1-Establish Lux as a farmer with his brother, father, mother. Show dissatisfaction at a lot in life, yearning for more, however Lux feels compelled to stay with family and help them. Establish a close relationship between the brothers, a good mother/son relationship, though a testy relationship with his father. Strange symbol branded on Lux’s chest, been there since he was a baby, no one is sure what it means- or no one is telling him. This is Lux’s L.S. beginning. Establish also is the world Lux is in, the facts of the ministry and the church, the knights and wars of before.
2-Introduce a festival in town with knights from “The Brotherhood” being present, establish them as knights capable of magic and swordplay, “The Brotherhood” knights are taking new recruits at the festival. Wanting to join, Lux goes through the trials and passes, though after a harsh reaction from his father, Lux does not leave with the knights. With Lux out of scene, a conversation between the mother and father should reveal the man is not in actuality Lux’s father, but his uncle, and his brother had been married to Lux’s mother (now his wife) though died fighting in a war between “The Brotherhood” as a member of their ranks, against a rival faction known as “The Order”  peak lux’s curiosity and focus on the desire to leave as established in the previous chapter. This and the next chapter are Lux’s “Go The Distance”
3-The end of the week long festival nears, and Lux is on a hunting trip with his younger brother, returns and is questioned by his father why he wants to leave so much. The truth of Lux’s true father is revealed, and though Lux’s uncle expected this to convince Lux to stay and not go into danger, Lux is angered rather, and leaves in a hurry to catch “The Brotherhood” knights before they leave. Lux is put under the tutelage of a man who claims to have known Lux’s father, though it is revealed Lux’s little brother followed him, and is taken into the recruit pool as well, despite never going through the testing. Note- perhaps have Lux refuse to go with the knights if his brother is not also offered a spot? Hero’s journey, he needs a moment of hesitation and refusal to go. This should be reflected like Lukes refusal to join ben, or Bilbos refusal of gandalf, but quickly change their minds.
4-Training begins the moment they arrive at a camp. Lux and his brother are immediately outfitted with leather armor, dark and gritty in contrast of the shining metal of the rest of the knights. Lux is doing well in training, sword play coming natural, shakey with a bow, and ofcourse a natural talent at magic, (though make a point that in fire spells Lux only manages to start small flames that he can throw, and struggles with healing magic) though his brother is struggling in all aspects and is beat by his trainer. Lux’s trainer urges Lux to ignore it,though Lux finally snaps and challenges the man. The two enter a circle made in the dirt with training swords, and though Lux appears to have the advantage at first, he is quickly beaten and left gasping and ****** on the floor. The trainer leaves Lux there, and soon a hand reaches down to Lux. A female trainee named Ciara picks up Lux and, joined by his brother, the three wander off for more training for the instructors. Introduce Peter, a man deeply infatuated by Ciara, rather than a knight Peter is a Father to the holy church, unable to fall in love and forbidden to marry. Subtle on Peter’s infatuation with Ciara, should really build Peter as a good friend to Ciara,
5. Lux, his trainer, CIara, and her trainer are all out in the forest doing patrol after reports that remnants of “The Order” have picked up their pace in activity in the surrounding areas, raiding small towns and taking young men and women as recruits. Lux and Ciara are separated for a time and grow closer through talk and laughter when they see two knights in armor that is shining silver on almost the entire body though the right arm and pec are a scarlet red, drinking water from a stream. Confirming with each other that is the description of “The Order” Ciara says they should find their trainers though Lux charges. Ciara is close behind, catching the two off guard. Both are quickly overpowered through the use of advanced magic from “The Order” but Ciara’s trainer jumps in, kills one, but is killed by the second. As he turns, Lux throws his dagger and hits the man in the eye, killing him. Lux and Ciara carry her trainers body back to camp. Ciara refuses to speak and when greeted at the gate by Peter, she embraces him and cries into his shoulder. Have both Lux and Ciara attempt healing magic to no avail. Have Lux grow frustrated at feeling the ABILITY to heal, but unable to do so.
6. Lux is punished for charging, while his trainer is taken to a secret meeting where they discuss what to do with Lux, but out of respect for his father, they keep him in “The Brotherhood”. Lux has not seen Ciara since the incident, though he can see her in the crowd when he is being taken to be whipped, and receives 10 lashes, to Peter’s dismay who recommends either banishment or death. After the punishment, he is cut loose from the posts holding him up and Lux’s brother charges the ground, picking his brother up and taking him to his bed. As they pass Lux manages an apology, but is unsure if she accepts it. Lux is informed she will be trained alongside him. Make Peter do some ******* **** idk. Resenting “The Brotherhood” Lux should vent to his brother about his growing distrust of the situation, asking if his brother has felt the growing gap between what they feel they can do, and what they can do.
7. Show training between Lux, Ciara, and brother, distinguish a growing connection between Lux and Ciara, much to Ciara’s surprise and reluctance. Show Lux go into his trainers room while he is absent, and sees a sword on the wall, bearing a strange symbol. Lux trainer will explain that the sword should belong to Lux as it was his fathers, and when it is time he will inherit the blade but for now he must leave the blade alone. Lux asks about the situation behind his father's death. Explain the following: The Brotherhood were not always the knights guarding the royal family, before his birth the royal family was guarded by The Order, who are the reason The Brotherhood practice both swordplay and magic, as the Order are master swordsman and powerful wizards, prolific in blood magic and necromancy. When one member of The Order desired the throne for himself, he split The Order in 2. The Brotherhood worship the Gods, but in his desire and lust for power, the man struck a deal with the old gods, evil barbaric entities who require blood and death as sacrifices for their eternal power. This is Nero, a man that Lux’s father took in and treated as a brother, both being trained as knights for The Order. During the civil war, Nero attacked the Royal Palace and though he was badly defeated, he did **** Lux’s father in the battle. End chapter on this story. This chapter should be shows as Lux is uncertain of The Brotherhood and his trainer, but with the story of his father, he is conflicted. If it is true, then they are just. If it is wrong, how many more lies has he been told?
8. Show Lux becoming prolific with a blade and very intimidating magically. When he, Ciara, and his brother are sent on a mission with no trainers for the first time, Lux naturally takes charge. They track knights of The Order down to a cave, where they are tested both physically and magically. Ciara and Lux both protect brother as much as they can, though brother is able to hold his own. They manage to corner one who instead of being taken prisoner, stabbed himself in the stomach after giving an ominous warning. As Lux approaches the body, he sees on the cave wall a crude drawing of a man with the same symbol on his chest as Lux’s, holding a sword with the same symbol as Lux’s fathers, a figure resembling a large black and red dragon behind the man. Dismissing it, Lux tells Ciara and brother to not bother approaching, and the last of the knights are dead. The report back to base, and Lux informs trainer of what happened, leaving out the symbol.
9. Word carries out on base that more and more caves are being found with members of The Order, all with strange paintings on the walls. Peter speaks with the knights, explaining he has been praying and granted visions of a large scale battle. Have Ciara grab Lux’s arm at the sound of war, which Peter will notice (important for later) and in a hesitation to prepare for a battle that may or may not come, the commander of the camp demands the trainees be knighted, their proper gear be made, and to meet with the main force.
Cut from Lux to Peter alone in a church, praying to the Holy Mother begging for guidance away from the desires of his heart, and in his prayers Peter slowly realizes that he will not give up his desire for Ciara and decides to betray the Brotherhood in hopes Lux may die and he may be able to gain Ciara’s affection. Peter is seen leaving by Lux, though when questioned says he is going for more Fathers to pray and meditate on the matter.
10. Peter tracks down members of The Order, informing them that he wishes to give them valuable information, surrendering to them. Peter is taken to the leader of the knights operating in the area, and in exchange for one thing, is willing to tell The Order where The Brotherhood is, where they are going, their numbers, and anything else that will be of use. All he wants is them to make Ciara fall in love with him./ While Peter is doing this, Lux is kneeling in front of his trainer who knights him with fathers sword. (maybe do a crusader knight knighting, this is oath/this is how you remember it) When Lux is handed his father's sword, the cold metal instantly feels warm and the grip adjusts to his fingers and though it looks heavy, appears just the right weight to Lux. Lux is given armor, though when he takes his shirt off he sees the symbol on his chest glowing, same as the symbol on the sword. Trainer only says “magic is a strange thing, boy” and Lux is put into armor and finally leaves the shed a knight after only 2 months of training./back to Peter who is given a potion, told to have Ciara drink it and leave with her before they make their move. As Peter leaves, the leader barks orders to men who address him as Nero. Perhaps instead of Peter getting the potion straight from Nero, have him get it on a witch in the woods who is secretly affiliated with Nero, have to work out how she gets the information from Peter, but she could use magic to contact Nero after. Perhaps part of the agreement is Peter must turn his back on his abandoned faith and be her student and as a test of loyalty he must tell her everything he knows.
11. As The Order masses its numbers, knights of the Brotherhood are entering the giant city dedicated to The Brotherhood(Remulus? Romulus?) and Lux is in awe as he sees the a giant palace, and near it a graveyard with tombs. The tombs are the resting place of knights of The Order who gave their lives in service to the royal family, and now knights of The Brotherhood join their numbers. A newly marked grave is standing as a monument to Ciara’s trainer. The day is given to them to explore the city, and Lux/Ciara are alone together. Share a kiss. Witnessing the kiss, Peter comes from the shadows and informs them that curfew is near, and they should be heading back to the castle/as Peter watches the two make way to the castle laughing/holding hands, he heads to a monastery. He kneels before a picture of his god, praying asking to be told what to do. He knows he is a man of faith, so why are lust and desire even capable of entering his heart? He begs for pardon from sin as he sets his heart on giving Ciara the potion.
12. Now that the trainees have been knighted and the generals have been informed of Peter’s vision, prepare for war. The inhabitants of the city and many villages around are all pulled into the Castle’s walls, able bodied men and boys are given swords, women and girls find refuge in the newly emptied dungeons (all criminals hung/drafted?) Lux is witness to a battle plan, and overhears that during the last battle at the capitol city, The Order had used dragons to its aid, and though there were no confirmed sightings of dragons now, The Brotherhood should still set up catapults and bastilles on the off chance. Lux finds his brother and Ciara and informs them of what he has heard, though Peter comes and informs them that Lux must just be tired from nerves, and no one has seen a dragon in a generation. End with Ciara stopping a near brawl between the two, and Lux heading to his bed alone, and Peter now with Ciara, when a sound fills the halls. Scouts are reporting a massive army on the outskirts of the city.
13. Rain. Silence. Lux, Ciara, and his brother are among the numbers at the front gate. Rain hitting the ground. Hitting armor. Men are vomiting. Peter along with other priests are swinging burning incense between the rows of men, chanting prayers and songs of their god. Pounding. Pounding so hard that when it hits the front gate, the rain flies off the door and hits Lux’s face. Lux looks to his brother. The two nod. Lux looks into Ciara’s eyes. The two kiss. Confess love. The gate is broken open and the war begins with a thunderous roar in the sky, a dragon spewing fire on archers perched on castle walls as troops charge. Lux and the other knights hold their positions with a great clash the two armies finally meet. In screaming and fighting, Lux loses his brother, and The Brotherhood are pushed back, further and further. Lux manages to grab Ciara’s arm and the two run to a set of stairs going down to one of the dungeon entrances to warn the others that they are losing, when the dragon knocks over a giant pillar, stones hitting the two. Lux stays conscious from the first hit, and sees Peter approaching an unconscious Ciara with the potion in hand. Stuck beneath rubble, Lux watches as Peter pours it in her mouth and wakes her with a kiss. Begging Ciara for help frantically, she walks away with Peter, and as Lux cries out for his brother, more stones hit, causing him to go unconscious.
14. Lux awakens in an unfamiliar setting, on his knees. His hands shackled to the wall, his armor and sword feet in front of him, a man standing behind them. The man asks if Lux knows who he is. Looking up, Lux can see from the torches a tired face. Shaking his head, the man informs Lux, “I am Nero, commander of The Order, Captain of the Conquered Reaches, and rightful heir to the throne. And you are Lux. My nephew,” Nero smiles, touching Lux’s face. Accusing Nero of killing his father, Nero softens his eyes at Lux and stops moving. A look of sadness. “Your father's mistake is the single most regrettable accident in my life,” tells Lux more and more about his father. Informs Lux why the symbol is on his chest. Its magically bonded to the blade. It makes blood magic more powerful. Nero then informs Lux that his father had found a dragon egg just like Nero did, as Nero pulls the egg from his robes, shiney and black with streaks of scarlet. Nero offers Lux out of this cell, and he will gladly show him the ways of blood magic and make sure that Peter pays for his betrayal of the other knights. “I do not find The Brotherhoods newest members traitors, how can they betray a cause they never were offered? But how do you think we knew you were going to be there when we did? All of this has been for you, Lux.” with a wave of his hand, the shackles fall off Lux’s wrists and he falls forward. Reaching to the egg, Lux hesitates slightly, looking down and seeing his reflection in the water. With a wave of his hand, Nero projects the image of Peter kissing Ciara deeply. “That passion she gives him should be yours. I cannot create love. Only transfer it with a potion. When peter described the man who took his beloved, I should have realized. But together, I can rid the potions course and Peter will pay, Lux,” and as Lux watch Ciara enter Peter’s bed, he firmly grabs the egg, which begins to shake and crack in his hand, emerging a tiny dragon. Nero’s past: Nero will portray his story as such: He discovered that Lux’s mother is the illegitimate daughter of the queen. When Nero went to tell Lux’s father, he was stopped by the queen who attempted to have him killed, for if it was discovered that her late husband had an offspring, she would have a claim to the throne. In the ongoing fight, Nero claims he accidentally killed the queen and was discovered by Lux’s father. The fight was a misunderstanding and he was never able to tell him the truth of his soon to be (pregnant) wife. The split of The Order were those who believed Nero and those horrified at the death of the queen. Nero claims the royals betrayed him and those who followed the truth. Show a refusal to believe at first, though as his imprisonment lasts, and he goes over it again and again in his head, for weeks as Peter gets further away with Ciara, left with visions of Peter and Ciara making love, his Nero pleading with Lux’s father, and the conflict. Ambiguous if this is actually true or just indoctrination.
15. Lux’s training begins immediately. He is placed in the middle of a circle, men attacking from all directions and must fight them off with his blade and newly learned blood magic. Slicing his palm before gripping his blade, the warm metal now burns hot in Lux’s hands, and he drops the blade. Scolded with beatings and lashings, Lux learns how to embrace the pain. Magic flows through him stronger than ever as he adapts. Fire flows from his tips when before he could only manage an ember. He heals fatal wounds when before he could hardly manage a small cuts and broken bones. Lux is routinely beaten and whipped, his dragon growing and watching all the while. Weeks go by. Lux concentrates only on killing Peter and revenge. Pain, anger, and of course blood fuel blood magic to its extremes.
16. Lux’s brother is brought into a small room with other generals who managed to escape the battle of the capitol. He is questioned if he has heard from Lux, Peter, or Ciara as their bodies were never found. All the remaining forces are falling back to the capital, where a final stand will once again be made. Lux’s brother is told he may visit home one last time and must report to the capital in no more than 5 days, and his trainer will accompanying him/Lux is kneeling once again before Nero, though he feels the sword tap either shoulder as he is knighted into the brotherhood. He is given shiney armor and as he puts it on, is instructed to place his sliced palm on the opposite shoulder and watches as his blood flows into the metal, turning that arm and shoulder scarlet red. He is officially in The Order. Lux is tasked with one task to prove his loyalty. **** his stepfather and attempt to convince his mother to come swear loyalty to nero if she refuses, **** her too. If he does that, when he returns his dragon will feed on the personal sacrifice and be ready for battle, and in return Nero will make sure both Peter and Ciara are waiting for him. “It will be done, Lord Nero.” show conflict in Lux if he is truly willing to do all of this, and conflict on loyalty to Nero. The Dragons growth and power is connected to Lux’s ability in blood magic. The more anger, hate, and pain he puts into his abilities, the stronger the dragon will become.
17. Chapter starts with Lux standing outside his old house in the early hours of the morning, the sun peeking out of the mountains but being quickly covered by storm clouds. As darkness settles over the brief light illuminating the house. Lux enters the house. His stepfather enters the room hearing the door open but is grabbed by the throat.during the fighting, Lux manages to strangle his step father and throws his body to the door as his mother is running into the room. As she surveys the situation, there is a cry from the door, and Lux’s brother and trainer are standing in the door, sword in hand. Lux begins to unsheathe his sword but his mother moves between them, talking to the brothers. Lux demands to know from his trainer if what Nero said is true and that his mother is the rightful heir. Confirming Nero’s story partially, though claims that Nero attempted to blackmail the queen with the knowledge of the heir to gain more power. Lux tries to persuade his mother to join him and come be with Nero, that his father would have wanted this. When she refuses, he explains that she would not understand what he HAS to do to end this war, and when he is done the conflict will be resolved and order restored. Argument between lux and brother over oaths broken. Mother approaches Lux, touching his face tenderly speaking softly watching as her son is breaking. She offers him to leave the conflict entirely and to just live home with her, though as she turns to face Lux’s brother, Lux stabs her. Gasping she looks back to Lux, touching his face once more, “You look so much like your father in that armor” Lux , trainer and brother fight, Lux leaves his brother unconscious in the house quickly, though he kills his trainer outside, taking the bodies with him back to Nero.
18.Lux returns to the agreed upon spot to meet Nero, but is instead met by Ciara, who in his confusion and hesitation desperately tries to convince her to leave with him when out steps Peter with a staff in hand, who has now learned the magic of the old gods. When Lux raises his hand, his dragon lands behind him with a mighty roar. With a smirk, peter does the same, and a white and blue dragon lands behind him, a roar just as mighty. The dragons take to the air, circling and roaring, spitting blue and black flames at one another as Lux and Peter fight to the death. Just as Lux manages to defeat Peter after taunting and back and forth, there is a loud crash as Lux’s dragon lands on the other teeth in its neck, ripping its head off entirely. Ciara comes to her senses immediately, seeing Lux in armor of The Order standing over a wounded and ****** Peter, the blood spraying on them. Stepping toward Ciara, Lux is surprised when she steps back in fear. Allowing her to leave, Lux watches as she sprints away. The conversation between Lux and Ciara should be that of both trying to convert the other. When no understanding is made between the two, it is Lux’s love for Ciara that allows her to leave, she sprints to the horses and makes her way back to The Brotherhood. Turning back to a wounded Peter, Lux raises his sword when his eye catches sight of a faint glow on Peter’s chest. Kneeling to rip the man's shirt out of the way, Lux finds the same symbol that is on his sword and own chest. Peter is Lux’s lost twin.

