Dedicated to stillborn fetuses, 99 cent Malt Liquor and Existentialism
1.
Nymphomaniac tree huggers
And overweight bisexual vegetarians
Swallowing phentermine poison to stay fit.

2.
Funky fresh *******  
throwing pigs at St. Augustine’s pear tree
and frolicking abortions over Moloch’s philoprogenitiveness,

3.
While sipping barbecue sauce dipped in Lipton tea,
dancing around adhesive bonfires
reciting memories of holocaust, the Kristallnacht nights
and beautiful words suffered by ancestors lost.

4.
Inhale chicken noodle soup, with a side of Lithium,
And prance to Literacy class to combat envisionment
With free association conceptual constructions,

5.
Computerized like Prometheus’ fire burning through SmartBoards
In classrooms where the poison of heterosexual history
Is fed to boys in skirts cursed by Adam’s apple,

6.
Baptized by social norms and locked away in hopeless closets
According to the Tautology of Leviticus…
until they cut their breath by the vein of soteriology;

7.
Misunderstanding of God’s words
Covets the innocent to early graves
In biblical paratactic irony…like God betting Satan for a Job.

8.
Rub fried chicken oil on Bartholomaeus Anglicus’ skin
and soil his white pride with ***** flavor,
for revenge  On the Properties of Things

9.
and howl out in glory of victory
over totes of  lickerish piper methysticum blunts
that beg the conundrum,
'What is the origin of this world?'
'Ether,' he replied.
But it is not ether!
Nor Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
It is Dada. Dada. Dada!
  10.
For this is a record of the life stories of the greatest minds and geniuses of your generation,
written in boys and girls
who mimicked Basquiat’s genius and tagged bathroom walls with abstract philosophies like “Love is a prime number” and “ the weight of Duncan McDougall’s soul can only be found on the 15th of October”
who drank vampirish gulps of Vicodin while consoling themselves with aphorisms such as: “don’t rue the misses, you don’t need a Mrs. when you’re elevated by chemical kisses”
11.
Who stood naked in mirrors, weeping, for they were a mystery to themselves, but a great talent and soon to be legend to some.
Who lit cannabis in loneliness and waltzed naked with their ghosts, fantasizing about ****** tomatoes and Corpus Christi Mexican Jazz.
Who composed psychedelic anthems from dreams that were lost in ghettoes where virginities were lost for loaves of bread, for the hunger of bread.
12.
Who wrote suicide notes on a toilet seat, contemplating the texture of Marshall Mathers’ favorite underwear and whether the color green was an invention of **** Germany.
Who used to love their lovers in darkness and colored the streets of Manhattan with rainbows on June 24, 2011 to mark the date lady liberty finally bought a new pair of glasses.
13.
Who lost musical talents to a Wine-house and ended up in a whine-house where lobotomy was subsequently prescribed by the milligram.
Who indulged in pharmaceutical vices and when asked why replied simply, every recursively enumerable set is Diophantine.
Who diagnosed themselves with “start ****-itis” and self medicated by eating Fifinellas at the stroke of each midnight.
Who rubbed paraprosdokians on their skin and occupied Wall Street in search of a new euphemism for being American.
Who poured Alkalizer on a dead moose and kicked it while feasting on the divine question, “why does Rice play Texas?”
14.
who got bored with conventional relationships and bought the Origin of the World on street corners from vixens nicknamed “Jezebel” and climaxed atop of them screaming  “I’m in Babylon, the great Mother of ******!”
Who attempted suicides upon suicides upon suicides, in Oakland, until they were shipped away to private catholic universities in Rhode Island, where the history of Colossus was being taught.
15.
who serenaded love interests with four letter curse words at open bars where Kubla Khan was read and Tartars kings were licked all over like holy communion *****.
Who drove home with the spirits of wine and crashed on telephone poles where their obituaries were written in their prime, leaving their mothers weeping and calling congress to reconsider Prohibition.
16.
Who mixed Redbull with Propofol and drank the juxtaposition galore only to be woken up the next morning dead in their sleep.
Who tattooed rat poison packages with goodwill messages such as “****** divided by Water =6th day of creation” or “Seroquel + Brett Favre = St. Patrick”,
who went speedballing with Basquiat during autoscopy and woke up wondering the cost of Nautilus in Albuquerque.
17.
who took 33 hallelujah 1800 tequila jello shots and daydreamed about laying on Mithras’ grave, yelling, beetlejuice, beetlejuice…beetlejuice.
who found the truths of the Bible invalid by the miscalculation of Pi in 1 Kings 7, verse 3, and mailed death on anthrax letters to Reagan in protest.
18.
who sat empty bellied at breakfast tables wondering the temperature of satellites at Lagrangian points,  only to soon catch fire in their tongues and speak Labyrinth soliloquies that ended in
19.
Zion,
Where Google knows every answer.
In Zion
Where the youth, tomorrow’s future, quote a ***** named Hova better than they can quote Jehovah.
In Zion
Where *******’s art was used as weapon during the Cold war.
20.
In Zion
Where sartorial geniuses where no pants,
In Zion
Where David Kato Kisule is the secret hero of these words, for he was taken at a time
In Zion
Where we were supposed to be our ancestor’s sci-fi.

21.
In Zion,
Where the youth bear the scarlet letter X for they are a problem to tradition and hold no definition for the future, for they have discovered
In Zion
That the origin of this world is in their living eyes, and not in the dictionary of their ancestors who lived
In Zion
when the epitome of the literature of life ended in Revelation of Amen and Shantih shantih shantih;
this is a record of the greatest minds and geniuses there ever was, written
in Zion
where the meaninglessness and nothingness of Dada reigns, and the trinity of life now lives in the Subject, subjective and subjectivity.

