I'm slow to the boil and takes a lot to **** me off.

WARNING: Stop reading if you dislike vents.

A truth we all know but WONT discuss IS race relations in America *****!!
How did it come to all this open bigotry and so many stupid racist comments?
****** shame that my race still don't get that ALL people are created equal.
Maybe other regions get it but not my area with it's tons of racists.
In my area people believe all blacks lie, steal, cheat, live in ghettos,
black is the wrong race and white is always right and superior. BULL!!!
I will never be ignorant and speak ignorance like I hear in my area
"Ship them back to Africa their homeland!"  
Wake up! Africa is everybody's motherland!!!  
My dander is up because stupid racist bogus flagged a video of a friend.
Not bad enough they call venues so the lady can't get a local gig or they
posted bogus mugshots of convicts on Craigslist faking it was her.....
ATTENTION people from Northern Michigan: YOU PEOPLE NEED TO
RETHINK WHAT YOU THINK AND SAY ABOUT MINORITIES!!!
****** she's proving she doesn't need Northern Michigan to get her music heard?
Calling venue to get her fired and lose jobs didn't stop her from singing.
You can't flag this and to remove like you did on Craigslist.
I stopped posting on Craigslist after all the **** talk about my friend.
She got targeted by ignorant racist assuming ALL black women are like the
Kerry Washington's character on Scandal. Betty's not a bed hopper and
she doesn't ***** around with married men. I can't speak for Kerry Washington.
Betty doesn't speak ghetto talk as my area calls it and she's not like the stereotypes
racist paint all blacks to be. Blew their minds that Betty's a hell of a lot smarter than
them and she's not lazy, ignorant or the N word they love calling blacks.
Fed up with the racism in my area, Northern Michigan and the nation.
****** because anonymous ignorant went to Youtube and flagged my friend
Betty Ponder's new G-rated video for inappropriate content and got it removed.
Inappropriate content my ***!

Under the legs of giraffes falling in love by being licked to buy a deer deer licking giraffes Gareth Pugh transforming signs pigs that can't **** but **** bricks in the tea cups personal Hispanic designers transforming into anorexic girls tornadoes in Pennees that buildings can't stop where pro-skateboarders take millions of dollars of drugs that are crystals and mugs and improve haircuts to make mugshots better who go to bathroom the stress says this transvestites in British airways first class airplane ride bathrooms **** **** ******* ******* **** in and list ***** used who's spending money and and aunt uncle and uncle gay and lesbian **** show putting faces in the toilets and wedding the water stopping at rest stops work carnival junkies pay tolls and gas station attendants charge super fees going to grocery stores to buy cream soda likes Sprite flavored train send peanut butter cup chocolate **** sores and send aunts uncles and uncles undulates and pigs passing by signs changing words miss read words changing over and over again passing through Stardome popularity celebrity. Rachel Lynch by skinny victory over and over groups of people lost in bathrooms starting outs in the story telling each other being wet by Harry Potter. In the beginning their hair was wet eyeballs were sore they took drugs text transform them into night sweats and their minds ate breakfast as they arrived at the circus storytelling they wore black costumes and shrunk like Alice in Wonderland having to **** and **** and eat but they were silent until the drugs came back into their systems and then they remembered each other. My father's brother Jim's son was lost abandoned me inside a marketplace in Colorado roadrunner was treated having a disease rather than being a drunk and given medication while lost in the end of the world's apocalypse. Symphony after symphony lost and returned and lost an overturned enveloped in the mall or people in different sections provided different offerings like curiosity giving oral *** or rubbing ankles or kissing on heads or **** ******* each other to death. Moving through security checkpoints falsifying drugs by providing sticky chewing gum pulling it from their mouths while Hispanics were extradited to other South and Central American countries. Oh my God insanity bliss favoritism chocolate peanut butter cup Carnival riding red neck necking car crash crashing insanity. Goblins introduces lighting fuses of other uses oxymoronic hyperbole of onomatopoeia and sounds raking the ears, breaking Pap smears in the vaginas of men with penises of early surgeries. Michael Gottlieb as a hog, tigers and dynosaurs, Jim Morrison poisoned, Transformers rising to the Chicago skyline TIE interceptors of cellular structures musing youths. Hallucinations of blasphemous miniature creatures giving faith to words transforming to the name of this movement this movie: The Shīt Shūw.

