There is a tear in my existence,
the gap between two milk teeth
breaking away from wide-mouthed childlike innocence
and falling out,
lost to ice cream cones and garden fences
teen dream dancing and cool pretenses
ignorant bliss, aimless goals
and the taste of near-empty Jack Daniels bottles
seems wiped from me
like a milk moustache.

Adulthood, what are you but a mistress who is cruel to be kind
curling and winding around me until I choke in your perfectly proper pencil skirt?
What are you but a greater knowledge of the world and a lesser understanding of it?
What are you but a greater understanding of the self and a lesser affinity with it?

Adulthood, what are you but broken dreams and disappointment?
What are you but bigger dreams with arms that reach beyond death itself?
What do you bring except shrivelled skin and nostalgia for once upon a times?
What but wisdom and a sense of sanguine satisfaction?
What are you but blood and cells and bells and *** and terrific notions and consequences and deckchairs and chinaware and despair?

Adulthood, what are you but glazed-over wasted days and self-loathing?
What are you but three hundred responsibilities taken care of all at once, caffeine eyes and welling pride?
What are you but the inevitable crash and getting smashed and suddenly remembering why I should do things one at a time?

What are you but change upon change upon change upon mistakes made again for the millionth time?
And my changes, now lifeless
cause an identity crisis
about whether I'm really any different in the end
the likes of which will no doubt be seen again
when Monday rolls around,
what are you but Mondays, endless Mondays
driving me into the ground?

Oh Adulthood,
what are you but a downsize of naivity, a self-belief redundancy, a vitamin D deficiency and a proper place for everything apart from me?
What are you but desperate faces smashing into one another, drowning lungs, curtains pulled down, curtains put up, curtains being suddenly important? Curtains ******* me up?
What are you but woodsmoke and patios, warm faces, good graces and the ceaselessly mounting cost of Freddos, buildings and building things and falling in love...

And falling in love, falling asleep, falling awake, falling apart, falling together, falling
falling
falling
down.

What are you, Adulthood, but always always getting back up again no matter what, and alarms and reminders and no bed times
but being so tired you start to admire
that even the sun must sleep sometimes,
even if it always comes back up, shining even brighter
until the timing is right until the living is right until the mind is right only then can we stop trying
only then can we die
no wonder the afterlife is idealised
and even then, will I see the light?
Can I stop now?
Is it really alright?

What are you Adulthood, but a long list of questions?
Because I have so much to ask, you see, but mostly

What are you here for, except to show me how good I had it before?

Adulthood, I don't know.

Paved thoughts
They lay
In naivity
Youth
Born into homogeny
Told
"Different is beautiful"
But taught
To fall in line
With the swaying ways
Society's norms form
Pin-up billboard smiles
Flash magazine swagger
On surgeon made bodies
Guide retinas of wide eyed
Youth
To mirrors
With disgust
"Different is beautiful"
We'll say
Yielding our whitened smiles
"Different is beautiful"

It was to be a new beginning, a new start for myself.
I was to leave all that behind, and start on something new.
I was to find a haven after leaving such a hell,
And remind myself that I was strong after what I'd been through.

I took a strength in finding new relations in my world,
An escape from what I used to live, the pain that I endured.
I tried to make myself a place, so fate could then unfurl,
And so it seemed that, for a time, I'd made one - I was sure.

And so in months that followed, I offered all I had.
I soon saw how very little I'd changed - I was no better now.
I thought summer had given me that edge I'd need at hand,
But I was just as stupid, and naive; I wondered, how?

I questioned what I hadn't done, or what I still could do,
So that they wouldn't take from me more than I had to give.
Not too long after leaving home, I found out it was true -
Some people never do grow up, despite how long they live.

And yet, the hopeful optimist, eyes bright with certainty,
Continued all these patterns that were aimed to self-destroy.
She grasped on to the skinny straws of soft naivity,
And refused, yet, to believe that she was anybody's toy.

It was her own undoing, all those times that followed suit.
She should have seen it coming, should have seen what lay ahead.
It should have been no great surprise, what her labors had produced,
And yet she cried herself to sleep, in a cold dormitory bed.