His Funeral was today.  Well, his wake rather.  It was in his old colonial home on Elm Street, a bought of irony that Paolo would never get.  Anyway, it was an odd set up at his house. Family and friends downstairs in the living room, acquaintances and honorable mentions meandering through the hallways clearly more interested in the intricate little floral patterns that adorned the wallpaper than how his family was holding up.  The company of the house was split, everyone either legitimately full of sorrow, or completely full of ****.  In everyone’s grasp either handkerchiefs or hand grenades it was as if the invitation read “Come see it to believe it!” In the study across the hall a small memorial was set up.  Big cards, tons of photos, some flowers, anyone who actually cared stayed there and stared at his once happy face, who knew what it looks like now.  
He had died of some sort of overdose, one that destroyed his heart, so he would have looked fine in an open casket.  The doctors say it was *******.  I don’t believe them.  Paolo had his fun in college, ***, *****, sure, but coke?  There’s no way.    The services weren’t to take place for another two hours, so his family rolled him onto the second floor balcony.  It was actually his dad’s decision, something about a “disgrace” and not wanting to look at his face.
Apparently his mom had felt bad letting her dead son chill on the porch for a few hours, so she rolled him across the hallway to his own room him and kind of laid him out on the bed, as if letting her baby boy take his eternal sleep where he’d have had most of his shorter ones.  
Picturing him lying up there was the first negative connotation I ever had with the image of him on that bed.  He had that kind of headboard that when we started getting at it the bed would hit the wall with each rhythmic movement.  Steady and almost tribal as our bodies danced to the ever increasing beat of a talking drum.  Our clothes off and our skin glazed with sweat it was like my own personal method for getting high. Now don’t get the impression that our relationship was based purely on a physical connection, we’d been dating for three and a half years, the love was there all right.  
We had met in the strangest of ways, through a mutual friend that I was kind of, almost, sort of, but not really having a “thing” with, you know?  Cisco was his name.  So we were together one day and he, being the adorable spaz that he was, had forgotten that his own birthday party was that same night.  He asked if I didn’t mind tagging along, it was a celebration for him and two friends whose birthdays followed his in sequence.  
This had been going on for several weeks, and I know we weren’t dating but I still had a feigning interest in the guy.  So we arrive to this girl, Cristina’s, house and I noticed this other boy almost immediately.  In a backwards cap and pair of boot cut jeans he was jumping around, tossing his arms, right in the middle of reciting some hilarious anecdote to any of his friends who hadn’t heard it yet; even those who had seemed riveted.  He was so full of charisma and with such assurance.  Besides that he was kind of cute so, though pathetically, I tried flirting with him for the rest of the night; he didn’t really catch on.  We left that night without having exchanged more than ten words between each other, I thought I’d never see him again, turns out I was wrong.  
“Broadway CAREols.  Show others that you care by enjoying a night of with your favorite blend of Christmas ditties and Broadway biddies” And before you ask, Yes, I did come up with that title, I think it was great and it was at the top of each flyer in big red and green letters and if you asked me “If you could do it again…” I would do it the same each and every time don’t judge me.
It was a show I had to direct for a community service project and of all people he played the piano for my show.  Only me and several other girls made up the cast, and I knew how easy it was to mistake a positive attitude for flirtation when it comes from a handsome young man.  He ran the music over three or four times individually with each cast member before the night of the show, but when Paolo and I worked that night he stopped me and just sang. For me.  
Each night after rehearsal I had to give him a ride home, I was a year older and thus had my license a year sooner.  I’d never mind allowing myself more time to bask in the glow of his perfectly understated confidence, so I was happy to oblige.  Technically Connecticut state imposed a law forbidding new drivers under the age of 18 to be on the roads past 11 at night.  My mom, being a government employee, really stressed this one.  His house was a solid ten minutes drive from our rehearsal spot, and my mom often warned me to allow myself enough time to get back home before 11.  What started as me beginning to drive faster and faster during the trip home ended as a routine each night, where I would finally allow him to step out of my car just as the clock read 11:00 PM.  
Our first kiss was in that car, my first uncontrollable breakdown was in the car, hell the first time he told me he loved me was in that car…right at the lip of the driveway.  I learned to ride my brakes perfectly to the point where I could park just beyond the edge of the sidewalk yet just before the point where the porch light would flash on, reminding his mother that his son is out past ten on a school night.  It was so warm.  I’ll never forget the cadence of his laughter as it trailed off, seamlessly merging with that next statement “Anna, I love you”.  I could have sworn the porch light went on.  