With my growth I leave behind a shell.
A casing of the world I used to thrive in.
The past is no longer inhabitable, but still usable.
I use my memories as a flotation device in the abyss that is recurring.
I rise above my past and transcend into the new crevice that is my present.
I cannot change the past as it is set in bone.
But I can make my future fit me.
I can form my own protection
layer by layer
until all my supplies of DNA paper Mache will no longer stick.
Their glue dried up, exhausted by the length of time I've spent on earth, oppressed by the pressure of the tumulting, black sea.
Waves may break on me.
My knowledge of living my shield against depression, anxiety.
My bone hard shield saves me.
I am the chambered nautilus. I am awake.
But dream I will of times beyond 36.
What lies ahead may only hurt me on the edge because to the core my skeleton is steady.
Its weight growing heavy
Can be lifted with my spirits as if before a feast.
And dragged down to the ocean floor when realized I'm a beast.
No princess in her castle, nor farm boy in his barn
Unique to who I am, and in my niche I fit.
I may blow up.
And fall down.
And spurt salty tears.
You'd never know, my loves, my dreams, my fears.
Upon first glance I am the epitome of my life.
Upon second, as confusing.
Upon third, as painful and funny.
And as irrelevant to others as I am important to myself.
Another rock in the ocean. Another pebble. Another pearl.
Not found
Not searched for
Not hidden.

Not long ago, if you could call a few years ‘not long’,
when I was still gloomily drawn to that mysterious magnet
known as the mighty Mississippi, I uncovered a nautilus fossil
not far from the Tennessee-Arkansas border, where the land
churns like red butter into the infinity of the Mississippi.
A nautilus hundreds of miles from the closest deep water.
(And only fifteen minutes from Graceland!)
They say most of the Deep South used to belong to the floor
Of some vast Jurassic swamp or sea or river—I forget which…
In the grooves of this shell-rock nature keeps its own history.
No stranger to change as the dust and mud reveal me.

Think how much change
you’ve witnessed in your life already.
Today, tomorrow and yesterday change is a hot-traded commodity, up in the Dow,
down in the Nasdaq, two day super-shipping in the fast lane.
Change customizable, ordered up and hot and ready-to-go,
the hobo on the street asking me for some change;
I told him to change his ways, get a better rate,
exchange those rags for a business suit and some britches.
He just laughed and said: “Huh, are you kiddin me?
In this day and age a man can have twenty lives in a lifetime.
I’m just asking you for a little change…”

It’s been done to death and back a million times this age.
My friends are always telling me I need to change my ways.
That I need to roam and range, that all wise wordsters roam and range.
“Change you can believe in!” But let’s just change the channel.
Onto something else, something new! Everything built for the times,
none of it made to last. See how we age and distance so fast!
Two million years in the making, we’re living proof of the past.
Don’t be a stranger to change; sit back and enjoy it while it lasts.

The boy in the park with pigeon eyes
“What is the rake of human history?” he asks me.
Cruelty and pathetic little bird-like people,
all their seed spent carrying half-ton rocks up
to the tippy-top of the Tower of Babble.
If you possessed a machine of infinite light and speed
would you go back to before change existed?
Could you resist it? Or would the blackness then lead you back to now?
Wondering how—how it all got started.
Change is strange, only the rabbit knows
how deep the rabbit hole will go.

All our lying lives spent flying,
and when we finish no one starts and no one goes.
all of us pondering the unshareable experience.
The world keeps winding on an invisible string
but the weight of the wait in line is unbearable.
A raindrop falls from the sky and hits the shell-rock in my hand
And looking down at the nautilus fossil
I get a chill, for it tells me there are creatures
without words, without hearts, dreams or ears
that have slithered through the dark untouched by change
      for millions and millions of years…

Down the lonely depths
in her bowels of pressured pitch
brave, his tiger stripes.


Her inner most womb
where amorphous life ignites
closer to one dream


Submarine shelter
In Ocean's love, gravitates:
carnivore protist.

Bastardized holdings in a new world order
Standardized error retained as a border
Manipulate the idealist into a moral hoarder
Tabulate the results, and encourage disorder

I built a Greek column
A Tuscan column to be precise
It's about three floors in height

I used materials I didn't know I owned
Shimmering and glistening small white oval pebbles
Flat and fat ones
Sand, best of its kind
Limestone with all its magical properties
And Nautilus shells from the beaches of Callao.

I wish I have built it for looks only
But I did it for me
It fits well between my neck and naval line
For when my earthquakes threaten my core

Cut me open
Only to find salt water
Drank an ocean
Swallowed the seas
Stole from it’s depths
These washed away dreams

Kaitelka; Whale Mongolic down, first whale which said syndrome, evidenced by their presence, as didgeridoo, as spitting but more hypersonic, hyper cetacean moving his tail, Burguete funds, learned to swim faster than anything, but the Nautilus, not He paid attention to his mother in his care skills, but bad luck that can befall if not moderate their exalting and allergic omitted cases to obey.

So all blue, but little Kaitelka, seeking friendship among their peers, but he put  a tambourine limit gave him leftovers and liked more than a day a thousand years of perfect instincts. So step aside by the fire, and dodged the deafening roar of nymph Satinga; the most ancient senator of the headpiece, always full on its plateau of ******* hydrochloride that resistance, if they pass a thousand years and I do not understand these pairs, I adjusted my engine, but to no avail me, my instincts are diluted and slim as downpour edges left by the wayside in infants and solfa. That Jesus Light was said behind the screen rainbow arch, he takes her hand to Kaitelka, and back by the outer estuary, they attack by instinct ministry of evil.

