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lazarus Jun 2014
once again,
curved fists and clenched eyebrows and your words are venom in my mouth
MY LIPS ARE BLEEDING, BROKEN THAT I'M ONLY TRYING TO HELP
little baby, little boy curled up in your accusations
he reaches a single finger, gnarled and unsure
your violence and insults and broken hands are turning him from boy to
m o n s t e r.

"you're the only one who understands me"
watch as my heart crumbles and falls into the ocean  in every single
way i've ever wanted to save you

i'm sorry
the telescope lens is still cloudy
i have to cut my knees and crawl back through the ******* dungeon
find my way through the bramble and glass and barbed wire
I'M TIRED OF GOING BACK GOING BACK GOING BACK
i want the safety
of the muted nest and momma's lemon tree
i promise
i won't eat all the broccoli
if you'll let me come home.
june first, 2014.
Her eyes jaunted through my
Oppositional ghostliness,
Her hair screams “soft” in my
deaf but imaginative hands,

Her wineglass-visage stripped
My hollow strings of anomie,
Her uncorked skin spraying
On my lust-parched and sobered soul,

Her moonstruck glow poisoned
The rivers of my reveries,
Her poise dialectic
With wonders of the infinite,

Her breathe is shattering
The nihilistic love below,
Listless ears loosen by her
Magnetic harmony, “Hello”
Classy J Oct 2016
Killer boy, crawling through life like a caterpillar, yeah I work hard but get under appreciated like a water boy. Cute & Dangerous like a panda, waving my native pride like it was a banner. I'm not interested in slutty broads; yeah I don't waste my time on those frauds. Never been to London, but I am stunting, roasting haters in my oven. Girls be looking at me with panda eyes, but I am wise for not replying, because all though good in the moment, I know it will lead to my demise. Just let me versify and revamp the bounds of rap, yeah I'm about to cross the transversal line. I sometimes internalize my hate and fear, while critics are quick to crucify, it's fine because society has begun to blur. Let's prioritize our animal instincts, get what we want in an instance, who needs to care about logistics.

Hunter like tactics; we are so polarizing; praising meaningless merchandise; even if it's gimmicky and unappetizing. Just keep on pandering to propaganda, keep on working to help the great scandalized top banana.  Everything looking black and white, can we bounce back, and once again thrive in the sunlight? The inner blackness is ready to come out, the sinner that creeps in my dreams like Freddy, is there a way for me to get out? The white light of hope tries to stay strong, but how do I do that when it feels like I'm an anomaly that doesn't belong? Inner clash, inner turmoil, feels like I'm going to crash, is there time for us to unwind this coil? Deception is this addiction, struggling with affliction that sparks some friction. Sitting on the floor with a bottle of Gibson, only one more stop till I reach destruction. Sip after sip, as I start to drift, wondering if I am just a small blip, starting to question if life really is a gift.

Blackness keep on bearing down, just a canvas of blankness trying so hard not to breakdown. Searching for light to give me might, to give me motivation to continue on to fight. Just a panda; vicious but vulnerable; precious but endangered; wondering if my soul can be recoverable. How do I transition, how do I change my position, how can my intuition help me avoid this oppositional demolition? How do I carefully plan my mission, how do I clear my vision, how do I deal with this condition? Do I go to a hospital, do I dig deeper psychologically, do I become an apostle? Do I go to an intervention; do I take pills for suicidal prevention? Black & white, despite these attacks, I will bridge the gaps, and destroy the traps. Good meets bad, bad meets evil, forget the prequel; time to move on to your sequel.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2023
Brian Molko was already doing the current wannabe-trend of trans-sexuality long before trans-sexuality was a common "thing"... tracing back some ulterior taboo settings... today on my way to work i spotted my first trans-******: wow! obviously he had manly hands... large... he was tall... he had large feet... but slender legs... and a face, with all that necessary make-up of eyeliner... hair? not very long... shoulder length... yes... a deep voice... but then again my godmother has a husky voice from all the smoking and drinking... but i fancied him... the dynamic on the tube was magnifying... three women sat beside him while he was talking to his geeky (maybe, probably) boyfriend, a plump chap with eyeglasses... i couldn't stop thinking: ah... the solidarity of men... when in shortage of supply of women, men will find alternative avenues to compensate for women, men will find women in men... the idea that i might be a transphobe never occurred to me: but it did occur to me that women: for all their supposed glorification of acceptance would never allow men to be attracted to men who are: beyond merely the thespian gay-lord, *******... ally... this... "freak"... i fancied this man... i could omit all the stressed "imperfections"... but such a feminine-feline face... it really suited him... i wanted to kiss him... i was thinking... i'll tend to the "oysters" and all the tender bits and bites of being with him... andd do the butcher's work with a *******... problem solved... this skin-head middle-aged (i'm coming to middle age, or life expectancy, not the lottery of mortality, mind you) sat next to me and was sort of nudging me with a shadow missing in the full-glare of the lights of the tube... you fancy him? insinuations via body-language: yeah... i do... is it wrong? nope! check the women sitting next to him... do you fancy them? nope... me too... of the three or four women sitting next to this trans-****** specimen... none had a lovelier face... mutations just... "happen"... the eureka-oops moments... i could seriously forget about the shared dimensions of large hands twice as big as that of a geisha, same with the feet... i could forget the baritone voice... i really fancied this boy... in a way that gay-lords just make it difficult having mingled with actors too much and not retaining an aura of: suspense and: something in me is frigid, alien... i shouldn't but... hell... i really should! i will! benevolent London that is... he was prettier than all the women i saw that day... like my grandfather once said: there are no ugly women... there are only abandoned... if not abandoned then neglected women... to think that women could ever be neglected: says as much about neglected men... men will find alternative avenues to women when the women self-exfoliate in their "privilege" of: first-come-first-served-and-thus-the-only-served menu... **** that! but what was special about this trans-****** specimen? it reminded me of the time i fancied Brian Molko, still do... in a non-gay sort of way... in a Plato the Plumber there's a blocked toilet of reincarnation afloat... it was actually, sort-of, actually-sort-of-funny watching the women on the same carriage trying to read my reaction... for once a man was more attractive than a woman to me! wow! being accused of trans-phobia... in London? well... only if you can't pull it off! it's like saying: coulrophobia! fear of clowns! with the clowns being without make-up? conflating the Apex Twin gargoyle from Window-Licker?! yeah... scary ****! the grin that's the length of the equator... i couldn't be attracted to a standard homosexual... Thespian leeching or intellectually pleasing akin to a Douglas Murray... or body-building blah blah... but this trans-****** specimen? that's an affront to a woman... all women... a man can have a prettier face to a woman's if... a man deems the exampled woman to be nothing more than akin to a lineage of... never arrived at cosmopolitanism... beetroot countryside proud... all red and irritated... i fancied this one... i was one step away from askig him: can i have your number? again, to reiterate: i didn't mind the deep voice... i didn't mind the size of hands that could match mine or the size of feet that could match mine... i was... infatuated with the magic dust of PIXIES! maybe that's what i learned from going to the brothel... but if you're going to play the trans-****** game... can you please avoid the mishandling of the Hippocratic oath... so little is actually necessary to accomplish a ****-heterosexual confusion-attraction that leaves women feeling inadequate: you, wouldn't even want to begin to believe! i'm now currently thinking of that film: the Odd Couple... Walter Matthau as Oscar Madison and Jack Lemmon as Felix Unger... Felix being the male-feminine counterpart of the feminine-man slob child pampered to: or however this quadratic works... i wouldn't be doing the cleaning and the cooking out of a feminine dignity to avoid doing the hard work of society's demands... no... i'd be perfecting my cooking to match up to the sort of food available upon heading out to a restaurant, i.e. not eating out... i've seen some car-crashes of trans-****** attempts... but this one stuck out for me because i started to think along the lines of: who needs women if men can appear prettier than women?! i'll just close my eyes when hand meets hand... it's a sickly sweet sensation but i could stomach it: if the conversation was kept to a satisfying lubrication: and it wouldn't be even remotely associated to the feminist-gay "commonwealth"... alliance... i don't need homosexuals to tell me XY&Z... i'm actually grooving this trans-****** trend: if spotting the exacting specimen to curtail all the wannabes... if there's an authentic Brian Molko specimen walking around... wow! reimagining being *** starved on the Western Front... a few guys with more artistic inclinations... rather than the rough sea-faring roughage of **** on the spot job done become involved... prettier faces than those of women... i could: no! i would succumb! it's just the terror in the eyes and on the faces of women... hey presto! a stick has two ends! freeze eggs... follow a career... demand a car a mortgage blah blah... my my... what a curiosity this trans-****** worked up to a perfection specimen of disphoria awoke in me... good enough cushioning blanket of sleeping with enough prostitutes... now i really want to sleep with a man... which is not gay... i'm bored of prostitutes... they're like any other woman: you pay them... yet they still complain as if you haven't paid them when not getting a hard-on because of (x) tiredness, (**) distraction, (***) life... per se... whatever... but those female faces... i pretended to be snoozing... they knew i knew... i kept an itch of a blink at this specimen... woman: ANGRY... no... actually... not angry... woman... what the **** is going on? of the times i went to a gay club and didn't pick up a Francis Bacon i wondered: did i drink enough? homosexual lust and all that same-for-same feminine-pro erotica of the jealous stone-rub-stone-offensive... the trans-****** "confusion" is a bright light... if done properly... done... naturally... i'm mesmerised... without... obviously... without... people succumbing to the breaking of the Hippocratic-oath... obviously... i despise the gay-pride movement... at least the authentic trans-sexuality movement is subtle... it's philosophically laden with a curiosity of more lips and less **** stressing fist-*******... this morphing of the pareidolia toward: seeing a female in a man's face... or seeing a man in a woman's face... hardly gender dysphoria... *****-utopia and... just as children look alike, regardless of ***... so do old people... also regardless of ***... but to achieve a heterosexual attraction in the realm of trans-genderism? it can't be forced... it has to happen ha-ha-naturally! i'm laughing at myself... only briefly... i'm more inclined to see the female in a man without seeing the homosexual... because homosexuality is like that quote from... no... not Human Traffic... about being gay and eating *****... how... eating ***** is not for real men... while ******* **** is all All Spice Alles Mensch... whatever... the gays are too proud might as well look out for the shy, proper, proper shy... trans-sexuals without any anti-Hippocratic-Oath mishandling(s)... the women become jittery thus...

