Blessed is the man
who does not take offense
I'm speaking in the present tense
There is no sitting on the fence
This poem will now take me hence...

An offense will make us stumble
Forget the bluster and the bumble
Our defense will surely crumble
In all things we must be humble

When we see another's error
Are we really all the fairer?
Look Within it will be clearer
Are we looking in a mirror?

When we see reflection's bust
Do we see lines? Perhaps some crust?
Being honest is a must!
What have we done
that WE can't trust?

True of the bird as well the bee
We are all one cloth you see!
Self-assessment makes you free!

This is true humility.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/23/2016

Brothers and sisters in Christ, would we look at Jesus hanging on the cross in excruciating torment, gasping for every agonizing breath, pierced through, covered in blood and bearing our offenders' sin along with ours, only to say, "It isn't enough! It is NOT finished. There is still more to be accomplished, a greater payment yet to be rendered. You did not complete the work or satisfy the debt!"...?

For here is the thing: if we don't believe that His sacrifice was enough to sufficiently pay the debt for everything they have done to us then how can we ever possibly believe it was enough to pay for all we have done to Him? And if we don't believe that then how can we be saved?

This is certainly not to say that the process of working through all the issues of forgiveness is not an extremely steep and difficult climb or that it does not take time. It is! It does! Sometimes it takes years to reach the top, where we are completely set free from the pain and emotional struggle of it. But the choice to forgive, the decision to actually begin the process and step onto the path is not optional for any true disciple of Jesus Christ, for He has clearly called us all to take up our cross and die daily and to count ourselves dead to sin already. We have been commanded and empowered by Him to forgive, and He Himself will work it fully in and through us if we will only yield to Him.

But when we refuse to forgive, we are only digging through the trash heap and holding ourselves prisoner within it, yet somehow convinced we will find gold there. Do we not understand how ludicrous this is? We are beloved and royal children living as self-defeating street urchins—fists up, ready for a fight and buried up to our necks in a back-alley dumpster looking for rotten scraps. The King is calling, "Come out of there, beloved child! Come home to Me and feast!" But we respond, "No, not yet! There are still more *****, decaying bags in here to scavenge through. I haven't checked that dark, rat-invested corner yet. There may be something good in there for me!" What?! Are we insane? Stop digging, let go of the bag, let Him lift you once and for all out of the dumpster and come home! Realize who you are and Whose you are!

Authentic and heart-changing forgiveness begins when we look honestly and humbly at the offense, call it what it is without minimizing it or making excuses for it, feel the full weight of the painful debt incurred against us by the offender, realize that it is simply not within his power or means to ever sufficiently pay us back in a way that could restore us to wholeness (even if he desperately wanted to), and then look fully to Jesus, trusting Him to bear the entire weight of it for us and to provide complete payment for all of the damages done to us.

It comes when we decide to give the debt 'note' fully over to Him, transferring it to Him, like a mortgage company transferring (for their own protection and profit) a high-risk house note to a different lender and thus releasing the debtor from any further obligation to re-pay us, breaking the chains of our previous expectations off of him and putting them all onto Christ. And when we do, we will find that in the transfer we come out far richer than we were before the offense was even made and the debt ever incurred.

In forgiveness we have to both lay down something and take up something, for our heart refuses to ever walk away with nothing to cling to. We have to hand our offender's heavy debt completely over to the One Who willingly carried it on Himself, along with every one of our own sins and sorrows, all the way to the cross, nailing it there and paying it in full, and then we have to receive afresh the gift of His infinite fullness in exchange.

With every offense (small or great) there arises a subsequent path of forgiveness. The greater the offense, the steeper and longer the climb to get to the end; but the steeper and longer the climb, the more spectacular and rare the views along the way and from the top. Whenever someone hurts us, we can either stay in the barren valley with the offense, miserably imprisoned by it and trying hard to keep our offender chained to it as well, or we can kick loose the chains and set out on the less-traveled mountain trail leading to freedom, healing and rest. The trailhead is the cross, and Jesus is waiting to meet us there. All we have to do is take the first step onto the trail and begin to walk it with Him as our intimate Companion and determine (and keep daily determining) to stay on it as long as it takes and one step at a time with Him as our faithful Guide, for He will certainly lead us all the way to the summit.

And we will certainly need an all-powerful, all-knowing and ever-present Guide on such an adventurous trek, as this trail is ever-winding, full of dangerous switchbacks, difficult ascents and narrow, hidden passes; but the scenery will be breathtaking and the fellowship life-changing. As we travel further and higher our perspective will dramatically change along the way, and the offense back down in the valley will become smaller and smaller in the distance until we can barely make out more than a shadow of it for all of the beauty surrounding and enfolding us. It is not necessarily that the memory of it will ever completely be forgotten so much as it will be brilliantly reframed by an exceedingly better and higher view.

At the end of the trail there lies a secret alpine garden, lush with various kinds of healing fruit that rarely grow ripe on the lower slopes of the mountains and do not grow at all in the valley of unforgiveness. Their taste, fragrance and restorative powers are beyond anything that might be understood or even imagined by those who have never dared nor sensed the need to venture any further than the foothills. Nevertheless, the garden is always open and the fruit readily available to any and all who would choose to make the glorious journey together with their LORD...and none who do will ever be sorry they came.

So why do we so often struggle to do it?

I think when we look honestly and microscopically at hindrances to forgiveness it is idolatry that stands out as the most culpable suspect. For when we forget that everything we need and most desire is found in Christ and that everything we have comes from His loving, wise and faithful hand and then someone else fails to give to us what we are so firmly convinced we need from them or takes from us what we are so sure we require, it is easy to feel justified in withholding from them our complete pardon.

It is idolatry as well which blinds us from seeing how deeply and desperately we ourselves depend on God's mercy. For when anything becomes more important to us than intimacy with Christ, we are quick to overlook our own grievous impediments to that intimacy and therefore quick to overlook Christ's unequivocal command to forgive as we have been forgiven. So then we cannot fairly approach forgiveness without humbly keeping ever before us the awareness of our own stubbornly idolatrous tendencies which seem to be always lurking under every prickly bush.

Another common but still idolatrous stumbling block is our failure to grasp and cherish God's absolute sovereignty over us, which then causes us to unduly credit our offenders with power they do not actually have—the power to ruin our lives—and to mistakenly think that by refusing to forgive we can somehow regain from them the stolen upper hand, either by trying to pay them back with evil or by trying to force them to pay us back with good, emotionally holding them prisoner and refusing to unlock the door until we have sufficiently punished them or until they have sufficiently 'blessed' us. This is a prideful self-worship which pre-supposes that our lives and their avenging are best and most safely kept in the control of our own hands and that we are entitled to more 'good' than God Himself is willing to bestow on us. It is also a dangerous exalting of others which wrongly assumes that they have within themselves the ability to grant us enough 'good' to ever fully settle their deficit account and satisfy our wounded hearts.

When we forget who we are and all we have in Christ, idolatry can also lead us into a more subtle, less honest and in some ways more damaging form of unforgiveness, one that often masquerades convincingly for a time as forgiveness but is far from the real thing. For if our offender himself is the idol whose love and approval we think we cannot live without we may be very quick to make shallow, insincere and enabling offerings to him, trying desperately to quell any conflict and to ingratiate ourselves to him (wanting to retain peace with him at any cost so that we might retain a piece of him and determining to think well of him in the hope that he might think well of us). We will call it forgiveness and think it truly is but wonder why the issue never seems to be quite settled in our heart, why he never seems to be able to meet the standard of the 'high place' on which we have erected him and why we always seem to be trying to charge his offenses against us to everyone else's account.

As long as our 'pardon' is rooted in fear of rejection, resentment and abandonment (or in any other insecure human emotion), it cannot qualify as genuine forgiveness or obedience to Christ and therefore cannot bring any measure of real peace or lasting resolution to our hearts or to the relationship. It will only keep us locked up within our own limited and easily drained ability to love, suffocating both ourself and our offender, causing resentment on both sides and robbing us of the joy of entering into a deeper love that can only come from trusting in and drawing upon the overflowing fountain of Christ's love. True forgiveness will always extend out of that flow of intimacy with Him and out of genuine worship of Him, for we can only walk like Him when we walk closely with Him and crave Him above all else.