She knew not where to turn, she found, for none would understand.
"Grow up," they said, "man up," they said - "welcome to the world."
But it was not so simple! she would scream, at their demands.
She wasn't built for toughness, this rather softhearted girl.

Was it too hard to understand, that it was her instinct,
To look for good in others, no matter how they did her wrong?
Was it too hard yet to justify, that maybe they were linked? -
The people who would ridicule, and how they came along?

Time passed and passed; at times, it dragged; she wondered where it led.
What **** good was it doing her to bear the world's foul weight?
Was this rather beaten path going to drop her on her head?
Was THIS God's woven plan for her - was this her golden fate?

It wasn't until later that she did just as they said.
She stopped performing high demands, stopped believing in that "good."
Unless they'd ever prove it, she would distance them, instead.
For words and actions differ, and she knew they always would.

Leaving such a sheltered home, ****** out into the world,
Had given her a head start into what could have been her end.
She still retains her emphasis on nourishing her pearl,
Which grows from helping others, when they truly need a friend.

It has made her grow, learn, learn to grow, and she has grown to learn.
It is not what we do in life, but on whom it is bestowed.
There will always be so many who will take what they've not earned,
And what you let them take from you becomes not yours alone.

Guard your heart, and guard your mind - their value is unreal.
It is but your decision with whom you share these precious gifts.
Your actions are a letter, and your words may be the seal,
And they both have the ability to form bonds, or form rifts.

It is not for me to say how we should go about these things.
For do we ever really know who truly cares the most?
It is a trial-and-error process, and sometimes, yes, it truly stings.
But you cannot have the parasites if you are not the host.

I have fought my way through many, who so convingly, would "care."
I've picked my way through many fruits, looking for only good.
But this never-ending orchard (sometimes I'd rather not be there),
Is a microscopic labyrinth, which I'd leave, if I so could.

It is a funny thing, it seems, the way we all behave.
Some are content to give and give - it brings the greatest joy.
For others, it is take and take, that they so strongly crave,
And all the "gratitude" they show is nothing but a ploy.

I've been around the bend and back, through friends and enemies.
I try my best to DO my best, no matter what the cost.
I know that some will never change, some things will always be.
And there will be many I've loved, and more that I have lost.

I stand a taller woman, now, knowing what I can give.
A frightened woman, sometimes, knowing not what's coming next.
But prepared for greater battles, I face the life I plan to live,
Hoping to make a difference that others can reflect.

I find myself still standing here, after many darker times.
I'd like to say that it is through, that finally, it's done.
But as I cannot lie to thee, I still commit these crimes.
And now again, I ask myself: have I really overcome?

Perhaps I have, perhaps I've not, perhaps I still yet will.
I cannot see tomorrow, and I cannot repeat today.
Yesterday's a memory, a photograph that's still,
And though I may be frightened, I am not at all afraid.

Cast all aside burn it and ****,
Dancing in the running reds of massacre.
Waiting for any semblance of humanity,
Burn it all rip it out and let nothing taint.
bring destruction like a demonic saint.
Feel the flow of senseless promise,
casting naivity into uncensored solace.
Bleed your prayers onto every altar.
Watch it discolour every drop of water.
Set your eyes on every ounce of pain,
bring it in and nestle it tightley,
then unleash it in fury divine,
to burn and destroy all that was once mine.

At a time when life was precious
she came in unannounced
she brought in lots of baggage
and layed it on my couch.

Her innocence was perfect
her naivity was bliss
she only needed love from all
complications she did miss.

This child was so entangled
from the start of life and on
some would pull from left and right
and others far beyond...
but her smile would still march on.

Looking for stability
the years poured quickly by
and soon her heart felt sadness
and her eyes learned how to cry...
but her smile still never died.

A few more cuts and bruises
the rain came pouring down
her soul now soaked in others' hate
no truthfulness around...
but she still refused to frown.

and still more time,
and still more pain...

her eyesight growing dim
the crowd now cries with false-lit love
"my sweet Tabi, how can she sin?"

(and that smile...where has it been?)