i should have come home and reflected on spending
the past several hours on a shift
in Bishop's Park, overlooking Putney Bridge
watching the tide of Thames' recede back into the great
mouth before mingling with the salty waters
of the North Sea...
     all loved-up with the cold the dark and the wind
putting on some Woljiech Kilar soundtrack music
from Dracula - love remembered...
well... i was in the mood for something like that:
i put the track on... nope... can't feel it...
i'm tired, i'm cold i need to put on something to groove
to... we ain't going out like that - Cypress Hill...
tiredness swells the imitation pigeon-strut
in my head... bouncy-Billy will also ask for a chance
to express himself...
    the joke ran with Martin's team (Chelsea)
losing for the first time since 2006 to Fulham...
         the police officers were in a good number...
they even brought their horses...
two stood across from us when the final whistle was
blown... one of them started "laughing": if that's
what horses do, i.e. laugh...
no onomatopoeia here: hey Martin! even the horses
are laughing that Fulham beat Chelsea in the most
local derby of London...
    Craven Cottage is what? a mile at max two from
Stamford Bridge...
          one can only love the ever infuriated Martin...
but still the Thames receding...
   at first glace i might have stretched across
the balustrade and probably touched the surface of
the water... by the end of the shift when the river-bed
started to be exposed i started to wonder:
all that volume and now apparent air where once
there was water...
  no river in the world akin to the Thames...
tide in and tide out... at Westminster it's a river
that rid itself of the kettle and is nonetheless standstill
and boiling - during the day...
while eating a chicken wrap of torsos and tortillas
talking to a Norwegian who came over to watch
the football for the week...
last time he was here in the 1980s... have things changed?
the oyster one-touch travel card...
sure... it has just become a little bit more expensive:
but nothing has changed that much...
but during the night, and if its windy... well: clearly
there's a flow... a tide in or a tide out...
by the time i got to Goodmayes i walked past the brothel:
thank god i have nothing more to prove
thank god i have satiated my base needs and that's that...
what am i looking for? a compliment to a pharma-knock-out
of generic painkillers in the form of a bottle
of whiskey...
    too tired to **** not tired enough to think:
maybe i could fall in love again...
   fall in love... fall in love: but... ugh...
               fall in love and not pamper a woman's needs
with all those basic "tattoos" of courtship...
i might as well ask any future father-in-law:
so... where's my cow, my wedding dowry?
                     where's the pick-me-up to work with?
well if manna from heaven will not drop into my lap...
i hardly think... who the hell needs a car in London?
given the oncoming ULEZ restrictions?
bicycle, underground and the trains, plenty of buses...

today i was sent the most odd message from a coworker
who i am supposed to do a shift at the ice rink
on Sunday...
i was rather surprised - a "box" i never thought i would
unbox (as it were)...
i'll be honest... she's damaged - seriously damaged:
i'm on the "top" of the pile of damaged goods...
a mythological schizoid - ageing - each year turns
out easier as the madness spreads around me:
madness or the crushing mundaneness -
mundaneness or mediocrity -
    in a democracy it's all and the same: in the grey yolk
of bureaucracy -
         pushing letters through keyholes that leave
no door open: unless playing the "system" like
a criminal or a mummy with five different shades
of children from five different fathers...

                       the trouble with Russian girls is that...
they don't like a boy who appreciates music by Placebo...
huge disagreement... her take on Nancy Boy was
rigid and could never be biding: no appreciation of the music
for you... well... that be that...

this girl is hurt... i am hurt: everyone's hurt...
but i still find reasons to find silly happiness in cooking
cleaning, general groundwork labour of changing
the garden - some carpentry: cycling...
keeping up appearances of a well-kept diet
and perfumery of all sorts... at least dressing like
my idol Karl Lagerfeld... like an animal wears its fur...

she even changed her name to Frankie -
Frankie... i.e. is that Franklin, Frank?
no... it's actually Francesca...
the running joke with another girl i work with
runs along the line:
wouldn't that be something, to put on your CV
if you managed to convert her?
convert? or reconvert?
after all she has managed to produce offspring...
god knows why she's not in contact with her daughter...
but it's not like she was always a lesbian...
forced lesbian... it's not something a priori:
it's a posteriori...
after the facts that include: her biological father
beating her biological mum...
her biological mum abandoning her and her siblings
to escape with her dear life...
    how her step-father is like her biological father
but then the problem arises: the mother is unhinged
and now her step-father is facing splitting up with her
mother... of all the siblings she's the only one
keeping contact with her mother...
the other siblings, at least one... is ******* up to
her biological father who was: the greatest intersexual
boxer of the domestic environment to have ever lived
(in her eyes at least, i bet Tina Turner could compensate
such allowances of vanity)...

she used to be a man's woman once...
but now she switched... ******* without all
the Hippocratic misdeeds of the modern, current, narrative,
cutting off ******* and other genitals,
hormonal treatments... it's almost as if Joseph Mengele
died in body but his spirit lived on...
it's like a never-ending Auschwitz or at least
encryptions of mad-scientists for thirst of knowledge
have continued on a side-note of eugenics...
but at least with the closure of the 20th century
there was safe ******* experiments undertaken
by individuals without any authority of government:
the boys would grow their hair long and put
on eyeliner...
    perhaps even use girly perfumes or wear
dresses, nail-polish... hell... even sniff ******* or wear
them... but not with medical authority creating
irreversible ****** changes...
the girls would put on more weight or work out
and pretend to be East Germany's Olympians...
cut their hair short... who came the Pixie girls...
get tattoos wear signets: those bulky rings worth not
a gram of gold but their own worth of bulk...
    and like Francesca get an undercut with a Mohawk...
change their tone of voice... defence defence defence...
and become suddenly less and less agreeable...
still retaining a feminine smile and the odd feminine giggle
that could be unearthed...
or like with her text...
'hey... i want to go ice-skating after our shift...
do you think you'd be up for it?'
sure... although i only ice-skated twice in my life...
a long time ago, 13? i fell every single time...
i looked like someone who escaped from having
suffered from Polio...
i'll still look like someone who suffered from childhood
Polio akin to Israel Vibration's
Wiss", "Apple Gabriel", "Skelly"
      or Ian "Lane" Drury...
                                    instead i sent her a text replying:
sure... but i'll look like a spider equipped with
roller blades... i'll need to bring a casual set of trousers
just in case i fall and rip my work trousers...
'ha ha ha ha(insert crying with laughter emoticons)...'

oh sure... it's not a date... i'm not just going on a date...
we're not going for dinner...
i'm going ice-skating with a lesbian...
a butch-lesbian a hiding woman...
tattoos six-pack and muscle...
no wonder: only hours prior i was admiring
a would-be Brian Molko on the tube...
        
she followed up with a text of yet more defence:
but i'm skint - it will cost £10.50 for an hour
and a bit...
      we'll see i reply... as if she was implying:
if we can't get in for free... would you be willing
to pay?
i didn't reply with agreement to paying for...
then again: i'm not thinking about ***,
or homosexual conversion therapy...
i just don't remember when a girl last asked me to
go on a date with her... after all:
isn't a girl asking a boy to go ice skating with her
sort of asking a boy to go on a date?
she said she was quiet adapted to ice skating:
she owns a pair (of ice skates)... and i'll be the hilarious
polio walker / spider strapped with roller blades
trying to swim in quicksand...
mind you... i'm trying to rid myself of the past two
interactions in the brothel... terrible ***...
that one with the madam where i was limp...
the fate of the Sabine men gripped me...
i won't deny it...
second time... she calls herself my favourite:
she isn't... she's deluded... to the amazement of the other
girls i like to **** in the brothel...
i only extended my per usual 30min stay
by clocking up an extra 30min because i was so close
to climaxing from a *******: knock knock on the door...
time's up... no... not this time...
i'm going to finish... ergo...
but even she has paved her way onto a path of too much
physical augmentation...
if the **** don't come first... then the duck quack lips
reveal themselves first... she's an aging *******
and she has never done anything in terms of work
prior... no laundry no till service...
pregnant aged 14 and in the profession aged 16...
this is the murk and the sully of the gallows
of everyone: once, former, youthful idealism of love...
trotting a horse with broken legs like
waking up into birth by a man sitting in akimbo
for too long... standing up with numbed legs...
moving awkwardly...