When kids pop more pills than balloons
at a fair, take more rips from bongs
than Beyblades, shake hands with *****
dollars and plastic bags, steal more money
than hearts, are in more mugshots than family
photos, **** more than war, sell more ****
than lemonade, read more billboards than books,
go through more girlfriends than socks in a week,
text more than they write, inject more ******
than flu vaccinations, drink more beer than fruit punch,
put their lips around more pipes than Popsicles,
and die more than live;
then we'll know we've failed them.

Tiger Wood's wins the Masters today
Another green jacket comes his way
Finally, his image stands large at the doorway
For it's been a knock and a hiatus of his cache
As the years after 2008 suffered from his play
No major championships one can say
Only gossip headlines, mugshots, and injuries in gray
Where once a phenom in his twenties on display
Such greatness and legend his star headway
His mid-thirties saw some of his luster fall  in dismay
With mostly self-injury to his ego in disarray
It was hard watching a once proud man's fall and decay
Especially one that held his world at bay
With his swagger, swoosh, and shine turning to clay
And like a good drama of accents and descents convey
With the wait and weight on his shoulders belay
He turned the storybook pages of dismay today
The pressure of his swing, swing, and putt on display
And how he uncorked his demons is a pure bouquet
After 43 years of his years, he took the fairway
Running, running, today after his prey
It was great seeing his game not get away

Logan Robertson

4/14/2019

It's new to me
To have found a 'you'
A mystery unsolved
Got an empty clue

Lead one,
The string of love from you to me
Lead two,
The ink of joy you've etched through me

Bewildered by the case
Lone made by this guy
Why I haven't known
I still don't know why.

you stuffed the sharpest fragments of your past
deep into the pockets of that green coat
so that they couldn’t pierce you anymore

sometimes in conversation, your hand shifts towards a pocket
I give the gesture attention, so you go ahead and reach in

the memory you pull out, you hold before you like a line-up
I tell you I’m not taking mental-picture mugshots

all I want is to hold the parts of your past that hurt the most
and grace them with my tears

for when I look at you, I see a girl with the courage
to pick the broken fragments of her shattered self off the floor
and piece them back together

I see a girl who dares to ask the deepest questions of life
because she has already been broken
and is not afraid of the answer

Fame frightens me
So evil
With it's disguise

Fans holler your name
When you rise

Then scream
When you dive

Their love
Rides at the edge of hate
Too close
The
Applauds are just
As loud as the crowd's laughter
When you fall
No sympathy for the weak
You are
The almighty celebrity

So that billboard in the sky
Is a mirror image
No blemish
Finished
Perfectly

Are you?

My mugshots show
An ugly side
Never before seen
My front
Was just as bad
It wasn't me
I swore

Lie in front cameras
Paparazzi
Spot's me
And shoots me
Repeatedly
I turn around
To run away
And twist my ankle
And hit my face

I can't see

The flashing lights
Are so blinding
I stand up
And
Run to my ride
Hoping I won't die
Like the princess
Inching closer
I jump inside
And pull off
With a vengence

They follow me
In vans
Advancing at a pace
No ordinary
Horse-power could
Soar at
Gaining on me

High beams
Blind my rear-view
Mirror shows
All
Even in the privacy
Of my car
I remain
In spotlight

I haven't read this script
Let alone rehearsed
Will this high speed chase
End
Or is the next scene
In a hearse?

