits of blunt induced tar.
Bumping out in Steve Ellison's car.
To Captain Murphy's karaoke bootlegged from a bar.

...

Less than 10 good tapes a year
Even fewer if referring to those others actually hear.
Jack White's gone third eye blind
Getting over run by his drug free mind.

Why God?
Pray and believe and please don't stray or leave. Stand tall and I know that life isn't grand but it'll be worse if you fall. Build up the church, rebuild your soul and don't focus on the worldly merch. Stay pure and remember when you have Jesus your path will be clear and there will be no fear. Ha-ha what *******, I am sick of all this, I tried religion and it left me in a deeper pit. Does God exist? Yes but does God know I exist? Hmm… Let me meditate on that; ok still not getting anything; where is God when the devil be busting my head over and over with a bat?

On my knees but I’m still getting fees that be stinging my bank account like some devilish bees. Where are you? Do you care, why do you seem so far, I'm at my breaking point and I don't know what to do! Reading the bible, starting to wonder if I’m just reading a bunch of fables. ****** job, ****** relations with both sides of my family, and ****** finances man do you think this hit is funny? Robbed from a normal childhood, bullied everyday, so I coped with it by eating lots of food. My mother taught me about you, made me believe that you were faithful and true. But maybe your no better than Santa or the Easter Bunny, as unhinged as ***** Wonka and oh how I wonder how you can sit up there while the world gets more crummy.

I got an Ill mind like Hopsin, man whatever happened to that jolly green giant, that guy died an reincarnated into a goblin. Stop that talk man because the devil is playing with your head, and stop that morbid talk of wanting to be dead! I used to listen to the 116 clique, because I couldn't stand regular worship or hymns because I found them boring, broad, and basic. I remember listening to guys like Fresh I.E then one day it changed to guys like N.W.A, Wu Tang Clan, and Puff Daddy. Everyday I used to read my bible and I would drag my momma to the holy temple, but now when I'm at church I get taste in my mouth like I took some Fentanyl. Religion is filled with hypocrites and I used to be sold out for God until I got treated like ****. I used to be a unashamed believer and I told everyone about you, but now my once pure heart has been stained and people who claim they know you, really don't know **** about you! I never shoved my belief down no ones throats, and the ones that do will be placed with the other goats.

Believe what you want just don't be a ****! That's all I ask, and it really shouldn't be that hard of a task. Putting all my issues on the table, if only I could go back in time like Cable. Momma told me to not test the Lord, but I'm tired of being choked by the societal cord. Torn between the religious and the secular, and when I die will I gain forgiveness or will I face the demonic tormentor? I don't know I’m just lost and angry and all I need is a boost or push to attain fame and money. I don't sell out, I sell in, all I got told was to get out, so sorry but I have no choice but to dwell in sin!

The storm trooper costume was somewhat of a joke between us friends. When we were 20, we dreamed of buying houses full of useless merch that fans buy out of love for something, but really just feeds the capitalist machine. Those friends are gone now and so are those dreams. The apartment is bare and empty, save for rusty heater that groans like an old drunkard, the hard bed in the corner next to the window that lets in the cold winter air and the single chipped wood table that wobbles on its uneven legs. There isn't even a lighter for the cigarettes.

I wonder how much Darth Vader paid his storm troopers? I wonder what it would be like to be in that suit, firing guns at Jedi Knights but not really hitting anything. I wonder what it will be like to be on spaceships travelling between galaxies and different points of the universe at light speed, setting eyes on new planets and whole new species that may range from space worms to aliens with higher intelligence.

Then again, there was that possibility that I could die. I was part of an intergalactic army after all. I'd be no match for a Jedi and i'd probably have no idea how to work my own weaponry. You probably can't smoke or drink, either-- lest you wish to incur the wrath of Darth Vader but... despite all that, I'd still take it over all of this grimey ****.

After all, anywhere was better than here.

She will never understand
Fundamentalist Christianity’s demand
To maintain a perfect flower
Solely for a husband to devour

Robbed of her innocence
She begs in the form of repentance
For acceptance and forgiveness
The entire congregation a witness

To victim shame is to victim blame
Even innocent children aren’t immune
Ten past noon on a sunny day in June
A girl’s ***** was breached
A sin in the eyes of the lord, the goodly preacher preached

An unmarried non-****** is a ***** and nothing more
A defiled child, her name reviled

She is blamed, she is shamed
By her own flesh and blood
Silenced was the little lamb
To hell she will be ******

Keep up the facade
Just smile and nod
Pretend to love the church
Cross necklace, bible, and long skirt
C’mon show your love! Buy that Jesus merch!