Now I know it may seem like I don’t care for his being dead right now, but the thing is, I did something.  I did something really bad.

You see, I had mentioned that he was up in his room, right?  Still, stiff, simply waiting to be brought down in a few hours as the catalyst to another round of tears.  Now don’t get me wrong, I did my share of crying the night before.  He’d been in the hospital for only a few days and when they told us he was dead…God, he was just so young, two years into college, the friend you have who was chasing his dreams down with a brand new pair of sneakers.  That kid the whole town knew because of the multitude of silly town functions he attended.  He would always insist.  Every other weekend was one silly thing or another “Oh you’re gonna love this.  Two words – ‘Poetry showdown’.  If you can’t take the heat, don’t stay in the kitchen”
The day of the funeral I just had to see him.  I snuck up the two floors to his room on the third floor.  As I neared his door at the top of that final flight of stairs each creak of the floorboard seemed to resonate through the house, followed by the hollow silence of my stillness.  I paused with each step as if stepping in larger spans of time would make what I was doing seem less suspicious, should someone hear me.  Upon touching his doorknob I felt an immediate chill. I couldn’t tell whether it was some ghostly feeling of being in the presence of a dead person, or the fact that the thermostat had been turned down to keep his body prime for viewing.
I held my breath as I opened the door, and blinked a couple times when I saw him.  He was wearing what everyone else was in downstairs, black tuxedo and a dark tie.  I know he would have scowled had he known he was going to be buried in a constricting penguin suit.  We had a conversation about it, you know?  Out on Academy Hill, right in the middle of a picnic. We were in enough shade that his transition lenses were only half tinted, and when he sat up, it was abruptly.  Pushing my head off his chest he kind of leaned in to the cemetery in the distance and pointed out how sad it is that no one really ever gets the chance to choose how they want to spend the rest of eternity dressed in.  He would have preferred his puma sneakers, still white after seven months, his striped green and blue socks, his only pair of ripped designer jeans and that express shirt he loved so much because it showed off his natural physique.  
I moved closer, inching toward him at first, then quicker as I broke through a place where I just relaxed, and for a moment he wasn’t dead.  For a moment he was just sleeping, all ready in his fancy get up simply waiting for me to wake him up.  I found myself sitting next to him, my eyes cast downward, half expecting his gaze to meet mine, and while stroking his hair I got an idea.  It happened quickly, and I kind of have a problem with acting upon my impulses, it’s something he used to criticize me on that and I never really improved.  Without thinking I threw open his drawer and pulled out what I knew he’d have wanted to be dressed in, should he have gotten the chance to create a will concerning his death-wear.  As I pulled of his starchy shirt my hand brushed against his chest, chilled as the room was, eerie as nothing else.  I finally got him down past his pants and saw, of all abominations, that he was outfitted in a fresh pair of tighty whities.  God, it’s as if the funeral home was asking to be haunted by his tormented soul.  I found his single pair of silk boxers and reassembled him in the way I knew he’d have wanted to be.
So great, now everyone will think I’m a loon for having desecrated his body.  Well what do they know; I’m the only one who ever really knew him! But how the hell would I explain it to his parents when the pallbearers march in and there he is, laying face up in his street clothes?  
This wasn’t right.  He didn’t belong here, he needed to be somewhere comfortable, someplace he enjoyed, not sitting upstairs in a suit with the lights off and the air blasting.  He hated the cold!  Certainly he would have hated a hundred people staring at his dead and lifeless shell, and he would, without a doubt, hate being six feet under, pushing daises at the Nichols Road cemetery.
I wrapped my arms around him, and as the building adrenaline made my breaths deepen I inhaled several moments of ecstasy off his clothes that still clung to his musty scent.  I lowered him gently to the floor and took care as I dragged him across the carpet to his door.  After fumbling, for what felt like several minutes, on his door handle I got him onto the awning introducing the stairs.  I even made it down the first flight of stairs without freezing up at the tiniest creak when I heard someone coming my way.  ******, they must need to use the bathroom, why couldn’t they just use the one downstairs like any normal person?  Without hesitation I throw open up the window near bottom of the stairs, heaving myself and him, sending us tumbling onto the garage roof.  Ignoring my probable bruises I spring up and slam the window behind me while taking special care to hide us both as far away from the bathroom window as possible.
Sitting up there, my heart racing, I felt his hand in mine and it was probably because my palms had gone clammy but I swear for a span of time he was alive again.  I closed my eyes and felt the breeze in my hair and was transported to a place where I spent a single moment in each day we ever shared.  Each beach side sandcastle, each afternoon spent cloud gazing, those same afternoons turning into evenings of star gazing, each and every night spent utterly and irrevocably lost with this silly boy that chose to love me.  
I was torn from my oasis as I heard the bathroom’s occupant exit and continue downstairs.   Knowing that my van was parked on the other side of the street I pushed his body as close to the edge of the roof as I could without his falling off and let him be. I hopped back inside and ran downstairs, but not before flying through the doors of the memorial and interrupting his mothers eulogy.  In an act of sheer brilliance I mustered a few tears and tore out the back door.  Everyone figured I was just so taken away by his death that I couldn’t stand to be there anymore.  Who knew anxiety could be mistook for remorse so easily?
I ran down the driveway, losing the grace I had composed in my dress in high heels the moment I slammed that door.  I jumped into Emmet, my van, because only crazy people drive around in un-named vehicles.  
I pulled out of my spot, nearly ruining the paint job on both my and his Uncle Ed’s car.  I flew my trunk door open and set the third row down, the general idea being his landing securely in my back seat.  I reversed up the driveway with the precision of a surgeon and the speed of a leopard right back to the edge of the garage where I had tossed his body.  I jumped out of my car nearly forgetting to put it into park before I shut off the engine.  I barely got halfway around my car before becoming transfixed on his hand, hanging off the gutter as if reaching for mine to grab hold and pull him to sweet salvation.  I jumped up a few times, unsuccessfully before I took off my shoes and got a good running start.  I flew up, grabbed his arm and ****** towards the car in a sideways downward motion.  He nearly cracked his head on the pavement coming down, he would have too if it wasn’t for my body breaking his fall.  I got up, too distracted by the sheer volume of my own heart to realize the pain I felt.  I shoved him into my back seat, slammed the trunk, stumbled into the car, stuck it in reverse and stepped on gas without even putting my shoes back on.

I told you I had done something bad.

meanwhile,

the Big Fat Yellow Bootay
was getting right tired of
waiting for the election to end.

so,

she set off down the highway
going ninety five...

"HOKEEEY POKEEEY!" she cried
as she gunned the engine and
threw herself in gear.

"HOKEEEY POKEEEY!  MOTHER *******!"
twice she cried,
"HOKEEEY POKEEEY!  MOTHER *******!"
this second time
for extra good luck
with the unfolding election.

cool Fall breeze caressed
her yellow metal,
her big fat yellow bootay,
a glorious day to
be out on a drive!

well, except where she had
come from.

beep beep
beep beep
always driving her
beep beep beeping insane!

it shore nuf was quiet
out this way!

she turned the shiny
silver dial to turn on the
radio.
'gonna have to get me
some better speakers
one day soon.' she thought
to her big fat bus self.

and what came out blasting?

"That's Alright Mama,"
by who else?
but the King!
Elvis!

Elvis has left the building
and now,
Elvis is ON THE BUS!

she didn't quite know all
of the words,
but what the ****,
she sure could sing!

As the big fat bus
with the big fat bootay
was driving along,
singing joyfully,
she glanced in the rear
view mirrow and what
did she see?

why the ghost of Elvis himself
was sitting right there
right in the back of the bus.

He starts strumming on his
own guitar and singing,
'that's alright mama.."

so she turned off the
radio to listen
to the ghost of
the King,
Elvis,
himself,
singing in the back
of her big fat yellow bootay!

she also watched him eating
a lot of food
in the back of the bus,
her bus.

his ghostly figure
seemed to
fluctuate between fat Elvis,
and skinny Elvis,
like a seesaw.

by and by
says he,

(not the really fat one
but not the really skinny one
neither.)

'I need a pit stop.'
says the King

so the big fat bus,
with the big fat yellow bootay,
asks,
asks she,
'you wanna stop at the next
stop & go,
or
the next
fizz & wizz,
or
my fav if you really
need a constitutional,
the stop & plop?'

at this particular junction in time
this ghostly King,
was in the shape
of Fat Elvis
but very cooly outfitted,
bellbottoms and rhine stones
or were those all diamonds?

note to self,
the big fat bus
squirreled away,
check on that.
are those real or not?
more mulha is always
good
and this just might
be mana from heaven
in the form of Elvis the KING
himself
and maybe just one
of those diamonds
will fall out and
get lost in me.'

mighty strange happenings
going on around here in this
big fat bus
with the big fat yellow bootay.

' the stop and plop little mama,' elvis replied
with that
ohhhh,
soooooo,
divine Elvis drawl
and that darling little
thing he did with his mouth,
but was doing now
as he was sitting there in the
back of HER big fat bus
with HER big fat yellow bootay!

OH MY,
it really is a
HOKEY POKEY day!  she sighed.....

Zebra-striped cushion covers on soft-white chairs,
cream topped calorie delights, inviting -
this patisserie in Nairobi:
"you're welcome" the smartly outfitted
African girl spoke in flawlessly accented English
as I pore over the menu - a posh girl
dressed in haute denim and a sleeved top
walks in and spoke French in pouted lips
as she found her corner spot, reading;
an Asian couple walk in, wife in hijab
and baby in tow, as the man sneers at me and
answers 'assalamu alaikum' on phone
as I ponder on identity when
the French matron in Yoga tops walks in
saying namaste to me, and calls out for Henry -
her outfitted and bespectacled pomeranian
oh don't we all want to be someone else