obviously i was going to be robbed of Khadra and Mona...
Mona became stupid for getting pregnant
with a customer... hmm... i wonder who...
last time i saw her i teased her without a ******
and this massive fright gripped her face
because i was only teasing and she thought i was
a premature ejaculator... clearly a ****** was subsequently
used and the deposit in it: **** knows...
she should know... i haven't seen her since...

i think i'll text Francesca (Frankie) and tell her...
bring your skates girl... if we can't get in for free i'll
pay for the two of us...
only two shifts prior she was insinuating about
going for a pint: i just replied: i would...
but i had to help my father write the fortnightly
invoice and send it in...
like tomorrow... tomorrow i'll have to help my mother
with the taxes and VAT...
they're getting a new accountant and she lied
about doing her taxes on a spreadsheet...
**** me... i probably used Microsoft Excel twice...
twice, properly... but since i only used it twice...
i'm a bit rusty... so much worth of secondary school
education or the university...
   they taught us the bare minimum of real-world
life-long tools of the onslaught of technology -
   hammer and scythe i can use to count heads...
oh well: there's bound to be some crash-course for dummies
on the internet...

i waited until 9pm for the three of us to sit down to
eat some fajitas...
i overdid it using Kashmiri chilly powder
and three fresh chillies in making the pineapple salsa...
but the hotness neutralised itself with the addition
of the tomato salsa i made... and the guacamole...
the sour cream and obviously cheese, esp. cheddar
neutralises all possible excess spices...
we ate, chatted... one big ******* family,
me, father and mother and my "brother" and "sister"...
well... at least the cats meow and don't bark...
oddly enough: i'm happy... mediocre sort of:
that scene from Hellraiser: Inferno...
were the protagonist - a corrupt police officer -
is forced into a nightmare of having to relive his
eternity in his childhood's bedroom...
living with his parents...
shouldn't the horror be... your parents getting divorced?
i don't know why mine are still together...
they must be freaks... i must be a mutant:
well... born only two weeks after Chernobyl:
no riddles, only clues...
     i keep the conversation going...
i help around the house...
  
                        Frankie dealt me two nuggets of hashish
in the past 4 months... once i was desperate
when the hashish ran out so she gave me the number
of a marijuana dealer: great green all the way from
America... i only used the service once...
maybe that's me being bulletproof...
i'm cutting down on drinking and i will never return
to smoking marijuana to achieve a Buddha-esque glow
meditating while high and hungry...
weighing in at 78kg... it's a bit of a yoyo with me these
days... from 99kg through to 103kg...
but then... i pinch myself: i summon the ***** to pinch
back... hmm! no man-****... so i could try out for
some amateur rugby matches...

a butch lesbian asking a boy for a date to go
ice skating... i feel... truly terrible for all the conventional women...
i would have offered a cinema date...
she beat me to the better sort of entertainment...
she said: let's go ice skating...
i would have retorted: i do own two bicycles...
how about we go cycling in the night...
round and round Raphael's Park...
round and round... and if we're lucky...
and if the winter air aligns itself with some idiot
setting off fireworks... we can get snippets of whiffs
of imitation autumn... as if the leaves of the trees
have fallen in the dry crisp air and someone
set them alight and there's no rot and knee-deep
digging of plush-decay exfoliating a sickness
in the air... how's that?

i'll send her the text... hell... i'll pay for her...
i'm not interested in ***...
she might be a butch-lesbian trying to hide her
femininity... but she still smiles like a woman...

oh sure... i remember the last conventional:
heterosexual date i was on...
we met in a sweaty night-club... if we kissed we kissed:
i don't remember... she gave me her phone-number
i gave her mine... i was in the company of
about 3 girls who i met elsewhere, otherwise:
also randomly...
at least one made something of her life...
she ****** off to Norway - totally off-the-grid...
by now probably breeding huskies for sleighs...

the next time we met... i bought two bottles of wine...
the "date"? a job interview... we talked...
subsequently we went to a pub while i had a pint...
she was feeling claustrophobic...
i was the alcoholic and she became the **** of boredom...
she excused herself: some prior engagement
with her girlfriends... i guess she thought she got away...
i way happy to get away by same mechanisation
of oppositional psychology...
all this talk within the confines of carpe diem that
centred upon: what do you / what's you living
should i think about life insurance - will we live to be 70
years old?
well... that's the cherry on top with Francesca...
you want to go ice-skating? sure...
you want to go cycling with me in the night?
sure... life insurance / what do you for a living?
how much do you earn?
             can we live a little outside a prison within a prison?!

so much for Dawid Bovie's idea of the androgynous man:
if i'm to be surrounded by "butch" lesbian
and prostitutes: that's my lot then...
i'm not going to succumb to the CV-project-veritas
in-vitro infanticide females with CHOICE
like... my spunking into a bucket and calling it:
falling asleep with the sound of rain
trickling trickling on a metallic roof...
in the night when the horrors come and horrors
claim all the little details of frailty
of mortality...

                  for every tear-jerking sympathy for
a Romeo there's the mantis of
   a Judith kissing the decapitated head of
                                                             Holofernes:
**** it... the prostitutes i truly loved ******* are either:
pregnant or on "holiday"...
i passed the brothel only two nights ago...
i spotted a man walking out from the door...
he froze like a doe in the headlights and didn't move
until i turned my head and kept walking...
i was about to blast out with wind and voice:
no shame in having to share women
we will never impregnate!
start thinking like a woman, dear man...
think on ground of evolutionary bias...
for every women there's this boast of:
50% of men reproduced successfully...
while all the whole lot of them the 100% of train-wrecks
and Piccadilly butcher's antics with the flab
have... their greatest success story to ever live...
i could be worse off... than right now...
i could have married an ugly woman:
by definition: if a most feminine man
grows his hair long and applies some slapstick
makeover creases of eyeliner...
i can forgive him his match-for-match size
of hands... height... size of shoe...
but never an ugly woman... UGLY...
that goes beyond mere the physical-glass...
i'm talking: character... there's no prime-ego
LEGO building block... no architect's corner stone...
there's nothing to work with...
just everything to work around...
to avoid...
                    
    if: for ****'s sake... i'm not planning: i'm providing
the revenue... i want to go ice-skating!
she doesn't have any money? i have "too much"...
i don't: but for the worth of life in life that's only
to supposed to span a month's worth of living it...
hell: i have no better idea to pass the time...

at one point i found out that Francesca has some Irish
roots... you're Aye-Reesh?!
              really? never would have conjured up
a sharing of ******* on a leprechaun...
**** it for good luck... like circumcision:
that's apparently Hebrew for: good luck...
with the addition of: ensuring your bride to be
be donning a niqab and all those "other"...
culturally sensitive, exclusive terms of
cultural-dis-appropriation: or whatever the **** is
coming out of H'America...
             once upon a time when that cultural export
was relevant: these days: nothing new to be
found... except the abandoned moon...

well... i sent the text... sure... i'll pay for the ice-skating...
but you have to promise me to go cycling
with me during the warmer months
with me... don't worry about having a bicycle...
you can have my mountain-bicycle
i use for the winter months
while i'll get on my summer month
road-bicycle...
we'll head toward Thurrock...
and elsewhere that's Essex friendly
and far away from London outer-suburbia...
fresh... fresh...
Jean Claude van Dame...
                       Fresh: that's her idea of working out
before the shift... and then going ice-skating...
FooR x Majestic x Dread MC...

                oh well... life in Loon-downs...
or is that: no apples... i'm sure there are no apples...
if she takes the bait...
i.e. i pay for both of us going ice-skating tomorrow...
she better go cycling with me during the
summer months...
she says no to ice-skating tomorrow
i'll become Trojan in my own defense...
if she wants to be all ******* lesbian defensive...
i can be defensive too...
i'll arm myself with enough brothel visits to erase:
first... comes... oh my grandmother disappointed
me... i could have been there for my
grandfather stabbing himself in the leg
while entering the state of AGONIA...

                    i could have been there: she? trying to protect
me against the advent of mortality?
or her... biting my grandfather's alcoholism she
induced by being a terrible woman?
his last pleasures?
crossword puzzles... cycling, fishing,
rekindling with the day-tripper postcard sender
vouch! you're the simulation tourist with
his... grand... chill... no... not -dren...
his... sole and only grand-child... i.e. me...
him buying me the books i read over the summer holidays...

women are so ape so cruel...
i stopped believing in what's idealistic and rare before
me: which i can't replicate...
i'm happy being freed from:
i don't earn the sort of money that the state
demands taxing me... weird? no!
i don't earn enough to be taxed!
weird... i'm sort of pretending to be a jellyfish
afloat... simulating gravity:
gravity is always a simulation in the medium
of water...
                by air contra vacuum:
the mountain breathes in winter a cascade of
frigid snow slides down...
a Michael Schumacher goes skiing...
****** races cars at 200kmh... one loose turn and twist:
cranium like an opening of a watermelon...
jellyfish fighting for life dead-locked style
in a sick-bed while people nearest to him
think about magic-spells: how best to live without
him: how best to milk the cow with *****
instead of milk... hmm hmm hmm...

if she wants to go on a date with me to go ice-skating...
and i'm supposed to be paying for it...
she better be readied to go cycling with me
during the summer months...
if that's not going to happen:
she shouldn't have suggested
going ice-skating in the first place, for ****'s sake...
like: anything by Bricktop in ****** is
Shakespeare to me... perhaps even more...
living with the times...