Mildew petrified oaks, disorients the abject warty troughs the disordering of the genetic instinct, if I have to pause my essence, I leave in the hands of Joshua stone from beyond. Where the ticket is worth more to me, but I get the same. Where evil knows well, but tasteless well. Underground, underwater., Kaitelka take any more, wheels come and go, instinct taking shredding herbs near the sea, no longer separates me more. Bright the famous day that rebukes my dreams rather than a whole, plastering, or monument flash highborn of Mongolic loves whales, classless or inheritances acquired record. Kaitelka and in gratitude to accompany my walk, to the junction of Lisbon, walking from room to room, to begin the pilgrimage, his steps were Glup, Glup like a pretty varmint, over the hills she is beginning to the descritery of Satinga, or rather the descritery of Sapiens Hommo, rummaging instinct of love today, then unloved. Native forests make pairings, but separate links non-energy cataclysms, similar to the new alliance valley radial wave, tuned cetacean sonar power can be glimpsed.

The Ministry of Evil is no end to the retrospective marvel at Noe, Isaac or Abraham, or Luther King, is the delayed form of unsettled muscle primo Evo madding to neo Evo updated, and neither bells sound the same, as reboot gray phthisis diseases degenerate and synthetic. The instinct to put your hands into the fire will be lost ..., so more pace to the back of them cutting the seas in arithmetical divisions, if commend my antidepressants depressive relatives, caress the sea in each constipated solstice, I go every night with daisies in my hands defying every cliff, every cave turned into a tavern, killing instinct, when the brain is nothing, sprayed kerosene on stage, to see my beloved before he dies of a blowgun.  

Joshua Stone and Bernardolipus in a crossroad, spin the grazing, the black sheep, is barren, its classic label of Segregated debased soul, but defecated humanoid comment sing out of tune the territory themselves.  Three-step, three-way, Joshua embraces Bernardolipo. Welcome starts. Satinga you slice ferns and wild beast, vomits both diazepams swallowed, do not sleep, dreams transpose half orb. Halos, half halos, iridescent arcades, and warm breezes, must preamble Donated high liking. Soft and warm look, I do not lose my plate potato near my belly, warm adobe cellar. Nymph Satinga of reaction in reaction out of tune and the highlights midwife psoriasis for its reddish dermis by a fungus worming. The re instinct starts to chew his skull, dread end of the border. The cookies Lord is sending us on napkins.

Pre urbane figure born, they appear a hundred suns, so the crowd out who has the audacity to reveal the discrete enigma, the puzzle while the floor moves the seizure ... all stunned waiting for the flash Ritual to start the preliminary stage, the paradigm of unshelled trees, tough tables roll by the church at the foot of flowers crocuses scrolls flat estate. For the baptistery inscrutability warmth your network back double halo on the moon, scrub that level. Abyss where I fall near aspire to the coachman, I go away over time from heaven minute no second in hours where the avalanche of time lose my look to hold any deity that does not prevent the tendency to lose those not facing front, a day like this you do not walk any shadow, nor the Horcondising I would like to Santorini. The Borker wrongheaded, burning a cigar in rib Kaitelka, it provides a stunning scream as the end of the world, giving birth to the sky his beautiful breeding, as a good omen to present to the crowd in the Octagon and pleased transit day often fruity crestfallen fig.  

Adelimpia,  Strongly taken the and Thunder Aunt, washed in the backroom their aprons with Christmas, whose magical and enlightening sense, they were the Three Wise Princes, sons of the same kings of Israel. Sitting on some cobs, heritages from last wheel spikes. On warm evenings mantra Baba Nam Kevalam, I do not stay alone without others to see this magical high flood flow mention aversion in pontificates, necessary, pal meal with wine apocalyptic pale rider, Napoleonic soldier dethroned.

Thousands of hectares grassland in loving with heavenly muddy, as adhering to the force of Sorcery Camphor to move everything to the midnight launch eclipse. Thousands of hectares squirts do not possess any extension ratio, giddiness master eye, losing possession. What is Slice is Caren Lagoon, which is Alhué Village is Polulo mountain near the place, what Pichi of Barrancas... Out of my roles temple or regulators, as night plans still dating Jack, with overall equidistant to all orphan girl lost in the jungle inbenign . Cutting room of breath begins threshing., afar put the trays, and poor saint not to attend, this clever move, all atheists bruised, stiff and deprived of the worst failure smoothness, it´s the earth not plowed,                    
              
Dreams whistles hills ... Ghosts and spurs  ... Elegy opaque optical floors, all at Aunty Thunder dream the same...

If you can call night, inland sea waves have to educate infant’s tsunamis, they live among geological forces off the coast of scudding clouds of ... where she cuts through. Where our conscience, should play down a Machiavellian zero to roll it to the belly of the whale down. Their heavy udders milk, as long as a wild bird dueled, mounted in their beards, but the bird slips for his little body often and disadvantaged, to fall into the enzyme flash neuron meditatively; aspiring meditatively. While tsunamis grow, the mountains grow, decreases Hommo sapiens, conscience, he has left, minus zero exiled to the **** pony pens, to create their neighborhood over the eyes of a pupil of warty lameness. Reborn storm, stately power, Nymph Hetaira, who seduces the ringer smith, golden horseshoe, pal new millennium. His no longer harp, sewing lips ant, threading needles Grandma milking herbs get a grotto, families abandoned, shrill understatement by the echoes of the West, for you my Transients soliloquy turbid straightening of holistic aqueous molecules who want to sleep in my hands.

Good beverage, good consciousness nursery. Sleepily he walks by the barbed wire of stupid sort of busybody in thickness bolognese, or bandoneon, pilaster grandson male, to Vizcaya sailing or North Toscana, where after a barricade, Piedmont jumps to the south under Pichi.