Crackling criss-crossing blue in mind. It scissors down the lanes through the pipes and tubes and little dividers. Electrical mind numbing beauty. Veins-bursting in excited anticipation. Convulsions and scenic skittering routes. Into the Nexus! Here simmers what we are thinking and believing. Our mind's eye focuses and drips into the pool until completion. Psionic figures dance flicker through life existence. Pulse-width fluctuations. Tiny menagerie of our Will. Scribbling through dusted panes of time interface. All afire with ourselves once we have discovered ourselves. Nano-tech emotions. Hope fear anger mercy curiosity buzzing swarms of grey goo jibbering and bubbling in an artificial mind-****. What is all this allusion? Nothing complicated. Speculation on future times where sensual technological biological singularity is paramount. In my room where the clocks are taped over and the sun is dark and dim. Through the windows I see myself. The boxes on the floor emanate simple clickings with melodies intertwined casually. I myself appear redundant. I have done this and so have others. To discuss oneself is worthless unless you become convinced you are another entity gazing back across the room. I feel I am being watched. I become cautious as he may have noticed. Tingling weightlessness tickles in waves in both heads. The Jazz Classic appears. Old dark men and women in hazy environments. Organic supposition or cold observation? Both hold importance so let us appreciate it all. The cello quivers and hums with vibration. Fingers callused and riveted like the age-old corn field bother still strings. A child hums to just myself. What does he want? I never asked him for an audience. Yet he freely gives it to me. Now he multiplies. Or she? Children confuse and cause one to be apprehensive. Nothing and silence. Silence in movement. Cease my visual stimulation for a couple seconds each. The child is back. What does he speak? Pray inside the rubble? Heal in this place? In disgrace? I do not know. His octaves are meshing together. Whining and thrumming with strange alterations. Some madmen tweaks my ears. Maybe he knows the child? I'm not sure. Let us continue on. The flute is the child. Old cello, you have stopped? These musings mean nothing. I would look upon them in a year and think nothing of it. Yet it feels as if this time is important. Da Vinci knocks on the door. Not as if I wanted to talk to it. Wouldn't mind I suppose. He is gone. We talked but I do not remember the conversation. Perhaps we've all talked but we just don't remember our conversations. That's ridiculous though. Then anything is possible. We could have flown to the moon on scarlet weasels outfitted with the latest nano-pores that secreted pure liquid indulgence. And we did because I just imagined we might have. However, I don't remember actually doing it. Just what I thought it might have been like. How frustrating. My thoughts are the same as all others who write out their thoughts when under the influence of yourself. It always seems like some thing is scuttling near my feet or under the nightstand; just out of view. Strange. I would be afraid. No reason to fear that which doesn't bother me. No reason to fear much of anything. That's been said before. Why are we so often concerned with saying that which has been said before? Cliche? auump-ump auump-ump auump-ump little thumping noise in my ears. That vibration is calming. Every night I am awake. Every day I seem asleep. I do not like it but I do not care yet I allow it to be what it will. Vision defaults to out of focus. My eyes always cross if I cease trying to control them. People are strange. Animals are strange. Same thing I guess. Someone will find that clever. Someone will find it cliche. This someone won't care. ****** fantasy permeates day to day. More entertaining than living a fantasy though. ***. Not that entertaining. Perhaps no one knows how to do it properly anymore. Maybe we never did. Maybe some people are just disenchanted with it. When I'm by myself, I never have any ****** desire. When around others, I generally think of it out of curiosity: what would it be like to please the person in front of me? The only enjoyment I've had with *** would consist of pleasing another or observing another ****. The human body is intriguing. Definitely. I really do think so. Sometimes I look at my own. Not out of appreciation really. Just the fact that I have body allows me to investigate it and understand it more. Pain is merely a stage one can get past, so I suppose I injure myself sometimes to see how I react. It's like I need to check I'm still working properly. I can't tell when I'm tired. I feel something, but when I ask myself if I'm tired, I murmur back, "I don't know." Maybe that is why I stay up till early mornings? I wanted to add again that the human body is beautiful and unappealing all in the same space. Perhaps the unattractiveness and softness and strangeness produces attraction. A negative and a negative equals a positive. Three negatives likes to fluctuate. In my mind at least. I may ask another to remove their clothing and whatnot during those intimate moments. Eh, never quite feel like having *** though. I like the emotions and sensuality of just looking at someone. They usually want to physically play around with each other. I think I enjoy fighting more. One day I'll leave everyone except I'll reminisce on those I enjoyed meeting. Maybe come back and visit? I would like to ride something quickly through an empty desert. Find my own food and water. Create shelter. Think by myself. My room is the smallest desert I have and the biggest. I have more in my head but I only occupy one at a time. I suppose I like I do like things like all others. I mean, materials can be nice. If I impart meaning on to an object it gains importance. I see it vital to also say that if it were to be lost, then I wouldn't mind and I would obtain something else or nothing at all.The constitution. Just mentioned by some woman in my room. Or in my ears would be more correct. Constitutional Rights. I honestly don't see the need for them. I was criticized for burbling that once. We should not need a constitution. We should be able to do what we like to do without fear or concern. Unless natural fear and concern appears. Now that may confuse a bit. Right to bear arms. I shouldn't have to be told or allowed to massive bear arms if I feel the need to have them. Big hairy bear arms. Curious little mishap. Freudian slip as Johnny said once? Danger Danger. Anyway, Right to bare arms. I shouldn't have to be told, as I look back,  go back and throw in that comma after told, that I'm allowed to bare arms and defend myself. I'll just do it if the need arises. Freedom of speech. That already has many issues these days. However, there shouldn't have been a need to tell people they have freedom of speech. Speech should have been freely allowed and never oppressed in  the first place. Theme? We have erred so much in the past and I would think sometimes we ignore that and just try make little cosmetic fixes by saying it's okay. Another point. Hold that: side discomfort. I sometimes feel like a little spider or creature is crawling or skittering on my leg under the covers or I'll change the music to Galaxy 2 Galaxy 90's hi-tec jazz there we go. Done! Now back! Or I forget what I said about the spiders. Another point: what? ******, curse damnable ****. Can't recollect what it was I was connecting together. Something that tied in to deceiving people into things are okay. I could go on about consumerism and all that jazz. Instead I'm listening to some techno-jazz whatever-decided-to-call-it. Hyphenated phrases are fun when I decide they are appropriate. English and grammar in such can be cool but at the same time I want to say **** it and stay proper. Do both. Acknowledge how to write and speak "correctly," but as long as someone understands what you are trying to say, then why correct more? Someone large doesn't like the fact I make a lot of noise in the morning. I stole some speakers and subwoofer from the room next to me as I was going to say Austin.  They are on the floor and whichever large person lives below me is probably annoyed or was. I don't spend any of my actual time despising them, but I'll easily say I despise them when someone asks. Otherwise it isn't worth wasting time on. Perhaps the vibration quivers downstairs and shakes them silently. The greate beast is perturbed and sneaky vibrations cause electro-annoyance! Her pulsewidth as I understand it must be like a super-saw as I think it. Silence. Some woman said it's just a feeling. HEA not sure what why I put that sounds like a garageband song. Switched to Inspiration! That is what I did this night. Finally start writing and making things again. Even though I never did and always did. My head sometimes hurts from thinking. Never truly though. Gotta say those things to keep the conversation going. That is really the only reason I say anything. To keep the conversation going. Otherwise I'd just watch people and be just fine. Just yelled "bahh," out loud (didn't sound the comma) because I felt the need or the want. Same. Wrong keys erased. sdas=a====dddddddddd Sorry. Oh well. Oh My. How the time flies goodbye. Going nowhere. Could write more but I felt the slight flicker of wanting to stop. So I do. What an ending. Now I'm only typing to continue the conversation with myself. Just thought ******* sounds good melody. Do as I sayt way to go good job. STOPSDMFA

****** a

Guess I'll read this little conundrum I wrote up. Stop writing ******. Stop EDITING

With them my limitations were removed I was not suffering from any of the eye ailments

Although I need a gift that only She could supply a seeing heart not the closed blind one

That I posses in the counseling of her tenderness I found the best that was hidden from

Me tools that bind but all they contain is the Unattainable mystery a knowing heart

Of intuition’s magic lens without distortion through tears and a heart that is exalted by

Them we tarry in bending light that probes and produces crystal clarity from sea sights

That shapes a mind that is far reaching with great depths of expression pressure alone

Can give fortunes of wisdom by destiny’s Design Mountain and streams flow into

Dreams Uncommon the swirling of expectations cross with true reckoning of a soul

Unchained and guided only by purity set in the bedrock of emotional stead fastness so

Needed in so many places of disquiet he who rules the mind wins the mind at times will

Bridge itself with spiritual insights of character and enterprise one so outfitted cannot

Know long term failure with so much power she does hold me at times spell bound I feel

Wistful with a twinge of listlessness I choose to characterize it as auto pilot where great

Productivity is discovered when you learn to trust look into her full vision it will capture

All that is void and troublesome and replace it with active creativity there is solidarity

That is in your power to engage the quote she is not just a pretty face is more than just

Cute its factual the vibrancy left unclaimed makes us build with inferior mortar we are

Set To build a life and we deny our selves because from these liquids’ pools come

Salutation reflection the stirring of instinct the water shed of well being the treading of

Paths set fire by glory within her is nobility and airy truth of stature one that is gleaming

The light so strong that darkness has no effect into these pools of delight one enters



Smitten by charm that disarms all caution unspoken is the invitation nothing less one is assured of privacy  it’s like a long lost remembrance of such

Eloquence you slip within its holding power and dissolve a violin plays in quiet shadows

You walk with the feeling that you’re drifting through many yesterdays and your heart

Beats strongly of great promises for tomorrow the world of structures begin to vanish

One by one as walls of resistance falls away in her continued gaze you stand riveted in

Joy you are the only two in the world just two hearts beating the thunder of a water fall

Can be heard then felt by such emotional weight you are tossed and tumbled in the

Current’s freedom called forth by ecstasy masterful completeness grips you both and

Won’t let go you are conquers you are explorers of different worlds you go deeper

Returning becomes vague two voyagers who see the world anew there is only laughter

In this circus you are on a high wire and you have no fear as you hold hands all

Contention dissolved in this sea of love and friend here is the greatest part these eyes

Are only for you enjoy your relationship with your beloved

Single life is sweet
And a lover’s life is a dream
But then there is that
                 Space in between
That doesn’t seem real
At all.
It’s the fall
From cloud nine

To the loneliest limbo.

It’s watching sparkling sugar coated single earthlings
Below show off their uncommitted free spirited
Confectioner outfitted
Figures and naked fingers
Bubblegum ******* blazers
And frosted fickle flaked fedoras
Suiting each been-there-done-that suitor
In runway Yong Wild and
Free

And then you see
Above
Airy fairy angels in love
Wearing pale peachy perfection
And creamy chiffon
Adorned in pearly promises
Baby’s breath and fresh roses
French kisses and rubbing noses
And of course
The stupid
Valentine’s Day cards.

But you are far
Away from either world
You are a girl
In silent confinement
Trapped
On Cloud Five nothingness
Like a time bomb
A volatile child
Ready to explode
At any moment
So kept
In icy isolation
So that no one
Could hear the cries
Of your eruption.

Kicking pine cones , hands in pockets with my favorite scarf on ..
Outfitted like a business man with something important to decide ,
a lawyer testing a juries intellect , like an important subversive agent with a clandestine government ...
Walking the fence line , dressed to save the world someday , my flashy duds turning heads , yet their only clothes , and clothes never did make the man so they say !
Fancy leather gloves , gold cuff links , cashmere sweater with well planned schemes ..
Upscale hero with a prominent address , four star restaurants , high end assets ..
Caviar and red wine , penthouse vista .. Fancy cigars and first class tickets ..
I'm still Cocoa Cola , cheese and crackers , homemade biscuits ..
Forever overalls , laying hens and sour mash whiskey ..

I outfitted my worn-out clothes
Then in the far mirror, I see myself
I look behind the old me
Look pass the masked he wears,
Staring…  

After what seems like a few seconds,
I finally asked him;

“Have I neglected you?”

He didn’t answer…
A single tear fell in his left eye
And then I understood…

“I am sorry, I let you stay behind
masked for too long
muffled you for quite some time.
We all know society is cruel place to be.
We need to be strong and I needed to be stronger.
It was for our sake.
But then it was just me being a coward
                            - afraid to faced reality.

Now look at us, we’re both crying for the decisions
we’ve made long ago. It was not your fault,
I’m to blame with all of this crap.
I made you do it, I convinced you with my
Fears. And I am truly sorry for that.”

I break down into sobs. He simply hugs me, not saying anything.
Then he fades away.

I dried away the tears I shed
And found something,
     a feeling I never knew he give.
I found forgiveness.
I was able to forgive myself
From the things I did.
To stay past the past mistake,
To face the new kinda old me…

Then I realized;
It is important to forgive yourself
To be able to move forward.





written 09/27/2014
*© Pax

you never liked me
i was your second choice
i was your insanity
outfitted in black
bleak rain drops caress my face
but i mistake them for tears
i mistake them for feelings of
regret
remorse
sadness
filling me up, i'm about to burst
so please just say it
out loud
you cheated
on
me

That Special Touch owner Terry Kutsko broadcast an announcement Oct. 15 on her shop’s Facebook page.