Wanting to shed her skin
A prison she’s trapped in
The most perfect of little girls
Except she lost her white pearls

A bitter pill to swallow
The Lord Jesus she must follow
Knowing her body’s imperfect
Understanding she’ll never be worth it

So with the congregation’s nod, the goodly preacher preached:
"For in the eyes of God,
A ***** which is breached
On a girl without a ring
Is worth nothing but a fling"

I was supposed to marry you
Supposed to help you
Supposed to aid you, cure you,
Carry you
Instead I watch you from afar
Watch you through computer-screen sickness
Watch you through *****-madness
Watch you through whiskey-gladness
Watch you through oblivion's sadness
And while you falter in life but not me
I mend your clothes
I sell your merch
I feed your slaves
I feel your worth
All while you falter in life but not me
The years pass by
Like slivering scales
And I'm still in your palm
Tiny ***** limp with slavery's tails
It's only my reflection I fear
A reflection I fear when you're in the room
God-speed to all the times you are and were
God-speed to all those nickel-days
A lifetime of being invisible
You hold what I crave
Mirror image
You falter in life but not me

a kid, leaned up on a wall,
standin in an ally way, same one he inhabits day after day
perfect position for a fiend to find a friend,
but he aint around when the police come lookin,
turnt the corner he's bookin, merch is already hidden
money never left his pocket.
cant afford to find out what happens if he lost it
his profit pays the bills,
feeds his parents addiction , and gives his siblings there meals
he makes every dollor his family has,
stays out till the sun come up sellin bags,
in the morning he steps inside a home
he technically owns gives his mother her morning dose.
goes to make toast for a kid who cant eat cuz his belly ach,
stars to finally doze  till his father walks out wakin him up with a broken nose .!!!!
just to escape what he knows its back to the ally he goes.
till the sun go down and the morning shows.
a thinkig  problem he cures with notes. made to the beats he hears bumpin down the  road.
cant hear the words so he uses his own
simply astar to be just wait till the world know his name.

Leather jackets don't keep you warm.
Disappointment settles into my stomach with each passing minute.
He's forgotten about us.

Second floor railing.
Black Xs on both hands.
Knee between bars.
Brown paper bag at my feet.
A drunk Englishman with no shoes yelling about America and chickens.
He tells us not to go to Charlestown tomorrow;
He is going to rob a bank.
A folk punk band drinking from a flagon,
Screaming and singing lyrics I cannot understand,
But my body still moves with them.

Lights off. Silence.
A text.
Do you want to come to the floor?

She's short. She won't be able to see. It's too crowded now.

I have a spot for you. I'll come escort you.

A bearded man with glazed eyes appears.
He shakes my hand, says,
"Follow me. I have a surprise."

Away from the railing,
People laughing.
"They gave up a railing spot?"
Past the bar, down the stairs.
Working through the crowd.
It's loud. So loud.
Closer and closer.
Where are we going? Where is he bringing us?
Closer and closer.
Past the barricades.
A divider.
Two security guards.
"They're with me tonight," he says. They nod.

"You're kidding, right?" I ask.
"Go on," he smiles.
I hug this man I've just met,
He holds on a second longer.
"Get over there. Don't be shy."
I find myself pressed against the side of stage.
Our railing spot has filled in.
They see us; they're confused.
"I have to go do my job now," he says,
"I'll check on you later."

Each passing second is an eternity.
He turns on the lights.
They appear.
The man who once held my life in a chord.
He is there, before me.
I join the congregation,
Hundreds of words spilling from me in song,
Picked out of the deepest depths of my soul.
I have never felt so alive.

The bass player looks at me dozens of times
During each song.
He watches my lips.
He sees me singing.
I look away.
He looks away.
I look back.
He looks back.
I smile.
He smiles.
Not a word is uttered.

The drummer I hugged two years ago
Is hidden from my view.
But for a moment, we saw one another.
I don't think he recognised me.

Mid-song a hand rests upon my shoulder
And I find a bottle of water placed before me.
I turn to thank my anonymous donor,
And see only the back of his head
And the silhouette of a beard.
He came to check on us.

He pulls the microphone from the stand
And before I can comprehend it,
He is before me, inches away, if only for a moment.
I am crippled by my own love and all I can do
Is sing along with him.
Two hours pass by in a flash.

He turns on the house lights.
The crowd begins to disperse.
The Union Jack steps on cans and sticky puddles of alcohol.
I find my bearded god and hug him again.
He reeks of marijuana but he does his job well.
This night changed my life and he knows it.

We go and visit the drunken Englishman.
I hand him a few bills and he cracks a few jokes.
I walk away with a cd and a smile,
He tells us not to go to Charlestown tomorrow.

I carry my paper bag to the merch line.
A middle-aged, ***-bellied man greets me,
Compliments my hat, tries to speak to me further.
I thank him and turn my back.
My loneliness appears to be an invitation.
I quietly decline.

The line dwindles down until I finally hand her the bag.
"Frank told me to bring these to you."
She questions me, I explain what they are,
And her face lights up.
"Oh! Frank told me about this! That's so kind of you!" she gushes,
"I'll put them...I'll put them on the bus!"
I thank her profusely.
An exchange of words and bills
And we are ushered away into the crisp September air.