With each step, the heat of passion of love and excitement only intensifies. I burn with fire from the love of passion, he can fill the whole world. And the sky turned pink. The sky glitters with glitter. The air is filled with the fragrance of love and the world is more beautiful and you are becoming more and more divine in my eyes, I bow to your extraterrestrial beauty and belong to you alone, the goal of all my lives for all eternity. You are the one that I will always dream of and my heart will forever love and want you alone. The goddess appearing to me in ****** thoughts and depraved dreams of passion. Up close you are beautiful to tears - these are tears of sincere happiness and admiration.
You are more beautiful than the most beautiful. Merge together forever and ever with the spirit of yours, and your inner world, my lonely soul dreams. See the depths of your amazing me. To give you your eternal devotion: you are my life, eternity and my destiny, you are my only right choice, you are everything that I love and want. Both my heart and my mind are open only to you. You look so romantic and beautiful, your charm, your spell beckons my mind to you, it is useless for them to resist you, they can only fully obey, surrender to you alone. My legs go only to you, my eyes look only at you, and I focus only on you. Everything in me is overwhelmed with you. And inside, from the love of you, is incredible, absolute lightness. And from the fact that you are not with me, my heart hurts almost to a heart attack. Epochally, I fell in love with you totally, beyond ******-poetic, overly ****. Yes, truly, you are my empress, and only I worship you, look at this temple of my love, dedicated to you, on this great altar, look around, you are everywhere, sit on this throne of love, my great and beautiful goddess. Each your kiss is indescribable and priceless, it is vital. Every your look, fantastically-romantically-touchingly beautiful. He kindles the fire of love and passion in men. Your charm is a powerful force that attracts everything and everyone to itself.
Awakening true, sparkling love for you, of universal scale. This throne of eternal praise and worship is only for you alone, and the chorus, singing about your beauty only for you. In you, every millimeter of your perfect, hot, hot-**** body is beautiful. My world is in your uniquely beautiful eyes, in your feelings and emotions, and I’m not tired of talking about your perfect proportions. Only your caresses give such feelings as love and happiness. Striking, powerful, attractive appearance. The magnificent grace of your body has no equal. Only your divinely beautiful body is worthy of the highest praise and points. I am only waiting for you. You're all I think about. The empress of my subconscious, in my inner world, dreams, and memories, you are everywhere. I always wait only for you. You are my only eternal thought that helps to live in this world, my beautiful emotion, and an amazing feeling. Only, like you, can excite with a look and fall in love with yourself forever. Life without you is unthinkable, impossible. Believe me, I know this for sure, your beauty shines gently with honey, golden light and brilliance. Your beauty is powerful hypnosis.
You are tremendously in love with you totally. You are the highest goddess: beauty, love and erotica. For me, you are the supreme being of all universes. You rule and command over male minds and hearts. Please do not be offended by this truth, but you are so beautiful that you don’t even need cosmetics, only you can look so natural and beautiful, but you are also very powerful ****** attraction, arousal, my only hobby, I’m madly obsessed with you. Your voice sounds sleeker than a violin, more touching than a piano, lighter than a harp, thinner than a triangle. So amazing, your beautiful skin glitters sexually, it is perfect, sweet, juicy. And your perfect figure, perfection itself. You are not replaceable and priceless. You are the most important, most valuable thing in my life. Your infinitely amazing, impressive, external and internal beauty sets you apart from all living and nonliving. So stunningly passionate, your beautiful body is a powerful magnet attracting a huge amount of affection and passion. You are perfect, your beautiful figure is so perfect that you don't even need clothes. I am struck down on a feast, and I bow deeply, taking off my hat to your royal authority, for me it is a great honor and a great honor to be with you by your side, you are my idol and autograph, I take it from me and keep it from my heart, exposing it to the honorary a place in your altar of love, where only you are everywhere, I am your eternal, devoted fan. You have no equal, I adore everything in you. You are the highest, absolute aerobatics. You are a beautiful and perfect image that you can imagine. This is what a beautiful goddess looks like. You are the highest good, pleasure and pleasure in this universe. I put a madman of points and a sign of infinity to boot, your unique beauty. You are so beautiful that you immediately want to marry, and live with you all eternity.
Your teasing sexually exciting figure keeps my mind completely under your control. You are a thermonuclear *** bomb-boom babe. You are all my eyes want to see. Your gently saldko-**** voice is all that my ears want to hear. The smell of your skin is all I want to breathe. I breathe only because you are near me. When you're near the heart of love knocks more. And the level of excitement from your beauty reaches the highest degree. About how beautiful you are and how I love you, that's all I want to tell you. Your gorgeous flesh and soul is all that your flesh and soul wants to feel forever. Your love is all I want to feel forever from you. You're so beautiful, just a sight for sore eyes. You are much higher than blue blood. I am only obsessed with you. You are ****. Cool babe. Unreal beautiful. Drooling flow in men only from you. Resist such as you are simply useless. Your sweet laugh, your **** smile, soft look, impeccable outfit, battles everybody in a row. You are the most juicy relish, sensual, tender, feminine passion. You are my love and soul outlet.
You are absolute, the highest *****. Eternal novelty. It is unbearable, excessively, supremely, beautiful, and only you look overly ****. You are in the highest stage of evolution, you are the most ideal, you are my idol, my ideal, the most true and authentic embodiment of beauty. You are the sexually ****** heat of love and passion. Your body brings you to the highest level of arousal. You yourself tenderness and femininity. You are 1 000 000 000 percent luxury, priceless, the only, eternal value. All the pleasant moments in life are associated only with you. Your sweet caresses and kisses are a very powerful drug. You are the most valuable gift of the universe. You are gorgeous in any kind of image frame, everywhere, always and in everything. You feel a surprisingly soft, sensual, tenderness. The beauty in your eyes is something amazing, uniquely beautiful, it is very beautiful fascinating magic. Very beautiful and indescribably pleasant feeling. Your amazingly beautiful image touches the most delicate and barely visible strings of souls easily and gently. By causing a special vibration of the true love melody, he finally falls in love with you.
So beautiful and bold, spectacular. 1 000 000 000 000 000 000 likes you alone and a sign of infinity to boot. The ******, ****** heat of love and lust emanates from you. You set a new world record for beauty. Which is impossible to achieve. You are a beautiful, socialite. You are synonymous with beauty. The eternal standard and *** symbol in the history of mankind. Absolutely beautiful. Every millimeter of your beautiful body is beautiful in you. The jaw drops and the gift of speech from such incredible beauty is lost. Just do not be offended, please forgive me if something is wrong. But from such a beautiful appearance as you have in men, a powerful ******* of the *****, guys and men end up in their underpants. Unlimitedly beautiful. Sexiest in the whole universe. So **** that you don't even need clothes. You are for the happiest and luckiest man in the world. You are a jackpot. Flash, full house. *** symbol.
You are synonymous with beauty and ideal. You are so beautiful just amazing. you have a direct view of a ****, sultry predator. You are the sweetest. From you comes a powerful, ****, ****** energy. you are indescribably beautiful. You're spectacular, juicy, ****. M, You sound cool, like a mega cool, percussive, lyric rap beat. As a platinum and gold vinyl record, you are a super hit. You are a bestseller of poetry and prose. You're my princess. Queen. The Empress Goddess. The ultimate creation of all universes, spheres and dimensions. I think so. To doge to what extent a girl can be beautiful. Just amazing. The queen of my mind and heart. Your tender image overwhelms my soul with light, beautiful love and lust. You have such a soft pearl skin. Your beautiful appearance forever and ever conquered my heart and my mind. You are the most beautiful of its kind. You are endowed with the rarest beauty at all times. Fashion model. Just the thought of you excites and falls in love. You are a masterpiece of nature and of God himself. Your infinitely amazing beauty, the rarest and most amazing, the most beautiful in the history of mankind.
The most desirable, silk, velvet skin, gorgeous, beautiful, always and everywhere. Strikingly beautiful, your **** body as if calls for kissing and licking, caressing, satisfying you again and again. You're too ****, hot flame of passion. You are the best prize, a gift that can only get a man, the best among all his lives. You are perfect and perfect. The more I look at you, the more I fall in love with you because you beat all the beauty and mind records, my super **** top model, everywhere in the first place in beauty and mind. In you, every millimeter of your body is perfect, with you all seconds are beautiful. The body shines brilliantly: luxurious chic, beautiful. The title itself is a beautiful girl in the world. The supreme creation of all universes. The finest children are born only with you. Aerobatics. Girl high hummingbird.
Your charming charm is a super **** mega power that is simply impossible to overcome. The sweetest gourmet, I adore your gorgeous body, when I see you, only one word sounds in my head: yum, I will completely give myself to you. I will always love only you unconsciously, unconsciously, your gently ****** image sat in the depths of my mind completely. From your amazingly contagious beauty, your mouth opens and you lose your voice. Dizzyingly, stunningly beautiful, you are like a giant tornado, from which everything attracts you. And the heart and soul yearn all the time only for you. It doesn't matter if you love me or not, the main thing is that I still love you, and in my subconscious mind, I will only love you forever. Your luxurious appearance of the highest quality, this is a workshop, the filigree work of Mother Nature, this is just a masterpiece that constitutes a unique example of true beauty, you have no equal, you are a girl of high caliber. You are absolutely beautiful to such a degree, so beautiful, so exotic, ******, and your image sounds poetic like very beautiful music of love that I’m just afraid and shy to come to you, I’m afraid to talk to you, as if standing next to a goddess, or with a super mega star, a world scale model that even aliens probably know. My heart beats more often, I can’t speak normally, from excitement, goosebumps all over my body, and it just shakes.
All these are symptoms of true love for you, well, just: oh), wow). To be your boyfriend and husband is the greatest honor in the world, he knelt in front of you with flowers in his hands. Your appearance is perfect just like Barbie. You are so beautiful that only you want to have *** forever, countless, infinite number of times. You are unattainable, you are like a star whose light of the soul, like a searchlight, illuminates me in the deep darkness of solitude. In love with you thorough. You are simply amazingly beautiful. You are the best of the best. Goddess of all goddesses, empress of all empresses, queen of all queens. More beautiful you just can not imagine a girl. Sexier than you just can not be anything. Beautiful soul just is not found. There was nothing more perfect than you and never will be, simply because I think so. Laponka, I am your faithful fan, you are my only idol, idol, icon of beauty. It doesn't matter who you are, I will accept you any. Because in any case I am eager to be only with you. You have a **** smile, and your sensual look is just awesome. And from your voice and look a pleasant shiver all over your body. You are special, the best that is in all worlds, universes and dimensions. You're just a sight for sore eyes. To you I feel the most powerful, love and ****** inclination. You're cooler than any ****** and afrodosiak. From your beauty just cling to the constraints and embarrassment.
**** Barbie, fell in love with you powerfully for sure. Wow. God, how beautiful you are, God, hell, let me see you, wow, this is just super, just super, my God, it’s necessary to what extent a girl can be beautiful, you're just awesome, just awesome, you're beautiful. My Goddess. About you, I will dream of all eternity, desire and crave only you alone. You're high, ecstasy. In your eyes there is some special fairytale beauty. Lady of my heart. You are the continuation of my soul. Billions of suns of joy, happiness, and love explode in the soul and this every time you see. With you every second is overflowing with the warm, divine, sunshine of true love, happiness and joy. You are like hypnotic sitar music. I would kiss your hands and feet every day. I want to constantly have *** with only one you. You are the embodiment of ****** and ****** passion. Only your skin color is infinitely exciting and falling in love. Your **** voice excites, and intonation falls in love. In you, literally everything excites. You are beautiful in any form, place, dress. If I see you, then the day is not in vain. Your image is powerfully falling in love. Oh meamor, goose bumps run through when you touch me, your breath stops when you look at me.
You're too beautiful. You are a **** lioness. You are the flame of sensual passion. You are a thermonuclear *** bomb. I admire your amazing beauty. You are amazing, perfect, you are perfect. I think so. Your flesh is sweeter than sweet. In bed, sultry lioness. The color of your skin is so ****, ******, and very attractive and beautiful. You have a rare and amazing beauty. You are the most beautiful in the universe, all universes, dimensions, all worlds. You are the supreme creation of nature and of God, the highest, perfect being. This is true because I think so.
Your charming charm is a super **** mega power that is simply impossible to overcome. The sweetest gourmet, I adore your gorgeous body, when I see you, only one word sounds in my head: yum, I will completely give myself to you. I will always love only you unconsciously, unconsciously, your gently ****** image sat in the depths of my mind completely. From your amazingly contagious beauty, your mouth opens and you lose your voice. Dizzyingly, stunningly beautiful, you are like a giant tornado, from which everything attracts you. And the heart and soul yearn all the time only for you. It doesn't matter if you love me or not, the main thing is that I still love you, and in my subconscious mind, I will only love you forever. Your luxurious appearance of the highest quality, this is a workshop, the filigree work of Mother Nature, this is just a masterpiece that constitutes a unique example of true beauty, you have no equal, you are a girl of high caliber. You are absolutely beautiful to such a degree, so beautiful, so exotic, ******, and your image sounds poetic like very beautiful music of love that I’m just afraid and shy to come to you, I’m afraid to talk to you, as if standing next to a goddess, or with a super mega star, a world scale model that even aliens probably know. My heart beats more often, I can’t speak normally, from excitement, goosebumps all over my body, and it just shakes. All these are symptoms of true love for you, well, just: oh), wow).
To be your boyfriend and husband is the greatest honor in the world, he knelt in front of you with flowers in his hands. Your appearance is perfect just like Barbie. You are so beautiful that only you want to have *** forever, countless, infinite number of times. You are unattainable, you are like a star whose light of the soul, like a searchlight, illuminates me in the deep darkness of solitude. In love with you thorough. You are simply amazingly beautiful. You are the best of the best. Goddess of all goddesses, empress of all empresses, queen of all queens. More beautiful you just can not imagine a girl. Sexier than you just can not be anything. Beautiful soul just is not found. There was nothing more perfect than you and never will be, simply because I think so. Laponka, I'm your faithful fan, you are my only idol, idol, icon of beauty. It doesn't matter who you are, I will accept you any. Because in any case I am eager to be only with you. You have a **** smile, and your sensual look is just awesome. And from your voice and look a pleasant shiver all over your body. You are special, the best that is in all worlds, universes and dimensions. You're just a sight for sore eyes. To you I feel the most powerful, love and ****** inclination. You're cooler than any ****** and afrodosiak. From your beauty just cling to the constraints and embarrassment.
I am obsessed only with you, my miss universe, I put madness billion points of your beautiful appearance, and a sign of infinity to boot. No offense, my sweetest, but your beautiful body excites, your imagination completely amazes you, you are so beautiful that you do not need, neither cosmetics, nor clothes, such perfect, natural beauty, only your divine beautiful body is endowed. Merge together the whole with your body, soul, heart, and mind, for all eternity I thirst. You dominate in my heart, mind, and soul, you are deep in my mind and subconscious, everything is filled only by you my goddess, and I see you in my dreams and I am sincerely happy when I see you in them. If I saw you in reality, then it was a happy day that was not in vain. Be with me dear, as you decorate with you all the eternity that I want to spend only with you one-on-one. You are my beautiful goddess of love and eroticism, and only I worship you. Rare, beautiful beauty, natural gave only you. The closer you are, the more beautiful. Your delicate skin shines so beautifully in the light, you have a stunning perfect skin color. I am overly in love with you. You are super beautiful. I tirelessly crave you, you are extremely, infinitely beautiful, you are too, too attractive. You're cooler than any ******. Impeccably beautiful, like a doll. You are so delicious. You are the light of happiness, the light of love and happiness comes and goes with you. You decorate everything with you, everything suits you, because you are beautiful.
You are stunning, fantastically breathtakingly beautiful, the only unique sample of the true, pure form of beauty. You are the hottest, **** topic, about the beauty of which it is impossible to stop talking, so beautiful that you want to sing out of love for you, the girl from whom it is impossible to take your eyes off. So amazingly beautiful, perfect, ******, hot, passionately savory, juicy forms, your divinely beautiful, endlessly, stunning beautiful, seductive body sound so captivatingly beautiful, sweet, gently voluptuous. Who wants to caress and caress, kiss, lick, stick to intimate places all the time, and give your tenderness with your hands, and bring it to ****** so that you feel the heat and tremor of your heated body, and kiss a satisfied body and kiss. Each cell of the soul and body is supremely filled with only you, love and excitement. Truly I am thirsty to belong only to you and to spend all eternity only with you alone.
I will be frank with you. Oooh yes, it says heart and mind. Eyes are eager to see you forever. Your image throws on the highest stage of love. Without you, life is meaningless and empty, and you know that for sure, so why are you torturing me. You know, I appeared in your life for a reason. That I was created only for you. You are special, I can not live without you. You are my obsession, my passion. Your beautiful image sounds so beautiful and sublime, the degree of love and arousal rises uncontrollably, leading to a higher dimension called love. When you stand next to me. Your ******, ****** image is the highest, divine, legendary *****. You are the sweetest in the whole universe. You are sensual, ****, ****** power. You are so ****** and **** to such an extent that when you look at the guys, it’s ironic that you guys, at the sight of you from excitement, end up in your underpants. You are the one whose appearance is envied by all people, gods, all higher beings, you are the only eternal value. You are a hipper, a turbo is ****, you are a hyperrealism of sexuality.
You have the most juicy **** skin color, it is so sweet, so beckoning and eager caress. You are the goddess of love, *** and erotica. Every millimeter of your body is just perfect and perfect. You are all that my heart and soul wants. Only your body and your kisses can excite me. Only to your body, I feel *** addiction. You are the highest value in my life. You are tempted and tempted, you want to have *** countless times. Your skin is the color of one hot, unforgettable night, your libido is the word lava in your hot body, burning passion, only your photos can excite me, only your beauty turns off my brain, you are a ****, ****** melody in my head, you are like a hot bath after a hard day, like an ****** massage, like a soft pillow with sleeping softness.
Every day I am drawn to you more and more and it can not be stopped because it is uncontrollable every day my ****** ***** wants you more and more aggressively he is waiting for endless *** only with you and I once again make sure that you are I will want forever and ever. Because I am truly in love with you in your body and soul. And this feeling is only enhanced with time on the mental and physical levels. Looking at you in the head is only one word Goddess, the empress of my heart, or one ***. It's just an ecstasy of excitement, every movement you take is so ****** and beautiful, burning your skin's passion and in your eyes so much ***.
You are a **** lioness. you are the flame of sensual passion. I admire your amazing beauty. You are amazing, perfect, you are perfect. I think so. Your flesh is sweeter than sweet. In bed, sultry lioness.
Author Musin Almat Zhumabekovich

I'm on a train.

One of those red ones with black trimmed windows you can imagine rolling through the suburbs on the way to NYC. Not a subway car but a classier vintage with proper rows of cushioned seats and a lever to pull if there is an emergency. There are sparse shrubberies on one side of the tracks and the ocean on the other. Young trees and bushes stroll by.  A little wind is pushing off the ocean, massaging the car ever so gently back and forth as we move along. A gentle click-clack is on the tips of our ears.

We got on together. I hadn't known you for very long but the connection was stronger than anything I had ever felt or have since. You practically sat on top of me for the first few miles. Couldn't keep your hands off me,  staring in my eyes like you were searching for something lost but you couldn't remember what. The edges of your lips turned upwards permanently as if you were always at the verge of a laugh. You interlaced my fingers with yours and held on like you would be ripped away if your grip loosened for even a second. Slender fingers holding so tightly that they were becoming red.

You were excited to to be riding with me, about where we were going and all the things we would do when we got there. I would see you peer out of the corner of your eye, then lean over to brush your soft cheek against my budding stubble. Kissing and gently biting my lips insatiably. The suns rays coming in at an angle and lighting up your perfect smile and dimple.

I had to remind you we were in public.

I was lost in your blonde curls and the incense of your neck. I had fallen incredibly hard and so fast that my face hurt from smiling and my heart beat with vibrations I had never known. Not even a whiff of anxiety or neurosis. Some of the best memories of my life, as fleeting as they turned out to be.

I yawned and you put your finger in my mouth. I bent over to tie my shoe and you would poke my **** and laugh with your own reflection in the window, like this was the first and best joke of all time. Maybe it was and maybe it is.

The waiter came and informed us that a thing called "the bar car" existed. We both jumped at the idea. I didn't exactly notice at the time, during our excitement, but that's when the train started going faster and everything out the windows began to blur.

The bar car was a wild ride and we took advantage of our lo'cal. All kinds of fine wine, liquors and illicit substances were available. We tried them all. You were beautiful, your laugh infecting everyone around you, I was charming and held a captive audience.   It was a dark, loud and glorious blur. We were the life of the party and it chugged on till dawn.

We woke up in our seats, disheveled and discombobulated. It was dark out already. Did we sleep through the entire day? The train was slowing down, maybe approaching a station. The party was amazing but we were certainly paying the price for the black out. You moved over to the seat across from me to have some more space and lay down. I saw myself in the reflection. My hat, charm and smile from the night before had vanished. I must have left them in the bar car the night before.
      You had changed, beauty uninterrupted but different somehow. I couldn't put my finger on it. Irritated maybe? I invited you to cuddle and battle the hangover together but you ignored me. Like you couldn't hear me or didn't want to. I decided to let you be.

I got up to use the bathroom and thought I would go look for my scattered belongings. Maybe I could find a scrap of leftover dignity while you rested. I inquired to the conductor who directed me to the bartender in the bar car. He hadn't changed a bit, somehow untouched and unaffected by last nights antics that had effected me so dramatically.  Same black suspenders and white pressed shirt with impeccably slicked hair. I asked him what happened and if I had an open tab. While slowly polishing a rocks glass he looked up and made eye contact for a split second before looking away.
He said:  "Oh the bar car takes its toll. In the end we all end up paying one way or another". I still don't know what he meant by that or if he knew.
      I asked him if he found my hat and he said he would check the camera. We walked in to a small back room, while he was reviewing the tape, over his shoulder I noticed a tragedy.

We were drunk. I was going on to a group of new friends on one side of the bar, they were hanging on my words and I was eagerly explaining whatever nonsense they were drooling over. You were in the corner wearing that red dress I love, with your hair up in a tight bun. A few curls had escaped and brushed your high cheekbones, a thin line of pearls dancing delicately across your perfectly symmetrical collar. You were stunning and inebriated, swaying with each bump and motion of the train. A man wearing my hat put his hand on your side to keep you from swaying over and then he left it there.
I took a sharp breath.

It looked like you put your hand on his hand to move it but then it stayed and you both swayed together. As the air left my lungs and the blood drained out of my face I watched your lips touch the strangers. A small piece of my soul slipped away forever. I couldn't watch any further. When I asked the bartender how long it went on he fidgeted for a moment and uncomfortably muttered "quite some time". I never found my hat or the other part of me that left that day.  

The train slowed. I walked to the back, as far away from you as I could get, in utter disbelief. How could you? I thought to myself.
I mourned the loss of the you as I knew you yesterday, quietly and to myself. A tear  escaped my eye and rolled down my now fully formed stubble as I fell in to a random seat in mild shock. There were a few passengers back there so I had to pull together relatively quickly. After gaining some composure I knew it was time to get off. I knew we could never get back to yesterday morning though I would have said or done anything to do so.

The train had stopped. I went back to my seat and you were sleeping. I took my coat and gathered my things. The conductor looked at me confused as to why I would leave something so magnificent, I assume he had no idea what had transpired.   

I walked to the rear of the car and slid the door open slower than required. I stepped to the stairs and put one foot down on the step and the other on the ground. I stopped, rooted with my hand on the railing, lingering between two very different paths.
     I knew that it was time to get off, I knew this was the sensible thing to do, that I couldn't get past this offense regardless of how I had felt earlier the day before. The whistle screamed from the locomotive. The conductor looked at me and shook his head, I'm not sure if he was trying to tell me to stay or go but a decision had to be made.

The train lurched forward and I watched as the station slip away slowly. I sat in between the cars for a while and watched the ocean and birds. With a heavy heart and shoes I walked back to my seat. You were waiting. Crying. You knew. The bartender had told you. You didn't mean do do it, didn't realize what you were doing and thought it was me. He was wearing my hat and the whole world was blurry and dark.

I believed you. Self anguish mixed with alcohol was dripping from your pores. I knew you didn't mean it and were drunk, but could I ever forgive you or trust you again?

I loved you still.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection, a weaker version of myself looked back. As if an invisible chip in my teeth had developed and my shoulders lowered. The charming, confident man from the bar car the day before had been replaced. Something was off but not enough for anyone else to notice, just enough to know a change has happened.
       The train started to pick up speed again as we distanced ourselves from the station.  I second guessed my decision to stay but I didn't look back.

I found the man with my hat and punished him with a few blows in the dark. He knew he ****** up, apologized and took the beating like a man. I never got the hat back.

The engineer announced that we would be going through a tunnel soon and to turn on our lights and keep our hands in the windows.

It would be dark.  

We stayed away from the bar car for a while but the draw was irresistible. After a few hours we were there again but you never left my side.  Then you did. I was looking for you but you would disappear and not answer me when I called you name. The tunnel went deeper and darker and I didn't know where you were and I suspected you liked it that way. The train began to slow down again as we exited the tunnel.

I finally found you back at our seat, you had moved one row away from me. I asked you to come back, tried to hold your hands but you pulled away with vehemence. When I came back from the bathroom you had moved another row farther.
I knew I was losing you.
I begged you to return but you told me calmly that it was time for you to get off. At some point in the tunnel you had decided that you didn't want to go anymore . Your mind was made. You were going to catch another train at the next station.

When the train stopped I thought for sure you would reconsider but you didn't. Didn't even give it a thought. You just grabbed your coat and hat with one big bag under your arm. You kissed me on the cheek like a french stranger and were off. Going somewhere else on a different train. Just like that.