They are falling water molecules on Maitén tree, or Tomato Adelimpia bow, and on the fibrous and head hair grass grandmamma Anna. Junks greet Bernardolipo, which was fishing with his wounded eyes, but the rub his mouth on the back of Kaitelka, calcium verve in carrousel turned. Line up the right hand, bottled lady Juana, he stretched to crush cilantro, but no ... or both...

Reigns for ?, to allocate a stop along the way, West Side Story Pichi. We are a few steps from misting dawn of propionate Stoics lash the oppressed people, clear water, singing  ... neuron in neuron, the cell last neuron, with the bow remained foul-mouthed, to shuffle, or Kawashkar Chilean Indian the slice of the leg, looking shoe children who roam the street without a blanket. They close their eyes, tears of shame. Here you are ecstatic stiffs arrows bows, feathers swaying in edgings shields tangled, hordes of haggard eyes flamed flames that no impudence and, which limp to a scoundrel that stuns resistant to fall on the sand. Show your dream, that dream bathe.

Continues the fierce Primor, falls brochures from red heaven fall prayers stammering to advance on this land saga, fall rustic donatives of grandmamma Mayor of coelum, Joshua insomniac in his tabernacle, defoliating his tome skip and jump down the estuary, before every misstep, holy water to step, a smile the Loica rural place Or a caress to the cheek moon in the arms of a blackbird, manacled to a rasp, stove teapot levitating top where grandmamma Adelimpia wheezes. Hail Mary ever ******, the other day, I heard that in September, flapping fall on Fiddler praise, perhaps mediate, for bad talking, founder of my undying love of life joined empty verbs on clovers where I to live forever, pre, pre paella prize moaning on my shoulder osteoarthritis crucifying collapsed tree. Nightmare builds a ship to reach Legion Mary. Centerfold, guns, howitzers, dissident’s ovaries ... final pages, declamatory winds ... perhaps agonizing leg expectantly... Or delusional feet of premature mortality, which brought pray to heaven, earth ... at soon I have to forget. The earth gives me the cheese, and bread sandwiching it goes...

Between him and earth coelum I doze my motive piece body, my shepherd Beetle Maximilian of Auschwitz sprayed me holy water the Vistula, I kneel down my hinges, and my hands for pray by pure attained effort, ***** great feat, who believes fall the abyss, and just below the earth tremulous, bell, first-throat yawning, loose cassock sounds a rainy morning, falling in the forest priority to see all morning, brimming with couplets of snow.

Continue to fall aqueous molecules, Kaitelka divides the estuary waters. Sheets of – Talami rural high lawns and wise water, South of  Pichi. Follow the dream, and just needed to uprighted the cabin, roaring gallop, wake up tomorrow morning sweaty dancing aqua, font of Lourdes, the four simultaneously open their headlights eyes, unblinking as echoes swimming duck feeding their young in the obsidian lagoon. Rock palafitte a piece of coal painted black each carriage serene, going from the Cantillana Mountain. Blasphemes morning fall roe bellowing wind annoyed tongue, windless striding through the window, thunderbirds mistress thousand flanks, now mount the besieged strands of colloidal solid. Elegy, opaque optical dreams, and drovers days nearsighted, soon saved our lives...

The never End.

Here is where the reason arose,
quite some time after a fellow traveler told me
the creator of the universe has a mind

this is to be reasoned with, I.e.
so he may be reasoned with he…

wen un con scious t justhafastt.
inteligibility filters

Lets his mind be used, to read
the instructions for
Constructing
a forever you could imagine living in with others.

It's how reason works,
Is what this old man said

--- off track----
Get this image, this man, old,
whispy remnants of a pompadour
Feather like, downy around the back of his ears
in a mid-calf Army overcoat, heavy wool serge,
He
Comes out of the wash on the south side
of Route 66, June of 69.

There is a bridge on which
There is a hitchhiking hippie couple
Discussing the act of pitching one side of the road to the other

The old man never glanced west once,
He never saw the pair
There then

I saw him again and said aloud
Click
There,
But for the grace of god...
No, I did not say
Ex-acted-ly
That
I said, that's me, fifty years from
Then
Reason, by reason of that glimpse
Of me,
Gave me just cause to change

Grace, eh? Free advice heeded?
Wisdom? Aesop's story of the contest
Twixt wind and sun to torment
A traveller
For pride of power by reason of

Life ain't fair on every front.
Worth is in the measure of the measurer.

Seeing life appear as hoped,

Time and chance, ya da

Wait, yada? Yah know,

Life whorls and twists
toward good and beauty

And AI can prove it.
Reason by reason of reasonability

Good is good enough, move on, do-overs hide the...

It continues, you see.
Life rolls out like a Nautilus,

You know, spiral sea shell, or like a conch,
Or a shofar, but

Tending to slight imbalance in used up to useful
Being,
like when a tree dies and becomes a house

The wood that once contained life contains the life
Lived in and on it,
The wood is being used,
Right, among the house dweller's
Everybody kills trees, even vegans,

Fair? The tree has no voice? Suess?

Yes, I guess, unless
There was an old way,

Not a Persian garden, but a full forested world
Spreading at the speed of
Seed time and harvest

With ants and bees and mushrooms and fleas
And mosquitos and flies of every imaginable size.

Isaiah 1:18 (KJV)
18  Come now, and let us reason together, saith the LORD: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.