I watch a man fall asleep standing up on the sidewalk.

I fall asleep in my own bed, dreaming of flickering lights
And an Englishman.

I feel like that’s the story of my life

waiting

always waiting

whether it be in lines for merch or in line for love I seem to always be waiting until I get there and the moment of torture has past and even though I’m alone in line right now pretending to text but I’m actually writing stream-of-consciousness because waiting in line alone to get autographs of merch I do not have yet is extremely excruciating but worth it in the end the waiting and hoping and wallowing is always worth it in the end because now I know how the universe works

through saying something will happen

letting that wish or hope go

flying free in the wind of reality and

just when you’ve forgotten that you’ve asked for something

it happens in real-life

it becomes your own reality

but you have to let it go

in order for it to

manifest into something tangible and magical and beautiful and raw

I feel like that’s the story of my life

waiting

always waiting

but I’ve accepted that everything great comes after everything awful and you can’t have one without the other

yin and yang

full circle round

and just when you’ve given up

it happens.

An Opus, is this. Ai do declare, my works,
my opera, taken in to my self aware, soft
and gentle
- tame the framing window

- as the Mona Lisa in chalk, let it be
So, old man, he says to me, quoteless in my mind;
what do you think of the last linear affect, my wisht
effectual request, quest for reason to will. May we?
Taste, and see.
Firsts are always free,
there, sit and stare at a stump,
…
At the core, before first root, the door
to out is locked up tight, living is hard.
Imagine many hands making light function, easy
shift from one sense to another, by the numbers.
Seed time.
Long time and short time
long lingering memories, short sharp reminders,
freedom, heard touted for all its worth, cost free.
Live to realize you did believe,
this is what we get, on earth, within bounds.
-mindtimespace and maybe Aristotle's four causes.
-there never was a hell those are church merch.

Coknowing, as any reader by now must be, coded,
we know freedom is not free,
we lieve be, it had to be won,
and as with any war,
winning is never done,
until we all choose, yes, or no, use our reasoning,
learn to bolt the rye,
- sift bran and endosperm
life has many
layers, many folds in a flakey crust

set… listen, windy March time flooding prayers,
asking the boss of all the weather, for wisdom
to come
on the folk who rebuilt
on the new sand.
Knowing, high and mighty.
Storms mean less to a house built solid/
broken bricabrac and whatnots galore,
shattered anvilt'dust,
as in the wind, once used to sweep away,
my married mind, unwound, or un raveled
as may be the case, aitia, as accuser.
opera operates deus ex machina

Is he free,
is his task his alone?

May be, may not, who could say?

Science with its native usefullness,
knowing good and evil, as translated
from the idea,
pride.
- Whence comes contention
How much, how little, measured out
so my part and yours, balance, against
all our worth as ones among the many,

duty service warring minds, stealing time

let this be the palimpsest, recovered
from
radical actual chthonic stage
between the rootedly other wise, simpleton
sublime curios spirit, settling soul substance
hope imagined
image, form imagined in motion, in access

the unacknowledged legislator, impotent
in the wasteland populated by the poets past.

Empty of spite and venom, distracted ******,

the dread of failure, is past me now,
I have become a defender of the faith used
to form my bubble of being,
thinnest of walls, translucent lattice seen
closely enough
to discern the marvelous vision, not to be
lied about by one who never watched selecting
portals accept the usefull and abhor the useless.
-cellular ATP [pop]
Freedom
of the press, belongs
to the man, wombed or un,

Take the poet's high seriousness, this
which brings a self forward -duty
to try signaling-- here,
here, exactly, as
by standing acting out that light announcing danger,
dare not come too close.
Mime meme, mea culpa. {as we cross another's line}

"compulsive excavation
of the void inside"

Irinia, HelloPoetry.com said that,
- goodnight, as an exclamation
-  she said that right
Peace, be still.
And I, the old Weaver's fan,
known as Happy, whishing
wafting hot ai
r, we there, as my soup cooler
slips in a Disneyified whatifery
pool where wandering minds wait
recoknowning, groan growing,

silliest little diamond miner
of 'em all… so stupid, he's cute.

And in that way, the hero being
generated, on the pattern
handed down, to be seen

when you gaze in to your
close kin's eye and see co-known,
we were made
for this,

Klang, that Zildjian once again!
Exclamation, thus marked, calls
attention in the mind's contextual
effectuality, becoming
realized,
instant by instant, at first glance,
whose enemy am I, is the game,
truly
win or lose?

End act one.

Act two. In realized ever after that

The Internet exists, and we were here,
to help announce it,
then we made decisions, to make this.
-Opus

Spiking hopes up, we are among
the first billion mind text to text artforms
to survive
the transition to whenever next insight
sets us right, functional, operational
points,
in reality, centers, of shapes.
- of things in mindtimespace
In this medium, this is my realm,
your role,
is yours to define, any time, think ahead,
see if this goes there, what if it does.
Read'm and weep.