I want to marry you
I want to marry this 17 year old naivity

I want to collect it and put it in a glass box for the whole world to see

I want to freeze frame, pause time, snapshot

This photo of us

This moment filled with nothing but young love and lust

I want to drown in this bliss

Stay forever underneath the surface

I want to swim in eternal happiness

And never come up for air.

Ugly and disappointing colors are what they're revealing
It's a challenge not to fall victim to the deceptive deceiving
This world in which all are tirelessly scheming

Corrupt messages intended to disillusion our modes of sensory
The laws of this dishonesty are rarely discriminant
The unlimited reach of the effects are constantly consistent
Putting current views and outlooks in legitimate jeopardy

Originality is one thing they've made a hobby of stealing
Dark, ***** secrets require intelligent attempts at concealing
This society in which all are tirelessly scheming

Naivity is an automatic assumption of all that is innocent
You can witness their successes expending minimal energy
The fraud is hazardous; failure is certainly imminent
One would desire that outcome sooner than later, as it leaves recipients feeling elderly
With any form of luck, more will come to share this sentiment

Endless efforts put toward developing façades generally appealing
Aiming to have candor and valor on the knees, kneeling
This reality in which all are tirelessly scheming

Sturdy quilts to shield clarity are woven most expertly
Time being tested passed slowly- increment by minute increment
Blueprints to fool the majority will be, expectedly, intricate
What was the original reality has been altered into a distant, doubted memory

Any and all accomplished legitimitacy sends them all reeling
There's always a "crisis" with which we should be dealing
*Our universe in which all are tirelessly scheming

to the immaculately vain;
to the naivity of adolescence and the ignorance
of maturity;
to those who look with their eyes,
feel with their fingers,
savour that which is fed to us
as magnificence;
when you tint lips,
tone hips,
take your trips
please know that what you
see and touch and taste is mocking you.
your eyes are deceiving you.
for it is only the blind man who will recognize real beauty.

A cherished friend once told me:
You are who you love.
I am much of her. And I am much of my other cherished friends.

A lost love lives on in this way
I am so much of him - I practically am him. I've loved so much I've left myself behind.

In the streets of Manhattan, my soul left me. Maybe it stayed there, awaiting my return
With some new fling on my arm
To take me to the opera.

I gave away my lightness and naivity to a dark, cold man who I know is more than that [there has to be more than that].

I left my pride in Toronto on Bloor street
Where I  flirted with 3 [three] men. I wanted them all. I still want them all.

But I took only one. Except he took me. In moments he loves me so much he turns into me. But it is fleeting. And it has gone.

So as we let go we regain ourselves. I will take back my optimism, thank you.

And I will remain as myself until we meet again. Maybe then we won't be so selfish and take so much,
Only to give so little.

By Nabs

13.
The water burned my skin,
I scrubbed until it was raw and red.
An empty 200 ml bottle of soap laid on the bottom of the bath tub,
I used them all, crying because no matter what I did the kiss still lingers like a stubborn stain on my body.

My mother always told me not to smile at strangers.

I've never felt so ***** in my life.

8.
The first time I heard the word ****,
Was when the news flashed a picture of a 10 years old dead girl. They found her lying naked in a town park. Said that she had been ***** several times.

My mother cradled my head, kissing me with fears in her eyes.

I asked her what that word means, she just shook her head and hugged me closer.
Told me to always be careful.
That little girls need to always be alert because there are wolves wearing man skin.


I didn't understand what the word means nor the fear that echoes in my mother eyes.

But the picture of the dead girl stayed in my head along with a new vocabulary.

13.
I was disappointed.
The hotel was not what I expected. The bed was not comfortable, the room too hot, though the window have an amazing view.

The elevator was very annoying.
It was always too long.
I pushed the button again and again.

There's the cleaning service guy in the hall.
He's looking at me.

I smiled at him, the elevator door opened.

6.
Our home room teacher told us today,
That a smile can brighten someone else's day.

I couldn't stop smiling when I get home, not even to strangers.

I didn't notice the way, my driver was blocking me out from view.