I rode the rails for quite some time by myself , many people getting on and getting off, passing me by. Every once in a while I would think I saw you at a station or in a **** though the window of another train. I often thought I could smell you but when I breathed deeper it was always gone. A ghost dancing on the edge of my senses.

A young girl in a headband got on the train. She was listening to headphones and dancing to herself as she bobbed along. She sat down in the seat next to me flashing a smile. She had a wedding ring on and I dismissed her immediately.  She didn't move from the seat or stop glancing my way. Eventually she confessed that she wanted to talk. I told her I wasn't interested but she persisted.  I hadn't talked to anyone on the train for quite some time and after some more mild persistence, I gave in.

We had a lot in common. We were both riding alone, desperately wanted attention and were thrilled to receive some.  After a few laughs she slid her hand in to mine and interlaced her fingers. I left it there. It was warm, comforting and wrong. She was married but I had been riding alone so long it felt good to have some company. She stayed and we talked. She was broken and I had a knack for fixing things. After a few hours of dramatic conversation I fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.

When I woke up  the train was flying up the track on the side of a mountain. Trees and rocks were a blur of green and grey. The engineer must be trying to make up for lost time I thought to myself.

The girl was asleep with her head on my lap. I looked down at her hand and the rings were gone. I woke her briefly to ask where they went. She said she didn't need them anymore and had thrown  them out the window.  She could of sold them, I said, but she said she just wanted them gone so she could be mine and fell back to sleep.  All of a sudden I couldn't breath. This train was roaring down the tracks, the once gentle click clack had become a loud hum. Suddenly too loud. This girl in my lap who had just gotten on the train wanted to stay. I considered her for a while as she looked up at me with big blue eyes, shining and wet, like a puppy in the shelter, terrified of rejection and desperate to be adopted.

At the peak of the mountain, just when the train began to even out, you waltzed back in to the car with a champagne flute in one hand and your bag in the other.

I don't know when or where you got back on, must have been a few stations ago when I stopped looking for you. Maybe you were wearing a disguise, who knows what you had been up to while you were gone. I'm not sure how long you were away but it was quite some time. That you had been through something was obvious, a new wrinkle had formed on your brow and you're once confident stride had changed to a cautious stroll. What actually happened out there I don't know.  I never asked and I don't want answers.

You looked at me and smiled. It was good to see that smile, like sun on my face on a brisk day.  You took a step toward me and then I looked down in my lap at the girl at the same time you did. I looked up. You and your smile were gone.

Everything I had begun to feel for this broken, head banded girl in my lap dried up like a puddle in  the dessert.  I quietly and gently nudged her awake and told her I had to use the bathroom. She put her head down on my coat and fell back into what ever trance she had been in, eyelids gently fluttering, eyes searching beneath them for what I would never give her.

I dashed up the isle and threw open the door, almost shattering the glass. The conductor glared at me and rolled his eyes as I barged past to the space between the cars.

There you were. Standing on the stairs with your head out the opening. The wind was blowing your perfectly formed curls around your head like a blonde explosion of familiarity. I yelled your name and you dove in to me. My senses erupted, my mind went numb as the train was nearing another station and I inhaled your essence greedily.

We moved to another car. I abandoned my coat with the married girl and never looked back. I hope she found what she was looking for. I  never could have been the answer she was so desperately seeking but I know I  helped steer her towards it.

You told me you had encountered some other people out there on the rails and they had reminded you of what we had when we first left the station. I never forgot.  

The train started to rock and get going again. We were back in the bar car and starting to brown out. We had to get off of this train right ******* now. In a desperate moment we looked at each other and put our hands, together, on the emergency brake cord. I looked in your eyes with your hand on top of mine. You kissed me while yanking down on the cord. Time slowed, the breaks squealed and everything exploded throwing luggage, people and the entire contents of the bar car in to a nondiscriminatory chaos . We got up off the ground, ran to the end of the car, dove off the side in to a soft patch of grass and rolled down a small incline. We watched as the conductor sifted through  the mess and interrogated the passengers, trying to ferret out the party responsible for pulling the brake. He spotted us off the side of the tracks and shook his fist while shouting every conceivable obscenity combination.

We laughed, held each other in the grass and kissed deeply.

We watched the train pick up speed and disappear in to the hills as relief spread over me.

You interlaced your fingers in to mine and we both looked out to where the tracks disappeared into the horizon, wondering how far of a walk it was to the next station.

notice the convulsed orange inch of moon
perching on this silver minute of evening.

We’ll choose the way to the forest—no offense
to you,white town whose spires softly dare.
Will take the houseless wisping rune
of road lazily carved on sharpening air.

Fields lying miraculous in violent silence

fill with microscopic whithering
…(that’s the Black People, chérie,
who live under stones.) Don’t be afraid

and we will pass the simple ugliness
of exact tombs,where a large road crosses
and all the people are minutely dead.

Then you will slowly kiss me

Bouncing
An orange ball
Repeatedly against the floor.

Fake left.
Run right.
Pass.
Reverse.
Shoot.
Miss.
Rebound.
Repeat.

We must all be mad,
For we are doing
The same thing,
Over and over again,
And expecting a different result.

Lose the ball.
Run down the court.
Fast break.
Sprint.
Shot blocked.
Run back.

We run ourselves
Out.
To put a
Big orange ball
In a small white net.
And love every minute of it.

Back on offense.
Call the play.
Set a pick.
Roll to the basket.
Get the ball.
Shoot.
Get a point.

I don't know
What I would do
Without this madness
This again and again
This over and over

It may be mad,
But it makes me happy.

I

In eras weird with old mythology,
As if asleep the fabled country lay:
Her wave-like hills and faerie forests dense,
Her thorny brambles budding curling claws,
And ivy circling all the woodsey way --
The far swan's cry came soft and woke them not.
Forlorn, that selfsame call upon the gates
Did break; those gates of Britain's long-lost keep.
She too slept fast, the weary weathered stones
Of fairest Caerleon. O pulsing stream,
Thou vein of life in woods a-slumber, Usk!
Alone are you in knowing castle's face,
From years of timeless burbling at her feet.
What tales are told by water over stone?
What lark or wren can sing of sadness come?
Aye, answers are the beach-wet sand, yet hark!
Rejoicings spilled, proud hails, from Caerleon:
They cheered the ****-frost's melting with the Spring;
The holy Gwyl Fair y Canhwyllau
Had come at last, in foliage of dawn.

Within, their goblets sailed, wassailed, and crashed
Like growling Jove, their boasts and toasts like wine --
They drank it spiced and over-strong. Indeed,
Some stretched exaggerations: 'twas Sir Bors,
That spotless sheet, who tried to contradict.
He quoted purifying texts and spurned
The wine that nature raised and crafted sweet.
Yet "Loosen up!" uproared the host to him.
"The time has come to celebrate," said Kay,
Beloved knight, step-brother to the King,
"Aloft thy wine, below thy gills! Drink! Laugh!
Your stomach is a falsehood-spewing fool,
It must be drowned for you to feel a lord.
I speak a sooth, you need wine's fleeting bliss!
Know thee that man's tomorrows bleed him dry:
A wade through death and depths as sure as pain
That shall tomorrow light your brow. Laugh! Drink!"
Bold cheering spread with Kay's advice, though yet
To no surprise Bors turned aside the drink,
Unblemished bore, so celebrates alone.
Weep not for him, for soon he'll find a cup
More suited to his strange of chaste and grace.
And none to waste: his share was drunk by all.

Engaged in feast Owain ap Urien,
Engaged in tale now Bedwyr and Kay,
And Lancelot made eyes at Gwenevere.
It was a feast of great success and joy
As fitting of the season's robust gleam,
Yet two there were with shallow-rooted smiles.
Prince Mordred one, though ever-somber he:
Accursed spawn with bone in place of heart
And dreaded incantations for his blood;
His brooding perched like crow on him. Alas:
The other joy-bled man had beard aflame,
A bear-skin drape, and crystal eyes, the Lord
He was of Caerleon and Mordred both.
'Twas not the gleam in lover's gaze that vexed
Though it was seen; he had no heart in him
To chain his Queen as if in dungeon steel,
For Arthur lived believing to be fair
Was paramount, to even paramour.
It wreaked its toll, yet caused small grief this day.
Not even serpent son gave cause to mourn
That greater was than missing nephew's spot
Among the feast. His chair was naked bare
Returned though he should be from faerie quest.
At Calan Gaeaf they expected him
When winter storms had racked their shoddy hall,
Yet since, the months had rolled to Gwyl Fair
The milder season come, but not his kin.
The image of his maiméd corpse did taunt
And haunt the agéd mind of Arthur, King,
His phantom nephew slain anon by knight
That of no flesh was made. In year that died
This green-mailed knight arrived a guest and called
Infernal challenge. Trick it seemed to them
And trick it was, for subsequent the blow,
This seaweed knight did lift his severed head
And from dead lips he cried "Well struck! Now come,
Fulfill me of my game. The year to come
Shall see thee in my home, and as agreed
My turn 'twil be to answer with my axe."

So rapt in recollecting, Arthur missed
The growing clamor that beset his hall.
His ******* cleared the grief from him with taunt,
To bring him into grief. "What say thee, Dad,"
Dripped venom from his mouth, "No love for us?
Your hail we called, but disapprove your eyes.
Methinks that far away thou seest a dream
That visits oft the elderly: a place
Thou knewst when in thy prime, with love
Now filled to burst. Yet fear us not, away!
To land of youth far more beloved than we
Whose happiness with thine own heart is twined."
"My fellow, soft!" the King began, distressed,
Yet Lancelot rose to his feet and spake
"Blackguard is he who mocks our Lord to face!
Thou palest hide, thou Mordred, sit thee down!
This sniveling craven knight should be replaced."
A sounding of the table met his speech,
Again was hailed his toast, and Arthur glad,
Though burdened to his breaking point, and sad.

"Blackguard is he who mocks our Lord to face,"
Had spake his bravest champion and friend
With no regard to Blackguard wrapped in stealth.
See how his roughspun fingers coil in hers
And how some sweetened whisper 'scapes her lips?
The beams of color-stainéd light slip down
To play upon their blissful sin almost
As if King Arthur's King approved on high.
Sovereignty is ruthless, Arthur thought,
Well-wishings of my God grow ever-faint.
I must believe in good though I am ill,
Just as I find my countrymen displeased
Though I did calculate my every breath
To see that it did stand with God's own will
To help my common people from their murk.
I fear I am not what I wished to be,
And now my only solace peaceful death.
If up to me, I'd wish it in my bed.

What horn's blare? Hark! King Arthur roused from thought.
Court gatekeeper Glewlwyd Gafaelfawr,
Dressed plain in brown, took down the horn from lips
And loud as elk called to the hall "Have cheer!
Sirs, drink another beer and wreath your brow
With springtime blooms, for lost knight fair is found!"
Old Arthur trusted not his feeble ears,
But came a hush and Lancelot confirmed:
"What **," he boomed, "our brother has returned!
'Tis grey Gawaine, aye, Gwalchmai! Drink his hail!"
The uproar was enourmous: "Gwalchmai! Cheers!"
Was like to wake the sleeping wilderness
That hung suspended in the myth and mist.

II

Astonishment had come like breaking wave
Upon the thirsty sands of monarch's face
So long consigned to reap the low-tide's grief.
When Arthur's ursine hand clenched round his cup
And hailed his nephew's presence with a roar
Long lost to hibernation's hoary spell,
The hearts that beat in armor under him
Did swell to find their lord with cheer at last;
The toast they drank so hearty as to give
Sweet Dionysus pause against excess.
Though only two there were who did not drink,
And one of these were Bors, a sadness fell
Once more as tangible as any wrong
That chose to haunt a hall. 'Twas Gwalchmai grey,
The conqueror now home from quest to rest
Who would not lift his eyes to meet the King's.

"Has cheer so fled from you? Your life remains!
What black has inked you in?" the King did ask,
And silence overtook the hall to hear.
How strongly then did Gwalchmai wish to leave,
To blend once more his form to root or branch
Or soaring river. Wind, the songbird's muse,
Had been his fast companion on the road,
For known to him were many things. He was,
They say, some god that stalked the minds of man
In young enchanted places of the world
Though all his magic helped him not at court:
His shyness was a leaf obscured by rain.
Yet even gods of silence know to speak
When words of pain encircle heavy hearts.
He let them fly, birds in the sky, he said
"I failed. My quest was long and arduous,
The seasons changed while I in heather lost,
The moon its phases shed as fen-frogs called,
I floated through the endless cloying mist
That flows, a ghostly sea wrapped round our isle.
The path had nearly drowned me when I found
The chapel green enough to spell my doom.
When entered I, methought "It cannot be!"
So kind and courteous a host met me
That would have been disgrace to call him green.
He feasted me, and warmed my wounded bones,
Yet I betrayed him in the end; I failed.
I stayed his guest, and friend, and swore to him
That for his hospitality I'd share
Each thing I won while underneath his roof.
And all was well -- I'd rest, he'd hunt -- until
His wife played hearts with me. I did refuse,
But by her final trick was tempted and --
So lost all knightly honor and renoun.
Her lusts I spurned three times, but on the third
She offered me that which my heart desired,
Instead of love she begged me take her boon:
A silken girdle sewn with charms, and green,
Deceit I should have seen. She said the spells
Would keep me safe from harm and spare my life...
When on my rugged journey all I'd feared
Was twisting face of death that loomed so near.
I could not help myself, it seemed so tame,
Yet when the time had come I could not share
That gift, or else expose the husband's wife.
Beneath my armor tied when left that place,
My secret wore me down upon the bog.
It seemed the mist grew thicker, wind grew swift,
I now know under spell was I, but then
It seemed some vengence coming to a head.
My tale grows long, and past the point am I.
The Green Knight and my host were one in fraud:
An airy insect's dream. His "wife," a witch,
Had formed him out of acrid moorland soil:
Homunculus to carry out her scheme.
The blow he owed me carried little force,
Though still this scratch is plain upon my nape.
And so you see my folly plain as oak:
For though I kept the life I feared to lose
My lie grows in me like a cancer bloom
That in the span of time shall **** me sure.
I failed; I'm gone; to revelry return."
The silence, vast again, gripped all the knights
And king too dry to cry, who drowned his heart.

III

"Is there some madness come to roost herein?
Thy folly is ridiculous," said Kay.
"I valued mine own life past honor's flame,
A sin of selfishness, and blame, and wrong.
What of the world, if all would act as such?"
A weeping noise he made, but choked it back
And turned to leave in shame, and might have done
Had not the stout Sir Kay gripped Gwalchmai's arm.
He raised it in the air and shouted thus:
"Percieve our stunning champion stands nigh!
Though of a frail ennobled heart, we know
Thou art absolved. This trinket given free
To aid in quest I wager was for thee.
And as for sacred broken vows, this man --
You said yourself -- was conjured from a bug.
You owe him no alleigance Gwalchmai, sit!
This serious you need to be for wine:
Come sit with brothers now! We drink to thee!"
"Dispel the failure all you can, it stays
As weighty on my brain. It was a sign
To signify the kind of soul I am,
To me it showed my grimy ills and plain
Did tell my shaping, shape, and shape-to-be."
King Arthur to this nephew spake: "My child,
Is there no antidote to questing's woes?
What has become of jousts and silver swords?"
The anguish in the old man's eyes so keen
To those who knew him. Gwalchmai did reply
"Your majesty, there's not a grief can ****
My bird-like love of questing through the trees,
For only questing can redeem my shape."
"Then let us have this quest!" cried Kay beside
Him at the table, deep in drink he swore.
"Come with me, brother-knight, to clear thy mood!
You do you wrong blaspheming at yourself."
The wine was quaffed by Gwalchmai, yet he said
"I first shall stay, I need to rest my ills."
"Your ills are that which keep you ill, good knight.
I bid you come and we shall quest as birds
Who savor springtime berries in the mist."
"I shall not go, I seek my quietude."
"In sunlight you and I must bask. Comply,
Or else I challenge you by burnished blade."
All eyes on Gwalchmai, under pressure cracked
Into a grin and downed his kykeon.
"In stubborness persisting, Kay, you've won,
A river such as I could not keep stead
Against a boulder. When shall we away?
When come the summer blossoms, fair and red?
Or else not til the saps have lost their leaves?
Departure yours to choose, my brother-knight."
Kay beat upon the table and their ears
When called triumphantly "This very day,
This very hour! To help those who need aid
On holy days shall surely fix your heart.
No time to wallow in the swamp that's gone,
We now away, to break our swords with day!"
"You mock me or you heard me not, Sir Kay,
I wish not to away, I wish to rest!"
The fairest Guenevere, like silver bells,
Chimed in "You must forgive your heart's despair,
Or emanations of its guilt will plague
Your mind. I have a lunar garden if
You wish to sit in soothing calm and think."
"My queen is holy," Gwalchmai spoke in grace,
But Kay had cut him off with "Hear her not!
She will ensorce your mind to not explore,
To sit and think and mold with lunacy;
Beneath the sun we'll tred. It's known on quests
I favor Bedwyr, 'tis true, yet you
My fairest Gwalchmai, keep your wits -- and arms --
Two things in need of we shall be.
I mean you no offense, dear Bedwyr,
But I and Gwalchmai share a severed soul
And shall succeed; two sides of selfsame coin.
So come my cousin grey, to right our wrongs
We must away, to break our swords and say
'My heart is glad I did not stay at home!'
Consume your drink! We go," he trumpet-called.
Thus Gwalchmai was convinced, and so was forced
To nod politely to his Queen and stand,
Declaring to the court "I shall away,
This gloomy mood is dried beneath the sun
Though dearly do I wish some lunar grace
To lose myself in mysteries anew.
To bear this flesh is weighty, yet I've found
The strain to be rewarding in its way.
Think nothing of my former woes, they've passed
Like summer storm or wisp of misty cloud."
The hall at large did drink his hail, and then
Did thrice more drink for quest to which they went.
And Mordred scowled and drank the foulest wine
For his monsoon and fog would last his life.