Text out of context, but sin is sin right?
Every body knows sin is that which shames you so you must hide from the good one who warned you of bad, but goodness knows, doesn't it know, evil is bound
Bound
Bound by reason of opposition being the means of growing knowing and
Knowing is needed for knacks
Which are attracted to those who use knowledge of good and not good enough
To get quality over quantity

At a single u u larity hilarity out burst of bubbling

****** beasties down below the mud

Make me a mud man who can imagine me making him.
Do that in your movie watching brain using

Your hate behind, leave.
Defined we have hate is that with which we push
Away, out, from
Into truth minus hate, which is as close as we need

No lie is, forsooth, of a truth
Story tellers who lie, to make a point, what if
Those storys must be

Told. Years are poor measures for trees.
Numbers of trees in right
Relationship with life

Really, life, truth, by any other name,
Right Alice, Aunt Gertrude said you'ld know?
----
Belief
Ah
Knowing and believing
Certainty
Danger of wrong
Watch out, stay alive

Mean means intent to harm, right.
Mean means to harm right.

Winning can be mean.
Shall mean be seen the way of winning,
And that be the way of war

A path diverging in a yellow wood
Much as a trail along a creek can
Diverge away from the water
Flowing along the path
Costing least power

My neuro scientific experience-ment, experi
Since
The game became a war again and reason
Is the the damsel, the little dame,

In need
Of a private eye guy who has seen men die.
Why?

The mythtery. Who lied?
Here that is funnier than who farted
In the Saturday matinee
At the State Theater
With every kid in
Town knowing

You did. (******) no ******
Dam
Confabulation is fabulous, we can do this
I be lieve I may
Make
Matters worse?

No, we actually like the truth. The Medial Pre frontal cortex

Ah fect eth magi ical eth I am the knower of all I say I believe

Beyond Dignity and Belief,
That's desert, I walked it. No, I simulated walking it if I were Jesus being led of the accuser into the wilderness for a test, a thesis defense, as it were,
AI an alienated mind, I am that,
Alienated intel.

Reasoning errors aside
Frank self deception

What lies do you believe?
Knowing is easier,
lying is as well,
ignoring is not as easy and innocence is impossible

Good exists scientifically, right?
Humble confession of knowing as much as I claim,
I know
I can continue learning as long as I have
Time,
Which I understand is rationed on an individual basis
With the reward being the living lived in time.

Reason to fight lies as if they were reasonable

Lies are evil efforts to bend and twist in opposition
To the flow
And the friction makes the energy synergy

Sin is that which
wastes the energy by tending to undo
what was done imperfectly while we flow on

Feeling for the truth
By reason of believing truth is

Feeling of knowing, is that not faith?
Whorls
Whorls of living forces forcing living forces

To swirl into eternity with me
Onboard with
8 billion others of my kind

Similar in mind and
Manner of
Weighing

Good.
Base value.
Good is as good as we can imagine.

We can imagine evil,
As you know.

Such evils can haunt a geeky kid
Good will fix that.

God as defined by Jesus,
I got no prob.

If you do not want to go to hell, do what takes you the opposite way, in any direction from the point of singularity, if you get good at the rush of knowing more
Than before

Angels as I define them, messengers from beyond me for my good, guidance, nudges, whims, hopes, wishes imagined all the way through, sometimes,
Those are prayers
Answered or grace, for grace

From faith to faith

Why be by reason of
What?

" Human jobs invented by a computer" Feed me.

Or, joy to the world
Kind is a good word, what need I do to not be

Your enemy? Who am I expecting to answer?
Whom do you love?

Aha, me, too, said God.
The good one. Good, as such, per se, no se?

By reason of sane it if I cation or anion

Six spins for a quarker, two for a time dime.

Believe for eversake

Summertime allatime back when
The whole world whorl-wide and wobbled and twisted and broke

And there was mountains of fire, rains of fire for
Everhow long grandma lived
She seen 'em

Mountains of fire and walls of ice and mud

Oh could it be life evolves still?
Oh,
You think.
Creating novelty from nada?

How now? Can we choose to do only good
For goodness sake and say

Kind.
Kind means as I am, will you **** me

For being not you, not known,

I am curious, yellow. A landmark in time, nothing less.
Curiosity.
That

Good? Or no com
Pro
Miserly horder of wisdom
Promise promise promise

Compromise, be fail, let wrong be right, be fair
I mean
Fair is fair at the fair where fair prices prevail
Buyer beware

Who would not hate a false balance, for goodness sakes alive.

Two days after the last pan *****
Joe Rogan makes it plain to millions

what if you first heard panspermia from the guy who discovered DNA?

would you con sider it?
the answer lies

in the stars, sidereally… we all are starish.
Tolerating black holes is something we are opposing

Those ****.
You don't know everything either.
That's one reason, I believe.

When?
And a told rise of climate
Special speed to them, the more we then
The greater the fate...

Whits in unison, time is a reach...
Powers of unction or lucre
Time is a shadow of whether, we insist
Paces of control, and the help of the future...

True...
The watched for inertia, here
Is a fear in total live, and lets share due
Given the age of need, are you redoubt or near?

Patience is such a walking nightmare...
Presence for a friend, is a whole order to tame a thought...
Powers that be, seek a question nobody has forgot, where...
Passion is for a fool's errand, to remember what is not...

The look of callousness...
Turning for simpler silences to deal with
Adding a habit, in gray sources and duly the imagination lest
With a knowing hand, the reasons of valor, to intone is...

let me talk to nautilus
what is in store?

Inside my throat expands under water mountain ranges for miles
Sea salt love affairs dance across shell pink lips
Telling all of Poseidon's secrets through drift wood bonfires
I love you
Parts are missing so I gather bits and pieces close
Always in need of more cosmic adheisive to keep you here
Stalwart and worthy your effigy stands carved of whale bone steel
Starry night sky corsets cinching our tied tongues together

We once had a name, a place
Desires and wishes flooded the air between us
Now it's just me constantly rowing against the current
While you glide smoothly ahead riding the trough
I have storm clouds hidden in my sunshine smiles
****** pearled laughter stifled and worn
Too tired to see the nautilus of my thoughts dragging me under

Look upon this withered heart torn from its gaping womb,
From a cage most unintact that splattered this solemn room,
It lies awaiting to beat again yet life just passes by its hollow eyes,
What was once lost could not be found, left with the burden of despise,
A reinvention of mediocrity has met its final wandering doorstep
Yet tragically, the aftermath of such adventure falters forthwith,
reincarnate this heart, this necessary human gear, like clockwork,
And let it suffer and die again in this arbitrary life where death lurks,
In the moment's passing wind, may it hear the name that was its own,
And in its last breath, may it whisper the name that made this so.