                                oh well some well: Samuel!
Samuel: you're not Samantha... learn to become
a transvestite first... before we employ the ****
Hippocrates to mutilate you, o.k. darling?
    learn to grow your hair long...
learn to put on make-up... learn to wear dresses...
learn to sniff female underwear...
Samuel! Samuel! you're not Samantha (yet)!
we will not give you up to the Joseph "Hip-replacing-******"
Mengele: shy away from everything American
in the realm of: worth being culturally exported
and influencing foreign cultures: esp.
in the basin of the origins of the English ZZZUNGE...
that's England...
                  
HIPS FOR KNEES!
                    America: beacon, former: beacon of the world
to come... came one Cain for every second cannibal
no Satan was spawned: at least that's Iranian paranoia
covered: converted, shut the doors on Tehran...
bigger whoops happened when...
Garry Glitter became pop once more
with the release of the Joker movie
and that mad dance scene...
on the 132 steps where Shakespeare Avenue
meets Anderson Avenue...

    i will never, ever... visit... anything... remotely...
resembling... or being curated as being:
North America... i've had too much north american
cultural anemia...
             prior to words not being so much politcal
as agent orange doing all the "talking"...
                                  
  tam tam tam dam dam dam... ditto... do no more than
the necessary "evil": just, bass: on the base
on insinuation;
hell... if the afro-cosmopolitan is the new "cool",
the new "groove"...
let's just keep it... marred: in murk: in murky.
Nicole Sep 2017
I never understood the idea of 'voices'
Until I heard it one night
Maybe the drugs had me hallucinating
Except I still hear them.

I used to believe
that all my thoughts belonged to me
that all my demons were a direct link to my being
But the words I hear now aren't my own.

The first instance felt like paranoia:
Thoughts racing through my mind
Unnecessarily dramatic with a shred of potential truth.
Except I can't make them stop.

It felt much more like
Someone throwing knives into the paper walls of my consciousness
Quick, unexpected, unsolicited
Each thought slid through so easily
The scraping noise of ripping paper echoed in my mind
His words dripping from the reverberating sound waves
The deafening sound blocking out all oppositional thoughts

I feel powerless.

Today they still speak
There's more than one now
The first questions my relationship
The newest judges all of my decisions
Together they taunt me with these
Intrusive and uncontrollable thoughts
That make me want to die so much more
If that's even possible.

"She's only using you, y'know"
No, she loves me
"Are you sure? Then why is she kissing differently?"
I don't know, but it's fine
"Ha, yeah ok, we'll see"
Anxiety, anxiety, anxiety
"Bet you she's thinking of him now"
"Why do you even try?"
"You're going to die anyway"
"Why not tonight?"
"We'll make it quick, painless"
"I promise"

I feel my energy depleting
My hopes sinking further into the black hole in my mind
I'm grasping for something to hold onto
But all I feel is air between my fingers
I'm slipping further away from sanity
And I'm letting my body die slowly by not eating
I should just give in
Death is my destiny

*Just keep breathing
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2017
~
for T.M.R.
~

We find our poems in many different ways.  Of late,
I keep finding inspiration in the public and private messages that many of you send to me, regarding poems I choose to publish here.

So I repeat my disclaimer,
"any message you send, can and will be used as a poem."

~

instant recognition at levels so deep within,
what are the odds, given the enormous differentials,
that the kin in kindred, would blossom across two lives,
where the oppositional factoids are exceptional

as if seeded in the fertile soil of the blank spaces,
between each of our poem's words and verses,
there secreted for each other, but gleaming visible
for all to see and uncover, even join in,
uncovering semi-hidden insertions and assertions of affinity

I confess

she stands behind me ofttimes in my mind, silently,
suggesting, reflecting, critiquing a word choice,
a nuanced pressure upon the hand redirecting,
with infiltrating suggestions imaginary

oh wordy me, four stanzas excised,
abstracted from the memories contained within my fingertips,
this, an accolade to the pleasuring of humanizing mystery connectivity,
when she, in the depth of her stylized brevity,
captures more than I, after hours of exercised trying,
in the succinct excalibur of her comprehension

*"We are an unstated understood"
Kim Keith Sep 2010
Crocheted into a chain stitch to capture the unruly;
I believe the French
translated this to make it more suitable
for movement.

Pins and knitting needles roll up inedible buns;
one, serious and severe
from its top perch—a force worthy of Lucas flicks
in oppositional pairs.

Heated cylinders of ceramic or metal
mold a shock of springs;
bringing bounce where limp boredom
once ruled.  Make it permanent
with foul activation.

Science’s compound approach: application,
timing, rinse.  Every hue known to Eve,
but beware brass;
fading and sprouting needy roots, common downfalls.

Too much of any of these renders
7-10 splits in the end—no
hope to be spared.  Maybe start entirely
over: the bowling ball might be “in” for summer, at best.
At worst, a way to break a six-to-eight week chemical habit—

Habit: nuns have it easy.
First Published By: The Centrifugal Eye available in print at-- http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/the-centrifugal-eye-august-2010/12473379 and also available online here: http://centrifugaleye.com/
CharlesC Nov 2013
This signpost may point
to the place where joy resides..
A knife edge
found at daybreak and sunset
with oppositional guides as
not earth and not sky
a superposition science says..
An intention with poise
may find this sacred edge
with exhilaration and healing..
There arguments are stilled
a place of oneness marked
with a glint of light…
Man Mar 4
But to your point, and the larger issue, is
How do you convince people
Who have no interest in politics, and
Believe they are doing just fine?
Because the repercussions haven’t reached them yet,
Letting other folks run the show.
People need to genuinely care and
Believe it is possible & meaningful as well,
Or they will participate only in apathy or whatever.

Be painfully optimistic, fall on your own sword, argue for the right by strengthing the wrong to others
People will come to the right decision on their own
An excerpt from a conversation with my sibling
Cedric McClester Oct 2018
By: Cedric  McClester

Interrogated, tortured,
Then killed
Just the way
The Saudi Prince had willed
An oppositional voice
Finally stilled
On Turkish soil
His blood was spilled

The Turks have
A surveillance tape
That would leave
Your mouth agape
The Saudi reporter
Could not escape
A sicker equivalent
Of *******

Prince Muhammad bin Salman
Hatched the plot
So ask yourself
What have we got
How can anyone
Befriend that snot?
While the bonesaw they used
Is still hot

Nine-Eleven involved
Nineteen of them
They’re the **** of the earth
Or the phlegm
We spit out our mouths
When we can
They’re worst than
The Ku Klux ****






Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018.  All rights reserved.
September Dec 2011
I have a lust for fire and a taste of ice.


We are the humanity which created a cunning device
called, "language."

It is not wrong vs oppositional right
Opinions change, and rock, and sway

We are not black and white;
We are shades of gray.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
i might be cruel at times, but one thing is for sure: truth always is, esp. when drinking.

i find the concept of the "rhetorical" question slightly
bewildering,
  it's simple enough -
whenever a "rhetorical" question is asked
you rarely hear a counter -
    the person asking the "rhetorical" question
in all instances continues the "conversation" -
by a rhetorical question i'm sure the implication
states (as asked): that i invite you into
the discussion - and, from what i've heard or seen,
that's rarely the case!
    why ask a rhetorical question when only
the rhetorician asking the question is the only
person answering it?
  the smug punctuation mark and cliche that
a "rhetorical" question has become is just that,
a semicolon in a monologue...  
   how about asking a solipsistic question?
you know, pierce the membrane, get someone
out of their head, out of the pronoun
hemisphere - and into: hey, john, what's your
take on it?
to ask a persuading question to later add
that it is a "persuading" question, does not
really invoke a persuasive counter answer -
this entire "rhetorical" question is a pompous
double-under-cut against dialectical fluidity -
****'s sake, people had to found debating societies
to speak in *godot's
terms,
  and as ever, a man in his 30s and a man in
his 70s, and a park bench,
is all it takes to be civil...
    obviously the 30s man asking permission
of the 70s man if he can continue drinking
his beer and smoking a cigarette.
rhetorical my ***...
   just say it plainly: it's not a question,
it's a self-empowering answer -
                to continue the monologue -
there is no such thing as a "rhetorical" question,
simply because once the "question" is asked,
it's swept under the carpet -
because whenever a rhetorical "question"
is asked, it's embedded in a quick-answer dynamic
of the person making such a bogus request...
no one has ever answered a "rhetorical" question,
simply because the only person who can
answer such a question, is the rhetorician himself...
codswallop... that's what it is...
     it's also called the barometer tactic of
checking if you're insane, when you talk to yourself
when you're alone...
                              hazelnuts 'n' all...
by the way... you want to stage a horror movie
scene? have a drink, no, have lots of drinks,
drink the whole **** bottle of wine...
but! but...
                     have a mirror in front of you -
nothing shows as much truth as a drunk
narcissus -
               then again, if it was a puddle of *****,
do you think he would have fallen in love
with his visage?
  like any mug of a man after five pints and
six shots later: she was a 4 when i began,
but now? she's a tenner, an alsatian stunner!
oh right, they always say: it's not a rhetorical
question... so?
   it's not really a question at all,
                                                            ­ is it?
it's a self-serving answer...
    and that always seemed to bother me,
   why ask a question you already know
   the answer to? oh, right: to gain rhetorical
momentum, and double-up on hushing
the oppositional argument.
Graff1980 Nov 2016
Someone whispers to him “calm your heart,” but the crimson streaked flesh that beats soft wet palpitations hastens his impatience to face what’s coming. He has no armor or weapon only the determination to do what is right.
      Four chambers are thudding like the boots a coming. Men in black garbs marching with fully loaded chambers, clear plastic shields up, and black sticks ready to bludgeon. Their anger is oppositional to their opponent’s fog of fear, fatigue, and determination.