9.
There's a new house being built in the complex.
I walked past the construction site with my older cousin to get to my house.
We were laughing freely and happily.
Childhood was clinging to us like a warm and comfortable blanket.

The construction workers whistled at us and called us pretty. They invited us to play with them.

I smiled at them nervously.
I didn't know why my hand started to feel clammy and cold. My older cousin gripped my hand tight and dragged me to walk faster.

Wan't pretty supposed to be a compliment?

15.
click. open page

(n) Cat Call:
"A loud whistle or a comment of a ****** nature made by a man to a passing woman."

- Oxford Dictionary

See link below for the definition of ****** harassment.

click.

13.
There was a knock, an open door.
A smile and betrayal.

The day I learned that 'I love you',
can sound ominious, make pity rise like a well.
How it can be filled with poison and lies,
corroding naivity like acid on skin.

A feral kiss, pungent breath.
There was hands roaming
where it wasn't welcome.
My body freeze as tar
like dread course through my veins.

That day, the word 'no' becomes my prayer.

14.
I stayed in my room.
I tried not to let my eyes wonder to where I hide the blade. I had become too acquaintanced with it, this past years. Too addicted.

The clocked showed 9.00 PM. I stared at the ceiling unable to sleep. Wishing I could forget.
It's been one year.
I had taken a bath to cleanse my self.

The door creaked open.

( see you tomorrow.)

There's someone sobbing.
I locked my self in the bathroom until I fell asleep on the cold white tiles.

I woke up with a sore body and a red flower was blooming on the floor.

I sprayed it with water hoping I could also disappear like them.

(I don't remember how to smile)

13.
I told my mother what happen.
There was denial in her eyes, and blame were pouring out of her mouth like it was the only thing keeping her afloat in the world.

It crashed against me like a tsunami, and I drowned.

I drowned, and I never realized how alone I was.

The words 'It's your fault' etched under my skin and shame rattled in my heart like shackles.

I stared blankly at the ceiling, resentment growing in my eyes, and I wonder if forgiveness is possible.

12.
My mother and father always said that the day I was born, it was like a dream come true.
Said they were so happy to have a daughter, that they celebrate like never before.

They named me such wonderful prayers.
Said I will grow up to be a strong woman.

I believed every word they said.

My parents aren't a liar.

17.
It's been 4 years.
There is still monsters under my bed. The tears never truly stop pouring, new scars keep littering my body, and my heart will never stop bleeding.
I understand the fear in my mother eyes.

But the red flowers have stopped blooming and I relearn how to smile. It's still frayed on its edges but breathing becomes more easier.

It's been 4 years,
and I have learned forgiveness.

Elections have come and gone
And we've all said baba
Praying within the confines of our heart that we've not enthroned another usurper
Hoping that joy and comfort will not once more elude our grasp
Our taste bud has long been wetted by empty reforms and unfulfilled promises
By the politivians, judisharers and the legislooters Parading the runway of power
Displaying their naivity in running a nation in a manner so amazing and discomforting
It makes the thought of paradise less appealing
But now
The rulers are leaving the scene for the leaders to come in
And the people are getting more conscious of the power we wield in unity
We've gathered our brooms and we've entrusted it in your hands
Believing that you'll lay the foundation of a better nation
Baba now that you are there
Let the focus on the food we eat be more important than that our vehicles consume
Baba now that you're there
Let the national cake be the lot of every citizen and not selected elites locking around the corridors of power
Baba now that you're there
Let me be proud to die for my country
Without being fearful of how my family will survive
Baba now that you're there
Let me be able to display my identity in another land without fear of interrogation or prejudice
Baba now that you're there
Let progress, excellence and success be the right of every citizen regardless of their tribe, religion or background
Baba now that you're there
Let there be change.

