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Luna Lynn Apr 2014
I wake up and eat some eggs, a yogurt, and a few slices of melon
in an attempt to change my life
after all it is that or death
I won't hold my breath

It's a beautiful day to head to the mall
with a friend
I really know where this is going

Hmm
I like that shirt
Oops, this store doesn't offer plus size
On to the next..
I really like these jeans..
Forty five dollars for sizes sixteen and up
What a mess!

Since I refuse to let Lane Bryant **** my wallet in the ***
I decide to head to Barnes and Noble instead
I accidentally bumped into a lady and her baby stroller as I walked past and she mumbled
"Fat *****" under her breath
Yes that's what she said
I didn't even turn my head
Because that's what the lady said
and that's what society says
and instead of trying to explain it's just
easier to walk away
it's the self hatred after I dread

So I buy a whole pizza and eat the entire ******* thing
and it is beyond delicious
though the guilt I feel afterwards wasn't worth it
and vomitting that **** up was viscous

Even when I was a little girl I dreamed of being thin
I dreamed of being a model
I dreamed of having a flat tummy
Just to fit in
I didn't like the belly I had
or the fat in my cheeks
I was the only kid in gym that could never climb the rope
and that began a string of anxiety attacks
that would last for weeks

The doctor calls it insulin resistance
which leaves me with the inability to lose weight
but I shouldn't have to explain to anyone my condition
I just shouldn't have to explain
not to mention the ovarian disease that cripples me to my knees
which so happens to be genetic
and mimics the blood of a diabetic
leaving me incurable
a medical mystery
not to mention infertility
so for me
children are just a dream

Although I tell myself
that I am beautiful
and that I am intelligent
and that I am funny
and that I am a hard worker
and that I am successful
and that I am caring
and that I am loving
and that I am daring
and that I am the best **** friend a person could ever have
To a stranger I'm just a "fat *****"
and you know what?
That makes me really ******* sad
Don't feel sorry for me, I am only speaking the truth.
(C) Maxwell 2014
time is not real unless you are an adult
monday ***** so bad sometimes i sleep under
tuesday's promise of money and dog food to
fix my lack of communication skills
© 2013 Austin Stephenson
melli7 Dec 2015
I The Monthly Scapegoat
I feel like **** and
everyone else is **** too I
better be getting it soon or
else I'll have nothing to blame this
shittiness on

What are you looking at?
Go AWAY!


II Pain & ****
ow
that hurts
this better not be from that
steak I had last night


III Paranoia
it's not here
yet
but I know it's coming why
isn't it here yet this waiting is making
me crazy checking for stains every five
minutes afraid to wake up with an unpleasant
surprise


IV Arrival
surprise

followed by: the most
inconvenient
five days out of every month


V Farewell**
good riddance to
bad ******* that
will unfortunately need to
be expelled next month I feel like a
human trashcan
Brian O'blivion Oct 2013
into this pink grist
run mercury brooks
from the tower of liana
and ruptured mist
pools an ovarian sky
barefoot through milky way city
above strawberry ice cream lane
stratus clouds scale the ruins
and
the maraschino cherries ******* rain
“That next January, she will be considered cured! These are words we never expected to hear, especially since her first oncologist told her she had little chance of surviving...”
“In 2001 my wife was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Because of poor health, I had only been able to work occasionally and we were very low on financial funds. Also we did not have insurance. We tried to get assistance, but were turned down everywhere we went.
We got a recommendation from an employee at a clinic to try the department of children and family services, adult division, for our state. But again the door was closed on us.
At this point, things got so bad we had to do our grocery shopping at a railroad salvage store. My greatest fear was that after my wife finished her chemo and radiation the medicines she would need would not be anything we could afford. Someone told me about alternative medicine and that it is used around the world, but that most doctors frown on this practice.
We started researching the internet for anything that would help and be something we could afford. When my wife was diagnosed with cancer, the doctor used a CA125 blood test. The doctor told us that a count under 35 is acceptable.
My wife's count was “365” confirming the cancer.
My wife has NOT has not had ANY form of medication for her cancer! The “ONLY” thing she is using is Apricot Seeds or Kernels.
Her last CA125 test was taken 9 days ago and her count was at “10”, well below the established number of 35. No one can tell us that the Apricot Seeds are not doing even more then we had hoped for on her.
Last doctor's visit, the doctor told my wife that if she had made it past the first 2 years without problems, she was now in a group that has less than a 10% chance of reoccurrence and that next January, she will be considered cured!
These are words we never expected to hear, especially since her first oncologist told her she had little chance of surviving.”
Dorothy & Robert Halun
Lakeland, FL