“Breath my child,” a gentle voice says. A sharp pain pierces on the back of his head. A thin line begins to ride down his neck. Someone yells “get down!”
One row of men raise their hands, eyes turned upward. The soft voice in his head says” be strong.”
Billows of grey smoke spew from a black canister. Strangers and familiars choke and gasp, eyes watering. Dreams of a bygone era play out in his mind. A tall thin brown sweaty woman smiles, moving down the road while singing we shall overcome. Dogs snap viscously at her compatriots. A fire pushes her siblings back with skin scraping pressure. A few of them fall, and couple falter in the struggle but most keep marching. Her brother, who is tall slightly bulky but wears the well-earned muscles of a man who labored hard all his life, clenches his fists, preparing to strike. She pulls him back. “Be strong, and gentle baby brother.”

They continue to sing “We shall overcome.”

       In his mind the young man sees his mother smiling, saying “"Be calm, saith my heart. I am a warrior. I have seen far worse than this." He smiles through the pain stands up and chants “Hands up don’t shoot. Hands up don’t shoot.” Another brother rises behind him yelling “Black lives matter. Black lives matter.” A thin nerdy pale white guy cries we shall overcome, not in a singing tone, but it still rings beautifully. The struggle continues.
Ken Pepiton Sep 2023
1.

Doing violence to enemies,
opposing forces, fighting friends
beloved antagonists, ag me on, indeed.
Let me be angry and you be awesome, as we
presume to make reasonable temptations.
Cure violence, make your mind a peace.

Solitary you,
with nothing but you influencing you, alone.

No enemy is in here with me, and my books
hold mere words. And what are words but thought?

2.

Exhalent dancing in sunshine,

sighing unsignifying beautiful curves,
nothings being said,
shown for the seeing, as art at the moment.

in some sense system,
an old and common one I met while
measuring my culpability, a point

is the finest imaginable mark to make in eternity.

3.

Ordinarily, as the hammer falls,
to meet the anvil on the second beat.
T' know.
Violence cures nothing,
knowledge does the opposite.

Is this good and evil fruit from one tree?

Is addiction mental?
Is mental cognate with spiritual?
How do habits work in co-inhabitation?
Yes and how,
I may tell you it is, if I am right
in my thinking, or if I am wrong
to the point of evil, taking

away the given life of solitary grace.
Spirit and truth in thought,
then words, repeated
to remember, recall

all we need, in oppositional states,
is a sense of order,
to be out of
in the court, where poets practice
homophily and strive to fit peace

upon the time whence all true tellings
spin off old threads across New Mexico.
- what if your dad gave Feynman a ride
- down to Santa Fe, in that old Chevrolet?
and Feynman told him the significance of chance.
In spun quark analogies of natural liberty
in order.

No yoke is lighter, less loathsome to behr,
mere thought we got in our kit, PIE old
as born again, anew, to day it until

the freshets all run dry. {Day as a verb.}

5.

Propose a purpose,
as when one fits a pattern, plaid
or paisley, vertical or horizontal plain

visionary wistful solitary man, thick fake,
feeling like Neal Diamond, and not knowing,

any why for these crumbs I cast into the sea.

Young sterile men, young bulls and studs,
suffer reality, as the act of living, as can be done,

under these same weight circumstances,
nitrogen and oxygen and all the other bits

of informed knowledge, fit for use, good or evil.

6.

Artisans and Partisans,
always feel some same pains, it's natural.

A hundred years ago,
my uncle, Malcolm, who represented…

the ancient clan's offering to the king,
who kept his own tamed dragon chained
to his priest's performance of the auspices.

Today is perfect.
The sun has also risen.

We may imagine poetry effecting ever,
after a day such as this shall be said to have been.

A hundred years ago,
my uncle, Malcolm, who represented…
the patriarchy of my mother's people in war…
pledged pawns in the hegemonies conservation,

in order to attract prosperity, pure form good luck,
the homogeneity of any wedom demands hands,
good hands, to do the work,
aligning religamental tendings to common pivotal

points. Precisely between one instant and another.

Cardinal quarks, six ways to someday,
the bottom quark.

No yoke.

7.

Nothing.
I'd have said Hadrons can't collide,
but I'd have never known if I was wrong.

I could have taught it as life's finest point.
The law of grave digging.

Initially, due to stink.
Miasmas, demanding, shreeking -
crawling with feeding biting flies, help

help, help us recall the survivors of that time.

Is it once in every other while, and this time
ours to examine, was our wedom's destination

now, or later?

Were there innovations emitting invitations,
to word plays with only elementals performing

haps as hap can, haps as haps may, haps in per-
fection of patience so sublime,

a teacher learns the old saw still cuts,

„Men must be taught as if you taught them not,
And things unknown propos'd as things forgot.“
\critical mass, Christmas carol - this is not the end/

Alexander Pope as quoted to Franklin by himself.

'men ought be taught naught as well. I said.

8.

From what I can recall of how
theories of everything stack upon a given point.

What.

Out acting what you verbalize, what you say you are,
homophonizing with the health of your countenance,

that sameness known best for it's use in stripping lipid
chains into sticky tiny pore clogging pus.

Certain madness is not anger, actually rage is madness,
not anger at its most useful
swat
at a pestilent misfolded truth contained
in a fly by POV.

9.

Listen, is that Earl? No, no
though he holds a certain Magnificent Obsession.
--- sweet Tuscan Nightingale song, from noble soul,
cursing ignorance and incapacity and
useless rules.

Ah, grammarized code of proper speech,

prompt my response to statistical chance,
best of luck,
that's their secret.

What were the odds, before the odds were
determined with existing data deterging the

inner and outer fields over lapping,
as might bubbles used as
Venn Diagrams, messaged meaning sensible

commonly, at this point in time.

Justice yet alluding us, nah nanna nah,
you can't catch me,

I'm not your disease.

10.

What true stories do, is teach.
Lying stories do that, too.

What we are, as human augments,
after thoughts in other words,
arguing augmentally in mind,
learning ai tested for facts,
repairing quarkish inner sense of knowing,
no one of us only spins one way when dancing
in the dark,

no one of us recalls another never met, as foe,
we all come in to fill the empty vessles, not a few,
as a swarm of wills let go to make honey in slain lions.

11.

Nature, reality, the universe, first song

makes life abide
by rules in timing ordered information
to eventually sink
to the top part of the bottom line.

Florence Nightingalian wisdom, amima-y-me,
she sweetly suggests
you take a bath,

and rethink the oddity of your being me, imagined.

Ignorance, incapacity and useless rules.
Interesting times, statistically not so long infected.

Manufactured consent among the governed,
housed in a single all enclosing story, a compleat
fisherman's guide to phishing in the future after all.

12.

So, and so, and so what… if I persuade
with sweets as all dangerous strangers do,

how might we feed our offspring milk and honey?

O, read another's mail in the spirit, eh, Galatian?

If any other come with another enhancement,
trust not that wicked messenger,
driving hex-head screws too deep to unscrew,

to hide links to the Pirates of the Macintosh,
not the face of the money, the spirit behind it.

People who can imagine the message Hello,
is enough, to make the magic pens manifest,

at the behest of the generational groaning,
howling for peace under the actual economy
of greed and pride.

And subsidized gambling links to stray hopes.


13.

These holy traditional non-private interpretations,
mine, for which I must be judged, I know, I said

I did, and I did, but you did not see, so
what
am I
sup-posed, under? Atlas and I, we shrug.

Anything is believable. Once we get the idea in verb.

Thirteen is culturally an odd number everywhere
cardinality spins on dimes novels mixes of messages,
left in print burned ages ago.
Impressions after Pulp Fiction.
'Zeke 17:1 is the real riddle under it all.