I need to be honest
All this pain
It's not their fault
Not anymore
Cause everyday
I choose
I Choose to torture myself

When I listen to love songs
The sweet ones
I let myself think about him
The one who was weak
The one who ran
When I needed him
The one I still love

I listen to broken heart songs
The angry ones
I let myself think about him  
The one who abused my naivity
The one who claimed to care
Yet not enough to save my life
Who I can't leave behind

I let myself do this
I dare to keep going
There's a new guy
I know one day it'll hurt
But I can only think
Now. it doesn't
I'm so stupid

In fantasy fallacies
Covetous malice is
Greediest deities'
Vanity palaces
Callous regarding
The weary and meek
The ostensible shepherds
Just wolves among sheep
Counting each of their
Unanswered prayers
Before sleep
Yet despair doesn't seem
To preclude
Pleasant dreams
Nor to render naivity scenes
To demean
What of logic and reason
Should clearly evince
They abandoned us long ago,
Haven't cared since
And their whereabouts
Unbeknownst
Mystery ways
Inexplicable how
They free will us
As slaves
The obsequious miscreant
False prophet faith
Inculcated in cults
Of a non-personality
Spreading its virulent
Indigent malady
Bow and prostrate yourselves
On your knees
Cowardly
Why fear what hasn't appeared
In the flesh
To be real
Why exalt higher powers
Except how you feel
Leaves me reeling,
Unraveling
Traveling
Gone again
Out to let go
And expose
Gods
As frauds of men

Your life knows no answer
When you spend your nights
By the sea- beaming your woes to the
Sympathetic waves of reality.

You try to ponder on the future
That was securely balanced on the
Wings of a fallen Angel. But her feathers have shedded black and she
Lives in an obsidian fable.

Do you remember? Under the November Luna which lit an ambience on those reckless lips;
Which still had the repelling aroma of beer and strong spirits.

But just for now- let's meld- become one with the Night Deity, banquet our fates and lost hopes on the false promises of our doomed reveries.

I'll gift you the white feather, the silver and striped pelts of your savagery. I'll pleasure you by saying nothing...

...but you can work out the rest. The demise of your damsels in distress.

So after you have finished feasting on the succulent hearts of your romantic, haughty slaves- you are no longer welcome to the tribe of the brave.

It is not a sin, nor a taint of reputation;
Oh, it is an act of naivity and damnation. I submit, I'll be your green-eyed monster.
But I cannot succumb to resent forever.

So my life knows no answer
But atleast I will thrive through the thick, smog of your lies and fallacious treasures.
Go back to your rakish zoo, your spirits, your hallucinations:
Sink back into your vast carelessness.

But as for me, I will be born back into the sanguine wilderness


And lurk in the umbra.

I still think in-sync with the ceremonial intro.
Even though its reduced to unclaimed brick,
I visit naughty corridors and assembly halls
decorated in sports equipment.

After showing off my award,
I ***** out candles
and bolt that horse to a new port village
where clubs buried in earth
begin to dent
my naivity.

But tweed remained fashion.
A collage of uniform, green fields and tennis courts
resembled my life in the trench.
Words like 'posh' and 'snob' were the only examples of difference

until I became a witness.
Discovered homelessness
meant vagrants. They
became as common as a boxed sandwich.

Everybody has their own intoxication of choice.
Bargain of choice, newspaper
of choice, where Brookside
is a crossword answer
filled whilst feeding mallards
white bread in the park.

Writing that
makes me the biggest hypocrite of all.
I grew fond of plays. Began to write poetry.
What would they think of me?
A **** football match where the ref cost us the game
still pumps through my veins,

I assure thee.
That left ventricle breathes here too.
War has never been declared
but the battles have existed since
before Shakespeare wrote Hamlet.

It's estate versus estate.
As much as I'm up for a fight,
history won't change overnight -
especially in an election,
selfie posted
or status shared
with a handful of friends
who actually voted.

Living in the middle of Common-
wealth is a lonely place.
But there will be a hotel monopoly of vacancies
built on my mediocre grave
if I acknowledge the better
or lesser sort
themselves. After all,
I ate processed chicken breast
and ignored politics myself.