Welcome to the auction down in Tennessee
Get 2 ****** for a k with a 3
If you don't buy him now he'll get found selling ****
He used to have a dad who left so when he gets a son he'll leave
Believe too
You got 1 but need two
You get a lightskin for the house
Who can clean some greens to
His baby momma's named rashonda who got nice weave to
The dark ones mentally scarred because his ****** were killed
The lightskin was for the house
The dark skin for the field
If he calls girls ******* then the ***** is real
If he's smart and educated then he holds no appeal ( pause )
Yea my names society and I got ****** of all sizes
And varieties
I got ****** from the ghetto who were Gucci with fake diamond rings
His kind and the cops will forever hold a  rivalry
That's part of his anxiety
His intellect is 0 cause his teachers never taught
If you teach the ***** things then he can form his own thoughts
All he needs to know is violence ,war, *** and gunshots
Yea his mind is distraught
Filled with drugs and mugshots
Education is the key but people tend to change the locks
We used to fear the criminals but now we fear the cops
We are having a revelation detox
We get consumed by material things that we bought
So you can buy him make him work I promise he'll never rebel
You can burn him and **** him
But he'll still **** himself

The agency delivers me to celebrity
and it's a long way from obscurity
but the price paid is high,
it's like
try and imagine grey
lay with one eye shut
and put the light out.

That's stardom
come and get it.

well... i've just stumbled upon this channel
recently,
                                                             gavin mcinnes
      has been on my radar for some time,
    but then this guy comes along and grips
my attention... lionel nation...
                 and he's talking some pretty interesting
****, while selling his slap-friendly mug,
                      on a mug (oh the irony)...
but, i have this bach ear for making comparisons,
like this curse, for remembering
      people's face... i.e.?
         there were four of us, walking in the street
at night, a car pulls up... a pakistani jumps
out of the car, and snatches my friend's mobile
out of his hand...
                      i start looking at the license plate
of the car and tell one of my friends to note it down,
we go to the police station and report it...
    next thing i know, england has won the ashes
match against australia, and i'm being asked to
recognise the culprit, through a series of mugshots
at a police-station, then standing in court,
    and arguing with the defendent's lawyer...
       who shows me the picture of the culprit and asks:
is this really the person you saw steal the mobile
phone?
         and i reply... see the date on this photograph?
it's 4 years old... people tend to change with ageing.
anyway...
      with relation to the youtubers?
    i don't know who's copying who...
         it might be gavin mcinnes copying the mannerisms
      of lionel nation, or the reversed...
      or maybe it's a billy joel's new york state of mind,
**** knows...
oh sure... i'm "down with the kids", the alt. news outlets,
               i'm into this current fetish,
like i might be watching ****** of, girls,
                                               simply *******:
i have to admit, having played with my neighbour's
girl, playing with barbies and kens...
         this is a step up... a big, step up...
                        she cut mine off, moulded it into plastic,
and now i'm just... waving my hand in the crotch area;
did my groin, really step into a sauna
            that i need to fan the missing part?

Welcome to America
Land of the feeble, home of the slaves
Where foreigners parlay
Consuming fruits of the labor of ancestors faceless
Were caste systems stay in place
And concepts convict colors
Where fathers have no mothers, and mothers no lovers
To the place that everyone loves, so they can remove their gloves
Speak blasphemous contradictions, and victims get convicted
Where dictatorship is democracy and Democracy is hypocrisy
And the living dead transitions from box to box
Where the collective creative consciousness is mocked
And people’s minds are locked in solitary confinement
Where they stone your reputation when you idle worship
But they idol worship those they could never be
Where freedom aint free, very costly
And if you succeed you will bleed, the country’s sins
Everyone pretends with pretentious nature
Where people won’t share, or care about anything but their own self interest
A place where the black class places their children in the ground before themselves
Where poison is wealth and health is death in a needle
Where people are paid according to skin, where there are boys not men
And females not women to solidify a better position
Where miseducation poses as education rapes your pockets
And stills your eyes out of its socket
A place where no one trusts each other
And your best friend is your Glock
Where the media lies and deceives to protect its power
And little girls dress like their getting in the shower
A place where morals and values are exceedingly different
And your next door neighbor could be a hitman
But you’ll never know because that second face never shows
A place where majority means ruler and minority means peasant
But the peasants still don’t get the message
Where the greatest population don’t have a nationality
But beg and plead for mercy
There is none, it gets worst by the day
A melting ***, where all believe they should have their way, smiling in the face of disgrace
Welcome to the dressed up thugs who maintain plugs, and shrug, when they destroy lives
Where more people get mugshots and bullets than they do employment
A place where the creators are never recognized, but disguised, and many are disingenuous
Welcome to the land where the people gave up their rights and liberty
Because they’d rather watch tv
And be like people who have more resources
Where marriages have plundered under divorces
And people don’t say excuse me
Or help the elderly lady, they walk pass without a care in the world
Welcome to the good ole melting ***
That is now molten rock
Welcome to America