Then what do you do? Ever being after
learning enough to come this deep
when
time arrives.

Short time and long time,
made some mutual sense, muse using me,
and me,
I wished for this, that's so,
I asked to know the meaning of certain things.
I third in to knowing grown, as a tiny we
takes form of information in words rye,
or reasonably surprising to confess,
you know, McLuhan says yet, you know
nothing of my work. Awry.
Successfully making pasta with home-milled, bolted flour depends upon an appreciation of the interplay among grain selection, mill settings and bolting equipment. Failing to consider these factors increases the likelihood of making a weak dough and pasta that breaks when cut and/or cooked. Although one can mask the impact of a weak dough by choosing a more forgiving pasta shape (e.g., creating cavatelli instead of making tagliolini or tagliatelle), knowing the interaction of grain, mill and sieve will help you to create the pasta you envision. Google it.
Certainty is madness, has been resaid
in many ways, all the same, nothing changes

until the bubble of all we call awesome, pops.

AND Boom, it's Art for art's own sake, and me,
for my own, as we two witness, here,
this has already happened this once,

upon, operating the game, shame is left
in your -wherever,
compost it, tell the world.

I made nothing of myself.
I made something else, and then
I made U,
my qwerty symbolic friendly stat set,
bound near-letter
to peeling layers from this particular pearl,
today- in the post Everybody Knows, Cohen
sacred making idea in other words
sacrificial artifice,
offering unto that
super positioned we, humanity has set aside,
holy
holy
hoho ** green giant, ma jones, whole earth

Stewart Brand, right worthy former breather,
with us to this day, in word, and you know,
wheres words take us,
a we spirtitually untied, we
these days, depend to the nth degree,
on real estates in mindtimespace, literaturely.

Ben mentioned, awesome,
I did not catch the reference, I see,
I said a third I line pattern stylized me.
I see, I said for the nth dime degree
Phryigian Liberty Lady.{PLL} appearing

on the silver dimes entangled in the web,
of what Bacon knew or did not know,
when he invested with Madoff.
I know.
He did not write the sonnets.
Marking timestretched most point. Here.
right passing the point.
We imagine everything, am I right?
Line upon line, messaging any thing reader
ready, right now,
this is not the act, no novel form
of a sliver of if,
this is not that.
this is vid licet, per missions taken
for granted, as
meaning clearly I believe I have the right to say
reflectively

I know a whole
other story, new to you, but not to many readers
you were,
in previous experiences
in poetry, and books
for lievers being brought online
in due time.

Ever after that. You may, pause, and imagine roses.

Act three Realized mentally

At the end, it is mental ascent, we do form,
in conformity to the commonest of codes,
Berners Lee's Hyper-code, as manifested in hopes,
of artists,
so called by all who knew them, the framing crews
at Aaron Brother's Art Mart Penny-Frame Sales
events for staff, same
kind of crew glue,
as seen any where,
apron clad, badged, same grinning, that's me,
I did that, too. Grind,
locked in midnight restocking

Walmart, yep, #26, Van Buren, Arkansas.

Target on… Cuyamaca, Santee, San Diego New
Trolley End, right, future planned in action..,

I got black dirt cred back to Moses, m'friend,
I am as full blood American as may be by imagining
I am a Union man, distant scion of a soldier
who had a son prior to dying, around 1781.

In the war for freedom of the press, yes, Ben,
my childhood proverb provider, reminds us all,
owning the use
of money is better than owning
money.
Freedom
of the press, belongs
to the man, wombed or un,
the awesome asexual after all we know,
who who followt Jeffy, and yet did not die in shame,
I mean
after all, we know, we think, why any might
be
so tempted to throw in a sorted *** scene
to envoke audience reaction
by invoking spelchekian mastermind.
Freedom
of the press, belonging
to the man, wombed or un,
who has access to HelloPoetry, past all the 502s.

Free, if you will. No yoke. Seat of y'panting/
Ai aiai

This ain't showbiz. It is one act enacting another.

A writing being ready and read, at once, later.

SO, I bet the Diamond Farm.

Friendly local game, envision a vision of your own,
drawn from what you know is good, for food.
Good idea, fishing for everything.
Got one,
governing meat eaters,
keep your gun, pay a meat tax, by
buying a deer tag, which you may use
or put in to a deer harvesting pool.
That pool then gets used
to pay hunters and packers.

Living forests allow humane behaviour.
Be having the right to use the proteins,
- but you must pay the butchers
- as you might pay yourself
- for the gutting and skinning and all

tastes may be acquired,
that is a power, that sense, too any thing
taste
at first, too bitter

resending hate hate hate, thought caught,
infecting all who take free time to think.
Sweet persuasive, tiny
taste, ah
any, ha, may take a direct object status
in any story, told to gurgling gut gladly
reminding us, aha,
food is not imperitive, o see, im per it
-this instant, soon, however, bread's a must
imperit
ive found myself a happy enough
moment,
dopplering blue jay flies by, says Hi.
- I read myself into the game, and call

Back to Bellow, he told of a fellow in Spain,
who spoke of nudists on the public transportation
in Frankfurt, so, I slip in time slime, no crime time,
¿when was that,
in the era Bellow was an adult in,
when I was just a kid… living in those days?