So summoned then Glewlwyd Gafaelfawr
To hearken unto birds, as was his gift.
He said to all, "I shall now call my friends
And see what worthy tales of quests they bring!"
"There may be naught on Gwyl Fair," said Bors,
"A holy day, all wove with peace. Nor Gods
Nor men would stir their strife this day of days."
"We all shall see," the gatekeeper replied.
Beside his King upon the dais came
And played a serenade upon his horn
That rang throughout the keep and lands beyond.
A time did pass with no response recieved --
Slain silent was the raptness of the court --
But then through open pain in stainéd glass
A thrush did bob and weave in melody,
On finger of the Queen he briefly perched
Before he flit away upon the air.
His song so sweet, but then - what fright! No more!
A hawk had entered, just the same, and swooped,
And now the thrush was silent in his claws.
The cabinet of augers all took note
And sketched their calculations into books,
Though none, in this, more wise than Gafaelfawr
To whom the hawk said "Hail, you man of rank
Who speaks the tongue of wing-in-air. Now hark!
'Twas not in hunger slew this thrush, but fear
That what I have to tell might go unheard.
My family, we roost near Cornwall's sea
And late, the noises off the coast grew strange
As if some evil kraken raged at love.
My chicks; my wife and I; we're simple hawks.
We eat and some of us are eaten, yet
Beware the thing that slouched from out the waves.
His shape is something like a boar, but huge,
He dwarfs his kin, and hill, and oak,
This hall is large, yet he'd be stuck inside.
He does not eat what he has killed, instead
He smears the bloodied flesh on stones and trees,
What man could face a fear that bears this face?
If you could hear the rutting squeals he makes!
I swear this sooth by wind and waving plumes:
You men who craft with metal, hark!
Destroy the beast!" And then he flew away
Still calling after him "Destroy the beast!"

The court at large had heard the warbling hawk
But did not know the tongue, so only watched
Glewlwyd's unease upon his face
Until with stiff and rasping voice relayed
The content of the predatory news.
Unease began to show among the knights,
For many there recalled a beast so shaped
And all the blood and guile he took to drown
The first time. Arthur, grim, forbade Sir Kay
And Gwalchmai face these perils by themselves,
But recommended regiment of steel
To bolster ranks against the fearsome boar.
"I know this foe from days of old," he said,
His years of rule etched rough across his face,
"And so do most of you, though many gone
And this monstrosity not even slain."
But Gwalchmai said "'Twas hard indeed to win
Those relics that he bore. Remember I
That Trwyth was the name he chose, and we
Shall best him fair. Though not for trinkets now,
But with the zeal of mother guarding young:
This foe, Twrch Trwyth shall not raze the land
Nor wage a war against some peaceful ilk
While rounded table can beco

I HATE WHEN KOOMARRIS CUDDLE UP TO ME, CUDDLE UP TO ME CUDDLE UP TO ME

I ESPECIALLY HATE KOOMARRI MEN CUDDLING UP TO ME

SO I TOLD HIM I WAS STRAIGHT, AND HE TOOK OFFENSE

PLEASE KOOMARRI MEN, ******* IIF YA WANT ME TO CUDDLE

WANT ME TO CUDDLE WANT ME TO CUDDLE

PLEASE ******* KOOMARRI MEN IF YA WANT ME TO CUDDLE

I AM NOT GAY, AND IF YOU TAKE OFFENSE, WELL GOOD,

YOU’LL LEARN YA LESSON

I AM A STRAIGHT MAN WHO LOVES TO HAVE WILD PARTIES

I AM NO GAY, I AM NO SQUARE

I LOVE WILD PARTIES OUT, CAUSE, HOME PARTIES CREATE ****

AND I AM NOT GAY, SO ******* KOOMARRI MAN

I HATE KOOMARRI MEN CUDDLING ME, CUDDLING ME CUDDLING ME

I HATE KOOMARRI MEN CUDDLING ME, IT MAKES ME FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE

AND IT MAKES YOU LOOK SO GAY, LIKE A ****

YOU ARE A ****, YOU ARE A ****

I SAY THIS WORD TO PROVE A POINT

DON’T EVER CUDDLE BRIAN ALLAN, IF YOUR A MAN, CAUSE I AM, NOT GAY

IF YA TAKE OFFENSE, GOOD, YOU’LL NEVER BE CUT OUT TO EVER BE LIKE ME

A COOL MAN, WHO HATES, ****** ACTIVITY, WITH SAME ***, IT’S MY PEROGATIVE, DUDE

I HATE ANYTHING GAY, SO *******

"Can we make love,
at least a couple more times,
before we never see each other again?”,

Her voice is soft,
sweet,
almost innocent,
and adds an aphro-ambiance,
to the incessant crash of the ocean waves in the background,

her pleading eyes,
intercept my retreating lies,
it can be so hard to argue with the truth.

I am all out of excuses,
as we lay naked as the day we were born,
in this bed at this beachside bungalow in Baja,
clouds gathering outside for the coming post sunshine storm,

two tainted souls,
in a rare moment of purity,
as we lay there I can not lie here,
I can not tell her I will see her again,
I can not tell her everything will be okay,
I can not tell her I love her,
at least not in the same way,
as she loves me,
which of course is unconditionally,

we’ve just made love,
and as she’s mentioned,
possibly for the last time,
and though she wants to make love again and again,
until we both grow old,
wants and realities can compete in this existence,
and in this moment is where they both meet,

“Can we make love,
at least a couple more times,
before we never see each other again?”,

she asks me again,
shaking me from the depths of my thoughts,
she pulls my submarine from the dark depths,
and shakes me out to dry in the sunlight of her attention,
her question,
comes with a hint of offense,
honestly no offense was meant,
at least not from me,
it’s not that I was ignoring her in that moment,
at least not completely,

it’s just that it’s difficult for me to stay in the moment,
when the past keeps dragging me back,
and the future keeps pushing me forward,
and there’s a needy media monster that doesn’t want to be ignored,

where were,
we,
where have we gone,
and what has become,
of the innocence in which we were born?

We lay,
naked as the day we were born,
in this bed at this beachside bungalow in Baja,
clouds gathering outside for the coming post sunshine storm,

nothing covering our skin,
except a thin layer of post *** perspiration,
for even though the sun has already set,
the humid heat still sits there,
like the soon to be cloud covered moon,
that hangs lazily in the sky,
seeming neither amused nor moved by our human drama.

Her question,
is reasonable enough,
and she is,
beautiful enough,
so why,
when she asks,
“Can we make love,
at least a couple more times,
before we never see each other again?”,
can I not say yes?

Well,
for one,
I respect her too much to lie to her,
plus lying to such an honest question,
would seem so taboo,

reason number two,

they say,
we do not choose love,
they say,
love chooses us,
and I do not love her,
even though I may want to,
I do not love her,
because she is not the one Love had decided to choose,

I do not love her,
as amazing as she is,
even if I should love her,
for she is everything a mortal man could ask for,
she is,
a gorgeous and successful model,
with a sharp and receptive mind,
a big heart,
and maybe most importantly,
an undying devotional love for me,
so logically,
I should love her,

but love is not logical,
love is as passionate and irrational,
as the weather here in Baja,
one moment shining bright with clear skies,
the next moment dark and ominous with gathering clouds,

so when she asks me,
“Can we make love,
at least a couple more times,
before we never see each other again?”,

I simply say nothing,
for what can I say,
how can I explain the irrational,
how can I say the one word,
that will break her heart open,
then watch that heart break right in front of me,
how can I say “No”,
to the one question,
that the girl that has said “Yes”,
to my every question,
asks me?

So I say nothing,
I simply open this writing book,
as these skies open above us,
and write down these thoughts upon these pages,
as the desert rains fall down upon us,

I write this poem,
as we lay naked as the day we were born,
in this bed at this beachside bungalow in Baja,
as the incessant crash of the ocean waves in the background,
adds to the aphro-ambiance,
of this bittersweet moment in time,
so that even when I am gone,
and she is gone,
and we are gone,
these words,
from these thoughts,
will live forever,
immortalized in this verse,
forever resting,
somewhere in the collective psyche,
of our unified broken hearts,

as we lay there,
as we mutually mourn,
all that has been loved,
and all that has been lost,
in this impermanent moment called Life,

and she asks,
"Can we make love,
at least a couple more times,
before we never see each other again?”,

∆ Aaron LaLux ∆

Summer, Day 1.
Do you know how much I love you?
One day you will.
One day you will.
I haven't even seen you yet,
but I am so in love with you.

When the time comes for us to finally be together, I will drive us somewhere outside this concrete jungle to ask you that. Then I will tell you to look at the stars, and you will try to count them, even if you already know that not enough stars were created to compare it to.

Darling, I dance and I sing and I shake in delight at the thought of being with you. I'm a morning person now, because I know that every waking moment is one day closer to forever.

Summer, Day 2.
I have sworn to save every part of this heart for you. I've loved before, but not like this. Not like this. My stone-heart now made flesh beats as if I'd just been born, as if I'd been made to love and to be loved by you.

Summer, Day 3.
I can't believe you chose me. I can't believe I'm going to get to marry you. We've got quite a long way to go, but I'm already preparing, making sure my dress will be as white as snow, every hair in place, this heart pure and this body untouched until the day I put my hand in yours. I can't wait to see your face when I walk down the aisle. I promise to be the perfect bride, your perfect bride.

Fall, Day 1.
I might not write as much as I did during the summer. Life has been getting busier and busier, but I want you to know that I still love you as much as I did from the first day.

Fall, Day 46.
I've been spending quite a bit of time with someone. He's clever and says the most interesting things. I feel like we will never run out of words to say to one another. We talk everyday, and the funny thing is sometimes I feel my day isn't complete yet if we haven't spoken. Don't worry, my heart is still yours. Just thought I'd let you know.

Fall, Day 52.
I think I love him, but just a little bit. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to cut an inch off of my heart to give to him. It's just an inch less. Surely you won't mind.

Fall, Day 80.
He's been with someone else this entire time. It's a good thing I gave him only an inch of my heart, but the rest is bruised. Don't worry, darling, I'll have it fixed in time.

Fall, Day 100.
It's still beating, but barely. Maybe I should love a little again. Maybe some warmth will do this heart good.

Winter, Day 15.
I think... I gave a little too much.

Winter, Day 50.
My latest disaster said my heart was something worth waiting for. Apparently his second hands tick faster than the usual. He left, taking more than I expected he would.

Winter, Day 65.
Is a heart supposed to look like this?

Winter, Day 90.
I can no longer hear it beating steadily. Some parts have frozen. I have tried to stitch pieces back together and they hold... if you would call it that. There are scars and cuts that haven't healed, swollen bits from the wounds that were infected because I tried to save the poison only to have it lash out and bite me in the back.

Winter, Day 104.
What have I done?

Winter, Day 135.
Look at it. No wait, don't. There isn't anything left to give you, anything worthy enough to even stand in your shadow. I promised you everything now I give you nothing. You waited for me yet I pursued others, consumed by my lust and my pride, where can I hide that I myself will not see this mess of a heart I've created? Where can I run to that I will not have to see the look on your face when you see what I have left to give you? Do you still want this, this broken vessel, this torn up heart, all the pieces that don't fit, all the stitched up parts? Do you still want me?

Spring, Day 1.
You do.

Spring, Day 3.
You do because you knew what you were getting yourself into long before you met me, you knew I would break your heart yet you still asked for mine, you do because you are love itself. A death defeating, grave shaking, forgiving, full of grace and mercy, life and righteousness kind of love. This is the love that chose me. Now I choose you.

Spring, Day 5.
What have I done to deserve this? As far as the east is from the west, so you have cleared my offense. When others asked for me, they knelt on one knee but you asked nailed to a tree. Now here you are. Despite what I've done you want me to return to you, want me to still have you. And you know what?

Spring, Day 7.
I do. And I give my heart to you in absolute surrender and total abandon. Here, though broken and torn, take it and make it new.
It was yours all along. I was yours all along.

When people ask if you're weird, or tell you,
or want to believe themselves strange,
eclectic, or odd.
It's vaguely disgusting to me,
cringeworthy in a mild degree.
We think we're so different,
but we are not.
The individualism of people
should be and is comparable
to the individualism of ants.
Who looks at the anthill and
sees something in particular,
something behaving specifically
"uniquely"
from every ant and every anthill?
Why do you believe in yourself?
I see this, as a conversation about
depression, and your partner
does not respect you
but instead wants to
tell you how they feel worse,
or have it worse, or "understand" more
about the affirmation or situation.
A person looking for individuality
through a lens of misery, anguish, and sadness,
is truly alone in their minds, and missing the
reality that these depressions exist without them.
The statement, "you are not alone" is an attack,
or an offense to these people, because it says
"you are not as unique as you think",
it strips them of their identity and individuality.
This is true of many ideologies and affirmations.
I quit individuality, this constricting sense
of holding everything of yourself in center,
to be a drop in the whole, something fluid.
If you split your affirmations from yourself,
you'd see we're all the same;
Affirmations are just currents in the ocean.
I look at myself; and people see a man,
a radical feminist, and sometimes a musician.
As labels, these each have their own presupposed notions,
[especially, "man" or "male" in the patriarchal gaze]
which hardly, if ever, are true,
but as affirmations, when I consent to using them,
these are no longer stereotypes that constrain me,
but similarities that I realize
I can embrace or shut out in others.
Affirmations do not make me more unique,
but similar to more people.
If I remove these affirmations to try and get to my "true" center,
my purest form of self, I see I am without meaning.
This is why I quit Individuality.

When the spit leaves his mouth like acid,
Speckles my face with scars and tears,
Insults are last place in my minds marathon.

The self depreciation is a serrated knife,
Plucking at the strings in my chest.
And with each snap, I am closer to collapsing.

Thursday, 1:36AM
A conversation
Stemming from a picture
Posted on Facebook
Over whether a volleyball is pink or bubblegum.

You girls should seriously get your eyes checked
Suggests its owner
Because the volleyball is most definitely not pink
Indeed bubblegum and white.

It is sad, he says,
That a college-aged person does not know
The basic colors of life.
He tells us I will pray for you
As if we are the ones who need to be atoned.
What is our sin?

Hes wondering why
God gave us such shallow minds
And bad color perception.

To this I take offense, especially since
Perception is not spelled
“p-r-e-c-e-p-t-i-o-n”.
He brings
Conception, Construction and Liposuction
Into the mix.
Where is this going I asked What is the relevance
Of these things?
He has no answer…

The things I have learned from this
are very clear:
Pink does not equal bubblegum
Facebook does not equal
Intelligent conversation
And owning a pink volleyball
Does not equal being effeminate
And whether male or female
All are one.