By Monique Lewis ©2016

my existence cannot be accounted for
by myself
or by anyone I've met

you
lined the median with
all of my mugshots
so I could revel in past failures

my car seemed to drive itself to your house
I came bearing gifts but they washed away in the rain

when they knocked on your door I had nothing to say

noises the poor can’t make

and mugshots

my lord

and for some reason, whenever the night sky engages
with me: i feel no lessening of meaning,
no dictate superior -
not that i can't grasp something -
or shove myself into the sky beyond
atmosphere -
     it's no the universe that makes me feel
inferior, dwarfed, insignificant -
i count the bodies in a linear pattern -
plumbers, electricians,
   chemists, doctors -
   its this unanimous collectivism,
faked-staged as individual rights that
bugs me...
               oh i'm not jealous -
    but let's face it:
      to speak for the entirety of humanity:
is to not speak for any humanity at all...
man's insignificance doesn't reside
in the stars, in pillars of men standing as
tall as to tickle the constellation -
         it's so much more linear -
in that, the man next to me sees no stars,
sees no heaven,
but only: the next day -
and an art, or profession: that demands him
perfecting it,
       solipsism is thus in the guise of
a placebo effect -
   yet so few fathomable re-entry points -
to put the thought behind in a crevice
of shadows...
        and are men not twice the foetuses
when compared to women?
     a man's ego will forever remain
a foetus-like creature -
                simply because the universe
is feminine -
in that a woman has the "burden"
of carrying through a new, beginning -
which is why a woman's ego will never
be a foetus liking -
  unlike the man, who has an ego that is very
much foetal -
       we contradict by compensating
metaphorically -
         and somehow that leaves us
less contradictory that we might think...
   a woman's ego can never take to
a foetal form, a woman is already
the carrier of the universal -
   which is why so many, if not all women
"lie" - well, hide truths -
and write such terrible books,
if any...
   the moment a woman writes a book
of truths, is the moment she is abhorred
by her ***...
women don't write truths -
a man will stand fully attired in his
nakedness, while a woman will stand
in a burqa -
    peering, so little revealing -
                    the joking poker player.
man is twice the foetus to a woman -
since he emerges from one space of mystery
to another space, of even greater mystery...
a woman at least has the upper-hand
on man by incubating him for one part
of the flux...
       what has man to offer by comparison?
two world's worth of two *******?
      another thing,
i'd love to be included in this debate,
even though, i think so little of it -
      this consensual *** gimmick -
what do you call losing your virginity at
a university house party, where both
both of you are drunk,
   and she decided to go lie in your dorm room,
prior to the end of the party,
and you go back to your room,
and want to fit in with her in a single bed,
and you start kissing,
   and then you begin to engage with
her in *******,
you're drunk, she's drunk,
  but then she suggests in a sober fashion:
matt, put on a ******...
    consensual, or not?
    so you put a rubber on,
  and lose it...
                      she's 21, you're 18...
what was non-consensual about that
sort of theatre?
      could it well be, that having *** while
drunk, pivots on the crux of:
put a ****** on?
i remember testifying for a friend in
court, his phone was stolen while we were
walking,
   i told him: write that number-plate down,
then in the police station i recognised
the ****** from among the 20+ mugshots,
he didn't,
   while in court the ***** lawyer
showed me a picture of the "defendant" -
it was 2 years old...
so i said to him: so you're telling me,
that people these days have all made
dorian grey pacts, and don't change?
  what i i told you that i could probably
don a beard in 5 years?!
the case didn't end well,
   simply because my friend couldn't
identify the mugshot of the culprit -
     and people might mock while i believe
in a god: for one - the universe is a stretchy
womb - and i'm twice the foetus in it...
for another reason: people haven't exactly
mastered jurisprudence -
they can be all cocky when it comes to
laws in science -
but in terms of the lesser laws -
     people know as much about relativism
as einstein knew about quantum physics...
that being said: very little!
       it would be hard not to make a mistake,
einstein was a physicist of the telescope,
of course he would have faltered on
the level atomist investigation -
you don't suddenly get to play with
the heavenly orbs (planets, stars) -
and then get to play with the ants
  (electrons, neutrons, protons) -
       knowing the big doesn't exactly imply
you'll get to know the small,
                                 and vice versa;
and as all men are: we are twice the foetus -
women? only a foetus once -
and then the incubator of constellations -
of man's ideas and thoughts...
  women are only foetuses once...
men? twice...
          and there are so many secrets women
haven't, and never will tell -
no matter how much they "think"
they're written -
     women will never tell the ultimate
truth... it's just simply impossible -
and with the end of life -
man is still ****-naked in eden -
while woman is dressed in a niqab -
peeking through a post-box at the world...
it wasn't muhammad's invention
to create the niqab or any muslim attire -
muhammad revealed the koran -
and the arab women "revealed" the niqab...
and then muhammad was like:
the **** is this!
        and the women said:
well, if you've spoken to
the angelically-handsome gabriel -
try talking to us a second time...
         how far does indeed the scorn of
women flow, to the pits of tartarus
where queen sheba, queen of jealousy,
strokes medusa's serpentine hair of
serpents...
     the oppression was created by women,
there is nothing manly about
putting a ******* wool bucket over
your head and pretending to be a calamity
jane ninja!
   i can't even begin to think that
the islamic attire was created by men...
   surely, after a few centuries,
arabs would become the new jews -
i.e. whitened, michael jacksons...
    you sure enough vitamin D is being
ingested, surely they'd start to become
whiter...
          like the jews did...
  but now, still the same old arabs as
before...
       let's face it: was coco chanel a man,
or a woman?
                 so why would a man give
two farts to the wind's worth of fashion?
don't ask me, i'm drinking,
and i just told you how i lost my virginity
to a drunk psychology french exchange
student,
   and how i feel no guilt having lost it
drunk, and her drunk,
   but the words: put a ****** on -
as being: well, that's consent, alright.