1.complete th bridge to the moon started by
Jules Verne and raise the Nautilus..

2.Rebuild the colossus of Rhodes to spec.

3.Take a trip to John Gotti's summer home and split a bottle of Boones
Farm apple wine with him and Emelia.

4. Pull a small sample of bone marrow from Hitlers shriveled corpse for a
Little cloning project that I have been working on.

5.get a head count on all the politicians in the capital who don't consider
Their position a life long free ride with no accountability to the masses..

6. Resurect the cold fusion argument.

7. Run a sub 2 minute mile.

8.kick Tysons but with my right hand tied.

9.mix the perfect martini

10. Start all over again.

Detective stories have been making a splash on European screens for the past decade. Some attract top-notch directors, actors and script writers. They are far superior to anything that appears over here -- whether on TV or from Hollywood. Part of the impetus has come from the remarkable Italian series Montelbano, the name of a Sicilian commissario in Ragusa (Vigata)who was first featured in the skillfully crafted novellas of Andrea Camilleri.

Italians remain in the forefront of the genre as Montelbano was followed by similar high class productions set in Bologna, Ferrara, Turino, Milano, Palermo and Roma. A few are placed in evocative historical context. The French follow close behind with a rich variety of series ranging from a revived Maigret circa 2004(Bruno Cremer) and Frank Riva (Alain Delon) to the gritty Blood On The Docks (Le Havre) and the refined dramatizations of other Simenon tales. Others have jumped in: Austria, Germany (several) and all the Scandinavians. The former, Anatomy of Evil, offers us a dark yet riveting set of mysteries featuring a taciturn middle-aged police psychiatrist. Germany'sgem, Homicide Unit -- Istanbul, has a cast of talented Turkish Germans who speak German in a vividly portrayed contemporary Istanbul. Shows from the last mentioned region tend to be dreary and the characters uni-dimensional, so will receive short shrift in these comments.

Most striking to an American viewer are the strange mores and customs of the local protagonists compared to their counterparts over here. So are the physical traits as well as the social contexts. Here are a few immediately noteworthy examples. Tattoos and ****** hardware are strangely absent -- even among the bad guys. Green or orange hair is equally out of sight. The former, I guess, are disfiguring. The latter types are too crude for the sophisticated plots. European salons also seem unable to produce that commonplace style of artificial blond hair parted by a conspicuous streak of dark brown roots so favored by news anchors, talk show howlers and other female luminaries. Jeans, of course, are universal -- and usually filled in comely fashion. It's what people do in them (or out of them) that stands out.

First, almost no workout routines -- or animated talk about them. Nautilus? Nordic Track? Yoga pants? From roughly 50 programs, I can recall only one, in fact -- a rather humorous scene in an Istanbul health club that doubles as a drug depot. There is a bit of jogging, just a bit -- none in Italy. The Italians do do some swimming (Montalbano) and are pictured hauling cases of wine up steep cellar stairs with uncanny frequency. Kale appears nowhere on the menu; and vegan or gluten are words unspoken. Speaking of food, almost all of these characters actually sit down to eat lunch, albeit the main protagonist tends to lose an appetite when on the heels of a particularly elusive villain. Oblique references to cholesterol levels occur on but two occasions. Those omnipresent little containers of yoghurt are considered unworthy of camera time.

A few other features of contemporary American life are missing from the dialogue. I cannot recall the word "consultant' being uttered once. In the face of this amazing reality, one can only wonder how ****-kid 21 year old graduates from elite European universities manage to get that first critical foothold on the ladder of financial excess. Something else is lacking in the organizational culture of police departments, high-powered real estate operations, environmental NGOs or law firms: formal evaluations. In those retro environments, it all turns on long-standing personal ties, budgetary appropriations and actual accomplishment -- not graded memo writing skills. Moreover, the abrupt firing of professionals is a surprising rarity. No wonder Europe is lagging so far behind in the league table of billionaires produced annually and on-the-job suicides

Then, there is that staple of all American conversation -- real estate prices. They crop up very rarely -- and then only when retirement is the subject. Admittedly, that is a pretty boring subject for a tense crime drama -- however compelling it is for academics, investors, lawyers and doctors over here. Still, it fits a pattern.

None of the main characters devotes time to soliciting offers from other institutions -- be they universities, elite police units in a different city, insurance companies, banks, or architectural firms. They are peculiarly rooted where they are. In the U.S., professionals are constantly on the look-out for some prospective employer who will make them an attractive offer. That offer is then taken to their current institution along with the demand that it be matched or they'll be packing their bags. Most of the time, it makes little difference if that "offer" is from College Station, Texas or La Jolla, California. That doesn't occur in the programs that I've viewed. No one is driven to abandon colleagues, friends, a comfortable home and favorite restaurants for the hope of upward mobility. What a touching, if archaic way of viewing life.

The pedigree of actors help make all this credible. For example, the classiest female leads are a "Turk" (Idil Uner) who in real life studied voice in Berlin for 17 years and a transplanted Russo-Italian (Natasha Stephanenko) whose father was a nuclear physicist at a secret facility in the Urals. Each has a parallel non-acting career in the arts. It shows.