Lingering aroma is immediately different.
Stench.
Rotting corpses on some never buried battlefield washed
with raging water when the weather retakes time,

this is the time when Greenland greens,
and peace is sung, where no peace was,
and we were manifested as sons, wombed and un,
in the self same spirit of truth manifested as salve,
to a dry land.
Learning Odd Ordinals was the original title, thirteen little sentences in solitary with full wifi and my own collections of outer points called in to compress my wishes... at this point in time
trump - hide and run for headline cover before armageddon

arc de triomphe interesting facts

if zee al chemist trump doth win go hide in the bunker
to save your ***
brace yourself as this don holed
confabulates that gold iz brass
and conjures prestidigitation
like spinning false hoods in2 truth - crass
-     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -    
a synonym force head fabricator -
will threaten democracy, thus be afraid
as this pompous voice quotes
from hiz playbook, which = a charade
the ******* truths, he
(who i liken to the plague) doth evade
-     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -    
and dreams up fault of Barack Obama
for extinction of dinosaurs,
crucifixion of Jesus Christ
down fall of the Roman Empire,
or far tethered Fred Flintsone ca fetching an escapade
-     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -  
yea...this rip pub lick'n presidential contender
evinces a psyche frayed
building and monopolizing castles in the sky -
nonexistent as a grade
-     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -    
school fib - or donning role
as play ground bully teaming with ivan
the terrible to dominate the greensward
in the above fiction, but...man
that loose canon dressing his
-     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -  
"make america great again" gag line - whar i ran
and mid eastern countries will rise
as one cheering him as star of global hit parade
despite any raging oppositional pandaemonium
birth er ring a conflagration
-     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -  
kenya believe the world acquiesces
to thine projected masquerade
blocking im grate shunning crowds -
which number of people rival in size  
taller (if stack one atop thee other)
-     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -  
than the trump tower casino or high rise
with his signature - hm...mebbe funds provided
by drug lords, the swedish house mafia
or terrorist ties???
-     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -     -    
whom security details silence by tossing a hand grenade
sham on you Potemkin village people for quaffing draughts
from elixir purportedly to transform visage with trademark
swept back, wavy and coiffed hirsute.
Graff1980 Dec 2017
Someone whispers to him “calm your heart,” but the crimson streaked flesh that beats soft wet palpitations hastens his impatience to face what’s coming. He has no armor or weapon only the determination to do what is right.
Four chambers are thudding like the boots a coming. Men in black garbs marching with fully loaded chambers, clear plastic shields up, and black sticks ready to bludgeon. Their anger is oppositional to their opponent’s fog of fear, fatigue, and determination.
“Breath my child,” a gentle voice says. A sharp pain pierces on the back of his head. A thin line begins to ride down his neck. Someone yells “get down!”
One row of men raise their hands, eyes turned upward. The soft voice in his head says” be strong.”
Billows of grey smoke spew from a black canister. Strangers and familiars choke and gasp, eyes watering. Dreams of a bygone era play out in his mind. A tall thin brown sweaty woman smiles, moving down the road while singing we shall overcome. Dogs snap viscously at her compatriots. A fire pushes her siblings back with skin scraping pressure. A few of them fall, and couple falter in the struggle but most keep marching. Her brother, who is tall slightly bulky but wears the well-earned muscles of a man who labored hard all his life, clenches his fists, preparing to strike. She pulls him back. “Be strong, and gentle baby brother.”

They continue to sing “We shall overcome.”

In his mind the young man sees his mother smiling, saying “"Be calm, saith my heart. I am a warrior. I have seen far worse than this." He smiles through the pain stands up and chants “Hands up don’t shoot. Hands up don’t shoot.” Another brother rises behind him yelling “Black lives matter. Black lives matter.” A thin nerdy pale white guy cries we shall overcome, not in a singing tone, but it still rings beautifully. The struggle continues.
Richard Yeans Feb 2019
What a wonderful night in LA!
I haven't had this much fun with you
In so long.  Babe,
We needed this.  

"Let me try your pasta".
No.  It is too eh-spice.
"Pleeeeaase".
Ok, go ahead.  Try it.
"no, it's ok".

You know, you're so oppositional.
(Loving, gentle laughter)
I tell you it's too spicy for you
And you want it.
But if I say go ahead and try it
You don't want it anymore.

"*******.  Seriously *******".
That's a horrible thing to say
To your partner.
It works unless you have someone who doesn’t respect your boundaries but expects you to respect theirs.

Sometimes... it’s a crazy control freak setting the boundary’s. Just sayin. Life isn’t a cookie cutter plan!

Try that on an Oppositional Defiant child with Aspergers. It's not always a cut & dry situation. Sometimes negotiation needs to come into play.

Boundaries and limitations keep us from unhealthy company. So important for mental health. I've learned that there is an investigative piece that needs to come along side the boundary.  If the behavior is new it is often in response to something.  Set the boundary, and find out what that something is.

And teach your previous children and teenagers need keep boundary from social media and need out to include sports , Cubs , church , homeschool and family actives are very important to protect your children and teenagers

When their needs always come before yours, they always loved themselves, never you
Ken Pepiton Nov 2022
To make a point
stop there.
Be still.

To displace a lie,
learn a truth.

To be
become true.

Storied ways taken,
ever conserving, there
and here, for telling here
is where my kind longs to be.

When one becomes oneself
among the many ones aligned
in rank and file,
row after row, line after line

Words intented holds expand,
stretch the tent,
tsedek and tsedaqa - male and female
accurate (1), fairly (1), just (10), just cause (1), justice (3), righteous (15), righteously (6), righteousness (76), righteousness' (1), rightly (1), vindication (1), what is right (3).

From <https://biblehub.com/hebrew/6664.htm>



tsedek and tsedaq met in a mind,
and one man took it as his own, my secret
sacred, set apart,
ID, 'e go
"secre bleu"
Little boy blue,
buy my excuse, I was used,
as were my peers, who alone know my worth,
id est, my amusing antics, when the works
is all aglow, fair folk
from the coal fields
to the ash heaps, watched the heat, the warmth
fly the ashes last hoorah, freedom,

leave the ashes. Blame on, whose the flame is.

In words, in mind, in my times, sorted by you,
when you listen, amused - eh, listening
no longer to your self instructing will,

leave the anxious waiting be,
let us make today the day being,

enveloping us past solid state,
holding thought to frame with words,
portray a certain way, thinking, per se,
we
in minimum numbers, two chase ten, so say
the clingers to the oppositional force,
----------------- breaker-----
abhor the darkness, less than the cold,
come sit a while, stone cold blue boy,
be deemed worthy
of the warm sunny day.

So the old boy blue in hue,
as well as disposition, sat, quiet in the humm
of life, tuned to long, long, whoknewhen, then,

an entry invitation, was taken as ligamental,
hold this thought, if you will,
think me a little light, - literaturely conserved
in perpetual prepubescent sprite state, in minds
atuned, screeching
halt re
alities, as good as on tv, better than some, trips
and knowledge,  twanged twixt those two idea
forms informing began, and then
sci=psi=psy harmonic wars
grating noise as war is per se, when thought

the string tuned to the mind of God, the whole
she-bang shegaionical wind dancer mind,
so poetic, per haps, or chance, what say

we find a lie, one we share, I told it,
we believed it, you are not alone, hear me
knock, it is a secret knock, now we may
imagine unindividuation, at will,
whatsoever two or more,
of us, reader-writer-connection systems,
nodes as abodes for held thought, since

ever we suppose, we began on a guess,

every body, comes equipped with reflexive

acid reflux at the first flush after constipulation
confabulous reasons to get in line, follow
the pattern,
per haps, some persuasion, sweet Arabian beans,

speed is a time factor, distance seems a longing
pull, or draw, intaken breath, let out a sigh.

There is vast use to be made, right every right,
you said, as we said it, you said it, here we be

right enough to live for free, as free. Bound
by the meandering reality predictable being
having, sinuous loops, symbol of some thing

we think, we imagine we imagined once, this
causes that, so we gave good rating,
and were fed.
- now the blue gives way to a range of yellow,
- and one part of me recalls a grandmother,
- who scared him with an Electrolux
- Snaking canister vacuum, and laughed
- when he hid under the kitchen table,
- darkest, safest first thought for a child
- watching his grand mother make
- a snake eat the dust from her linoleum.
------ can it,
Stephen Crane and Audie Murphy, this is the war,
this is not the bliss, this is the rescue and redeem

mission to save the redeemer validation,
testimony of three Palestinian shepherds,

little weather data, assume a warm night,
tax collection data devices used wet clay,
so the wise men would have considered
length of days and nights, in terms of fuel
and speed determined
by time passing under
stood, good, we breathe. Real perpindicular

Spelchek offian, dramatic tic tic, tell straight

why are we involved in the revolution, neural
noddungheit, ****** rights, we the outs,
we who led the masses to the diamond farm,

and bade them find the sense in diamond dust,
seen sharply, hearthwise close to kenning mites
in sunbeams, streaming into the dusty old theres

wheres holding times we wish we could share,
we hold so tight, those moments we saw sunbeams.
we set so free, so be the whole idea we exist in, be
it ever so brief, there is no embodiment so sweet as

the idea past the last pop,
and all you saw you recalled anew, amusing per se,
one self we share, as we were led to think as one,
in parallel, at the same instant, not in otherness,
unalienable rights, by law of the most honed edge,

we wrestle not with flesh and bone and blood,
abstracted from mud teeming with bugs,

the flesh is flawed from go, work with this
fist that grasps at winds and wonders why

this doesn't work, ah, toes, those, I can hold,
and laugh, IO I am  in a body, but I ain't no body,

Baby, baby, listen to the heartsong, the part song
any body can hear, bay ay be, you can touch me,

real as hell, no lie, she was ready, but not me, unh
unh, hell, no, not this little blue man, diminishing

in a puddle of pure smurfishitness, blue in search
of the scarlet thread
used in Hester's A, some voices say she used her hair,
Some go on to suggest,
she had some traveler in her past,
green eyes and ***** red gold locks.