Poker on the Diamond Farm, in the dust,
we swept into play in the after you believed,

what-did-you-get-to-do game?

I got old. After a while.
Actively participating in the spirit
of my time.
And most of my future happened as I did,
we happened to be here,
at this time, reading.
An opus set to end, when the contrabassoon
blow ai ai ai.

Curtain.

I looked out the window
Why the **** did I look out the window
I dropped by your class
Why the **** did I drop by your class
You're hair is certainly long enough now
You vain boy

You certainly have the body for it ;)

I saw your allstars and skinny jeans
Make their way across the lot
When you pulled in late
Was I too late or you
I'm still trying to decide who's the bigger
**** up

Can I get a picture tonight?

I watch the wind tousle it
Like I used to want to
I saw your varsity jacket
Covering your 'Cry merch' shirt
I caught you later too
Staring at me from across the room

I don't what to hurt you

You snap at me more lately
I hope they all gave you hell
I hate you're perfect hair
I hate you're crystal eyes
I hate that I still care about you
I hate that I can't take back what I gave you

I applied under my legal name.
No way around it really, so I'll have to tell the truth later.
Policy, taxes, W-2's blah,
all I know is that neither the government
or the corporation cares that I stopped being a girl at least 5 years ago (even though the pride merch is filling the front).

It's for the more presentable queers.
Those white, married gays and lesbians moving into the suburbs with their kids and white picket fences and their acceptable bodies.
No trans flag in sight, just gaudy rainbow after gaudy "love wins".
Where's my prize?
Same-*** marriage doesn't help when I decide whether to *** like a man or a woman.

You are being distracted with parties
and teams while the distribution of
power is not what it seems.
But let’s fight about teams;
wear their colours proudly, spout
their talking points, unverified, loudly

Meanwhile, positions are bought
and positions are sold
- But don’t worry about that,
you don’t want to be told the details,
they’re complicated and boring.
Instead, check out the new player
everyone is adoring. Isn't he cute,
isn't he smart? Show support
with your wallet, not with your heart.

Unseen, decisions are made
preserving power and wealth,
ignoring bold new ideas and
community health - but really,
you should know, my team is better
than yours, just look at them go:
look at them argue, look at them
pose - wait, don’t look at those
things going on in the shadows

Come on, join our team - I mean,
join the fans. We’re all in this
together, we’re all part of the plans
- as long you’re not different; but hey,
be one of us, don’t worry about them;
don’t think about incredible minds
discarded to maintain status quo
for corrupt family lines.

Our team has brand new merch!
Check it out at these ridiculous prices;
get your uniform, be part of our herd,
sync your values and devices, swear
allegiance to our team, it’s more
than just words.

It's all fair game when it's parties
and teams. You want us to win
and follow our dreams.They need
your support, they need you
to cheer, and when we need
them, they’ll…. pretend not to hear...

Was it not for joy they praised your ‘fairest’ birth
And plaited hair unend, your weavy piggy tail
Like lily grown… on alluvial plain?

Was it not a hallo placed on your rosy head
As mother pulled on end, and you leapt on holy ground
Like Papal’s pet… and sanctuary blessed?

Was it not all “yea” they nodded to agree,
That a future bright and temple well garnished
Will break the curses…earned in decades past?

How the heart of stone did oust the flesh of good
Prided deluded beauty, hewed for filthy dogs.
Saying with all zest…“it’s now my life”

Is it not a shame that every Jack has seen,
Foiled and ployed with fille, so tender and so dear
Like roses red… plucked at ease and will?

Is it not a shame that every Jack has caused
Unwholesome dent on flossy smoothy silk,
Unspeakable merch…deeds of rusty spite?

Is it not a shame that every Jack has felt
Fair Angelina faded from filthy crusty perks,
Angelic at birth… but fallen down to grass?  

Is it not a shame that every Jack has seen
Pure flow of red and sealed treasure robbed,
Previously bloomed… for the worthy “he”?

1  Hot topic merch
2 baths and poetry audiobooks
3 adult coloring books
4 tea and books
5 Liberal therapists

Would you believe?
What I’ve seen, what I’ve seen!
What do you need?
To believe, to believe?

From living on welfare to living fairly well.
Grew up in church like kapowski,
Guess we were both saved by the bell.
I can guarantee there’s a God compadre,
cause I’ve been through hell.
But I refuse to drag my *** on the pavement,
Even if that **** does sell.
Cause imma true rebel,
And only time will tell.
If I succeed of fail.
So, You see, pray tell, I hope you listen closely, listen well.
Gotta keep one’s intents not stuck on your pretence.
I relent that fact that **** can get intense in an instance.
Enough to make one dive in a pool filled with incense.
Offend the masses with insensitivity,
Yet Treating it like a **** trapped within tents.
No place to run when incensed, at least until one pays them in cents.
Cause that makes sense, doesn’t it?
At least to the insensible next generations,
That needs to be carried like a decimal.
But is that truly justice at all?
Uh..