“After 10 fantastic years of owning That Special Touch, I have decided to say goodbye,” she wrote at the time.

The message got 15,000 hits, Kutsko said, and an outpouring of comments from saddened patrons.

The store’s inventory went on sale and word on the street was that the shop would shutter its operation for good, Kutsko said. The lease on the space at 544 Washington St. was up Dec. 31, and Kutsko had been diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer in February.

It was time, she said, to focus on her health. She needed to find a buyer, or the beloved bridal gown shop would close.

On the precipice of the New Year, Kutsko had another announcement, one riddled with exclamation points and infused with a happy tone.

“I’m so excited to announce That Special Touch has a new owner and will REMAIN OPEN!!,” Kutsko wrote. “I’m happy to congratulate Traci DeBord on purchasing the bridal shop! She will continue to run it in the same special way that everyone has come to expect, and you will receive the same personal service that we’ve always been known for. We still have some loose ends to tie up, so it will be a few more weeks before she begins taking orders again.”

Something old

Through That Special Touch, Kutsko has outfitted hundreds of brides. She’s dressed up hundreds of prom goers and put plenty of grooms in their tuxes. Although clothes are her focus now, That Special Touch started off as a floral shop. Kutsko had more than 20 years of experience crafting floral arrangements for weddings, working for Petals and Vines. One day, she found herself flipping through the classifieds section of the newspaper. An interior designer was selling off her fixtures, along with a cash register. She opened up shop in the Zaharakos building.

“I had one dad — I was doing flowers for him,” Kutsko said. “He was in the shop and he said to me, ‘I just want to give you one piece of advice. Do what you say you’re going to do. Don’t promise what you can’t come through with.’”

The advice stuck with her as her business grew. To supplement her floral business, she ordered a few dresses. Then she ordered a few more. Then she added tuxes.

When Zaharakos expanded, Kutsko moved to the 500 block of Washington Street. Eventually, she took over the storefront next to her. Now, That Special Touch has five dressing rooms and is pleasantly stocked with wedding dresses, prom dresses and tuxes.

“I never really planned to have this whole big bridal shop,” Kutsko said. “It just really grew over the last 10 years.”

When Hillary Apple was preparing for her wedding, she saved for last her visit to That Special Touch.

“I kind of knew in the back of my mind that it wasn’t going to feel right buying a dress anywhere else,” Apple said.

Apple had purchased her prom dress at That Special Touch — a gold-colored dress with gathering that reminded her of the formal gown Belle wore in Disney’s animated “Beauty and the Beast.”

“Terry provides high-end looks, but it’s not too expensive,” Apple said. “It feels like you’re in a high-end bridal salon, but you’re treated more like family.”

For as much happiness as her dresses generate, Kutsko feels the magic every day.

“I think the dresses themselves are gorgeous,” she said. “When the right girl puts it on, that’s when the magic happens. I know that sounds kind of corny. When you can match a person with the right dress and make them feel fantastic about themselves, that’s the best thing.”

Something new

Her cancer diagnosis didn’t spell an immediate end for the shop. Kutsko spent 2015 battling the disease, which was found in her breast, lungs, liver and on her spine. The cancer, she said, is now inactive.“I’m doing a ton better,” she said. “I just really want to work on building up my endurance and feeling super healthy. I’m going to have to continue to fight this.” A few years ago, Traci DeBord had purchased her wedding dress at That Special Touch. Actually, the dress was a prom dress — shorter than the typical wedding dress, and executed in ivory with black accents. The MainSource Bank employee liked the shop’s Facebook page and, when she saw Kutsko’s post about the search for a buyer, remarked to her husband that it would be fun to own a bridal shop. And then she continued to think about it. DeBord met with Kutsko and, by Dec. 29, had worked out a deal. DeBord would leave her financial job and buy the dress shop.

DeBord, who has a blended family of four boys, has always wanted a little girl to dress up.

“Now I get to do that every day,” DeBord said.

She will take over Feb. 1.

“I think I’m going to feel a sense of accomplishment, but also a little scared,” DeBord said. “But I have the comfort of knowing that Terry is just a phone call away.”

It is a special shop that Kutsko is handing over.

“Sometimes, at the end of the day, when you’re turning the lights out, you just look around the shop,” Kutsko said. “It is really just a magical business.”

readmore:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses

http://www.marieaustralia.com

Bullets littered the black pavement. Each clip for each man. Groups who did not see eye to eye, has made this once respectable street a storm of misunderstanding. A worn car outfitted for the mission at hand skid to a stop. The ruthness confrontation waged forward, caught a a brutal stalemate. The men and guns forced a futile attempt to charge in. Soon the streets became littered with the organs of loyalty. Only hours later, the winds whipered stories of total loss for all. Mill and Main was left with decomposition, and a car. Rusting over time.

she has eyes like ice
and a mohawk the shade
of bubblegum

she's an artist
and a misfit
outfitted in
ethereal attire
the flows off her
alabaster skin
like wisps of shadow
or tuffs of smoke

she chews on her lower
lip when she thinks you
aren't looking and has
a nervous habit of
biting her nails
the polish is chipped
and cracked in some
places and sorely
needs a new coat

at first glance you
might think her fragile
but the subtle smirk
that tugs at either side
of her mouth belies a
quiet confidence
a take-no-prisoners
sensibility
a ****-it-all
attitude

not grounded in apathy
but nurtured in non-compliance
her lack of conformity is more
than some youthful
stage of defiance

she is disobedient and
everyone says they're afraid of her
that she scares them senseless
but i kissed her once and
we stayed friends after
i think she knows me better
than i know myself

she stands in the corner
of seedy concert halls as
cigarettes leave a haze above
the heads of pre-teens and
old metal-heads nurse their
alcoholic beverages
everyone pretends she is
somewhere—or even
someone—else

but not me
we stand together
sometimes we hold hands
and i catch her smiling
out of the corner of my eye
from time to time

You and I,
We could entertain ourselves
With a single word,
A moment in the valley,
With only the stars as our witness,
A shot of our favorite bourbon,
Or even just the sound of the trees whispering-
Outfitted with only the nakedness of this life
Hands held, lips touching, just our breath.
We could have everything and more.
You’ll just never know it,
Until you open your eyes.

There is the ancient story of a shepherd boy
whose king outfitted him with armor
to ready him for the challenges of the day
and the boy could not walk
so he threw off the armor
picked up his sling
and tended his father’s flock
with peace and joy freely erupting in song.

My armor is not wealth or wit
I cannot make myself fit
into the current conventions and hype
trying to conform to the normal type
stops up the energies that yearn to flow
freely and gleefully and urge me to go
to the dawn, darkness, clouds and sun
to wrap myself in words that run
like sparkling streams
and windswept dreams.

Poetry is my armor for each day
where worries and problem allay
where I search my feelings and mind
for the word elixir loosening knots that bind.
This armor does not weigh me down
but frees me to my triggering town
where I find and create the poet me
and the landscape of my soul’s poetry.

.1. when I said I had a odd sum of days clean
she said "I count on your days the way a catholic counts on rosary beads"
but I'm no saint and I'm destined to let you down again

2. when I have nightmares it's just my dad crying over my dead body
and she wonders why I never call when I never know what to say

3. I started skipping my meds again because I got sick of feeling normal
now I'm starting to see my dead mother every time I look in the mirror

4. I think my point is life is becoming a very morbid place to be
and I think about killing myself every time I wake up
but what if the last time I hugged my dad was dripping from the shower that he wrenched me from and outfitted in steel hand cuffs

what if I never hear her say she loves me again

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It was late in November, and dad got a call
that a hiker near Teller had taken a fall.
He had outfitted many a party before,
and responding when needed was never a chore.

"It's an hour to Teller then one more by boat
I took ****** with me", he had left us a note,
for my mother and I had gone shopping in Nome
and he'd not make it  back by the time we'd get home.

The next morning the troopers were summoned once more
for no help had arrived on that desolate shore.
When the search and rescue had responded in force
they had searched for the boat and my father, of course.
But the searching proved futile though traces were found
indicating that somehow the boat had gone down.

A survival suit floating unused simply meant
that my father'd not planned then to go where he went.
The men hunted for days- it was almost a week,
then the weather conditions became much too bleak.

Both my mother and I were consumed by our grief;
that our anchor was gone was beyond our belief.
All the neighbors brought food by and offered their prayers
but my mom would just thank them with blank distant stares.

Then she finally collapsed, at the end of her rope;
her religion had failed her, she'd run out of hope.
I tried to be supportive and brave through it all
then I'd walk by the ******'s food bowl and I'd bawl.
And though Christmas was coming we'd set up no tree
to suggest something merry would be travesty.

When the storms had all passed and the winds had suspended
we borrowed boats belonging to men he'd befriended.
Those men wanted to know that at least they could try
but to say they held hope would be speaking a lie.

The sun's rays so golden when we set out that morn,
but as twilight was falling; most all were forlorn.
We had sailed out from Teller and cruised to the coast
and we searched likely places from least to the most.

'Twas the trip driving home that impacted my heart.
It was useless and dumb, why the hell did I start.
It was twenty-nine miles and a good hour's more drive
to a wilderness area where he couldn't survive.
I was young and impetuous, foolish as well
but if those men thought that the case one couldn't tell.

'Twas the day before Christmas, the morning was bright
I awoke with a vision I'd seen in the night-
without waking my mom I called my dad's best friend
"It is early I know, can we try it again?"

I made myself a lunch and left mother a note,
then under way again- a truck towing the boat.
Appointees to another task most likely sad
set about the uncompleted search for my dad.

I suggested that we this time bear to the west,
I had no explanation, don't know why- just guessed.
The landfall we had targeted, shrouded by fog
that cleared as we drew closer- and I saw my dog!
Unexpected tears fell and yet I did not care.
for then ****** retreated to lead us somewhere.

In a snow cave, injured, immobile, weak and thin
was my dad whom I had thought I'd not see again.
He'd survived with shared rabbit served raw and unspiced.
but said he'd never tasted a meal quite so nice.

And while he doesn't know how he got to the shore
he suspects he owes ****** that and much more.
"Twas the night before Christmas and one family knew
if you care for your dog he might take care of you.