Perhaps now,
it's time
to act like the squirrel.
Barks become growls, become
quacks, become
the fool
again.

my slumber heart flickers
at the thought of you
how can you be?

its you and the moon
sleeping
wide awake
underneath and above
full of naivity

careless like the ocean breeze
and hearted
like a blank page
on a old notebook full of words
that mean
the ultimate
and complete
nothingness

You humble me down
By the naivity of your actions
You make me wander in the streets of town
Overwhelmed by jollity's screams,  innumerable captions

You make me find out my purpose
Searching the long way but eventually grasping
Indirectly, with no ease,  then at last to find it in my purse
Unfolding my life answers,  now overlapping

You scare me enough to gape
When I scrape off your tint to find the glittering gold
In patches I can align to shape
Then I discover,  illusions could be cold

I feel right in my heart for the fossils i have gathered
I now know you better and my doubts have been scattered

I found you in the shadows of that smoke stained room.
Your hair was blue then, what a shock
against the grey of lakeshore avenue.
You were the vision of a sparrow's wing
Unhindered by the choking fumes.

You find me today, sun beams flaring out from a cruel arched brow.
What a picture i must have made then
In comparison to now.

Somewhere along the way our softness seemed to delegate itself,
job rotation of the pessimistic.
I still imagine the way naivity tasted on your lips-

Chocolate dipped dreams. I could hear your voice for hours on end,
And still call you again at 3am.
Now every tone is under the line
of a jaded cat's whiskers.

I am impassioned, every word
Enflates my spirit until
It is too big. You are taking
Out that thin steel pin
And looking for the best spot

You want to let that heavy sadness in.
I know it well, I remember the
Way it felt to love her. So warm,
but now the new day calls-

And you are clicking closed the shutters
While i am throwing on my runners.

If you won't come with me I'll go alone

You turn out the light
You say "go"

working around the hyper-real... it was such a good idea,
to get rid of the natural grass and put "fake" grass
in the sections of the garden that required some greenery,
oddly enough: the fake doesn't feel like fake...
now i have a problem: i don't require a lawnmower...

i might need the leaf-blower to sometimes get rid
of leaves from the grass...
    the work is going slowly along... Sisyphus style...
but one tonne of sand... one tonne of pebbles...
working with the kango... working with that levelling
beast of a machine...
   father was working on the nitty-gritty detail of the slab
area for the table and bbq...
it's looking pretty...
          
so i was watering the flowers... some hanging...
i was watering the apple trees... the rhubarb that
went a-wall with these massive leaves...
the fig tree... the ferns... etc.
   after i watered all of my garden and started
talking to myself...
should i record this? no... i don't think the world
is deserving of this message...
i'll be speaking to the night and its phantoms...
i'll be speaking to conjure up a wind...
ha! "fame"... i'm passing through...
          i even managed to sing a little:
hieroglyphs in the sand...
hieroglyphs on papyrus and on the sphinx's
forehead... blah blah...

Tom Waits' Quixotic ramblings...
   a true retrospection...
               i'm not going to record any of this...
i'm a very private person...
mind you: this affair of me existing requires: ARBEIT...
work... i'm not after the easily accessible route...
for the people who ingest my productivity
to simply sit back...

it feels like an Infected Mushroom sort of drinking
session...
Muse Breaks... I'm the Supervisor...
hell... Bukowski wrote about the drudgery of work...
me? you ever spent your youth...
your 20s... figuring out how you didn't
encounter a monotheistic deity?
    
    die großatem?  wind and wind are interchangeable
when crossing borders between
spitfires and the messerschmidts...
    ****: messerschmitts...
  großluft... the angel-singing disperser...
tell that to someone who's 21 to shut the **** up...
i shut the **** up... i went missing for
about 10 years...

the great-breath...
                   my eyes opened and i was no longer
living in this world:
i began passing through it...
my eyes are still open... it's unlike any
hallucinogenic drug i could ingest...
i began my contemplating through the ears
and i still do...
by i see differently...

i was never going to record what i say
in private: to myself and the night...
it has become obvious to me:
once it was the abuse of power...
now... it's an abuse of technology...
and that's apparent... people have managed
to create a technology to abuse people
who in turn abuse the technology...
a synthetic alternative to ******* drugs...