Would you believe?
What I’ve seen, what I’ve seen!
What do you need?
To believe, to believe?

They tell me to be quiet, bruh I don’t buy it.
They call me a savage, yet I’m not the one who’s violent.
So, I’m not about to dial it down for you clowns that grow silent.
When I reveal the truth once denied and paid off with benevolent funds.
Which loaded the bullets for tiny Tim’s gun.
Cause we’re only good when we’re gone!
I am second to none, go ahead buy my merch.
Than Get told off for wearing a cap in the church, must be capping, cause they ain’t humble enough to get off their perch.
God don’t care about appearances, he cares for the hurt, so before you judge us at least do your research!
Uh…
I ain’t a republican, a democrat, or a conspiracy theorist.
I simply don’t trust politicians, aristocrats, or  cbc journalists.
I trust in the alpha and omega, the OG purist.
That’s why I support Israel and not barbaric Hamas terrorists!
Yes sir!

Would you believe?
What I’ve seen, what I’ve seen!
What do you need?
To believe, to believe?

In America, gay people can marry
But not in the Catholic church

Ah! But mysteries hide in Jesus' story
You have to deeply search

I like Things Not Seen
And birds upon a perch

Fly away, flap your wings
Your mate is not your merch

I was born and raised in the ghetto
Talk with me and you'll know
I was satisfied with living mindlessly
I started looking around for any scam going
But listen to my story,  

I know the Babylon gangsters
Who said they got some friends back West in Bow
Said, "Why don't you work for us
we'll help bring you west
Well you will be a mandem at least"
and we'll throw some peanuts your way

We'll bring you west make you proper mandem
But you must spout our ******* as we tell you
since you have so much time
and nothing better to do
Just do as told
but the joke was on me
They had me just making a fool of myself
left me flat to see

Staying in the Island
( begging to come West)
Yes I know, I'll scam some easy money
and make out alright
Staying in the Island
( begging to come West)
Where I can be proper mandem
and can make some bread
Stuck in the Island
( begging to come West)
Think I'll do alright

Struggling for recognition, identity and easy dollars
I got a lot of problems, they told me not to fret
Said, "We will stand by you if you do as told
and If the going gets rough"
you know how to harrass, intimidate, bully lie and stalk

But when I started as their errand boy
They just said just continue bluffing
you're a scammer and gangmember
we will help you get to the West in yer dreams

Stuck in the Island
( begging to come West)
Yes I know, I'll scam some easy money
and make out alright
Stuck in the Island
( begging to come West)
Where my music's can make some bread
Stuck in the Island
( begging to come West)
Think I'll do alright

'Bout years has come and gone
And left me standing here
yelling my head off till no hair left
preaching scams and serving western gangsters
Thinking how it could have been
'Cause still I ain't nowhere

They surely taking me for a ride
Trample on my pride and stupify me
But I'll hold my head up high
and do all to flog my poor quality merch
the scam sideline to etch out some dollars
Man, I gotta lot of tears to cry

Stuck in the Island
( begging to come West)
Yes I know, I'll scam some easy money
and make out alright
Staying in the Island
( begging to come West)
Where the gangs are racking it in
Stuck in the Island
( begging to come West)
Think I'll do alright

20th through to the 23rd of June
LS (London Stadium, Foo Foo Fudge
Packers)
then 21st headed to Wembley: wound
in the womb: a fetus
(can't understand why that's underlined
in red when foetus): the disappearance
of œ and øzɔfaʒ

/n̪͡mt̪͡p/ (Yele: Papa New Guinea:
mmm't         or mount: mt.)
Niveneh: no: Nineveh...
                  like Jericho but without chatter:
cauldron in the cold

      the other Siamese Twin of how language
originated in vowels
to later establish itself in consonants...

the digraph of Æ: almost Katakana and Hi:

K(appa) missing the additional 'i (<p)

i.e.                    カ-
                                らがな (HI! ragana:
regina regatta - smooth sailing, averse winds)

could compact the punctuation / insinuation,
hide the exclamation marker
attiring the iota with more than just a dot:
like so:

                 HÍ instead of HI!
also: HÍ = HI!

               as i pondered travelling on the train
sitting backwards from Romford
to Stratford
a quickie: 7 - 10min commute:

the perfections of language and the language
impasse
with the same language (as it were)
we build the pyramids
and the Coliseum
and conjured up the microchip and satellites
but still the ******* graffiti on
the walls like a sad testimony of:
not literate enough?