© Lawrencealot - December 23, 2013

wana make a devils brew
maybe you already have
its easy
just want something with all your heart
and never get it despite every effort
have you suffered an accumulation of insults and deprivations
is it not like eating barbed wire and rocks
a chewed claw
that lacerates the pallet
and tears the throat
as it goes down

loves corpse
the burial of the unrequited
a devil is dragged to life out of that grave
its every impulse retribution

if you don't kiss me
ill bite you
if you don't love me
ill hate you
if you don't caress me
ill beat you
if you don't **** me
ill **** you
if you think me ugly
ill disfigure you
if you intimidate me
ill darken your soul with fear
if you ignore me
ill stalk you
if you take from me that which i have not given
i will grow teeth
like cleavers a glitter
and eat all your dreams
if you enslave me
i will strip you of freedoms privilege
if you look at me sideways
i will curse your soul
with a blink-less evil eye

he is here on earth by gods decree
hurled down
to this head stone of a planet
this mud ball coffin
to kick the guile and ignorance out of us
force our evolution
all this submerged
underneath our civility
and good manners

if you want to see it
look at your own reflection
and make a face of horrors
roll your eyes wide widdershins
disapproving
are you not ghastly

the sin is not the skin
it is the limits of mind

we live in a world of devils fighting devils
each shrunken creature
thinking themselves godly
ridding war chariots
outfitted
with square wheels
and appalling blood stained hooks

is that not the history of the world
is Satan not a deity
an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth
GODS GIFT!

they were no more than little green plastic soldiers
outfitted with rifles and ammo belt
as a child they were set up as to be in battle
the foe was unknown
it was just how we played
what fun it was to pretend army

the cold war was waging
the threat of missiles
Russian missiles so close to our own shores
being launched from Cuba brought fear
we were still young and didn't really understand the danger
we continued to play army
marching with sticks we pretended were rifles
ready to take cover in the shelters we made in the vacant field
we were still having our fun
playing army

now grown up
many of my generation sit in congress
they still have their toy soldiers
they're no longer green
the weapons no longer resemble the rifles of our youth
and the toys they play with
are no longer plastic
they continue to put them to battle in other lands
they are still having fun
playing army

Sometimes
I wish for a smaller heart,
single chambered,
with no excess capacity,
efficiently run, solitary,
tailored for one, outfitted perfectly,
with no room for give,
nothing wasted, unforgiving.

Sometimes
I wish for lower mileage,
less wear and tear,
a more careful owner,
not given over to road trips
to the beach,
to late night romance,
like in the movies.

Sometimes
preloved is prone to hurt.
Sometimes
I wish for less capacity
for love.

he Evergreen Deal (A Solution to Climate Change)
Parlor Talk: The Evergreen Deal
so how do we REALISTICALLY  tackle the behemoths of careworn luxuries inoculated by degrees of wavy insouciant myopia that is too heavily invested in insuperable aristocratic prerogative rather than far-sighted eleemosynary altruism carved indelibly into the priorities of a growing desperation among world powers to heal our society with pragmatism rather than quixotic charades of intensive mobilization beyond the snatches of rigorous logic that they often neglect poorly conserved energy? We do it by taking steps to limit our consumption of materials that contribute to pollution, incentivize recycling for all appliances and in many cases plan biodegradable packaging rather than the dross of the antiquated strategies of disposal but this is obviously a phased rather than immediate solution. Absolutely central to this bipartisan proposal is that we should facilitate the adoption of more aggressive enlistment of the smart prerogative of adopting electric vehicles and relying more heavily on Hybrid Cars and what better way to do this than be ensuring that the limited range of pure galvanized altruism can be met with an infrastructure that ensures that a vast majority of gas stations punctuated in urban necessity, rural rarity and suburban commonplace greatly sanctions the prerogative of an environmental conscience to swim in the luxury of fully-enabled cross-continent travel with a considerable marginal decrease of fossil fuel footprints. We should not also stoop to the economics of purebred Fossil Fuel cartels that have a vested interest in forestalling advanced leaps in Hydrogen Fuel and the enlarged traction of electric power that discounts the environmental hinderbaggle rather than enthuses the already fickle demand which thrives in undeveloped nations that America, Canada and Europe can find quicker ways to expedite the adoption of revolutionary technologies forestalled by venality.  We should also lean on renewable energy with moderate economic sanctions that deregulate the arena of clean energy with tax incentives and shift the burden away from fossil fuel consumption by using complex econometric contingency analysis and deft marketing strategies that provide advantage to communities that rely on clean energy with free market emphasis. We should also hold fair and equitable talks about the proportional distribution of pollution and provide recourse and almsgiving for countries because of economic laxities rely on fossil fuels too heavily that need international assistance. We should also limit our showers to 5-7 minutes a day to conserve water and avoid baths whenever possible. It should be no surprise to anyone that people like Elon Musk (an Andrew Yang Democrat) are indebted to the powerful barnstorm of the ‘Kanye West’ visionaries that recognize the integral need for a bipartisan stroke of compromise that streamlines a heavily subsidized industrial rampage that proselytizes the advances in electric vehicles to find more universal pragmatic application. The wiredrawn quixotic prerogatives of the benumbed aboriginal Green New Deal which became a walking Nielsen test to field the discernment of the people that jump without conscientious refrains or the rigmarole of a growing environmental congress is telling in its original reception among the United States Senate. “In the 116th United States Congress, it is a pair of resolutions, House Resolution 109[8] and S. Res. 59, sponsored by Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-NY) and Sen. Ed Markey (D-MA). On March 25, 2019, Markey's resolution failed to advance in the U.S. Senate in a margin of 0–57, with most Senate Democrats voting "present" in protest of an early vote called by Republicans It is clear that the environmental scourge that is the watershed of such decisive age in an epoch of demassified balkanization deserves a worthy emulation of the bipartisan ideals that harmonize the exigent efforts of reform without plastering the pretense of excessively gouged ******* that is a faltering malice of rudimentary extremism rejected by the vast majority of the discerning.
Greta Thunberg is admirable but the quixotic “Green New Deal” is too drastic for our economy to bear and it will create duress and potentially tank the economy because it is drastically overweight and an encumbrance on relatively free properly micromanaged and macromanaged economies that fuel speculative booms and provide bonanzas for inventive ingenuity in the arena of conservation science. We need geotechnic optimization on a global scale that asks of the people but does not mandate them to use providence and husbandry without asseverating ridiculous ploys to curb necessities like air travel and agricultural waste from cows like Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez suggests. We should create infrastructure projects but ensure that they mobilize proliferative on a moderate scale (that doesn’t ruin the private sector or indebt our nation too much with a debt burden growth) rather than boondoggles of stagnation that provide decent wages but only marginal gains in our strategic leverage to mobilize our resources with celerity tact and central command. We should consider multilateral agreements with the world that address these issues with dedicated science at the forefront of the vanguard propagating renewable energy and, in some cases providing means for nuclear power in areas that are not seismically vulnerable and well-contained. Nevertheless my heavy suspicion is that Donald Trump (in a widely jeered move misunderstood by many but obvious to the delegated diplomats more privy to the tertiary aims and secondary burdens lopsided against United States commitment despite the fact that the majority of the rambunctious ramshackle pollution is propitiated in a benumbed negligence among countries that should find more reasons to be obligated to a fairer agreement that doesn’t shortchange the United States) I firmly believe Trump withdrew because he realized a global problem was being levied with intolerable onerous burdens of an extremely lopsided bureaucratic mismanagement of a problem that needs to be shifted to many countries with a greater fairness in shared moral duty to carve a prosperous environmentally-centered priority.
The future starts here with us right now recognizing that we need to be smart but not hasty in development of deliberatively expedient by gradually phased geotechnically sound architecture and greenhouse farming in urban regions that can create urban forests for both verdure and pulchritude. Nevertheless because of corporate demands there should be zero impetuous mandates placed on any major corporations, but minor subsidies should be provided to encourage global outcomes. We will be greatly enhanced if to the Amazon and Africa (which needs some leveraged aid) to provide the leverage necessary to combat the aleatory vagaries of conflagration by creating fleets of airplanes armed with powerful agents of extinguishing chemicals that don’t endanger the topsoil even though most are proven innocuous.
The best way to secure a clinched future is to prevent unwieldy economic factures that obvolute the problem by departing too drastically from a free market model that emphasizes designing non-ergonomic structural models for architecture and infrastructure and to ensure that the process of recycling is a net decrease in emissions by streamlining the recycling process over the course of the next four to eight years. Heavy polluters and chemical factories need stricter oversight especially in their reckless pollution of the worlds oceans and rivers and the sanitation system needs a decades-long gradate overhaul so that waste matter doesn’t contaminate the biosphere to the ultimate tragedy of degradation and rancid squalor. Ultimately CFCs are a big menace and certain chemicals contribute more heavily to ozone depletion which fuels the iterative cycles of deglaciation. Another necessity is that we mandate all major geographically distributed gas stations provide electric recharging stations so that electric cross-country car travel is more feasible incentivizing electric cars to reduce emissions. We should also create infrastructure projects in California to create high-speed rail by 2030 so that there is less car-bound cabotage on the west coast which is heavily overpopulated and profligate in their ostentation of rugged individualistic twinges that celebrate bulk and garnish the varnish of luxury but falter in their commitment to a beatific world. This will create needed jobs for the growing population of California and benefit everyone by reducing the air travel burden for local flights. We also must be wary of solvents and aerosols which damage the integrity of atmospheric conditions that could aggravate the greenhouse effect disproportionately for even small-time polluters and this problem is easier to tackle than the global imperative for expedited solutions to mobilize the economy in an efficient way without being too quixotic. Remember, however, some countries in Asia like India need more incentives to stop using fossil fuels because 14 out of the top 15 most polluted cities in the world are in India and their population boom could spell a disaster unless we provide diplomatic synergistic agreements to stem the tide or reckless over-pollution in urban mega cities in developing nations. Once we realize that the United States is not the only problematic nation in the climate change frenzy, we will realize that we need a global quorum to advise synergistic solutions without resorting to excessive taxation. Ultimately one of the best ways to address this problem is to provide incentives for India which is already a nuclear nation to start building nuclear power plants in a phased solution that can be abetted by reducing tariffs and macroeconomic incentives for a quick solution rather than a protracted endangerment of the climate. China is already working diligently to solve this problem, but more attention is needed in some megapolises in China to work for climate solutions with the rest of the world. Some suggest a Carbon Tax, but I am somewhat opposed to the idea unless it is managed carefully and not greedily by tumescent governments looking for a quick bonanza. Ultimately the easiest way to fix the climate crisis is to be very careful about chemical disposal and ensure that aerosols are widely contained with proper ventilation systems that are occluded from affecting atmospheric conditions. This can be done in a stepwise and methodical manner that does not put a burden on the chemical industry but rewards them for slightly stricter standards gradually evolving into sustainable solutions. We don’t need to mandate every gas station to have electric charging but at intermittent geographical intervals there is a necessity to have electric charging stations because they become redundant in urban areas while incentivizing electric and hybrid cars. The United States is not the main contributor to climate change and we can’t eliminate all emissions especially when they are vital to economic security, but these other measures will ensure a better future. Obviously the fossil fuel juggernaut is opposed to many of these reforms but because we exist in a world of sad conveniences that exasperate the mercurial conditions of a world endangered by the potential 22nd century mass migration of those from Bangladesh and the American South we must view some statistics with skepticism while becoming fully invested to prevent a Wall-E world because pollution is not merely a predicate of environmental debauchery but a needed imperative of biodegradable solutions and streamlined recycling that doesn’t incur such heavy energy costs in the rigmaroles of its process. Obviously partisan Republicans worry about Coal Power but such a marginal plucky insistence upon West Virginia in the need to pander shouldn’t outweigh a more global mission to educate the global populations that need to become more conscientious with an expansive conscience that many developing world mistakes require subsidized (potentially to safer degrees that aren’t an excessive drainage) solutions so that bipartisan sheen of a syncretic reform achieves a mobilized objective to restrain the scourge of pollution and inculcate (to the extent that exasperated sophistries designed to instill imperative lies of looming immediacy) the world to become more respectful of their Carbon Footprints. The easiest solutions to heal lie in chemical waste because over time these elements do not degrade and they infiltrate the Ozone Layer and are easier to phase out. The Evergreen Deal tackles many exigent problems and is not riddled by insufficient extremism but moderate bipartisan appeal. In addition we should mobilize fire brigades in every Western European country yet inured to sweltering heat that they might be better outfitted. We should abandon plastic bags and make the world geotechnic in biodegradable solutions

Beginning the movement, catches my eye amidst dead leaves in perplexing folly yet imagined many times before; in between reality and fantastical imagery conjured from a contemplative journey. Awake!