Offense is a proud, pretty bird
preening her feathers just so,
resplendent in attire
crested and crowned
looking down over the world

without warning,
the wind dares to
tousle her hair--
affection between
connected hearts, between
friends, between
the flier and the flight

the bird shrieks
at her ruffled feathers,
the caring gesture,
and the good intent.
she broods
she resents
and she preens

when she is ready,
the wind does not come.
she shrieks at its absence
as she did at its presence,
but she can't put her pretty feathers to use

i.

for the past few weeks i've been doing an experiment,
thankfully philosophy allows such things,
of course, they're deviations from what i'm used to
in chemistry, they're less, what's the word?
spectacular - but they are nonetheless experiments,
and that's the beauty of being grounded in some sort
of science (trinity of biology, chemistry and physics
and that's the limit, beyond this there are only
pseudo-sciences)... medicine? that's the tsarina of
learning: like any tsarina: gets down and *****,
and yes: mathematics is the genteel queen.
philosophy on the other hand seems like a vagabond
in learning, never really pieced together,
never really sentenced to a single direction:
and for that matter, thought can become less narration
that stretches into the sort of philosophy that Sartre
embodied with his novel, and more into thought becoming
experimental...
you might be wondering what the experiment consisted
of... well, over the weeks i've been sadistic unto myself,
it's to do with trying to figure out the modern curse
that's the 3D's: debt, depression, dementia.
                i can't fall asleep without a bottle of whiskey
cigarettes, sleeping pills and music playing in the background:
which would make me a terrible partner, anyway.
   beyond that though, for weeks i repeated a pattern,
i fell asleep to the *hellraiser ii: hellbound soundtrack
by christopher young...
       day-in-day out: as if to pressurise the idea that
the faculty of dreaming could be censored in the same way
that thinking is censored in liberal speech
eroding people's vocabulary, **** included.
     what i mean by that: every day i woke up with 15 minutes
of despair, then the zenith came after i lay in bed
for 4 hours and felt too many leeches ******* at me...
   those 15 minutes of despair were always there,
but then i usually got up and went about my daily business...
i admit that whiskey could be to blame,
anyone could argue the alcohol-is-bad argument,
but arguing as R. D. Laing might have that it's
also a sedative if you don't include social adhesion to loosen
the tension of going out and dancing:
then i don't see the point of saying it's all bad.
         sleeping pills (i found) are not 100% active without
what the prescription states that you should do:
i exceed limits, but then i write during the night -
            create a balance and i'm sure any insomnia
might be made minimal... anyway:
so i've been doing this roundabout experiment,
listening to the above album while falling asleep,
but then yesterday i decided to fall asleep listening to
godspeed you! black emperor's album F♯ A♯ ∞,
and guess what the experiment proved:
  i felt little or no anguish for 15 minutes,
obviously the usual groggy of a pseudo-hangover,
  but that doesn't mean staying in bed for 4 hours
because you feel **** about life 'n' all...
                   as already stated there's what we call
a cartesian dichotomy, that somehow altered mental
states cannot be translated into a physicality -
depression in this sort of language becomes lethargy -
people never seemed to connect the dots that
state the monism of everything having a pairing either
side of Humpty-Dumpty sitting on the ergo fence
asking about a flying omelette... ergo is a variation
of what precipitates... depression = lethargy...
the purest kind of what i know (i have enough psychiatric
literature to redeem myself from what would
be deemed quack-medicine with their quack doctors) -
some say that taking the vitamin B12 supplement
could help you: or that weak digestion is to blame, too.
i would be quack doctor if i was in a position of power,
and since i am not really earning anything from my
"poems", what sort of power can i abuse? trust -
but then again these are thought experiments,
           i first experiment on myself, then note down
the observations i have accounted for.
               so what will my unconscious eat today while
i switch off my consciousness? i was thinking of
the cure's disintegration album,
         perhaps that's why i did weeks of falling asleep
to a horror movie soundtrack, to later move into
neo-prog "rock" and then into 80s goth melancholia...
    i'd say that pop ****** melancholics off...
and such a nicer word for depression...
                   it's not even close to compression and has
nothing to do with aviation or the Netherlands...
     melan, melan: ah! melanism - a certain darkness,
    choly -         condition of darkness...
       and that star of Bethlehem appeared at night...
man of sorrows, well that's just blatant;
           but for all the romanticisation about darkness
and the mysterious moon and all the insomnia,
i still prefer the anti-cartesian explanation of actually
creating the proper answer to what has become
a dichotomy between the physical sciences and
the pseudo sciences, given that ergo is a precipitation
then for the two opposite to become inseparable
depression must be equal to lethargy: which is a variation
of the grander genus (family): metabolism.
               is this the point where i re-quote that famous:
doctor! heal yourself!
                                      well, if there's anything to go by
i have in my mind, given my life a prolonging in a way,
what was it... amitriptyline?
                                         the new ******* for
the respectably prone to citizenship's serenity of leaving
other people to their own demises -
  i mean, look at all the teetotalers: hyperactive bunnies
with too much energy that translated into things like
the infamous pyramids and the doubly infamous chimneys.

ii. the danish girl

i would have never thought that the transgender movement
had such a puritanism about it,
such platonism - nearing martyrdom;
who could have thought?! i only managed to see the film
today... i'm a sentimental ******* and i was choking
on not crying at the end of the film
here was a true representation of an artist,
         there's he (einar wegenar): a successful local
artist, within the confines of Copenhagen,
modestly famous: primarily because of having
perfected a technique and sourced it in a childhood
memory that keeps haunting him,
    thus he keeps repeating it, although with slight
alternation to refresh it, but no photograph to work
from, hence my previous statement:
  memory is the best cinema or arts' gallery (this
is not a universal statement, memory doesn't always
heal, or fascinate or have the ability to revitalises itself
or become the most potent "hallucinogenic" experience);
and then she's there (gerda wegener), also
painting, but more in line with paying the rent
rather than appeal, rich people needing portraits to
hang on the walls of the future of their lineage
        in years to come so someone might boast:
that was my ancestor, who founded the first bank
of Copenhagen sort of stories -
and all she wants to do is be an artist like Einar;
and she keeps coming back from galleries with her
works and they never give the critics any appeal
at being original - they have a suggestive generic
quality to them: precisely because they've been painted
for money. art is cruel in that way,
  when critics reduce producing art like they might reduce
being a cashier in a supermarket on the basis of:
job done... then comes the offense from the artist.
the beauty of this film is the platonism that soon explodes,
the near innocence... i really don't know how
the transgender movement borrowed from this:
all those Baphomet ******* with too many parts,
silicon chests and ***** and what not?
       this is one of the finest forms of defamation -
these days the transgender movement is so sexually
potent it doesn't really deserve what can only appear
as a self-imposed crucifixion...
              this story predates the unearthing of the nag
hammadi scripts, it's intuitively bound to what was
unearthed in 1945...
      einar sees the desperation of gerda, he knows
that he'll simply remain a local artist,
    bound to a square mile of earth, local, provincial
even... what he decides on is best expressed
by Marilyn Manson's lyrics: now i'm not an artist
i'm a ******* work of art.
        how can not this resonate further into the film
if not by this motto:
it is a consecration of a memory, to invert it and
un-seize the moment long ago experienced and now
fuelling art, or the repetition of a safe technique established.
one man's frustration and a woman in a cage:
the potential seen - then a sudden bursting of madness,
the evident anti-cross -
                                  to say he had reached his limits
and she was kept frustrated and under-appreciated is
blatant enough, this self-sacrifice for a woman to
find her subject, was all too evident when she utters
the words that: the student overcomes the teacher,
and that's the whole story,
                       he has to walk into the canvas,
     in whatever way imaginable, and what a better way
than on a whim to escape the dreariness of parties
   by dressing up as a woman, after gerda's model
is late so she can continue a painting and einar
has to step in and wear a few female garments...
       to later realise the Dionysian consequence:
                                  only to the utmost excess, from here.
this could hardly be a propaganda movie for
the transgender movement... the "propaganda"
aspect ends when you hear children imitating this
artistic "prank" in today's society...
      it wasn't a prank in the slightest: but a profound
expression of love between two artists...
          outside of art the whole transgender movement
is still only ***** and silicon **** of Thailand's lady-boys:
that's not reality?        
although i actually did choke with nearing to cry
in the closing scene...
    unlike the Christ story... there was no resurrection.
so hans and gerda travel to the place where
einar depicted the landscape in his revisions,
       and both of them are standing there
        and it's ****** pulverising with so much depth
upon being so little when reduced to a canvas
but because you see the painting first, do you later
see the landscape with more emotion...
     and i thought to myself: gerda will recreate
the landscape in her own eyes, she'll what he saw
and what he gave up for her to paint him in his
transformative (transfigurative) state of becoming
lili elbe...
                     that's why i was about to cry -
     that she could put lili aside, and return to /
resurrect the memory of einar the locally famous
artist... that she would apply the same technique in
painting lili / einar but turn her attention to
landscapes... as if to imply that both of them became
reunited before all the madness of life came chasing them
into extremes.
          to my dissatisfaction? after the film ended
and before the credits started rolling... postscriptum facts
after these true events... she continued to paint
lili / einar as she did, which prompted her to fame
on the Parisian estrade; after seeing that, written down?
tears? what tears... i'm actually thankful that i choked
on them and didn't do an outburst necessarily...
thank **** i wasn't watching the film alone!
     i know that i might have invoked a sense of:
rough around the edges with this description, but i'm hoping
it's abstract enough to make the film more potent:
filling the blanks with images;
still, this was used for a transgender movement?
                                                did he make it plainly obvious
that this was a transcendental transgender iconoclasm?
         it's the platonic element in it that steers this whole
story, away from what 21st century movements regard
as prototype for their ******.

i like the moon
more than the sun
no offense to the sun
but the moon is less arrogant
it is subtle
and doesn't feel the need
to let everyone in the world know
that it is the greatest thing since sliced bread
the moon goes to work
when the sun leaves its shift
it does its job, effortlessly
then slips away slowly
as the sun begins bragging again

Limericks VII - Naughty, *****, Risque, Absurd

There continue to be modern sequels of the famous "Nantucket" limericks, including this ***** one of mine:

There was a lewd ***** from Nantucket
who intended to *** in a bucket;
but being a man
she missed the **** can
and her rattled john fled, crying: "**** it!"
—Variation on a classic limerick by Michael R. Burch

Here's another take on a golden oldie:

There was an old man from Peru
who dreamed he was eating his shoe.
He awoke one dark night
from a terrible fright
to discover his dream had come true!
—Variation on a classic limerick by Michael R. Burch

Here are some lewd, crude originals:

There once was a multi-pierced Bull,
who found playing hoops far too dull,
so he dated Madonna
but observed, “I don’t wanna
get married . . . the things she might pull!”
—Michael R. Burch

There once was a forward named Rodman
who said to his best man—“No problem!
When I marry Electra,
if the ring costs extra,
just yank a loop right off my ****, man!”
—Michael R. Burch

A formidable pugilist, Mike,
in a fit of pique called his mom “****.”
She frowned ear to ear,
then said, “You listen here,
I can still whip your ****, you dumb tyke!”
—Michael R. Burch

A cross-dressing dancer, “Dee Lite,”
wore gowns luciferously bright
till he washed them one day
the old-fashioned way ...
in bleach. Now he’s “Sister Off-White.”
—Michael R. Burch

There once was a bubbly bartender,
a transvestite who went on a ******.
“So I cut myself off,”
she cried with a sob,
“There’s the evidence, there in the blender!”
—Michael R. Burch

Our president’s *** life—atrocious.
Asian markets are all hocus-pocus.
Politics—a shell game.
My brief moment of fame—
flashed by before Oprah could notice.
—Michael R. Burch

Bill Clinton's a man we admire;
his opinion polls soar ever higher.
He gets much more flack
for a Big Mac attack
than for his ****** high-wire.
—Michael R. Burch

There is a new term, “Clintonian,”
which means, “Stop your naggin’ and moanin’.
He’s only a man
doing all that he can
to put kneepads in the Smithsonian.!”
—Michael R. Burch

Low-T Hell
by Michael R. Burch

I’m living in low-T hell ...
My get-up has gone: Farewell!
I need to write checks
if I want to have ***,
and my love life depends on a gel!

Grave Offense I

Is Ogden Nash gnashing his teeth,
upside-down in his grave, full of grief
that the term “limerick”
has been plagiarized? Quick—
dial 9-1-1; get the police!
—Michael R. Burch

Grave Offense II

Is Ogden Nash gnashing his teeth,
upside-down in his grave, full of grief
that his wit and his art
share this name I impart
to my “limerick?” Am I a thief?
—Michael R. Burch

Ghostbusters!

Is Ogden Nash gnashing his teeth?
Is his ghost rolling ’round in wild grief
that the Post would make crimes
of his “imperfect” rhymes?
Call Ripley’s—it stretches belief!
—Michael R. Burch

NOTE: The Washington Post in all its great wisdom would ban Ogden Nash’s imperfect rhymes from its limerick contests!

Keywords/Tags: limerick, nonsense, light, humor, humorous, ***, naughty, risque, lewd, *****, ******

Ah, the season of gifting.
Antagonist of year-long thrifting.
Tradition sadistic,
Materialistic,
Four quarters in pockets worth sifting.

This year I hereby proclaim
I shan’t be consumed by the game.
Cycle of curse
Purpose perverse
The namesake, an oversight became.

Christ’s birth did in fact begin,
Holiday distracted by sin.
Misguided it be
To forget idly
The sacrifice He made for all men.

We naively regard generosity
As holiday’s behavioral piosity.
But if dollars and cents
Are the tools of offense
Over shadow favor luminosity.

Water in Africa is *****.
American child in poverty.
Politics aside,
Convenient homicide,
To enable the ills of society.

In the global economy we flaunt
Wealth by comparison, bitter taunt.
First world problems abound
Pass the turkey around
Central heating and air, what a jaunt!

What if this season we decide
To extend two palms open wide?
Sacrificing ourselves
Rather than stocking our shelves
Dying whispers echo true: “we tried.”

Don’t spend your money on me this year.
Not iPhones, not tickets, not Blu-ray or beer.
Instead know you can
Distribute more than
A snort, a lie, and a tear.

(optional conclusion to assist interpretation of last line)

Snort of derision,
Lies of provision,
Tears, even true,
Hardly subdue
Anguish deprived of tradition’s revision.

In the old house up the hills -
Yes, the one that gives you chills
Whenever you walk by its fence -
Lives someone who, no offense,
Looks like she'd puts kids on grill.
Children, puppies, all she'd ****
For food.

Lady who, probably, likes to
Know the places each kid hikes to.
There she, later in the day,
Waits for village kids to stray.
Some will die and some live on.
Who? That really depens on
Her mood.

Some say that she used to snitch,
Others say that she's a witch!
Nobody was ever in
The house whose walls are made of skin.
Nobody would ever dare
To set their foot on the porch where
She stood.

They'll never know that her kitchen
Smelled like flowers, most bewitchin',
They won't see her paintings, neat,
Her living room where you could meet
A fire giving warm embrace.
And alongside her fireplace
The wood.

Now, if you got in, you'd stare
on stinky fish bowls, everywhere,
whose cloudy water calls for changing,
and rooms in need of rearranging.
But since you never really tried,
No one knows the lady died.
Yes she's dead for good.

If my words
resonates with you,
take it,
but if not,
please just pass,
no offense.
We may not
stand at same
platform of
understanding.
It definitely
appears apparently
like a sore thumb,
we are not
seeing eye to eye
because maybe,
you are taller.
As the lion killed
the lamb for
a meal doesn't mean
it dislikes the lamb.
It's actually a
liking for a
choice meal
in proper response
to natural order.
Your dislikes are
in line with
where you are at,
in consciousness.
Some day you'll
evolve to maturity.
No offense.
With enlightenment
you unfold slowly like
the rose flower.
It shall be
the morning of
your life.
Like the sun
at dawn,
you shall radiate
with grace,
assured of your stance,
with no offense.
2019,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.

           Your past, your romantic past, is a shadow. Like all towns, Port Angeles was a combination of rain and clouds, sun and mist, with a chamber of commerce, barrooms and boards of directors, the known and unknown. No one of course is completely unknown. I was known for my tragic love life. She had found another man, a backwoods man, living on the land but not above a night on the town, who according to her would wipe snot on his pants, a statement of poverty or thrift or anger against the niceties of society. All of us heated our hovels with wood but only the rich burned hardwoods, me and probably this guy were softwood gatherers.

            There were few aspects to my life. First, I can remember a nook in the kitchen of the house I shared with a beautiful faceless woman who wore a ring in her nose where I wrote and watched flocks of unidentified birds comb a tree for seeds. This particular day the sky was blue with clean pillowy cumulus clouds floating toward Puget Sound. I believe all the poems written in that nook have been forgotten by their author.

            Nights, for entertainment, I would wander the aisles of the supermarket, admiring everything and buying nothing. I had no money. The fluorescent lighting, clean straight neat shelving and floors, warmth and the fact I could identify nobody attracted me. I lived on cream cheese and honey sandwiches eating them leaning against the kitchen sink. Thinking go back to New York City which is what I ultimately did. Drove cross country nonstop three days and three nights seeing and feeling nothing.

           I populated P.A. during the Reagan recession inherited from Carter. I'm unclear how presidents affect your life but good or bad, democrat or whig, alive or dead you've got to get a job, which I did. I supervised the living arrangements of developmentally disabled adults in what I thought were humorous contexts that gave no offense. They were beautiful and incorrigible having regular *** without protection. Normally harmless they'd sometimes have altercations with their neighbors. I balanced the checkbooks, paid the bills. Supposedly teaching living skills, I had few of my own as evidenced by my sleeping on the floor, I had no bed. One mature woman colleague judged me a short-timer living a useless fantasy about big cities. Still lost in my own history, still didn't know the calculus.

            I had a dog, Shade, black lab, leftover from my near-marriage until she realized I had no economic prospects, no interest in further *** or her logger boyfriend, and a complete inability to translate or imagine nesting and gestation. My homework comes to me in daily disconnected increments. Shade lived in my gray van, a Dodge slant six, which I could never afford to fix. Once the driveshaft disconnected from the rear axle and I tied it on with rope. Drove 60 miles on a knot. Shade was hyper and sad, both. He smelled bad but was a good dog with a lonely heart. When my wife who wasn't a wife finally found a boyfriend who wouldn't wipe snot on his pant leg they took Shade to British Columbia where I believe he runs free on a vast estate by the sea. I once beat Shade like a slave because he attacked a small dog out of frustration and loneliness and until I had kids and started saying and doing things just as bad to humans it was the lowest meanest moment of my life. The farmer who saw it will never forget or forgive it.