                   enough Swifties to me have
to exclaim to my ginger nut
i never worked in a response team
on basis / bias of positive discrimination
the industry has been flooded with
Asians (and i don't mean the artisan
Oriental cobblers, sturdy workers
i mean the Raj sleuths and sloths)

   so there i was working with "Brighton"...
4 English guys...
the ginger nut was going through
a breakup with a girl he was with for 3 years
bought Taylor Swift tickets
broke up: patchwork Adams i figured
am i a psychiatrist now?

no: a historian a psychiatrist a poet
a philosopher: all under ONE BANNER:
a HUMANIST...
i am a humanist: never worked with
someone with ADHD:
first time:
could feed off his scatter brain i knew he
was trying to win the girl back

that's the thing with women:
you see enough of them and enter their
personal space
you: realistically enter a harem
so there's no need to blow yourself up
for Islam and (a) Promise... of...
a harem:
me and my "ball and chain":

well... if she's 56 and i'm 38
and there's than new film about about
Anne Hathaway and the IDea of yOU

i promised myself not to have
a ******* and i didn't
but just across from me on the Metropolitan Line
two classical Sappho types:
the type of lesbians that make out
across from you on the train
because you have nothing for an ego
and there's no narrative in your head
you're just this emptiness gravity
sitting down looking
at these two lesbians making out
and they're trying to be lesbians
really hard
but at the same time they start touching
each other
so... you start touching yourself
like: massaging your legs and your neck
and then the so-so lesbians
look like: oh ****! we need a *****!
a living breathing *****!
not the deconstruction of man of: just
a phallus: **** me! get a cucumber
but the sort of lesbians that are not butch
nor twisted rainbow nor political
just purely ******: they need a friend
type of *****: lezbo:
and that's all fine and dandy
but i figured: if this open gay sexuality
can happen: transcendental
then let's not be ableist or ageist about
who we are biochemically drawn to:

i admit in 20 years when Edie's ****
and clothes with smell of grey and moths
maybe then i will shove
fern leaves up my nose:
exchange the warm tingling kiss of chilly
juice for the sting of nettles
and call it cotton: but until then...

there are three language settings in Japanese
and yes: twice at the Fudge Packers
concert and twice at Taylor Swift:
like: i can't imagine this devilish Elvis
(who had a ****** life, seriously)
having any *** at all: Taylor Madonna...
i managed to chirp at least 10 friendship
bands
the last one i exchanged with a 6 year old
groupie who
mesmerized me with my grief over other
exchanges of friendship bands
so she gave me one with
a cocktail of watermelons, kiwis, oranges,
strawberries, lemons and that made my day
because another 20 year old groupie took
my prized possession of a band with metalic
swifts: yes... actual birds...

but like me and Matt were saying:
two years ago... two years?
Red Hot Chili Peppers at the London stadium:
day one opened with
All Around the World...
day two?
opened with
Can't Stop.... or the other way round:
either way! either way...
as a citizen going to a concert having
no experience of multiple bookings
of an artist at a venue
you don't really THINK about the SET LIST...
clearly...
Taylor Swift is an ARTIST...
just like Lloyd Webber is an artist
and there's the Phantom of the Opera production
and that's also Kierkegaard
and the Changelessness of God

but like Anthony Kiedis said
of John Frusciante: the psychotic -
these guys are no longer ARTISTS: they are:
MUSICIANS!
Taylor Swift isn't a musician: she's an artist:
and like any artist: she's not endowed with
some crazy creative demon
of uncontrollable energy to have to lose
and recycle material or just become
insatiable and confrontational like
a brick wall or the sea or gravity...

meh... MERCH! merchandise!
        ugh: honing in: i too bought a t-shirt...
well... two... i caved in...
the silly idiot moi so-so...

                          i'd still give an arm and a leg
to get to see Boris Brejcha...
i don't need to know his personal story:
but yes, he apparently escaped with burns
and bruises from an airshow where
a plane crashed and he discovered Mozart
in electronics / electronica...
so DJing is not so lazy after all?
funny: conjuring up melody with only ticks
and drums and rhythm
because there are no woodwinds
and certainly there's no frantic fried egg jazz
to be the antithesis of classical
which jazz was but
electronica is the antithesis of jazz
it's what i'd call RE-

BIG word: big WORD:
i can't even spell it i have custard for brain
my best estimate is
(even with the use of algorithm,
i'm yet to invest dyslexia into AI usage
via chatGPT so who knows)

COMPROMISING is close... super: cl>o<se...
but not there, yet... yeti yeti yet...
on shift when i repeat myself
over and over again i turn into a slur and slobber
monster i think my tongue is a gigantic worm
that's suffocating me... or at least gagging (me)

one more try: RE-
electronic music > jazz > classical
not necessarily > or <
but what other punctuation marker?
| ...            perhaps: i'm starting a mixology
of e. e. cummings and OLSON
so... let's see...