to blink is equivalent to checking the screen
of your smartphone...
i remember the good old days of the internet...
do you think men do a lot of internet shopping?
personally... i'd love to return to the old
music store and the bicycle shop...
i will never get an order via an UBER or
JUST-EAT... i know someone will not eat...
what are the major complications of human
economics?! the solution begins with confiscating
the human libido...
but since capitalism has become rampant...
******* coupled with mass immigration:
somehow pointless jobs emerge...
well... not pointless...
but they're not jobs with the equivalence
for surgeons or dentists...

     that one time i thought: so why are these nurses
lining up to a singing contest?
they truly want to become mince meat
in the entertainment industry?!

i don't have the qualifications...
but i've been through some rough shifts...
"rough": ******* shifts...
i've heard of several instances of people
people let go...
me?! no interview... straight on the books...
i'm an employee...
the rest of the ******* are self-employed...
why? that question lasts about 2 seconds
before i realise...
   oh right... i'm good at my job...

i'm waiting for the time when the Wembley team
will want me to join them...
turns out i'm somehow an ambitious man...
im also post-psychotic...
so... danger danger...
     i've seen the horrors of a Bates Motel, sort of...
and i'm like... nothing human is alien to me...

Bukowski and the drudgery of work...
yeah... i have worked with some weirdos...
i don't mind... 10 years away from proper
civil contact with strangers...
i'm a fish in water...
                        
   this supervisor role... normal people have
this idea that they have advanced...
no... no you haven't...
i take the approach: you're below the pawns...
do you understand? i always ask them without asking...
you're below them...
a supervisor is a role below a stewards role...
you haven't been elevated to a status
of supervisor... you have become demoted to
a lesser role... because? how doesn't it work:
via ratios 1:16... contra 16:1?

             yet some people "feel promoted":
you're not promoted as a supervisor...
you're demoted...
                 me? i kept my stewards happy...
you want water? sure thing... i'll bring you a bottle
of water... you want coffee?
milk no sugar? sure..
   by the way... when the main act begins...
i talked to the kiosk guy...
   he told me that they throw all the burgers away...
can my stewards have these burgers?
no problem...
              happy: *******: campers... Yogi bear to tow...

i don't even have the ******* paperwork...
but i get ****** these roles...
even one coworker started looking at me ugly:
but i've been doing this for X number
of years... recently a mate of mine was
fired from the company...
i said: ****-all...
       but i sort of figured out...

oh right.. Mark vs. Mark...
      the part where he insulted him... insinuating he
was a homeless person?
    that part?! i had nothing to do with it...
in my head i was thinking...
either of these Marks doesn't have
a leg to stand on... they're both tooth-fairies
since they have such bad dental hygiene...
but one thinks he's above the other
yet the two are in a crab-bucket... but only
one knows it...

that's how you supervise...
**** me... 6 months in... 6 months more...
i need to get out...
no NVQ 3 stewarding *******...
just the level 2... but i'm already filling in...
better practice at public speaking...
i'll make a great teacher...
i'm eyeing up jealousy building up...
what's next? i sieve through more *******
i become a manager?

   then again: i don't want to teach chemistry:
i want to teach English...
i fell in love with the Dead Poets' Society and i can't
let go...

all these supposed problem cases...
woman supervisor... two female stewards...
what a transformation...
all it took was giving one some chips
to keep up sugar levels...
while with the other... just walking up to her:
asking her: are you happy?
everything good?
you want to take a break?
   take a break...

women invented ******... naturally women
are "****"... who is responsible for
who is allowed / not allowed to reproduce?!
men?!
ha ha...                   ah ha ha...

it's ****** into us... we had to find: THINKING...
ENTERTAINING... PHILOSOPHICAL...
mathematical...
if we all managed to **** to later become
fathers... seriously, you think?!
maybe that's why the rest of "us" start to love
drinking and also start to love scribbling
Ovid nuances...

sober women writing poetry:
             they're ******* force-fed adorations that
are not even remotely justified...
just... expected... because they are sourced
from ****...
    i like to source elsewhere...
             and not poetry: onomatopoeias...
pleasuring a woman like it might
be a door opening... creaking...
              a broken consonant on a hinge of a vowel...