i don't really question the existence of god;
i also read
a very pop poem by a maya angelou -
the phenomenal woman -
what's great about pop poetry:
unlike pop music - yes...
these are the lyrics and also:
thank god there is no music to accompany
it...
i might just like it...
   then again: Wagner... a rarity -
in that he also wrote the libretto for the operas...
perhaps that's why the music feels
a tad bit as an indigestion -
         heavy on the germanic side...
but pop poetry: well...
it's for people who probably wouldn't
want to experience a democracy
of the whole "affair"...
who's a jack spicer or an al purdy in this:
teasing of leashes to tug at
the greatest number of acolytes -
           words although once: written
with a blood of pigeons - this diluted
ink from flight -
                     and on some variation
of flimsy paper -
           maya angelou doesn't resonate
with me like: hell...
even walt whitman doesn't resonate
with me... what resonates with me
is the english...
tongue of many abodes:
i feel sluggish and shy to have to burrow in
this tongue for:
no reasons really given...
i'm not running off to claim a reading
of louis zukofsky or a delmore schwarz...
i like how the hebrews can retain
status of missing the stereotype galore
of: become lumber-mill owners having
started off selling toothpicks...
   i don't question the existence of god in as
much: i am a fiction nugget in what's
already an apparent: loss of sensibility -
that i imagine a grave and the shallow warmth
of a shadow marrying itself to night:
how the shadow has married itself
to the sea of night and how i have:
only bare minimum inclinations for the project
with a thought: here and there...
i have come to distrust the faculty of
memory: in that... i am also purely
unimaginative...
   i couldn't conjure you a Dumbo even if i tried...
content on the restraints given:
i do imagine myself in two ways:
a breaking of the neck when falling
on the gallows...
or turning into a pickled cucumber stashed
away in some obscurity... like a prison cell:
even though i have done nothing so wrong
as to give me justification for enduring
such squalor...
but that's that... in a prison cell
i can imagine myself staging a coup d'etat of
lying back and watching a memory cinema
like "something new"...