COMPARTMENT + RE-
spells out, what?
ANALYZING                       that's a pretty picture

i'm actually not, going to,
scribble the correct spelling
of the word that's burning up my brain!

and so much other **** in between
Big Mo was trying to steal my sunglasses
on at least 4 prior shifts...
i forgot my sandwich and coat last shift
managed to stash it: picked it up on cordon
DC3 on Olympic Way
fair enough fair enough...
o.k. have my sunglasses: until next shift
point being so much mush and ****
i'm having to have to build in a FILTER...
veil... membrane:
it's like reality is hyperventilating and
i'm not on any hallucinogenics but
i'm getting so many cues in terms of
what's being communicated
that hearing about Islamic Terrorist attacks
on Christian folk is one thing...
but then hearing about the crushing stampedes
on the Road of the Hajj
and at the place where they stone the devil
(Mina)
ha ha!                  ******* win-win scenario:
you know what i mean?

one thing to put pebble on a pebble
and call it a redemption of the continent of Africa
via the Egyptian "clairvoyance" of:
let's leave something behind for future
generations to remember us for...
and another to throw a ******* rock: at a rock!
magic!

yes: i am the devil: a humanist:
god? yeah: he's the theorist of humanity
nothing personal
but if you have ******* gaseous and liquid
equations like water can contain salt
and the cauliflower sponges of clouds
and blah blah blah
then god is the worst kind of humanist
he's an anti-humanist...
a calculator there's no personality
attached to god
god is not a person
however you think god in trinity might be:
**** me
some magical telepathic extended thing
of Descartes? well he did try obliterating God
almost all philosophers of the circa
8th - 19th centuries tried to obliterate god
until Nietzsche finally said: ASK the FINITE ***
for CARROT then the SCHTICK...

welll) d'uh this isn't readership friendly
but i didn't just read Finnegans Wake
and admired the struggles of Delmore Schwatrz
for no reason...
pressed too long on the L without shift...

in terms of women...
and i've been with prostitutes and i've interacted
with Swifties so i have
a plethora of experience
not to say i'm in any position: advantaged to
"abuse" or reap... or... m'eh...
*** is *** but kinda of pointless
if not procreative...
so *** ON and *** OFF...
there's a switch when not investing pro-creatively
but then i don't want the hassle of
my own bad seed
so tending to a foreign body that's not
my own is ego-soothing
because i have no emotional investment:
just an emotional commitment:
and that's different because
it allowed me to morph my original idealism
of women
into an alternative idealism of women

point being:
of women: well... you won't get any BETTER...
you'll... you'll just get: DIFFERENT...
no better: just different...
after all: women are generic creatures...
you get to see that when a 90,000 event
takes place and egress is summoned, naturally...
men are unruly...
it's sad... it's sad that the concept of
individuality disappears
when people congregate...
people become stupid and no longer
bothered about individuation or democracy
or whatever they do privately
but cattle i understand and
i have my Cerberus Team on hold:
it takes about 5 people
to organize a Slaughterhouse of 300...
it truly does take only 5 dedicated Hosts
to push 300 Parasites through the Coliseum Turnstiles:

methodological: i'm not a Methodist...
i'm being clear cut precise:
it would be stupid not to learn anything from
the Nazis...
seriously: when it comes to crowd management
at large events, concerts etc
you'd be a ******* ******
not to learn from the Nazis...
how... how?! seriously?
what? how they managed to dupe all those
people into walking so serenely to
their death? is there any depiction of people
walking into the gas chambers
kicking and screaming like
children being born?!

                       hmm... not that i can recall:
plus if you see the number 90,000 in an elevated
crater as if a meteor just fell...
i'm not scared of heights...
but even i get the fiasco of vertigo
   on level 5: the whirlpool of a man made
open space:
clearly a meteor should have landed here:
but no... just man's ingenuity to allow
people to congregate and find imitations of god
with idol(s)...

ah yes... Polish could be almost like Czech
in that it could be lazy, slurry... from time to time...
i honestly have to mind this
in terms of language usage: English is provisional
Lingua Bas Franca etc
but i could become more Czech
(i have genetic roots in Bohemia)
in that:

JUS      can easily replace JUSZ
because: eh...        FABRI GAS... not GAZ...
i'm lazy and Polish is too strict for my liking
****... already:

it's not even jusz but już...
      but instead i can just say: jus... like i'm an imbecile
but rather: that's how Polish children
speak: naturally: partially Czech softly
and there's no real Russian softness
just blue blue blah blah harasho...
either way i'm going to be put into some
sort of category of "origins"
as not even Jesus was this Messianic Universal
He-Man...
so... why stress that i'll just be the Polish Matt?

did i miss something?
ah right... filter... i need to filter through
the past 4 days
and think about the best time to have a ****;
not now: i want to read one chapter
of Dune and some Olson poems.

No need to be defeatist
Mystery in the search

Franklin Street discussions
St. Thomas More Catholic church

Cardinals in the trees
Birds that sing and perch

I would like the movies
You can have the merch

                      Come as you are
                             Avatar!