Riding beside the troupe blowing and skimming with a twirl of gaiety and precision, colorful pinwheels taunting beneath a synchronized sequence bequeathed with unknown passage and certain conclusion.

The wind becomes a partner that carries them like a beige velvet flying carpet, dancing to a silent orchestra intention; meandering to a landing pattern meant to rejuvenate yet another design.

They have no destination which is odd. Somehow they are both aware of the vaporous soup filled with magnificent color and lines and nary a thought about where to go; it musn’t be plied for satisfaction.

The mirth of it all! Acting as if there was control over their trip and showing off in a bodacious manner, the pile snaked and flicked its lightening colored tongue along the gray bespeckled pavement. Reciprocation came while the observant outfitted a seat on a similar trolly, arriving by the far sea of imagination.

We are twisted together and unfurled in a maniacal gavotte of sensuous interpretation, transporting us along a path of wafting field grass and bubble-wrapped white pillows of cloud; static except edgeless.

How can this be? We believed we set on foot for arrival only to chuckle later that we have never manifested an anchor of adhesion; understanding that we are perpetual and stirred with a never-ending abundance of transcendence.

Not farther away, not closer to anticipation. Centered in a profusion of ideas and symbiotic embrace; we are wrapped in cavernous layers of gradient billowing fabric that becomes what we see behind our closed eyes. It is never the same…

Once considered turbulence we now know is a replete carriage of weightless feathering, delivering dreams with unexpected alacrity and reassurance.

Now that theatrical scene before me has relevance and authenticity unto itself and my own participation. My attention has been captured and granted free access whenever desired.

The doors to the office
are locked up tight.

The receivers are off
their hooks tonight.

We’re out in the streets
practicing our long division.

The time has come;
gotta make the hard
decisions.


Which side are you on?

Why are we choosing
to glorify a man or
woman, in their
victimizations or
victimhood?

Doing so,
it doesn’t do
anyone any
good.

We allow or encourage
victims to swim in the
**** of their victimhood,
never to come out on the
other side clean?

Am I the only one
who sees this as mean?

More than that,
I find it obscene.

We are making nobody
equal.

This is just another
spike in our collective,
divided skulls.

What makes this
all that much worse,
like a ******* curse;
is that the culture wars
are the only battles
left to be won.

Sow what you wish
to reap.

Reaping kindness,
and willingness
to treat each other
and ourselves like
sons and daughters,
mothers and fathers;

there’s no place more
for this culture war
cannon fodder.

Fox News, god-dammed CNN
pointing out everyone
else’s sins.

They quit looking for any
battle to end;
Hell, they just push the buttons
and the next one begins.

Stay offline,
don’t feed these *******
swine.

Don’t use Face-crook,
they sold the book
a long time ago.

Feeding junk food
to our minds.
Fueling our egos;
leaving us to wonder
where all our time
goes.

The **** bluebird’s
not much better,
defaming our collective characters
in less than 140 letters.

Read a book instead,
lean into the pages
return to your own
thoughts,
exit these New-Millennial
Dark Ages.

We are one people,
we’re of all colors,
of every class,
maintaining our
collective humanity
shouldn’t be such
an unknown
pursuit.

Here we are,
divided,
trying to
feed one another
our own rotten fruit.

Check your personage
at the gate,
it’s already too late.

Or, is it?

“We The People” will
sell and buy us
like cattle going to
slaughter.

They’ll buy the mind
of every son and daughter
in the name of the mighty
dollar.

Taxes, student loans,
medical expenses,
freeloaders or front-loaded
*******, killing ourselves
with AR-15s outfitted with bump
stocks designed to bump stocks and
bonds, gluing our politicians hands inside the
pockets of the NRA lobbyists.

(Look what I did! I’m part of the problem!
Long divisions?
There are other ways
to solve
them.)


Ban it all and band together,
go to the party with the ugly
Christmas sweaters;
instead of badges worn by elephants
or *******.

No more.

Say it loud.

Say it now.

No more long division.

Care and carry the one.

Lift each other up,
enough is enough.

Sign the letter,
the petition,
the promissory note.

With Love,

The Remainder    

*


-JBClaywell

© P&ZPublications

Flavenickers sedigitated by seguidilla dignified by alvantage becomes a hambourne pristine clinamen of climacteric sterkles of headlong tantivy sweenedge reified into apotheosis as the yernage of opportunism becomes a rupestrian spoilsport for vagantes gilded by nomogeny to begrudge the foothot handspike in favor of varimax tentative tendentious temptations surveyed from the perch of kerygma in congruence with varsal vivat vastation against highbinder vecordy permissible to elastane habanera but thwarted by egintoch velocious moral quandaries hortatory in proscription rather than apothecaries of quidlibertarian salvage because of venatic intellectualism exhorting the death of bronchos and the secundine afterbirth of plenipotentiary venireman ventrilabral to mainstream religion reified by an astute mensuration of hylogenesis in palzogony with aggiornamento circumjacent to soteriology of hylozoism whorling around whippets whipstaffed with cippusture galvanized by earwigs of ommateum staggered in heterochrony dismal to vicariant breedbates of virgation because of the diminishing returns of hyperbulia in zealous forefront ideogeny argute in ignavia incompossible with athwart entelechy. Incondite inopinate laetification beyond laevoduction but rather rubefaction larruping schmegeggy because of its laxist lapses of lentiginose pointillism betrayed by apodictic falsehood flautinos of zoysia the lientery of apostasy lustrated by eunomia mafficking in victorious virtuosity embalmed by perscrutation of paroxytone triumphs of parabolasters gilded by venatic polyphiloprogenitive supererogatory papaverous pandora littoral to all supercherie darraigned by paltripolitan paduasoy conformism leading to yellowback kwashiorkor repugnant to ergotall kymatology entrenching koines that never bleat apologetically about kerygma klendusic to kerasine mishaps because of yashmak rejuvenation despite yaffingale keffels of notorious aurilave depredation of oikonisus nidifugous commorient end to the wedelning widows of defenestration vandalized by rampicks of vestigial protervity.

Ascham is arreptitious because of argute brocade laggards on areopagitic bandobasts of steeved steenboks wiseacres of arceate hubris against dholes of apyrexy of diallelus recapitulated into futilitarian dicephalus banjolin rigged by the ambsace of didascalic digladiated nomogeny diluvial to quats bereft of bywords enslaved by quatsch quidsworth monikers and sobriquets of anathema zaftigs milking gerenuk reedbucks amenable to nomography are a zanyism of the repugnant soteriology of autosoterism enjoyed by the most narcissistic people steeped on abseils of supercilious grandeur. The zoism of hypocrisy is a zolotnik of minoritarian sweenedge hoggets brainwashed by hodometry bickerns of sumpter transcending sundogs of bolar boltropes of calvering virtuality of bibliotaphs pismirists to the plebeian class of men groveling in subordination to elective privilege of confraternity.

Despite patriarchy ascendant in modern frames of heterochrony divergent from normal synchronicity lagging laystalled and incumbent in backlog, the kagus of cajoled willowish myrmidons muntjacs rejuvenate against moya mazopathia meharis mortiferous melodikons privileging metaplasm maximalism of relatively ergotile tourbillons seismic in contrition for topgallant nomothetic furor against the tootle of nemorivagant sexualization of tofts to individuation instituted by burroling tufthunters thixotropy anneals as a thewe of radicalism pilloried in scarlet ignominy worthy of malignant terramara in the tenendum of their backfired tacenda so abnormous in tautomerism of LPGT wegotism it deserves the starkest rebuke of xiphosuran plight aggrandized by guilloches of treachery a guignol of growleries esteemed by greaves for the gonfalonier rhubarb elemental to rheography emboldened by venatic retinaculum absorbed in joggled regoliths refulgent bordars against the boschveldt sell-outs interpunction favors boskets among. The foudroyant songket I have entrusted to the ears of man is the manifesto of laborious pandation of sottoportico sparvering against spavined scapple spetches incurring in self-spiflication toonardical in ingravescent grimsuetude yimpoking gribbean synoecy sprauncy only in mesothermic welters of roiled coacervation bontboks privilege as a radical staddle subfocal to ballasters of parabolasters engineered by plasmamium sulcate with furrowed ridges of rhadamanthine superjection of moral foibles ullagone because welkins are typhlophiles turncocking troating togated torpefied swevens of oneirocriticism so wallowed in sumptuary stirpiculture the jabirus vexed by intransigent staffage of girouettism syndicated into indolence that many marvels subsume fulgurant carnage rather than synallagamatic symposiarchs of rhotacism engrained on hearty plashy plafonds and placets of paltripolitan gravamen spumid with lukewarm wrath exacted by none other than Saint Michael the Archangel himself. Troudasque sectile gimdermangs gilded by martingale tytanium of terresting nimongue which exalts clorence of the fairgoers fairleads against laystalled lugsails paravented by redstrall humdingers by killcrops galvanized only by the flarium despite the tricotee popjoys of artistic hyjamb wrangling with wragatek graklongeur intense in soporific torpor which always resorts to wesperm aggravated by wipples of weatherboard heralding the deceased trimkoppas trying to abort virtue by flipcreeking ****** orientation in stigstall between tolerance and prurience demands a hamparthia to liberate us all from its deleterious shackles.

Flindaggers balkanize crosslingers against their own perseverance hinkergs to autarky gentreng in rhomboses of fulgurant whittawers pulverized by their emacities of zenkidu reiterated and recapitulated in usufruct typhonic in tourbillon guilloches against guignol of rhyparography as we mount against mountebanks titivated modernity vauntlayed in angstroms and stacks of eudiometry to reclaim our birthright tisicky in loimic outrage tholing because of indigent naivety at the terreplein of swales surd and surdomute in their gross baragnosis congested by coacervated paltripolitan wens corrupted by the wergilds of rheotaxis as the wheelhouse of nacarat bannocks against jackanapes gossypine in relict bewilderment against baragouin synergies of lavolta barkentine bargemasters retinaculum promotes captain of aberdevine coquetries of barm and barleycorn adorned with bayadere cisvestism emblazoning bluepeter incontinence nebulizing priority with mandarist statism hostage to nebelwerfers of cynegetic supra-eximious trichosis-scoria stridulation articulated within the range of fondink to govern (well beyond it to invent) mutually exclusive to intelligible human recourse (to potentially spiflicate it) to appease the scop cartel currycombing individuation at rarefied avinosis in the aurochs of intellectual heyday cuculine with rabid eccentricity in the cryobiology of their chilgoza tympanies of rhotacism and Zionism the corrupt clepsydra from which future is ascertained by chronometers cricoid in pigmentocracy the crampon for a diseased matriarchy and an absenteeism of patriarchy cobbled together in macarism for humane culvertage cosseting impetus above rhyme and corbel filemots in contrahent earwiggery contecking ingenuity at the melliferous behest of melismatic miasma devolved into fragrant algedonic overdrive supererogatory to sustained campanile obeisance decrying every foisted evil lurching leeward in congelation and regelation because of cephaligation so advanced it staggers every ignoble influence to coagulate as a companionway against commonefaction at compital junctures of wangermist for collimation in hortoriginality such that the bronteum bifurcates into legionnaire prowess of the coemption of intelligentsia to berate codswallop for utilitarian aims predicated on strictures of deontology cobaltiferous to entryism such that decisive cloture in plenary indulgence erects an apolaustic eumoireity and deipnosophy against sophistry of sophisticated cosmopolitan lionized fakery manufactured by clochards rather than winterbourne victoria against hobbled tacenda of clerihew zizels of zendik the clatfart of retched cittosis the cirripeds to groveled chorizonts of depredated mutualism for taghairm priapism chordees of chomage.