jude law: the third day...
the music hones in on the project -
alias? the wicker man...
so nothing new: but a welcome reinvention...
i'm just wondering whether or not
demdyke stair provided the music...
probably not...
            it's the wicker man through and
through...

  as i sometimes digest culture:
i can find a canvas to meet an outlet and
it's hardly a critique:
oh i'm not that rich to hold
a sensible job at a newspaper
where i am paid to watch television
and make critique of it...
                would i?
                what a formidable platitude
of expectations...
  
             why don't i question the existence
of god: teasing at a gnosticism... perhaps...
at judaic phoneticism: obviously...
but no...
some ruth Ginsberg dies...
a supreme judge...
i have had one notable experience
of man made law: a revision of thou
shall not steal in my life...
i was a witness of a theft...
   i was on the team of the grieved party...
a witness accuser -

      we were walking a car pulled up
my fwend's phone was ripped from
his hands: i asked for the number plates
to be noted...
they were... due process was furthered
and i was summoned to look
at mugshots...
i summoned the little gremlin to court...
the incident happened in the night
but for lack of imagination:
my memory is furnace -

               in his (the gremlins') defence
a photograph was used to debase my assurance
from leaving pristine confrontation
against the use of a mugshot...
the year was: when england won
the ashes...
     the defence presented a photograph:
and argument: can you recognise this face -
the picture was dated:
in the days when photographs still
had a vivid neon crayon of red
imprinted on them: as i pointed out -
two years from now i hope to be sporting
a missing chin... i.e. a beard...

i don't think there was any weight to
my argument...
after all: the injured party didn't recognise
the mugshot - i did...
i don't actually know whether
the drive-by phone-jacker was convicted...
it's beside the point:

gravity - an unquestionable law...
gravity and death -
     the film moon starring sam rockwell:
and there i was thinking that
clones would only be used to further
the projects of centaurs and caesars...
i was so ******* wrong...
the soul destroying project of:
only one authenticity left to deal with...
this clone is a machine deposit...
it's not a would be: futuristic project
to keep death at bay...
anyway...

    i am sooner to find myself in
the "supreme court" of a law that states
itself paramount and unbiased -
adjective adjective adjectives...
       that sort of law i can stand...
   but to come across... nuances...
man's inhibitions...
man's jurisprudence jargon of synonyms
to lessen the blow:
something less hoisin comforting
in a marinade and: peppery / itchy /
sneeze conjurer...

          i will sooner come across a law
of a deity: like gravity - mortality
is itself a bundle of tenure possibilities /
day-dreams -
i will sooner come across that:
yes... deism and that's because...
a theist would want gravity to be bulldozered
for an interlude in miracles...
but i will sooner come across
these laws...
than... confined to a court...
have to stand sober and marionette-esque
pretty to specify all the plethoras
of nuance... that man ordeals himself
with...
i.e. a theft is not a theft when...
the third party recognises the culprit
but the injured party doesn't...
at least that's what it felt like from
my experience: i didn't hear a follow up
on the passing of judgement -

           well... at this point i am not surprised
that everything i write has a tinge
of juvenilia - it's the same base project
of 1 + 1 = 2 and: god exists or doesn't...
i'm so far beside myself:
the demiurge as a bad joke for the greek
polytheists -
       is or isn't: question or no question:
fundamentally fudge-packing
and custard goo ruining a smile -
best looking toward those serious
orthodox closures from the russians
on the topic...

  arbeit macht frei: would be a question
imposed by the workaholics -
which is never a never real question...
to write toward a tongue that
will never be spoken that only eyes
will decipher...
i never read what i write...
as i write what i see i automate
on the basic principle of: extending
beyond the friction of the digits -
fugazi *******!
fugazi jackson *******...
a half smoked cigarette in my lips
starting to draw ms. amber's wetting -
nothing like smoking tobacco
via a soaked filter stinking of
                       maple syrup of a bourbon...

but that the topic remains:
the laws of men and all of man's nuances...
at least there was something akin
to keeping sanity with:
all are equal before death
and a ledge...
             aren't all... equal?
      all are equal before death:
death the court jester of the versailles
of heavens...
   death the joker death cry me a clown...
cry me ****** frictions that
can become an eternal smile!
death no bomb death the joke
death of deaths and death's ashore
sunbathing on the tide
of the Styx with imitation of Thames...