            Having confessed all this there's just one last fact to tell. The mountains were cold, the waters clear, deep snow and shadows.

which is to say
with all due respect
I hope to give
great offense to you
who is due no respect
in my opinion anyway
but you know
subtly.

When you told me I was doing great for a woman my size, I passed you off and told myself that "compliment" had good intentions.
When you called me sweet cheeks I ignored you. A woman like me is used to men like you.
When you told me the stair master made my *** look bangin, I was both honored and appalled.  My *** may be my greatest feature but ****** comments have their place and the gym is not one of them.
When you asked me for my number, you were rude, acting in a way in which no gentleman should act. I told you no. And I meant no.
When you called me a ***** loud enough for the whole gym to hear, you were only making yourself look bad.
When you came up and wrapped your arm around my shoulder and told me you were going to take me out for a good time on friday night, I was terrified and suddenly praying for a **** whistle.
When you insisted I promptly informed you I was lesbian, and to let you down gently, not my type.
When you called me a **** I took no offense, that word has become meaningless. Then you told me it must be a phase, that I just hadn't been with a man like you. That you could change me.
When you said "hop on this **** ****" I was done with your games. I pushed you aside and when you ****** my shoulder back you were the one to end up with their *** on the ground.
Dear namless man at the gym,
When you said you could help me through my phase, you were wrong. Being gay is not my phase. Being straight was.

The first time a man ever pointed a gun at me and asked me to love him was at Granny's Kitchen in Greensboro, North Carolina.

The waitress, a soft spoken white woman with her hair pulled back in a bun, had just dropped off my plates --- a simple mix of scrambled eggs, two pieces of greasy bacon, and a short stack of pancakes. Now, no matter how cheap, I always feel like I'm cutting loose at breakfast places for the sheer abundance of plates. While I'm sure the eggs and bacon could have shared real estate, each component had its own china.

The waitress lingered at my table, her fingers fidgeting with straws in her apron. I made eye contact. Well, my eyes contacted hers; she was staring at my lips.

Sure I can't get you something to drink? she asked.

This was approximately the tenth time she'd made sure. She was uncomfortable that I had supplied my own beverage -- a Big Gulp. But even more than that, she was uncomfortable by the deep red stain taking over my lips. Contents of the Big Gulp: merlot, boxed.

(That is an unnecessary detail. I've only written it so I never do it again.)

Before Greg hopped up on a table and announced to the restaurant, If I could have your attention, my name is Greg and this will only take a second, blah, blah blah, I poured a copious amount of syrup on my pancakes. Then I moved the bacon to my pancake plate. In my experience, very little in this life is better than syrup on bacon.

I shut my eyes for that first bite, just like the commercials. The syrup dribbled a bit onto my beard, and when I opened my eyes, I discovered it had also landed on my shirt. I grabbed a napkin. Heard a chair slide backwards. I started with my beard, peering around the diner, making sure no one saw. I think I heard someone gasp. But I was busy, working that napkin then against my shirt. Jesus, I thought. My grandma, who's got a splash of the Parkinson's, could eat with more grace.

If I could have your attention, my name is Greg and this will only take a second, a very official voice boomed behind me.

I turned around to see if I recognized him as one of those cuffed jean-sporting, wild plaid-loving NPR hosts. He wasn't one of those. He was a sunburn with mop hair in a black tank top and hemmed jean shorts. He did, however, have a cleft chin. That's actually worth noting. Don't see a lot of them these days.

I know you guys are busy, he said. I know that like me, you guys are probably broke as hell. I mean no offense Granny's, I love this place, but it ain't exactly four stars. Or three. Anyway, all I want from each of you is five dollars. If you ain't got five, give me four. Ain't got four, three. And so on.

He started with the stringy Japanese couple on the west side of the restaurant. Nobody really seemed scared, not the freckled brat in canvas sneakers, not the liver-spotted gentleman with a copy of that day's paper.

My old friend Jerome used to say that white folks are the only romantic criminals. He tacked it up to that whole Bonnie and Clyde crap. Greg, it seemed, was privy to that information, too. He smiled and thanked each person as he robbed them of a few presidents. The victims, smiling back, seemed to be thinking of their names tagged at the end of some newspaper dialogue. A few even gave more than he asked.

Here, take fifteen. Times will get better.

Aren't you just a charmer.

It was all very moving.

So he gets to me, and of course, I don't have any cash. I carry a debit and an arsenal of credit cards like a normal American. I don't know how he made it to me before running into this particular problem.

No, I don't have one of those iPhone card swipers, he said. Well, you gotta give me something.

I offered a gift card to Harold's Clothes for Men, it had like two bucks on it, but he wasn't interested.

What's your name?

Henry.

How much do you weigh?

Enough to keep me prohibited from most amusement park rides.

I like you, Henry. Well, let me ask you something. Have you ever loved a man? he asked, pointing his smudgy revolver just past my ear.

I shook my head no.

Me neither. I've always been curious, though. You been curious?

There was a time when I was thirteen -- Blake Hinton was changing after basketball practice -- and I remember thinking, that is an incredible chest. These lines just sprawled from his sternum, lines leading to these almond *******, and I specifically remember wanting to eat them like, well, almonds. But that hardly counts as curious. So, I said, No.

To which Greg responded: Get curious, boy. You're coming with me.


In the spirit of honesty, I was in a bit of a haze before Greg made me climb into his beat up Cavalier. Not just from the Big Gulp brimmed with merlot, no, I hadn't slept in two days prior to the whole gun-in-face incident. Reason being, I was, as Greg would say, broke as hell, and the rent was due. I stayed up both nights conspiring (and drinking). So, really I was pretty thrilled to be kidnapped away from the whole situation.

I had visions. I guess from the lack of sleep. Maybe they weren't visions, maybe just dreams, or fever dreams, I don't know. All I know is I blinked, and we were in the Appalachians. And there was a grey longbeard in the backseat rattling on and on about how change is easy, movement is easy; it's that whole nesting thing that takes courage and strength, blah, blah, blah. I told him to be quiet. Greg told me to get some sleep. I blinked.

We were in a karaoke bar in Madison, Tennessee. There was a gin and tonic in front of me. I took a drink. There was a water with lime in front of me.

Greg asked, Where did you go?

I told him, your dreams, trying to be cute. He turned and asked the bartender for a Yeager bomb. Reaching for the server in -- granted -- an overly dramatic gesture, I said, Make it two. We made it three. We made it four. Seven. Then some vague, but perfect number, because my head rang right. The words came right. And I was a journalist, asking Greg all the right questions.

I'm not a criminal, he said.

I was just bored, man, he said.

You see, I was in a rut, he said. Last month I put up a personal on Craigslist. I know, it's pretty ******* desperate. I've read the kind **** people put on there. But mine was different. I just wanted some time with my ex-wife. Some couch ***, you know? We hadn't done it on a couch since I dropped out of college, and I hadn't even really thought about it until a couple weeks after the divorce. Then it was all I could think about.

A black woman, whose teeth glowed under the black light, began singing "Wild Horses." Then he read my mind, I think.

Yeah, she answered it. Did our thing on her sofa. It was nice and all, and like all nice things, you just want more, but she said I couldn't have no more, this was a fluke, a one-time, or no, a one-off thing, she said. Had to relocate, so that's why I did that whole thing at Granny's.

You ever get it on a couch? he asked.

No, I said. I've see a bra though --- two actually.

He took that as a joke, which was good.

Though wild horses couldn't drag me away, a gasoline horse could.


He handed me a courtesy breath mint after I finished throwing up. The Nashville skyline looks perfect, he said. Especially at night.

My stomach was gravel in a washing machine. Masculine love. At gunpoint, I had agreed to indulge it. I was going to make love to a man -- not just a man -- a criminal. Not something to write about on a postcard.

Mr. Winters, my esteemed landlord,
Apologies about the rent. Got kidnapped by a *******, and I'm presently banging and being banged by him in Music City, USA.

I blinked.

We laid on opposite ends of the queen-sized mattress.

I always liked Super 8s, Greg said. I don't see the point in spending so much on a hotel. A bed is a bed.

And I tried to be funny with something about the confidentiality of dark bedsheets, but it fell flat.

Greg cried. I love my ex-wife, he said.

Can I help?

Will you hold me? he asked.

The air conditioner kicked on in the already freezing room.

I'm sorry. You don't have to, he said.

I scooted against him. He smelled pleasant in a family-vacation-kind-of-way, like a fresh pretzel covered in salt. I put my arm under his neck. He buried his face into my shoulder. I blinked.


The front end of his Cavalier was held together with copper wire and coat hangers. It was a two-door. Both doors dented from, according to Greg, hit-and-runs. It had a Vermont plate on the back. It was red. I mention all of this to say: if we kept moving, we were bound to get pulled over.

In the parking lot of 3B's Breakfast, Burgers And Beer, Greg asked me to retrieve his revolver from the glove compartment. You kinda have to uppercut it, he said. And I did.

I don't want to do it again, but we have to. I'm not staying put, not until I hit the ocean. But don't worry, I'm not going to hurt anyone.

He showed me the revolver. No bullets. I nodded, in approval, I guess.


The second time a man ever pointed a gun at me and asked me to love him was at 3B's Breakfast, Burgers And Beer in Bellevue, Tennessee. Of course, it was the same man, Greg, but the circumstances were a little different.

I went with two orders of biscuits and gravy --- or B & G as my dear friend Chance affectionately calls it. Four bites in and I'd yet to hit biscuit. For a moment, I wanted to tell Greg, C'mon man, ***** the ocean. Tennessee does gravy the way God intended. Nobody would find us in this suburb. We could be sharecroppers. Do they still have sharecroppers?

Do you like fresh corn? I asked. It was the first crop that came to mind.

Greg didn't answer. I noticed his plate of hash browns and eggs -- sunny-side up -- were untouched. You okay?

He was, he said, trying to get in the zone, that's all.

Alright.

Our waitress looked like a poster child for ******'s Youth. She couldn't have been much more than sixteen. She had blonde -- almost white -- hair. Her eyes changed color with the intensity and direction of light, a gradient between seaweed and dark ocean blue. She appeared to be an amish girl gone defective, and I was about to inquire into that very supposition when Greg stood on the table, and said, If I could have your attention, my name is Greg and this will only take a second.

Tennessee is not North Carolina. In North Carolina, they got a healthy aversion to firearms. In Tennessee, however, once a babe can walk, the *******'s got a BB gun and an endless supply of empty soda cans for target practice. I say that, to say this: when Greg stood on the table, so did three other men. Their three guns pointed right at him.

Lower that gun, brother. You ain't gettin' any money out of us.

Hate to shoot you in front of your boyfriend.

Coffee spilled and ran off the tray our waitress held. She shook so hard, it wasn't clear how many women she was.

Greg's cleft chin centered on one gunman, than the other, than the other.

Just drop the gun, *******.

We don't want to ruin no one's breakfast.

Fellas, I said, he doesn't have any bullets in his gun. We need a little money that's all.

That ****** is just trying to protect him.

I'm calling the cops, a purple-haired old woman yelped from under her table. Silverware clanged against the floor. Then the buzz of a fly. Then the pop of fries drowning in grease. Then the bell chimed as some idiot walked inside.

Greg's arm was shaky as he pointed the gun at me. Do you love me? he asked.

I blinked.

And I was at 3B's in Bellevue, Tennessee.

I blinked.

And I was at 3B's in Bellevue, Tennessee.

I blinked.

And I was at 3B's in Bellevue, Tennessee.

I put my arms up. Slid my chair back a ways. Stepped on the chair, then unto the table.

Do you love me? Greg asked.

His breath smelled like last night's alcohol and that morning's coffee. He was a child, a sunburnt child with a cap gun. He wasn't going to hurt anyone.

I put my hand on top of the revolver and lowered it. He crumpled, as if I were scolding him. They still pointed their guns at us. But for the first time in my life, I felt secured, tethered to a space.

I lifted Greg's chin up with my index finger. Covered his eyes with the palm of my hand. And I kissed him. I kissed him, keeping my eyes closed tight.

I sat inside a hospital bay
in the usual uncomfortable hospital beds
feeling exposed....and cold
as they brought in a woman
who was convulsing...
my fears shifted

She was on a moving stretcher
there must have been 12 people in tow
doctors nurses and others
It's hard to remember who was straddling her chest
as they pushed the rollaway gurney
trying to revive her
I think it was an EMT..
remember his sturdy legs in dark Navy pants &  shirt with some
sort of medical cross in white
above his heart...
I just really remember this look
of sheer panic on his face

From the amount of police officers
and security guards
I could only surmise that she
was in some kind of other trouble
than just her physical distress.

At the time I was having some difficulties
with my heart and this situation did not make it any better.
I kind of felt like I was having a serious panic attack...
or that I might even have a heart attack
I really hadn't heard anything about my own condition...or cause

I just tried to breathe
the sounds around me
of machines beeping and voices yelling
so many lights flashing
the doctor pounded on her chest
...literally
trying put a tube in her throat...
attempting to force open lips that remained sealed
I felt like they were  
trying to push that airway in me....

as they worked on her behind that curtain
like The Wizard of Oz
I really couldn't see
they were trying to get a line
her veins too thin and collapsed
the sound of drilling her bone....
in her thigh...
I cupped my ears
as the tears rolled from our eyes
unable to get the medicine in any other way
I had never heard of such a method
I really wasn't eavesdropping
but I was completely drawn in

Narcon I think that's what it was called ...
that's the medicine they gave her.
Apparently it can bring you back
from the brink of death....
I was grateful that they had it for her.

As it turns out she was holding some drugs in the prison for a controlling cellmate
It was coercion and extortion
This so-called drug dealing badass chick
who made her hold the drugs
knew she had money on the outside
and dearly made her pay for it
from the sounds of it
the girl bedside me knew that she was going to be caught with whatever she had been forced to hold...
she was trying to roll a joint in the bathroom...
innocent enough for Prison
when she heard a couple guards talking and coming
it seemed this ...getting caught,
each pill a seperate offense
would be a worse offense than death ...
I thought...for her
So she swallowed an entire wax encapsulated ball of pills
Barely able to choke it down....
knowing it had been brought in by a mule
desperation won

As she slowly stopped convulsing and became dimly awakened
somewhat, aware.... felt like we all finally started to breathe
Nurses and others applauded...relief veiled the room

She was up....then WAY up
I guess you would say she was high
From the drugs and from being out of the prison I suspect

She was scared and crying and my heart went out to her.
She was confused and rambling
unsure of all the different pills inside the Wax Ball trying to recount
asking if she was going to die
Begging not to
to the doctors ...the officers as they were asking her "what did you take honey...come on?"
Over and over....looking in her eyes with a flashlight... as her spirit tried to fade but her body and soul just would not let her go yet.

After a bit of time she started to be more coherent and my heart started to feel less like it was going to burst.

I was so upset by the turn of events
that I really wanted to move to another room  
my nerves were just so terrible
  but the nurse said that people were literally lined up in the hallways .
She asked if I'd prefer that in a snarky tone... I said "no, of course not"

I asked for help  to unplug my equipment
then I went to the bathroom
our eyes met ...hers and mine
for a moment...a quick glance
of some mutual pain and understanding
and we smiled at one another.
I don't think it was difficult
for either one of us
I was looking for an escape to go to the bathroom
from my pain and problems
and get away from this mess
this noise
and she definitely was looking for a way out of her situation
we found calm and comfort in sharing...connecting

She wasn't young enough to be my daughter ...
I think she might have been about 36 or 37
but I thought about that possibility....
she had no family there
and that made me sad
I too was alone
I believe she knew
that I had compassion and true empathy for her
I saw that in her kind and sad blue grey eyes
and I think she saw that in mine....or I hope so

She was not formally educated
but she was quite intelligent and articulate....
She was quite proud of her studies while doing time....
she had a wonderful plan and how she was going to get her children back and a job as a hair stylist.
She had long golden strawberry wheat colored hair

She told how she had been in prison for 7 years away from her children... drugs that got her into Prison and drugs brought her to this Hospital this night

She told over and over
the story of this controlling cellmate
and how this whole turn of events that happened.
All because of drugs mostly.... she owned it
she knew that she used drugs to escape her life before  
and she had taken so many wrong turns
the last charges she received were for "walking off"
from house arrest... she ran... with nowhere to really run.
Now there was this...

She was friendly with the guards
they knew her well and most of them treated her decently,
calling her by her last name only
The one guard was constantly by her side and joking,
reassuring her that she would be fine.
Well there was another guard who was not so friendly,
when she was convulsing he had a smile on his face...
chuckling even....maybe out of fear...
I hoped that.... more than hate
It troubled me in ways I can't really describe.
I think he thought she deserved it.
Maybe there's others that might read this
that might think the same thing...
I do not know.