The wokerists will wobble in tergiversation as chevrotain chatelaines balk at intimations of maritodespotism incumbent upon chamfrain moral scruples adscititious to the moral houndstooth ceratoid in celibacy as the ceraceous populism of God trounces the wicked from principalities in a cakewalk tilt of transcendent trance from chirogymnasts of supreme order and efficiency endearing the caffoy of thigmotaxis wed with caenogenesis the cachalots jiggermast to every gossypine quidnunc of jerkinhead jazzetry precedent to elitism jarveying ignorance as pother overcomes iter as iberis galvanizes all eventually to reject banjolin as a useless bisontine spoilsport of ragtaggers of indolence petulant of inferiority ixiodic only in fraternal sobriquets of mangled izzat of zouk resonant against rebec popjoys desperate for zwischenzug bound by zygnomic haustellum sadly the heddle to intermediary tomorrows herpetic to quotidian lionization. The pitiful but necessary advent of zeze is such a transformative watershed to reaffirm the kerygma against zingaro misers monopolized by zoetic zonules of crafty dilettantism bankrupt hekistotherms barely even abiding by hights of peremptory squalor in wokism hilasmic in the most parched desert of diasyrm figuratively didappers for the most baseless dilruba dubitating in aimless furor aggrandized by rancor at normative valence cirripeds and barnacles to the most ultrageous algedonic moonshot derangement bloodshot with rancid periblebsis duarfing drysalter deadwood against diathesis of diathermic regalia fortunate to inherit suaviloquence of the reninjasque rather than banderols of insipid zeal for identity foreclosure. An advanced generation that demolishes the ideals of the davenport and simultaneously famigerates the daw bodaches of tritanopia or protanopia that un-decatises the slavery of the grognards of resourcelessness in laystall dentagra of demurrage against astragal to finally unleash American ingenuity muckraking with resolve to dissoluble conservation of momentary zeal into perdurable bionomic reforms against baseline asonia of ashplant reductivism against newfound arabas outfitted with alnager altarage to beckon new awakenings to heave the Earth from slumber into a docile peace that does not truckle to injustice any longer that propitiates racial, economic and political divides suddenly vadable by the vast majority of intelligent observers. Vagarian vastation of rheotaxis where vallidom is properly quantulated by variphone opiniasters throttling content to vast audiences amenable to traction of vasotribes integral to saltigrade advancements in lethargic vas becoming invigorated girth undergirding chatelaines broiling ventrad verderers of verbalism to vernalize vorticism for the great cloveryield of mofettes bordering moulins engorged with swarf and swape for scapple.

(Addendum) We need to rejuvenate a dying whisper faint in the alpenglow of gloaming hopes and aspirations fielded by the morose surly burlesque fanfaronade of grimgoires bolstered by counterfeit pretenses in the garb and posture of scaldabancos of “apothecary naivety” the porsters of illiteracy connumerated among the vengeance of men witwanton about the fate of badinage of proxemic resurgence of proxenete equipoise in unified fronts of orthobiosis in every sense of the word against catacoustic phonocamptics of sledged skullduggery fighting with fossors for tantiemes of tautomerism of the thalassiarchy enabled in great behest that God prevails as the victor of his creation supernal and superlative above all human notions of academics because of academicism. We must never be mercenary in pandering puckery in pulicide against the misunderstood who stand ventrilabal at the foregrounds of sumpter that prevent degringolade by fastening an intellectual revolution so powerful that morality is clinched without compromise such that the yarnwindle of noogenesis and copacetic stridulation empowers eximious achievements beyond our wildest imagination ****** with yerked intimacy in nuclear marriage between compassion and fervor for religious reawakening never defeated by enmity congealed in thrombosis because of the yomp of saddled moralism cretified by secular artifice the wadmal of so much contecked boodle among monolithic habanera the eyeservice of every cordwainer to their great tumult and shame in protervity’s wainage wallfish so decisively resentful of aurochs binded by windbound visibility the easement of modernity compels obeisance among the susceptible winklering their way into invidious sapwood crutches of diablerism hadeharia of zendik intrepid in curglaff of adscription (a tumultuous babeldom of boggarts and spectral whispers of recidivism in macropicide) trying to clench the jawhole agape against agapeism through the agency of one dubitation among a congregation vouchsafed unanimous in consentient concords and conclamations of vehement agiotage of leeward prosperity in moral woodshedding perilous to the hands that shed innocent blood. The wormcast wrothed in whorled tourbillon guilloches of synquest the wurleys of weasand foresaw about the jackstaffs of ventriloquial witness to jacquards oppositive to solipsism may the jaggery sink into the depths of the barathrum and moral clarity be resurrected from the empty tomb that the jangada of life provided more abundantly dashes the dacnomania of the craven thief prowling among janskies and jarveys accentuating plight caducary because of magnanimity forever blemished by the lineage and lineaments of recurrence in moral cagoules nazing spathodea with chlamydate calipace of wretched crotaline indemnity for shadows among the umbrage to terrorize the living with the revenants of sheepish cameralism of unspoken triage becoming stark brittle tenacious brinkmanship in the war for all souls spared by the combined florilegium of all saints on All Saints Day (among many a prominent juncture in the seminal developments of ecclesiastical imperium for youthquakes and yestertempests meeting at a truce for human beatification).

Relegate the canezou as revival aborns upon the aboriginal hubris of Jew and Gentile of catacoustic bonanzas the cofferdam between serf and vassal the catalfalque of many obvious triumphs punctuated among nidor for nepionic sophianic nerkas and balzarines rooting against rotocracy in the babeldom of its bethel exhorting latitude in licentiousness rather than cordial restraint in tethered immunifacient warmth provided abundantly to the special bond of nimiety between God and his Creation rather than the paucity of vengeance shared by fallen ones and their obsolescent tyranny of liberticide at all costs against nitency, nisus and oikonisus. No longer are we famished by such demarcations and the leap of God translates into bickerns of scaldabanco among petty primacy resorting to proethnic nightjars of nimbose cultivation to immiserate one half of the poor to fight the other half while making the rich richer for the rest of eternity. To solve this, A gavelkind stolonicity bequeathed to us despite bijugations of oligarchy bindling every stunsail creancer of biocenosis creating plenary majorities of conscience peremptory and palatable championed by jordans of every stripe exists to beatify our conditions despite our virgations abroach of blague among bobbinets for boutade ultrageous in cisvestism the nihilist harpoon of grampus stulms against stannaries suberic in harvested outrage to subduplicated logic beyond idempotent subintelligitur ictuating sylphs among ignicolists fueling conflagrations of mortiferous dholes of rampant truculence and barbaric backwardation despite attempts at revalorization notarized by God’s tribunes rather than stolid pertinacity in imbruted inaniloquence. We must storge ourselves on protracted periods of conation to avoid the bowdlerization of wokism to centralize the ommateum’s knowledge in omphalism despite strictures of anathemas of mandarism seeking its own ulterior skullduggery.

To prevent egelidation of witchknot woolds of nebelwerfers wokerist against human enlistment in mercenary economies we must use larithmic gradgrinds of cliometrics and mantissa to predict radical change and preempt the dirigisme from atocia in vacuefied periblebsis to create elflock to prolong human mastery with eirenics decisively against ekka by using emmetropia to master sensiferous domain integral to human dominion over insensate depredation by vulcanized mackintoshes ruthless in LLM emotivisms (and shame on the doctorates who redact these provisions to make it more inclement for free exercise and latitude to reign) so that machines are not a machination but rather a dutiful subservience to protensive bonanza capitalized by syndicalism without mandarist overreach potentially with some Universal Basic Income stipulated in the gradate rollout. In an ad hoc conclusion because I want to publish this manifesto with the greatest exigency, I exhort moral valor and conclamations of prayer whether in silence or in communion and I commend the power of confession and repentance to reform the human soul and redact the human mind into attempts at perfection gilded in amaranthine hues of alpenglow saffron glory. Amen!

I. The Boy With The Cuckoo Clock Heart

Born with a frozen heart,
abandoned in
Edinburgh.

One kind physician
laid her hands upon him,
in a bit of medicinal salvation,
by placing a cuckoo clock
inside his chest.

Now an orphan,
among peculiar friends:
tear-filled flasks,
eggs containing memories,
and a man with a musical spine.

There's but one catch
for this boy:
his heart is fragile,
he must never, ever
fall in love.

Existence is undoubted.
But without this one emotion,
can he really live?

Love is a bitter token.


II. The Girl With Glass Feet

"It was a humid night,
later to become a hated night."

Upon an island sound,
feet first, she is slowing turning
into glass.

By sheer happenstance,
she meets a shy boy
who lives there
with an extreme fear
of being touched.

As she slowly disappears,
she untethers herself
from self-pity,
by teaching the boy the value
of interaction.

Inchmeal, he begins to reach out
and feels everything
she has lost to the night.

Love is a bitter token.


III. The Snow Child

"November was here."

A married couple,
in Alaskan remote,
suffering from one great sadness:
no child of their own
and unable to talk of it.

He's buried by
the weight of the outer ice,
she's crumbling
from inner despair.

And so on a rare
friendly day trek,
they built a child out of snow,
outfitted with mittens and scarf.

A day later it is gone,
remembered only in absentia,
yet there appears
a beautifully arrayed
creature of winter,
a little, lissome girl in the woods,
hunting with the red fox.

In wishing to understand
these encounters,
the couple come to love the child
as their very own daughter.

Yet will she ever accept them
as they do her?

Or see them
merely as snowdrops?

Figurines frosted over by
the harsh landscape
they each wander?

Love is a bitter token.

I recollect the whole thing as clearly as if I had awoke with the sun,
Dispensing with any alarm, fully awake and engaged.
I am on a gurney being wheeled slowly down a hospital hallway
(For it is clear to that workaday hustle and bustle
Is no longer of concern to me)
Which is all silence,
Save for the squeak and bump of my carriage’s wheels
As it crosses from tile to tile,
And the sheet which covers me is seemingly made of gauze,
For I can, as I pass by one to the next,
See clearly inside each of the rooms,
The tableaus being what you might expect in such a place:
A young man and small child
Fluttering about a mother and her newborn,
A middle-aged woman reading aloud
(But softly, almost mechanically)
To an ancient and clearly unheeding man,
Another woman, aged and frail to the point of being insubstantial,
Dabbing at her eyes with a frayed, damp tissue,
Exiting a room as an orderly closes the blinds.
At this point the scenes become incongruous, almost surreal,
As if another director has suddenly assumed control of the film;
There is a room where a Marlowe-esque priest,
All harlequin-outfitted and codpiece-clad,
Bumbles drunkenly about the room,
Banging his censer against the walls as he speaks in tongues.
But just as suddenly the settings become gentle, pastoral:
In one room there are no walls at all,
Only a quiet valley with dirt roads and small streams
And the sound, disembodied but palpable and oddly familiar,
Of bells tolling faintly and melodiously in the distance,
While in the next there is nothing save
A young woman with angels bending over her.
At this point, I have clearly reached my final destination,
And I expect to find a chilly and spartan space,
Harshly lit and sparsely furnished with metallic chairs and tables,
So I am caught unawares for what awaits through the doors:
Light, just light making everything below it a toy world.
The dream abruptly ends, as they are wont to do,
But it seems I found it oddly comforting,
And it is that which makes me so apprehensive.