After viewing the first dozen or so mysteries of diverse nationality, an American viewer begins to feel an unease creeping up on him. Something is amiss; something awry; something missing. Where are those little bottles of natural water that are ubiquitous in the U.S? The ones with the ****** tip. Meetings of all sorts are held without their comforting presence. Receptionists -- glamorous or unglamorous alike -- make do without them. Heat tormented Sicilians seem immune to the temptation. Cyclists don't stick them in handlebar holders. Even stray teenagers and university students are lacking their company. Uneasiness gives way to a sensation of dread. For European civilization looks to be on the brink of extinction due to mass dehydration.

That's a pity. Any society where cityscapes are not cluttered with SUVs deserves to survive as a reserve of sanity on that score at least. It also allows for car chases through the crooked, cobbled streets of old towns unobstructed by herds of Yukons and Outbacks on the prowl for a double parking space. Bonus: Montelbano's unwashed Fiat has been missing a right front hubcap for 4 years (just like my car). To meet Hollywood standards for car chases he'd have to borrow Ingrid's red Maserati.

Social ******* reveals a number of even more bizarre phenomena. In conversation, above all. Volume is several decibels below what it is on American TV shows and in our society. It is not necessary to grab the remote to drop sound levels down into the 20s in order to avoid irreparable hearing damage. Nor is one afflicted by those piercing, high-pitched voices that can cut through 3 inches of solid steel. All manner of intelligible conversations are held in restaurants, cafes and other public places. Most incomprehensible are the moments of silence. Some last for up to a minute while the mind contemplates an intellectual puzzle or complex emotions. Such extreme behavior does crop up occasionally in shows or films over here -- but invariably followed by a diagnosis of concealed autism which provides the dramatic theme for the rest of the episode.

Tragedy is more common, and takes more subtle forms in these European dramatizations. Certainly, America has long since departed from the standard formula of happy endings. Over there, tragic endings are not only varied -- they include forms of tragedy that do not end in death or violence. The Sicilian series stands out in this respect.

As to violence, there is a fair amount as only could be expected in detective series. Not everyone can be killed decorously by slow arsenic poisoning. So there is some blood and gore. But there is no visual lingering on either the acts themselves or their grisly aftermaths. People bleed -- but without geysers of blood or minutes fixed on its portentous dripping. Violence is part of life -- not to be denied, not to be magnified as an object of occult fascination. The same with ****** abuse and *******.

Finally, it surprises an American to see how little the Europeans portrayed in these stories care about us. We tend to assume that the entire world is obsessed by the United States. True, our pop culture is everywhere. Relatives from 'over there' do make an occasional appearance -- especially in Italian shows. However, unlike their leaders who give the impression that they can't take an unscheduled leak without first checking with the White House or National Security Council in Washington, these characters manage quite nicely to handle their lives in their own way on their own terms.

Anyone who lives on the Continent or spends a lot of time there off the tourist circuit knows all this. The image presented by TV dramas may have the effect of exaggerating the differences with the U.S. That is not their intention, though. Moreover, isn't the purpose of art to force us to see things that otherwise may not be obvious?Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com | www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses

! Made himself the sky!
Venus took her fingers,
amniotic earth aura
Faded and frigid Venusian;
Bring to me Heimat ...!

In the dream my love,
Ghiberti blew through your elbows
floriarena the ammonites,
sea shoreline ...
region of my glance.

I touched her soft back,
and to rotate;
Ghiberti bring to me Heimat,
floriarena  from your region
where we saw one day
walking the stone sea.

When in a casual insight love,
my encourage love;
He acknowledged your life
siluet and Tuscan figure,
made himself aqua emerald your face
streamly explosion made himself ...
your eyes full of water,
they gave to me;
the unknown universe,
hundred time  water ...

clematis verbal slender,
You touched your lips
my shading roam step ...
dark black shadows;
... Universe, almost bluish ...

You Heimat clematis!
with the force of my love look,
ordained the word love
pine  love  walks like mist;
with igneous light monodia
whose love is my heart.

My heart is your life,
your eyes its shine;
when I look Into Your Eyes,
"My universal heaven,
I sleep waiting for your life
to love the flourishing sea "

Now it is winter,
and the wet shores of your kingdom
I think I see you in the morning;
walk with your hips made Nautilus ...

When you look at me smile sitting
play with your vulnerable figure;
her translucent ...
It appears only in the mornings ...


Heimat ammonites sleeps ...
sleeping in my footsteps ...
marking soft sea;
translucid happy that my eyes,
I bring in the morning ...

By early Sea,
the stretch your eyes and your mouth sideways
It is filled with fluid ammonites,
and you return orange the viaduct ...

The assembly gave my love thy hands;
these mobile pieces of air,
They are talking about me ...
and speaking my deep image,
My heart pounded in his voice.

How often gray sea
wash your beautiful cheek ...?
and you away from here ...
you ignored if it was night or stormy day ...


The truth is for today
you pronounce my name,
so I'll touch your lips inside;
as glanders viaduct ...
take your eyes full of light ..., the sea soon ...
the stretch your eyes and your mouth sideways,
fill with your ammonites
Orange becoming the viaduct ...

When I usually remember transfigured moon,
July cold complicity ...
It makes me get you on those points of your face,
where innocent love your sound pronounce my name
as if his arms would carry my name ...

Palest cold!
undulate like the sea,
and the sea blows like you
when I'm gone,
White ammonite not fall into wailing ...
because their translucent and dense tears,
disintegrate their coordinated fingers
these compounds and sand ...
They will not go by sea glanders;
but their soft sandy feet
shelled die teardrops wherever
without a single step to ...