i love working...
   i love the tired feet.. i love catching the last bus home
at after 1am...
    i love it... give me an axe and a square mile of forest:
you want a clearing?! give me a week...
maybe that's why i don't have time
for girlfriends... maybe that's why i can only
entertain prostitutes...

sure... last time it happened i was entertaining
two at the same time...
i couldn't replicate any of the *****-flics...
i couldn't be both **** and mouth...
i needed one to **** me off
into the other one's ****...
lazy? no... but i was working with Bourbon
and tobacco was the stiffening chemical...
so... no... no movie...

tomorrow comes and i know that i need to change
the rub-rub rubber of my breaks...
and how i need to change the tape on my handlebars...
and how tomorrow London will
be it's most beautiful...
and how you can add avocado into a sandwich...
as long as it's not merely avocado on toast...
but...
mingling with a chilli... a pepper...
green olives stuffed with almonds...
or pickled cucumbers...
   lodged either side of some cheese and meat...
lodged between two: cool... brown-based
buns of oat and pseudo-rye and probably wheat...

and how just finding about
KLAUS SCHULZE's - DEUS ARRAKIS (2022)
feels sort of like...
first watching Stanley Kubrick's
a SPACE ODYSSEY...
             because there are these immediate parallels
in the realm of postmortem...
               and because the night is a heaven
to behold... with all the critters and the foxes...
with all that demands a sleep within the confines
of a day...

the last message i sent Alice:
KLAUS SCHULZE - DEUS ARRAKIS (2022)...i'm currently listening to it... you have to break your patience... up to and including the 17th minute... after the 17th minute it's all downhill... sort of Brian Eno style with the Dune Soundtrack... Alice... dearest... i work my ******* off with what i write... you think you can entertain an audience with a flimsy "spare" of "thought"? i've been working on this ******* since 2005... now count the years... Alice... you approach the world as you have... i'll be the nice one... the rest of the world with ******* regurgitate you... i have seen how hierarchies work... they're not pleasant events when you need to bite your teeth and forget to have ownership of a tongue... please don't become more hurt because of the beauty that you are: serving the naivity of: what's best underserving in children: having to be falsely translated into adults...  as might be the conversation between Seth and Thoth... dearest creature... un-labour yourself with your imaginary dictates... you will never match to what i am surrendering to!

I gave a man everything that I had to give
Money that I barely had
Time I couldn't waste
Decisions I couldn't make
When he lost his peace, I found it and I dragged it all the way back to him
I showed him a different view of the world without even leaving the city
He told me that I was so kind, so sensitive.. he loved it, but noticed that anyone could hurt me.
After a few months and a falling out, I had thought it was best that we don't talk anymore
He said that I was too possessive, too crazy because I didn't want him disrespecting our relationship
He said I was too sensitive and took little things too far
And that's when I began to understand that people will begin to hate those same qualities they used to love about you
It leaves you so unsure of yourself, your personality
I question the values of words
Those soft "I love you's" or "I'm here for you"
It doesn't mean anything to me because people change.
Who knew unconditional love could be so.. conditional?
People don't admit to hurting you and instead.. they go aloft and frame you as if it was all your fault
Convincing yourself you were so toxic in order to alleviate their own guilt
People turn your better qualities against you.. such as kindness and transparency.
Your passion will be overwhelming
Your concern will be possessiveness
Your kindness will be naivity
Your love will be too much.
I've learned that the more intuned you are to their emotions, the better the love will be
We are made to feel, not lock away our emotions
It is how we communicate, how we view the world.. and people
It's how we remind ourselves that we're alive
So nobody is "too sensitive"
In a world where everybody is cold in the heart and
So amazed by living with no emotions
We are viewed as "moody" "possessive" "sensitive"
We need vulnerability, we need people who embrace their own feelings and recognize the weight of them
I resent the idea that I need to change, to harden my feelings just because I might be too complicated for a person to deal with
We like to think that we can just turn off our emotions when we're hurt.. in pain..
We go on and we always lose, because we're not machines.
So I will not change, I'll stay as being too sensitive
Because others can't find it in themselves to appreciate me, doesn't mean that I've lost my worth
I know you're here with me.