For me....I don't know her whole truth...her story...
..and I don't know how she got there
I don't know what her childhood was like
or even her young adulthood before she ended up there... I know the complexities of my own life
and except for the broken shattered pieces that she started to share
I don't know what happened in that prison either ....
not really
and my Father told us that
we should love everyone unconditionally
and so that's how I practice and live my life.

You could see her deep sadness and true regret ...
in the lines on her face
yet I also saw hope.. in her eyes and I heard it in her voice

The hours that she spent there were like heaven to her.
She got drinks and food that she would not get in prison...company of new people and a chance to feel normal whatever she perceives normal to be

she laughed nervously with the guards but I could tell that she was sort of excited to be out.
Maybe she took the drugs just so she could get out and breathe the air for just a moment.
I wondered about all the motives one might have
She said that it was because she felt she was going to get caught
but as the story went on ....
she further detailed
after the guards came into the bathroom
and found nothing
she went back and sat at a table with a few other cellmates
and waited to see what was going to happen
maybe she didn't think the drugs would seep through the wax
Or maybe they would have a slow delivery and she would just be high again
or maybe she did know
I don't think she wanted to die but just desperately wanted out
She knew that this badass chick
was going to want money for those pills
she had asked to be moved back to Delta
where she liked it....
she said she was clean there
Apparently she complained over and over and even told them what this girl was doing
She told them that she was going to be a victim in this new unit
she did not want to be there
no one was listening

I was still lying in the bed when they finally strapped her in and decided to take her back to the prison
I was kind of sad to see her go to be honest
because she wasn't completely stable
Physically or emotionally
And I don't really think she belongs there
I guess they don't worry so much about prisoners
And as she left
she had this look of longing that she wished she could trade places with me and she didn't even know what was wrong
that I was there for something wrong with my heart
I think even if it was cancer she would have traded

We again exchanged warm smiles again, an acknowledging nod
and we both added a small wave...
I think knowing
we would probably never really see each other again

My friend who had been absent
Who finally decided to come
and see how I was doing
said "do you know that girl?" and I said "no I don't we haven't even talked." I think he was puzzled....

Actually we both were there with something wrong with our hearts...
and I will probably never forget her face
I will pray for her, her families and her children
her children's children
that they can break the cycle of abuse, dysfunction and unhappiness
I am 100% certain that it's possible
I've done it in my own life
and my family's life
though some things are not always so probable

I wish it was contagious...
that she could have caught it there at the hospital but it's really something you have to dig deep to find
You have to want it more than living
More than dying
I'm not sure we ever find our ideal life or blissful happiness...
Most of us endure a lot of suffering
I have let it grip me before
though I am satisfied with being content
in my life... grateful in every moment
anything more really is a true blessing

So upon reflection
I guess again it just helped me to reinforce that every single part of life cannot be taken for granted.
The air that we breathe
the food that we eat
the music that we listen to
and dance to
the kind smile of a stranger
in a hospital bed next to you
a sad poetic story
Or one of Hope
Being able to drive to the store or walk home if you would rather
Sharing time with your family and friends and everything else it's beautiful in the world.
If I ever think my life is too much
just so bad
I always try to think about those who have it so much worse than I do
Although sometimes if I do that it's too much to bare
To think of genocide and children starving
Even if I only have a few dollars sometimes

I do this not only to gain insight ...review hindsight and if I'm lucky have some foresight in my future
or to protect myself from those potential tragedies happening in my life or in my family's life....

it is more about the fact
that I need
WE....need
to be aware
all the time
the people around us are suffering
and there are little things we can do to make their days better like those smiles and the wave we shared....

I carry her smile with me and I hope she carries mine with her.
I was really pretty scared but somehow that smile and wave was comforting and I hope it comforted her too.
The irony was that she was due to get out within a couple months so I again pondered whether she was institutionalized and wanted to actually stay.
I hope not though because she seemed so kind and so optimistic under such distressing circumstances.
If she had to stay I'm glad she had a moment to breathe the air outside her Prison Walls again even if it was just for a moment
And I sure hope she got the hell away
from that bad *** chick
who just wanted to bring her down

Cherie Nolan © 2016

your eyes are like oysters i'd wish i would have gulped,
  a scenario of Narcissus who ate by the mirror...
     but then i listen to a heavy metal song:
and retract to change the lyrics
toward: fear of the selfies... fear of the selfie...
fear of the selfie... i have a phobia that someone
somewhere needs me to pose.
it's almost a cheerie cry, i'm a big boy i can walk
into a deathly hollowed-out road of
confiscated pride... the route i took,
engaged me with seven horses and one that almost
mistook my fingers for sugar cubes
and knocked my brains out after discovering
the plight of what it was nibbling on...
  but that's so ****** personal,
i might have insurrected the existence
of a satanic cult with me shouting
in the forest one time or other...
never mind that... your eyes are still akin
to oysters... a gulping-down of
whatever content it suggests...
no tongue-waggling, no breathing,
         just that shape akin to feline asiatic squirm
above a permanent slit: entangling with
what's known as sober-faced poker... or beyond
    purring: murmuring a sodden / well-trodden
path: and was anything else expected to suffer less?
   those eyes: esp. bound to a hispanic frozen lot of longing...
oysters jeopardised along with snails
  whenever the inquisition dared to come between us...
ergo dispersed the oily sexed up
***** Juan stereotypes of piston pump-pump...
nevermind, i call them twirling pumper-nickle gymnasts
of all things necessary kneaded into a chasm of org':
                         hispanic tilde eyes...
the eyebrow within the eye encompassing whatever
needs an expression... surprise? mmm, nada.
sunrise and was phone-*** so ever interesting as to
forget writing mistimed odes such as this?
                  thespian hoplites raised their tongues
toward the spear that suggested a marching was
the proper aversion toward a coup
with the director of theatre too violently itemising
Shakespeare toward a boorish scenario of
thrown rotten cabbage onto the stage.
        fewer hoplites suggested ******
  in the trojan horse, and fewer of the said "hashishin"
might have allowed history to bite at Homer's narrative
for posterity, had they not already said: ha ha! dope!
still, that locomotive tilde of the hispanic girl's eye
that ate the eyebrow, and squinted toward a sunrise
in demanding asiatic slit offense:
                           as monogamy for the sun invoking
marriage...
                    spinoza im eisen mädchen?
     hilfe anaconda! hilfe anaconda! hilfe aisha!
pricklengrund von hattin!
              hispanic tilde of the eye that ate the eyebrow
and demised the asiatic natural "squirm"
    and the forgotten sales of eyeglasses for myopia,
or too the once ticklish origin of silk with her
spinning don quixote's platonism to a
dame (akin to that fabled bride of Athos, good grief!)
that's dubbed *riza'doviento'dealma.

No offense but the way you immediately assume my life is better then yours really bothers me a lot..

And I'm not afraid to speak my mind like some other people...

I'm sorry you took my opinion so personally

But I never meant it as a direct insult on you as a human being...

I was doing my very best to be gentle with your feelings, but your barrage of negativity just wore me down..

I tried to stay positive for both of us but you flipped your lid and wouldn't calm down or listen to reason..

I tried to help you back out of the roadway but what could stop you from doing damage to yourself??

Clearly not my good intentions..

So if you won't forgive me then perhaps you will leave me-- In peace.

Before any real damage ever needs to occur.

I'm not putting up with you just because you acted out like a child.

That's childish.
And I won't condone that.

so like
i know this isn't the classiest way of doing things
and i apologize in advance for posting my proposal
on the bulletin board
of this skeezy coffee shop -
no offense to the owners
please don't throw this letter away -
but last week
you stole my bike

it was a great one
not shiny or fancy or anything, but it worked well for me
worked for the past four years
and the twenty years before that
when it was still my dad's
and he rode it to the post office every day to
help letters get where they belong
(maybe letters like this one, isn't that romantic
maybe he's guiding this
thanks dad, you're the best)
and passed it on when his knees froze up
and i rode it to this skeezy coffee shop every day -
sorry to the owners
(again)
but i buy your ****** lattes every day
least you can do is let me propose -
but then last week
i left it outside
and didn't lock it
(fate, see)
and you stole my bike

i think
you were probably walking by -
maybe about to come get a ****** latte
from this skeezy coffee shop
(sorry)
but then something caught your eye
i think you saw all the emotion invested in my bike.
two decades of getting letters where they belong.
four years of ****** lattes.
and well
who can resist so much meaning
spread out in the open for anyone to take?
and i mean
since you saw it there,
didn't just say 'oh'
'a bike'
like everyone else,
you were probably meant to have it.
it's a piece of my heart
(the bike i mean)
and now you have it

or maybe you just liked the color
and like
i do too
green is a great color

i like green
you like green
you wanna go out sometime

we could go on a bike ride
except
you stole my bike

anyway
i don't think the bulletins are supposed to be this long
but it's an important one
so maybe it's okay this time
so if you see someone with an old green bike
tell them i'm in the skeezy coffee shop
i'm the one drinking the ****** latte
and holding a jewelry box

Ulysse, la Méditerranée et ses rapports avec les  Femmes.

Parti à contre cœur, ayant même contrefait le fou, pour se soustraire à la guerre et élever ton fils Télémaque, tu dus partir à Troie, et sus t'y montrer brave, mais surtout fin stratège.
La guerre fut bien longue, pas du tout comme celle que chantait les Aèdes. L'ennemi ressemblait tant à nos guerriers Achéens, courageux et aussi sûrs de leur droit que nous l'étions du notre. Que de sang, que de peine ! Tu vis périr Patrocle, ne pus sauver Achille ; et les morts aux corps déchiquetés par les épées se substituèrent aux coupes de ce vin si enivrant qu'est la rhétorique guerrière et à la funeste illusion d'une victoire facile. Ulysse tu eus l'idée de bâtir ce grand vaisseau dont la proue figurait une tête de cheval. Ainsi les Achéens purent entrer dans le port forteresse si bien gardé. Mais quand la nuit noire et le vin mêlés ôtèrent aux courageux Troyens leur vigilance et leur garde, vous sortirent alors des flancs du bateau et vous précipitèrent pour ouvrir grands les portes aux guerriers Achéens. La suite fut un grand carnage de guerriers Troyens mais aussi de non combattants et même de femmes. Et Troie, la fière, la courageuse ne fut plus ville libre et les survivants de son Peuple connurent l'esclavage. Aussi quand Troie fut conquise et que ses rue coulèrent rouges du sang vermeil de ses défenseur, mais aussi de nombreux civils, tu songeas à retourner chez toi, car tu étais roi, et ton fils Télémaque aurait besoin de toi et Pénélope t'aimait. Les souvenirs d'émois et de tendres caresses faisaient encore frissonner la harpe de ton corps de souvenirs très doux. C'est alors que tu dus affronter la Déesse Athéna et ton double, tous deux vigilants, à tester ta sincérité et ta constance. Oh, toi Homme volage et point encore rassasié de voyages et de conquêtes. L'étendue de la mer te fut donnée comme le théâtre même de ta vérité profonde. Après bien des voyages et avoir perdu nombre de tes compagnons, tu fus poussé dans l'île de la nymphe Calypso. Cette immortelle à la chevelure, si joliment bouclée se trouvait dans son île d'arbustes odoriférants. Aussi fit-elle tout pour te garder. Toi-même, tu lui trouvas de l'ardeur et des charmes même si durant le jour tu te laissais aller à la nostalgie d'Ithaque. La belle immortelle te proposas, pour te garder, de te donner cet attribut si recherché qui empêche à jamais de sombrer dans le sommeil perpétuel. Mais toi, Ulysse, tu préféras garder ton destin d'homme mortel et ton inguérissable blessure pour Ithaque. Après sept années d’une prison si douce, l'intervention d'Athéna te rendit aux aventures de la Mer. Tu accostas, avec tes compagnons sur la côte d’une île malfaisante. C'était la demeure des Cyclopes. Parmi ce Peuple de géants, le cyclope Polyphème habitait une grotte profonde d'où il faisait rentrer chaque soir son troupeau. Ulysse quelle folie traversa ton esprit et celui de tes compagnons que de vouloir pénétrer dans cette antre maudite, mû à la fois par la curiosité et la volonté de faire quelques larcins de chèvres ? Vous payèrent bien cher cette offense par la cruelle dévoration que fit l'infâme Polyphème de plusieurs de tes compagnons dont vous entendîtes craquer les os sous la mâchoire du sauvage. Aussi votre courage fut renforcé par votre haine lorsque vous lui plantèrent l'épieu dans son œil unique alors que sa vigilance venait d'être endormie par le vin. Les barques ayant mouillés dans l'île d'Aiaé, tes compagnons imprudents furent transformés en pourceaux par la belle et cruelle Magicienne Circée. Doté d'un contre poison à ses filtres, tu ne restas cependant pas insensible aux charmes de la belle Magicienne mais tu lui fis prononcer le grand serment avant de répondre à tes avances. Elle accepta pour faire de toi son amant de redonner leur forme humaine à tes compagnons, Et vos nuits furent tendres, sensuelles et magiques car la Magicienne excellait dans les arts de l'amour et il en naquit un fils. Toi le rusé et courageux Ulysse, tu espérais enfin voguer avec délice sur une mer d'huile parcourue par les reflets d'argent des poissons volants et te réjouir des facéties des dauphins, Mais c'était oublier et compter pour peu la rancune de Poséidon, le maître des eaux, rendu furieux par le traitement subi par son fils Polyphème. C'est pour cela qu'une masse d'eau compacte, haute comme une haute tour avançant au grand galop ébranla et engloutit ton solide radeau. Seul ton réflexe prompt de t'accrocher au plus grand des troncs te permis de plonger longuement au fonds des eaux en retenant longtemps ton souffle avant d’émerger à nouveaux. La troisième des belles que ton voyage tumultueux te fit rencontrer fut la jeune Nausicaa, fille du roi des Phéaciens, Alcinoos. Celle-ci, dans la floraison de sa jeunesse, ardente et vive, ne cédait en rien à l'éclat des plus belles et subtiles fleurs. Guidée par la déesse Athéna, elle vint auprès du fleuve ou tu dormais laver les habits royaux avec ses suivantes. Les voix des jeunes filles t'éveillèrent. Dans ta détresse et ta nudité, tu jetas l'effroi parmi les jeunes filles. Seule Nausicaa eut le courage de ne pas fuir et d'écouter ta demande d'aide. Elle rappela ses suivantes et te fit vêtir après que ton corps ait été lavé par l'eau du fleuve et enduit d'huile fine. Tu retrouvas ta force et ta beauté. Aussi Nausicaa vit en toi l'époux qu'elle désirait. Mais, ta nostalgie d'Ithaque fut encore plus forte. Alors Nausicaa te pria seulement, en ravalant ses larmes, de ne point oublier qu'elle t'avait sauvé des flots. Amené tout ensommeillé dans le vaisseau mené par les rameurs Phéaciens si bien aguerris à leur tâche, tu étais comme bercé par le bruit régulier des rames et le mouvement profond d'une mer douce mais étincelante. C'était comme dans ces rêves très rares qui vous mènent sur l'Olympe. Jamais tu ne te sentis si bien avec ce goût d’embrun salé sur tes lèvres et ce bruit régulier et sec du claquement des rames sur les flots. Tu éprouvas la sensation de voguer vers un nouveau Monde. Ce fut, Ulysse, l'un des rares moments de félicité absolue dans une vie de combats, de feu et du malheur d'avoir vu périr tous tes valeureux compagnons. Ulysse revenu dans ton palais, déguisé en mendiants pour châtier les prétendants, tu triomphas au tir à l'arc. Mais l'heure de la vindicte avait sonné. La première de tes flèches perça la gorge d'Antinoos, buvant sa coupe. Nul ne put te fléchir Ulysse, pas même, l'éloquent Eurymaque qui t'offrait de t'apporter réparations pour tes provisions goulument mangés et tes biens dilapidés. Le pardon s'effaça en toi car l'offense faite à ta femme et à ton fils et à ton honneur était trop forte. Aussi tu n'eus pas la magnanimité de choisir la clémence et le sang coula dans ton palais comme le vin des outres. Pas un des prétendants ne fut épargné à l'exception du chanteur de Lyre, Phénios et du héraut Médon qui avait protégé Télémaque.
Mais Ulysse, tu ne fus pas grand en laissant condamner à la pendaison hideuse, douze servantes qui avaient outragé Pénélope et partagé leur couche avec les prétendants. Ulysse tu fus tant aimé des déesses, des nymphes et des femmes et souvent sauvé du pire par celles qui te donnèrent plaisir et descendance. Mais obsédé par tes roches d'Ithaque ne sus pas leur rendre l'amour qu'elles te portèrent. Tu ne fus pas non plus à la hauteur de la constance et de la fidélité de Pénélope. Mais Ulysse poursuivi par la fatalité de l'exil et de l'errance et la rancune de Poséidon, tu fus aussi le préféré de la déesse Athéna qui fit tant et plus pour te sauver maintes fois de ta perte. Cette déesse fut la vraie sauvegarde de ta vie aventureuse et les femmes qui te chérirent t'apportèrent maintes douceurs et consolations dans ta vie tumultueuse.