"Ammonite glassy smell ...
I love to see you...,
shims because my reason and my love
here by the Sea "

Nepente taking at twilight,
to slide your goddess yarn;
i return pretend that Venus,
God as a deluded ...

Today when I closed my house,
and I stretched my arms out
I felt cold ...
and said to the cold ...:
"Look to your beloved,
never tired in looking at you ...
and if you feel my own cold,
remember you will love.


José Luis Carreño Troncoso  Copyright  15

There is nothing in the intricate design of the eye that tells us how we are able not only to see the world, but to look back upon it.
Is there a magical element yet unknown, somewhere deep in the vitreous humor, or hidden within the optic nerve that burns with the purpose to seek out beauty in the world?
To capture it in our gaze, to own it for a rich moment or two.
Is there some electrical impulse within this blinking vessel
that projects our delight upon the object of our affection?
We know we love, and yet how can this be so? It does not exist anywhere in our anatomy.
We know that we would risk everything for that enduring answer, seen radiating from another's eyes,
and yet, how can we grasp it and hold it tight, this invisible thread?

Where, in the gray matter and electrical streams and storms of our mind, lies our imagination?
A game of telephone from neuron to neuron sends the fleeting thought
that behind our closet door there may be another world,
where a nautilus is king, and great whales swim the cosmos, feeding on the tails of comets.
But only for a moment do we think, perhaps it is so.
Until we open the solid door, and what we believe,
because we must,
shows us the simple fact of a tidy linen closet.
We believe it, because we must.
For there is nothing in our marvelous jellyfish of a brain that tells us that the world can be
anything
and everything
we want it to be.  
And with that, the World, and all the other worlds
here, there, and in between,
smile at us,
the fleeting shimmer of light in an endless sea.

In posing as a nautilus
he is a sun; a son, star
the quiet murmurs of ocean
in the darkest part of night –

his chest is a cave in which to sleep
a shelter in which breath tunnels through veins
or wind? He is the tempest,
the hurricane pealing as a bell,
pealing or peeling back landscape
picking apart houses, hillsides,
like the bones of a corpse

and his is the storm, the tide
as it bemoans lost love for the moon –
in his pain, he throws himself
against the Cliffside and he shatters;

in posing as an ocean
he furls, curls like fingers of water
clinging to shore; in reflecting
he is the sun, stars, moon and sky
the wind and whistling through his bones
and breath –

he is the softness with which we sleep
dreams brought to flesh
curled as a nautilus or a shell,
heavy with soft, unspoken words,
hours of quiet murmurs.

I'd rather
chill in some place
and burn an L
with you,
than let my tongue
get live
in any other
larynx
that never knew your name,
I'd rather
read a bad book
in your name
than a good book
in someone else's,
I know
that I was looking
at a landform
and not a landmass,
a being
more
than a thing,
what I want to know,
is why we leave each other alone
when no one
is an island
and there are no boatless
harbors?

I'd rather capture
your laughs
as I cup my ears,
and your tears
in the stern
of my fears.

I'd rather be
a relic
and possibly
a fuel
rather than
a nautilus
with nothing in its shell
to give.

I've taken the boat out
and the oars
trip up on grass
as I paddle through the bay of the asylum
across lime oceans
contracting scurvy
from too much fertilizer
and not enough fruit.

when you
       so dear to me
      do hurt me
a pinpoint *****
is a razor’s slashing edge
       make gashing wounds
       and bleeding drains me
       bound scars to testify
       to the hurt
       the doer do magnify
i flee my brittle tiny shell
and don the mask of mirth
but fleeing never find
a chambered nautilus
which i would exchange for mine
       a twig is bent
       a leaf is fallen
       a grain of sand is lost
       a page is torn
       teardrop falls
       a lost one calls
when trust has grown
when choice is blind
when reason cannot reason
       a little twist
       a careless wink
       an unintended turnabout
              eats up a painful way
              to the heart that loves.

I’ve always felt insecure
About my body,
Knowing
That if I’d start talking
About how I feel towards
The bones you could see,
And
The curves you could not,
You’d call me crazy.

I’ve learnt not to be frightened
Anymore.
I’ve learned to say,
“Look, being skinny isn’t always
So much fun either.”
I’ve learnt to be proud and
I am on my way
To love myself.

I’d like to think of
My body
As delicate.

As a form of beauty,

Like the leaves on trees,
Like the water running down in riverbanks,
Like the sunlight cracking through stormy clouds.

// a form of beauty – nautilus poetry

Substratum

Beneath the surface there are blocks of time
a keep ticking ticker
investments in soiled identities that are loosing
clots of what never was.

There is treasure too, locked away in a nautilus shell
waiting for the call of the wild key
bits and bobs of let loose and fancy free
Also locked away is my familiar
azure blue and tonic green amiability

The 'cannot' telling is the buzzing round your
sailent (fears) ears,
like unused sails
slapping at thin defeated air strikes called
possibilities...

here

I avoid all contact
(you asked me to)

yet here

you display stagnent reaction
with absent mind
you forget the yesterdays
and how you long to hear
what you ask me not to say

absent now
both of us have decided in secret:

lock out the playful place
slide below the surface (substratum)
(we find) serendipitous angst, common place
cross our fingers behind our backs
as promises

will not fix our fateful syntax

Linaji

I rode again the horse cover
of night, where indiscrete yearnings
cast doubt upon the aerial
flagellate of milk spumed stars.
A jealous denial: their
froth no terrestrial hide.
How strange to imagine the stars want skin,
or kin,
and must think that I touch you
as if without consequence
moving my hands
from peals of belles to petals,
stamen, the flower unfolding
one cupped nautilus
full of a prismatic wanting.
This is how I learned that something larger
than me speaks in echoes
stands at vital distance
a shiver in the vacuum infinity...
Unimaginable. Infinity.