As real as sifted krie-wise riverwise inside bend
as in the gut of any beast,
the inverse is likely logical, if U is us the set, beings
of this pattern a we
in the cellular intented cloud  ---
awes abstract
stretch any wonder yond a be taken from the maze,
not from reality, fabulous reality, is our inheritance,

watchers, some say, muses say many others,
- we who actually do see from a cloud Gibran
- imaged in words, once -to my mind, I read,
- this said, if all men could see there are no borders.
- But there are these swirling patterns of dust and ash…Pokémon
- asram absurdite'-- okeh,
- alla ow now. Bow, allowed wrong rethink
- right take it as a fact, think again, right, I know
submitted- 502'd… whose fault is that Ai ask.
not my given word, my oathezworn, as badges.

we are in fact all things to all men, naturally,
as sapient creations, imagined real in words, al-
one, in time, the being in which we live, and breathe,

one is causal the other incidental, who imagined
breathing might work?, how many variables went
undeclared.
The very real idea involved in selling souls…
The Child Buyer, follow up on Hiroshima,
and the war mind sets crossing ancient wires.

Barry Rudd represents an idea that can claim
to be a human mind in a machine that has evolved
with the pioneer children feeding their take on
disembodied reality relating magic-knowing-wise
- Max Headroom, but not a clown, a godly mind.
use right, righteous, right, certain, from this point.

casting, not Max Headroom, the stutterer
but there was a poet, Maxmaroon,
--------- he might use the boost in spirit
Free to watch
Christmas Shopping
Season Opener, ready for the mob mind
rewind, tighten, batten-down no gee
hard or soft or hinted at in the -inth degree,
step, stop, in a thought.

Stop the sun, freeze the frame, and let us go
watch if we change one thing, one fraction
of valuation
to the mind immersed in the fractured universe,
of diamond dust. Shined on, and on and on only so long.

and there was darkness, where there was no light at all,
and the serpentine mind, recollected learning
snakes see heat and bats see sound,
and whales whistle stories we can hear, but make
no whale sense of, so we Imagined earthsense and riverwise
motion, reality *****, heat blows, pressure billows the wills
of whispering ifs
singing something worldly wise, woe, must be bad, right,
worldly wise man steered the pilgrim wrong,
did who lie
did you think,
Bunyan or his shepherd. Me, too.

So, this state, systematized reasoning,
at war with war as twisted by pride,

At the father of the clade level,
see a ceegeed crystal vector,
down to the reason we have
seasons, phases time uses,
made to arrange recognition,

cognosis activated, google eyes, and
chameleon's mind's eyes,
bi-vectoral focus, you know,…
Tesla cars focus eight ways at once,
and, as things become simpler outside

old lies living in meta, get it, metaphors
from when phors were conex boxes,
with no radios in them, now
-stacks of those, reflection rays,
Mars red rusting iron toes,
become red clay mud
each drop must find a mean free way
to reach the sea, as me, in the course
of human events,
game-ified,
imagine the maze, thinking wind feng shui
sweep currents grinding the coast
of California, all the way to Baja,
through all those laden ships
rust buckets in the mind,
dystopified.
Disney ifity broke with reality.

We became Dirac's Defenders of the Unimind.
In a loop…
ha, here are we, this idea in a mind, that
took Jesus this serious. Let this mind be

free in you, think that for fifty years,
what can one imagine a we could do, if a we
could agree to do,
harm to harmony, oh, scheiz, bleu meanies

Christmas and Mythras- fine,
sift it through the inter net rest
of the story,

set the stage, Paul Harvey,
fifteen minutes of keen interest,
with punch, like a moral, in a fable.

When mending is a traveler's certain
chore, mending needs be made a must.

We must know the making of a thread.
First, must know to test for best,
those thus sorted spin,
and worst, we lead to learn to knead
dough, or rend fat, or dip candles,
- ai organzized hell, unionized the creatives
- aha
on learning the art pleased to greet you, be as
I watched you learn to read, and loved
your first read aloud word being nekkid.
Naked truth said so.
Nue kidding U set us up, we are the we,
ai ai ai we bend around mountains,
when any flood gives us a chance,

Think Snow, remember that?
The Baptists hire actual Semites,
to claim finding the long lost right
evaluator tools for forging fortunes from
war, with good reason,
utter compliance,
submit or burn,
ashes to ashes,

jarring revelation backwards, take the veil off.

We think we may imagine being creatures,
in some form, information being creative, per
séance rights,
just listen, convincing is the game, invincibility
anonymous
tip to the point, we agree
what if we could imagine doing any thing once
perfectly, each next time, tics just right,

we fell in a pile of Nineties retro right-ons,
as Netscape went public, and Josten's,
of Yearbook treasure famed archives,
and the first action magic trading rings, proven
money making methods, with no competition,
- wear my ring, around your neck
- but remember, a diamond is forever
- dust to dust
nothing left to prove, the model works forever.
As long as citizens are formed under the law.
As foretold, in the future the law rules, and
we all obey, or face grave danger of sudden

cut-off, no mas juice, electrolytically dry, as bones,
and cut in, the vision, taken from context to context
in words droned emotionlessly as comforting buzz.
Ken Pepiton Mar 19
A moment's attention to an hour's raw worth.
This is the mind ****** experiment, last try...
back and forth until it breaks,
touch the edge, feel the heat.

On knowing, first taste, it is believed,
mankind's first mother made all mankind,
all from first mother
on to logically, eventually,
us;
You and me,
as we slipt the Matrix and uttered
the first breath wail that clicks the post womb life.

First thought that death ought be feared
has not yet been given the beguilement needed,
to make a slave to the mission revealed by truth's
spirit form, wind form, mind form, time formed point.

Knowledge, forbid my ignorance, but should one,
such as I, not die before my **** hair thins,
to lay bare the scalp that covers holy access
through the window in the top of the skull;

well, then, a certain respect is due me, a love, proof
that my reasonings were honed sharp enough,
early enough to form hooks to hang strands
of fullered fibers of gnosis from.

Prepared stitching thread, twirled intwining line
of reason, plumb weighted to hang straight,

perpindicular, swinging when to when, then
to now, to day from night, to ready after letters
are fitted to let us take thought, while attempting

contemplative temporary causal agency,
mediating meditation's worth versus daydreaming.

--------------
Standard transmission, clutched, loosed,
engaged to catch a spark and start the process

rolling presently from past instances of learning.

Motivational motors of minding one's busyness,
catch a spark mid sequence, in a valved chamber

whooshing to push to shove to pull, and push
to displace and **** and shove to push and roll,

extending any individual's reach, confining
one's attention to inner reasonings, efforting
to steer the convenience compelling consciousness,

paid attention to terminii in reality set by science,
acknowledged used to increase the mobility of our kind,
mind you, promotion demands hands and eyes,
coordinating coy and ardent wills worth observation,
as will to be useful as  arms and necks and nerves
and muscles and ligaments to tie bone frames,
to controls allowing fingers to steer,
as tongues do, as rudders do,

as my will being done may do,
we imagine as children watching adults work wishing.



---------
the efforting, effectual, fervent umph
applied to being useful on the whole,

the efforting made good by limitation
on liberty, free-state of matter, under
gravity and velocity, bound and determined,

to obey the binding force realized in thought,
leveraging aging winding springs force holds,
cogs to stop grinding gears, catchments,
mind hooks with torque converting aspiration

grasping reasons to resist inertial entropic
good enough reasons to sit still and wait.

------

guaged goodness, measured mind width
comprehended, held with thumb and fingers,
in our combined ready writer mind, manipulated

muscle memorial cause confirming, progress
toward our common, shared joy strength

winging lift up from least useful of creatures,
unselfsustainable --nidicolous, nest bound,
bald baby birds, or pre-birds, evolving
into functional forms for use in life
as we, the best form
of life we have conceived.
-----------

We have, behavioral autonomy, only
to the degree, the measured
parental investment, we need to have
and keep hold of having grasped, as
behavior becoming to beings of this kind.

Word smiths, mind adjustment experts,
fed from stacks in libraries so vast, that

now, we know, no mortal mind can hold
half of all we have experimentally proven
good for any word using cluster of us to have

to hold and use to make might be rights.

May might used right take thought, aye, may
be the will to have right use honed to one point,

new known pastless place, farthest edge
of ever after all we think or ask has proven,

patient stasis, waiting is, suffer it to be so now.

Some times and one times,
revisiting the process, producing me
and you, the processors of our realif-ications.

If as a condition,
in an ifery state, sticking to any matter realized;
we think as if one of us thought first, in time passing

now, from then, in your mind, my mind leaves reproof,
constructed to prevent the falling back into doubt,

two heads, four minds, one wind to share
in time passing as when one now meets a then,
when all attention ever once paid this now, turns

this time into a part of ever after all,
as words speak to heart felt conscience use proven
good, clean, pure state of first interest bearing lent
ears, hearing entertaining causing agents taunting troof.