Paul Arrighi, Toulouse, (France) 2013.

Why people feel the need or desire to
Listen to the radio
Or surround themselves with machines that whir and beep
Or white noise to fall asleep
Or go to concerts
Is beyond me
I don't understand why
People want noise all the time
They're committing a terrible crime!
They mutilate silence
Tarnish delicate laconism
And mangle quiet
Machines everywhere!
Machines and devices, noise and distraction from the essence of life
Tooting, blaring, screeching, whistling, crashing
Honking, booming cracking, grinding, and trilling!
We happily bask in this cacophony

So much noise that we tend to forget that
How truly precious real silence is-
A gold nugget in a long, tumultuous river.
Yet we don't want any of it, not even a sliver
Silence is that which comes nearest to expressing the ineffable
It's so pure and so true, so delectable
Silence is a true friend who never betrays
Whatever has happened to saying it all with a simple gaze?
Words are by no means proof of wisdom
Silence isn't ignorance or dullness of mind
Silence is refined
Silence is
A pause between birdsongs
The mournful song of lonely hearts
The sigh of a tree
The shift of the clouds
The obscure and perishing rhythm of forgotten thoughts
The throb of the summer sun
The timid streaming of tears down a child's cheek
The fall of a snowflake
The pulse of the veins on a frail white wrist
And a kiss between whispered promises

Babble is empty
And words, like wire
May seem solid
Yet they can be twisted to resemble anything-
Weak promises, false prayers, delusive prophecies
And can easily be broken, if one distorts them enough.

Silence is more eloquent than phrases
It is not nothing
It has a form, dimension, substance
A texture and quality of its own
So many people associate it with mystery, privacy and isolation
When really it reveals it all
Silence can be jealous; rough and small
It can be peaceful; blue and hazy
It can be tumultuous; confused and crazy
Silence can be loving; soft and surrounding
Or it can be spiteful; violent and pounding
Silence can chaste; reserved and shy
Or it can sensual, with a voluptuous sigh
Silence can be puzzled; blurry and nauseous
It can be disgusted; halting and cautious
Silence can be grieving; a falling apart
It can be horribly heavy; the weighing of unspoken secrets on a fragile heart
Silence can be anything
Agitated, insecure, submissive or authoritative
Giddy or gloomy, vicious or respectful
Silence contains it all
Every word, every language,
All the knowledge, all the memories, all the emotions
If you've ever watched a sunrise, or been in love, or spent a night home alone, or sat in grieving silence as someone held your hand
Then you know this

The silly young, the brash and impatient ones, always break the silence
With gossip and music and profanity and small talk
They always giggle, interrupt, argue and squawk
Constant conversations, words, motions, defense, offense, back and forth
Yet those who are comfortable with each other can sit without speaking
Because to love and be quiet is enough
To hold hands and not say a word is enough
Silence is the gift of the world that we've pushed aside
A precious gift wrapped in white that we've rudely denied
Silence is the highest form of thought
And it is by slowly developing this mute contemplation in us that we will,
Step by step,
With reflections, speculations, and musing
Be able to reach what is true about ourselves.
When we are quiet and timid
We sit silently and watch the world around us
We see things, we read things, we hear things that others don't, we keep quiet about them, and we understand.

I don't understand why people fear the hush
Perhaps people are afraid to surrender to the clear ****** of it
Maybe all these fools think that to keep quiet is to erase yourself
Maybe they associate silence with loss of life
Perhaps some of them know that listening to the silence can be painful
That it can reveal the pain of the world
So they cower and shy away from it

Yet look at what I've done
I'm just like the rest of them, aren't I?
I wrote and wrote, yet what do all these words mean?
How pretentious of me to think I could be one to put silence into words

To be your favorite this is the honorary title of the world. You're great, legendary, grand.
I'm your fan, audience hall applauds you, bravo, bravo, bravo, bravo, bravo, bravo, bravo, bravo, bravo, bravo. Hats off to you. You throw flowers, and I'm telling you I'm yours and only yours, be always with you, I'm so happy to build next to you, I just adore you and have great respect for. You're the only one in the world, who I think every minute. You're like a girl from a fairy tale. I still do not believe that I have met such a wonderful girl. Your sweet voice is unforgettable. I like your gentle laughter. Are you so nice to spend time together. Your beautiful eyes drive me crazy. Your eyes are always fascinates me. When I'm around you, I'm on cloud nine. At the sight of thee my heart is filled with joy. Next to you, my soul is always singing with happiness. Such a beautiful girl like you, I'd love tenderly kissing hands and feet. Peerless, darling, precious, smart, impressive, you are the most valuable part of life, the most precious, most beloved, best. Good, very beautiful, friendly, sincere, feminine, fascinating, shy, gold, amazing, loving, wise, unique, irreplaceable, charming, charming, seductive, charming, attractive, pleasant, simply delicious, fluffy, lovely, hospitable, touching, soft. To me, you're a very **** girl, believe me, you **** goddess, in which lies the passionate nature, so gentle, so sensual. Alluring to her subtle beauty, so amazing, fascinating, magical beautiful, charming, attractive nymph with which you want to be forever. I'm in love with you, and enthralled by your beauty, you're my idol, you're perfect, I dream to be your early days when you first met, you are the most beautiful creatures in the universe. I think about you day at night. You're gorgeous, perfect from the tips of the fingers to the very tips of the hair. I love your gentle eyes, your luxurious sensual lips, your **** nose, your delicate silk hair, I love you, and I can not live without you, and I give you the beautiful wings, which will allow you to fly, looking up from the earth, they will give you good mood. You are my angel. You are my happiness, treasure. You are my Love. I'm going crazy over you. You're the girl that I always dreamed that I was looking for all my life. You're the girl of my dream.  I) I love you, looooooooooveeeeeeee youuuu)
Your charming charm - it's super **** mega power that simply can not be overcome. Gourmet sweetest, love your luxurious body when I see you, just one word sounds in my head: yum, you give yourself fully. I will always love you just subconsciously, unconsciously, your gently ****** image is set down in the depths of my mind completely. From your amazingly contagious beauty opens her mouth and lost the power of speech. Dizzying, amazingly beautiful, you're like a giant tornado, which all attracted to you. And the heart and soul yearn all the time just for you. No matter you love me or not, the important thing is that I still love you, and in my subconscious, I will only love you forever. Your luxurious appearance of the highest quality, it is a workshop, filigree work of Mother Nature, it is simply a masterpiece, which is a unique example of true beauty, you have no equal, you have a high-caliber girl. You to the extent absolutely beautiful, so beautiful, so exotic, ******, and poetic sounds your way is a very beautiful love music that I'm just afraid and embarrassed to come to you, I'm afraid to talk to you, if I stand next to the goddess, or with super mega star, a model world-wide, which probably even know the aliens. The heart beats faster, I can not speak properly, with excitement, tingling all over his body, and just shakes. All these are symptoms of true love to you quite simply: uh), wow). Be your boyfriend, and her husband is for the greatest honor in the world, I stood in front of you on your knees holding flowers. Your appearance is perfect, just like Barbie. You're beautiful to such an extent that only you and I want to have *** forever, infinite, infinite number of times. You are inaccessible, you are like a star, the light of the soul which is like a spotlight in my deep dark loneliness. In love with you thorough. You just amazingly beautiful. You are the best of the best. The goddess of all goddesses, Empress of all the empresses, the queen of all queens. Beautiful girl you just imagine it is impossible. Sexually you just can not be nothing. Prettier souls just do not find. Perfect you had nothing, and will not, simply because I think so. Laponka, I am your loyal fan you're my only idol, idol, an icon of beauty. It does not matter who you are, I'll take you any. Because I'm thirsty anyway only be with you. You have a **** smile, and your sensual look, he is simply amazing. And from your voice and look pleasant shiver throughout the body. You're special, the best there is in all the worlds, universes and dimensions. You're just a feast for the eyes. To you feel powerful, love and ****** desire. You steeper any ****** and afrodoziaka. From your beauty a tapeworm from embarrassment and embarrassment.
I'm obsessed with only you, my Miss Universe, put points bezumilliard your beautiful appearance, and the infinity symbol to boot. No offense, my sweetest, but your beautiful body excites the imagination of your way completely amazing, you're so fine that you do not need, no makeup, no clothes, so perfect, natural beauty, endowed with a divine your beautiful body. Merged with your whole body, mind, heart, and mind, for all eternity, I thirst. You dominiruesh in my heart, mind, soul, and you are deeply in my mind and the subconscious mind, everything is filled only you, my goddess, and I see you in my dreams and I sincerely happy when I see you in them. If I saw you in reality, so it was a happy day, which was not in vain. Be nice to me, as you decorate all eternity, that I want to spend with you a tete-a-tete.
You are my beautiful goddess of love and eroticism, and only you I adore. Rare, beautiful beauty, nature gave you only. The closer you are, the more beautiful. Your delicate skin is so beautiful when the light shines, you have an amazing perfect color. I'm in love with you over. You are super beautiful. I thirst for you tirelessly, you prohibitively, infinitely perfect, you are too, too attractive. You steeper any ******. Flawlessly beautiful as a doll. You are so appetizing. You are the light of happiness, you come and go the light of love and happiness. Do you decorate them all, you are all, because you're beautiful.
You are more beautiful than the most beautiful. Merge forever with thy spirit, and the inner world of your dreams, my lonely soul. See the depth of your I wonder. Whatever gift you my eternal devotion: you are my life, and my eternal destiny, you are my only right choice, you're all that I love, and I want to. And my heart, and my mind is open only to you. You look so romantic and beautiful, your charm, your charms beckon my mind to you, it is useless to resist you, they can only be fully comply, one to commend you. My legs are just for you, my eyes look only at you, and I focused only on you. All you just overflowed in me. And inside, out of love for you, incredible, absolute ease. And from that you're not with me, it hurts the heart of almost any heart attack. Earthshaking, I totally fell in love with you, beyond ******-poetic, beyond ****. Yeah right, you're my Empress, and only you I adore, look at this temple of my love, dedicated to you, to the great altar, look around you everywhere, sit on the throne of love, my great and beautiful goddess. Your every kiss is indescribable and priceless, it is vital needs. Every your opinion, fantastically romantic and touchingly beautiful. He kindles the fire of love and passion in men. Your charm - is a powerful force that attracts all and sundry. Awakens the true, sincere love for you, universal scale. This throne only to you the eternal praise and worship the one, and the chorus singing about your beauty just for you. As you perfect every millimeter of your perfect, sultry-hot-**** body. My world is unique in your beautiful eyes, in your feelings and emotions and not get tired of talking about your perfect proportions.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich

.'ere's a new 'un... hi'yah Oreo... hi'yah chockie; how's that?! any better? any more new ninja for the niq'b? no good? you're worse than ******... apparently there's no way to appease these people! they're all little Hitlers to begin with!

i drink, i fall down the stairs,
i flip a ******* pancake...
big deal...
   there's always the outlasting
expectation of a tomorrow...
drinking... hmm...
what if i'm not bashing
a woman about...
instead commenting
on the curry i just cooked
for my mother, like was Ed Gein
wannabe?
         funny...
it "suddenly" became silly to be
of natural birth parameters...
suddenly being naturally born
became a disability...
free ride amputee if you haven't
been born via a womb...
yeah... well done...you *******
gonna go against everything decent
in our lives?
yes? no?
yes no? yes no? no yes? no yes?
yes no yes no no no yes no yes?!
make your, ******* mind up!
black panther *****...
i want to be Spawn rather than
Batman...
****-a-doodle-do?!
the ****'s this ****...
howlin' wolf?!
(but Batman has the better jokes...
what's your super-power?
i'm rich... ha ha...
can''t beat that crap-oh-oh...
turn Morse into Braille...
i dare y'ah; giggles... abrupt).
yeah...
so the Gen Z are the flashy new
cwowd?
really?
   so the Millennial pundits
are still milking that cwowd?
the ones who... have...
no... knowledge... of the... workforce?
those cool kids?!
really?!
             wait... giggles a'coming...
ah ha ha ha ha ha ha!
it's U2... hold me, thrill me,
kiss me, **** me...
gen Z?
         as served up by millennial
commentators...
you're kidding, right?!
money who money what?!
   the punchline comes with....
me? aging to the prune ripe age of 70
like my communist party member
grandfather with a retirement
security?
  what?
    i don't want to make it past
50!
****... **** hitting 40!
i want the African subscript of life...
give me the life expectancy of some random
African...
reduce me to an obstacle...
and let's get it over and done wtith...
i'm done...
            i'm engaged in the dodo project...
i'm through with what's currently happening,
what Nietzsche called:
imagine, speaking for the entire human race...
*******!
               i'll drink my beer,
live my life, die by death...
and...
   well... it's your ***** donation
to the infertility bank, isn't it?
so why should i care?!

- i'm pretty sure that backdoor man,
originally sung by howlin' wolf,
covered by the doors..
was about **** ***....
then again... who gives a ****
whether i'm right or wrong...
i'm pretty sure that i don't -

rizzle kicks -
  mama do the **** -

funny...
where are all the progressive
leftists, etc. and more etc.
going to get their counter
arguments...
  when the standards,
the right-wing woks,
the whites
are bred out?
cannibal cannibal cannibal
that ******* down?!
let's see how Samuel Jackson
feels about his pretty dough
feels about dating
            the next Lebanese
liberal cousin...
please... breed the stereotype out...
the o' whitey...
  breed us out...
find the next fertile ground
for the next shock offense
   harvest of turnip-heads...

**** me... i'm digging this sort
of crap...
   i'll do the dodo dance...
you do the:
coming from the semi-caste
new brigade of offense central...
******, come, come;
i wanna see the new rainbow
juice... and...
whatever their dependency is
to don the straitjacket,

Where's the edge in your rhyme schemes?
No wedge between my time and my themes.

You make cents while you don't make sense,
play dense when you mistake tense.
In my defense,
I expend to no end, at no expense.
Hide intense behind offense,
a generic's scend is too immense.

Son of sin, son of suns and runes.
Father of win, father of puns and tunes.

There are more songs on today about suicide than love,
My beauty queen friend died of a ****** overdose
A day before her fleeting birthday.
A kid in my brother's third grade classroom
Hung himself "trying to be Spiderman"
When not even a week ago
He was trembling on the playground,
Begging for help when no one would listen.

Girls flash pieces of lumped skin called scars,
Proud of them because they have overcome.
But I guess no one ever told them that those scars
Were supposed to be metaphors,
A smoking gun at the back of a hero.

There's a kid in my class who picks at his scabs
And pulls his hair
And I can picture him
At the bottom of the bottle in a year or so.

We find more solace in fiction than fact,
Because 35 people were shot this weekend in my hometown
But in Megaman the shots never actually hurt.
We shouldn't be thinking about all the violence, though,
Because at least Miley twerked a solid and dropped it low.

A drunken fool killed an old couple last week,
But all I heard on the news was that Transformers 4 is spiking the charts
Even though Michael Bay directed it
And he can't make a movie
Without filling the seats
With people wanting to only see
******* and ***** and explosions they could see
If they looked down their own street at the right time.

Sometimes I get caught up in the mess,
Obsessed with those who post offense on articles
While we ignore the fact that a baby has been cured of AIDS!
I bring myself to wonder at the insignificance of you and I,
As bullets fly and young girls cry
Over slashes and stretch marks in their thighs.
If mirrors are out greatest enemy, than
Why are we fighting the bosses of our lives,
Ready to strike down the opposition?

Life goes on past all these insecurities.
There'll be graves to visit and chances to take
But I'm not the only one who thinks this way.
I can't be the only one who thinks this way...

So here's to Spiderman,
Who told us that with great power comes
Great responsibility.
Throw your fist in the air with me and face up to that.
We've driven ourselves to suffer far worse
Than we have to.
Fight the important battles and
Leave the rest to sand.
And come back to me,
Refreshed and renewed.

Bring my reasoning your weak and I
Will make them whole once more.

I am a man
of no flag
no God
and no party
but this offers me
certain freedoms
like freedom from offense
and freedom to offend
I've always found the most
"offensive" jokes to be the funniest
like a sacred cow butcher
and if you are offended easily
this might not be the poem for you
that being said
here we go

Did you hear the one
about the last pope
who actually did any good?
yeah me neither
What did the pilot say
when the Muslim man
walked on his plane?
"This is flight 216
we may have a potential
security risk on the plane."
America: Land of the free
home of the brave?
where a vast majority
of the population
are wage slave cowards
and don't get me started on England
a hot nest of xenophobia and racism
which almost makes me glad
to not live there anymore
and it doesn't matter
if you are a democrat
or a republican
because either way
you are wrong, and dumb
did you hear the one about
the anti-gay republican in the gay bar?
He took the most drugged up man he could find
for some fun in the bathroom stall
because the chances are tomorrow
he won't remember enough to break the story

I live in the sacred cow slaughter house
(you can't spell slaughter without laughter)
and the only food that really satisfies me anymore
is USDA prime choice sacred cow beef