      evelyn waugh's gilbert pinfold's ordeal...
pushed to the limits of
a stress membrane being breached:
a claustrophobia of any and all ego projects:
akin to egoism -
my metaphor for the schizoid "adventure":
or what it was first:
a promising future via bilingualism...

but that man has these laws...
his own graces and his own demises -
the hindering bias for:
money juggling and monkey rendering
the concept of honest work:
in the service sector can there be
an authenticity of work?
with all the loitering and keeping up
appearances "in between"...

i bellow with a mule's agony of a last
breathable breath to source
the vanity of cyclopses -
   i no longer can hear anything for
the worth of these letters and these words
just automate themselves:
i see auroras of a congestion that
allows me to escape this poorly lit
night sky...
a moonless night promenade...

                i hyperventilate with
a purpose to only pursue a vanity that's
the least: that it doesn't rhyme and
propose a fire for the invitation
of stressor memory bundles...
my little corner of impatience becomes:
a penitent proof of...
worthless unimaginative spell-binding...
but at the same time i am lost
should i come across a formal lingo...

                       a language of translation
or a language of: feral and honest locality -
that which has to be preserved for
some ulterior this that and the other...
it's no surprise that charles dickens
isn't celebrated on the continent...
should he be?
   i'd like for him to be celebrated:
don pickwick...
                
               just how man passes laws...
this jury on the possible
irregularities of the heavenly spheres...
the arthritis of the glue
that stands firmest when
the moon swallows a shower
of meteors...
gobbles them down with
a pauper's glee...
              that there must be a dinosaur
graveyard and: no-brainer explanation
for the meteor -
how an why this meteor that
killed off the dinosaurs hasn't
been romanticised and given a name...

hell: call a ***** a ***** a screwdriver
a camel jockey...
even if the name for earth:
is this same blunt: earth...
that the moon is still a bland scythe...
bleeding gums murphy...
but it would be nice to have a name
for such an event -
Mr. Oppenheimer -
the meteor that killed off the dinosaurs...
how's that?
there's a mt. everest...
there's a name for a turtle of a rock
that's Ayrs in How-Stray-La-La....
             i can call an atom a proton a neutron
and an electron...
there's hydrogen and there's helium...
i can give names to:
even though my authentic
materialistic atheism sensibility doesn't permit
me like some vanguard vegan / jacobin
mention... Kronos or Hyperion...

          **** for thought:
big bang... is pristine in it being:
so uninviting to resonate with:
well... it does... all murders of the modern...
i'd like to call the meteor that killed
off the dinosaurs and ushered in
the advent of the spider monkeys:
the **** simils and the **** sepia and
the **** sapiens as...
  
same old same old variation
of caucasian in mishaps -
  some grandfather mandarin -
some father mongol -
   some turk of a son...
           whittle ******* of brides that's
part Viennese pastry
   and part London gluttonies of the broken
bones pie...

i'm here for the party: are you here
for the party? we're here for the party!
i couldn't imagine myself as anything
more than an extension
of the primo party project:
eating the culinary half-oyster of an
egg that's a poultry-abortion...
i love it!
   i love it so much i scramble it...
i poach it... i soft and hard boil it...
i even add a scallion from time to time...
i'm here for the party...
here's to... still using language that
never bothered to settle down to tow
a mute... buttonz of galore...

                well... it could have helped
to conjure up a parthenon of sorts...
a get-together of imaginary side projects -
but the modern sensible man
this highly elevated man wrestling
with some also unseen
microscopic and tuning his worth
to an argument for: more more more...
i'm actually devastated by this new guise
of atheistically prone materialistic
sensibility: a word salad or just
some forever golgotha custard come about
from crushing bones...

i was sensible once... when i knew of
joseph stalin: the little georgian that
hijacked the russians...
or adolph ******: the austrian that
hijacked the germans...
  i was sensible once...
this is no time to be sensible...
this is a time to be: wholly pointless and
incessant!
why wait?!