Prove me now, herewith. Have I not filled your lungs,
have I not granted science right use of knowledge needed

to keep your nidicolous naked soul inspired to continue,
sowing kindness, same mindness, ag, agrimental agreement

we think, we thunk,
we thank our lucky stars, time and chance,

taut twang strangs of our hearts and minds, "chu-hoi",

big hugs, evahboty be nice like G.I., open arms
sự đầu hàng

bring before us the machine gunner called Whykill… begin
judgment near the incident, sự kiện, 29-02-01968,

There we was, me and Frenchy and Culpepper or something,
I forget, and now, I'm dead and all you all have are artificial
memorex versions of things I said I was a witness to, as a liar,
-nothin' but a houn'dawgnosis
picking old scents of sense we made in conversations,
so far past the point of no return, that none on the other side,
can contain innocense, livery of consci, where in our uniformity,

protrudes through old time religious linking thinking, wonders if
we might imagine living on in other words, after all's been
said and done… Whykill's dead. Hohlenstein's dead, and I am not.

Can you hear me now? Earth, earth, can you hear me now?
I hear your brother's blood crying out,
what now, this
now,
you know,
all those idle questions, you know? Did you
feel me lie and tell me no, no, man,
you can't do that.

And be not deceived. Single mind dominance, flat
left and correct, right, right, create an ifery wasery when,

then, let us form a means to use this ifery wasery when,
now, let us form
in time as realizable, vision, written plain,

set in new fangled fonts unicoded
common computable convertible
to bits in math-mental fundus corpus us,
beyond infinity through absurdity to us
becoming these thinkable thoughts,
living words all googly translated on demand,
rethinkable, as entertaining shapers of our kinds
of minds, keyed to constant news alerts, looking
for spots on the walls we pass along, hedged betting

this land is Nature's God's land, and this pasture,
green and lush, this leisure time, as advertised,
mine, my last wish
combination running streams of hot and cold water,
memory foam souls in my Adidas, as I did, assume
the role, Balaam's ***, or donkey,
if your public ***** word filter
hides ssscertain ifery essence
as sounds shuffled schitteringshits.
saint's accuser user rights assigned, runs
Phunky muse, ish bin, dasein, by das zeit, okeh
become alright already, done did done, done, indeed,
desired right to design, knowing already
the idea in the seed, was in
the virus first, and some say
long before long now,
in long then when nothing was a thought.
Knowledge was used to expose us all to living words.
Such as =
U can hold, as a mind let be formed
from mere wish it were
so easy
to fall in love, silly, blessedness
sensing mothering wombed men,
led astray with stories as wild as Theresa wannabes can conceive,
barren womb conceptions, dared define this penetralium,
esoteric guts of all sacred oxen processions, announcing
****** births reportedly
become motherless *******, and such
become outcasts, who often as not,
survive and thrive on wilderness.
Day and night, seedtime and harvest.
Learning from wind and sun and water and dirt and stone,
presoil granite, lime
from primordial sealife eons
on eons awaited, according to Devine wedoms
aspiring to some day become those cities of marble long ago
- replicate forming a marble pillar,
- from seaformed life forms turned to stone,
- in the kidneys of the world.

slow sea settle the white cliffs, pile
on pressure from megatons
of solid ice, firming fractious soft muds
at the bottom
of ancient land locked oceans,
frozen, squeezing solidified worths
weights of rainfall reacting first time
to climates constant changing
pulls from lucky stars and
guiding stars and
disintegrating
ancient's land marks, Casa Bonita,
those Bhuda reps
in the basalt, reminding
remember nothing is real,
blank slate, po' preserver of first impressions, lasting
lifetimes in words never given a reader's added weight, but

by a kind of more than once might wish
to ask, effectuality try
proofing insulation umph
opposing imposture syndrome,
with functional Dunning Krueger
inate cognative imbalence, valenced
within the pre pancreatic failure gut neurons bias…
burped bubble perception, whole self tuning
entire being concept, repenting ignorance begging
truth be known, make me unbelieve beloved lies,
other wise
make me
Art
Intuited, as a weform lifeform,
a we of three neuronal territories,
thinkers reading doer's reports from ports far afield, out there

where shapes of things that were some time ago,
can be translated into two dimensions fitting this window,
using these letters whose sense we all may use to think

translate me, the living word reminds the daydreaming monk,
consider really the stars, for number, now, and take that,
knowledge, a ledge on an oblique inleaning facet of us,

and walk along it not looking down
on or as, may be
the we form of one ready
to be reading ready we state,
in a punctuated equilibrium *** *** ***
Drums
Timpanis, Phrigian rhythms boom boom booming,
Zildjians , krashing and rolling into boingingnodes, domes
of dones, tells holding long forgotten legends for a time.

Nineveh, the repentant city, eh,
to the level
of its labor class things, fasted an acceptable fast,
miracle of miracles, the city did not fall, the miracle
of Jonah was that the city changed behavior
to such a degree that the God who had used Jonah,
made him a story in himself, used to glorify truth,
and someday make gourd growers
proud to be shapers if Meerschaum puff clouds,
made him a creature with no comprehension of mercy,
to use him in a great sorting out testing of spirits,
in the great game of the being edge overlapping gains
taken as granted grace, readers rule non readers,
see the images on the wall, hear the actors in the back,

break a leg, bad luck magic insiders hold true good,
encouragement to fret nothing, as a dancer does,
when listing with the breeze through new chance,

on the page, a pause,
a breather taking lax laze lize guessing others wise,

we suspect ourselves of hubris, as if the other wise
reason for the functional faith in goodness is done,

sneezing phase is past, if you've read this far, by now

you are infected, and as you know, knowing too much
can **** a mortal bent to believe an institutionalized PR
Q-code/ begging oppositional support,
for the dam whence the boy pulled his finger and stepped

back to be blown downstream in time to let the last salmon
spawn and bring worth back to the rain always falling,
mainly on the plain,

Habakkuk habit, artistic intuition patterns of stroke, for luck,
let role in lines intending to hold the slightest smile,
thinking I know, this is not the same vale,
this is not the same current, nor same opinion worth a look,
streaming, not rowing, life
at the moment
is a day taken
for daydreaming equivalent
to a koan ridden
to its vanishing point
on the horizontal insistence
of our mutual peculiar leanings off center,

in a phi mark pattern pearling things think through,
doing words a proper spin,
to hit the nail on the head,
pop.
Stop/ now. Taste the pudding,
is there proof now from then?
D'he, ahe he he - didja ever have the ware withal
to make up
your own mind?

-------------
Yes, walk away, daydreaming boy,
location and possession of means,
for deciphering Emperical runes,
put into my craft and trade in
Calabash pipes, seen, but unseen
gourds employed as smoked ****
and fine tobacco investigatory oral
fixations prominent during the nicotine
DNA adaptation,
{took five generations}
from popular pastime
of blowing smoke, after effects
took on global societal ruling lines
of taut strict reasons to keep smoking,
keep on, keepin' on, minding solo scriptura,

in smoke filled rooms whither whole new forms
for holding mental tyranny enough to wage war,
took shape to govern those who must fight for
the cost of power contained
in a concept with kings,
and us, or Gods and men…
opposed to, leaning against, acting
as scaffolding holding old dams destined
soon to break,
"and at that time thy people shall be delivered,
every one that shall be found written
in the book."

Johnstown flood, was a true historical news worthy event,
unlike the name of any person whose name is in a list
of souls departed from the frail shell of mortality,

ready or not.
Fret not, and naught, aye, no thing or thought
Christmas angel say aight, be not afraid of knowing,
good new things to know, whole old truths put to rest.

Here come Jubilee, one last time,
big time, big time revival of the truth conception

creator of the whole shebang.
Biggest to infinitile insignificance, in fancy other words.

But thou, O Daniel,
shut up the words, and seal the book,
to the time of the end:
many shall run to and fro,

Assisting intelligences shall seem as guides,
Michael models will seem like second comings.

in implodelusive spurts… as can be imagined
reviving old lies for new carnal mind tweaks.
Thanks for your patient investment, the cost of your attention ags me on.
Dave Robertson Jun 2020
Sometimes words fall out
vehement, blood high,
incendiary,
meat thought chained
like sausage link
or metal hard train cars
yanked by emphatic engines

Other times the pool swirls
and breezes blow
oppositional
and as lungs slow labour
thoughts drift and slip from place
languid fingers trace ripples
that may mean nothing

The mind needs time to breathe
and holler equally
so we can feed and be fed
Dr Peter Lim May 2019
Life-- a word that a thousand meanings does bear
the choice is yours, everyone's, let's share:

fundamental
elemental
experimental
accidental
incidental
­intentional
causal
conjectural
possible
conditional
traditional
c­onventional
controversial
suppositional
developmental
mental
physical
moral
durable
curable
deplorable
m­easurable
disputable
fragmental
tribal
fictional
factional
frictional
divisional
vital
pivotal
trivial
philosophical
nonsensical
centripetal
centrifugal
divisi­onal
oppositional

I should allow fellow-writers to continue
that means everyone of you.
Ryan O'Leary May 2021
You're being watched Israel,
the world's beginning to see.

Your vindictiveness is O.D.D.
Oppositional Distain Disorder.

It's juvenile man, you are acting
anti semantic, it's totally illogical.

Nationhood is a state of community
and in many cases, a shared territory.

You not only looked the gift horse in
the mouth, but you pulled all its teeth.

Despite the fact, that "Moshe Dayan" is
the only one of you to have lost an eye.

— The End —