WEB: "My doctor said if I did not have the scars on my body they could never prove that I had Cancer. It's all because I took Raw Apricot Kernels..."
I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer in 2001. The first oncologist told me the tumor was too large to operate and that he must shrink the tumor through chemo prior to surgery.
He said that if I would have come to him a couple of years earlier that it would be an automatic death sentence, however, he had this new protocol - Stem Cell Therapy - which could save my live at a cost of about $100,000 more than what my insurance would pay...I got a second opinion.
My 2nd oncologist, after pondering the proposed surgery for the weekend said that even though the tumor was large, he thought he could do the surgery prior to starting chemo. I started researching my options.
After surgery, I REFUSED CHEMOTHERAPY AND RADIATION. My doctor said I would die if I did not at least to Chemo. I told him "My life, my decision...if I am wrong in a year, I will listen to you then".
When my one year CA125 test was taken, I was a perfect 10. My doctor said if I did not have the scars on my body they could never prove that I had Cancer. It's all because I took Raw Apricot Kernels (6 per day). I am now cancer free for 5 years and counting.
Babette Garfield, Age 57
Las Vegas, NV



“I learned about Amygdalin (B17) and started taking it right away and all of my symptoms began to regress...”
“I have been dealing with Indolent Lymphoma since 1996. I knew I was pretty much on my own with this. About 5 years ago, I learned about Amygdalin (B17) and started taking it right away and all of my symptoms began to regress.
If I am stupid and eat sugar or stuff I shouldn't, I begin to get my symptoms back, but as soon as I tighten up my diet, they go away. I have a lot of energy now and I am starting a new business and I am 61. I used to be exhausted but no more.
I am very grateful for Amygdalin (B17) and the Apricot Seeds.”
Nancy Pratt, Age 61
Montclair, VA


“GET PEOPLE TO TRY THIS - it works…”
Here is my testimonial.
Let me begin by saying I am not affiliated in any way with this product I am suggesting you try. I have bought it & used it myself on several (really severe) sun spots/skin lesions with total & successful removal with consistent use. I thought for sure I would have to go to a surgeon, but bought this cream instead. The first one I removed was on my leg, I had watched it getting bigger for a couple of years. It was pretty deep, too. It was a bit uncomfortable at first after I applied the cream but then it began to work.
I next removed one on my left shoulder that had become quite large as well. I then used it on one near my left temple. It was one of those big brown lesions you see on old people. It took a bit longer. It had to be gently peeled off a couple of times, but then one day, the last layer came right off. I also got rid of 2 smaller ones on my face & a really bad one on my right ear.
You have to be consistent. Apply it ONLY to the spot a couple of times a day in the beginning. The area will get a bit red, sometimes it gets itchy, but that means it is working. Eventually you will be able to cut it back to once a day. Every couple days put a dab of antibacterial cream on it. After about a week or so, you should be able to gently start peeling off a little bit at a time and then when the final layer comes off it will be just healthy skin underneath.
- Nanci


“She has been CANCER FREE for 6 years…
“6 years ago we noticed that our 100lb Golden Retriever, Cassie, had a tumor on her back paw. The vet suggested that we have them remove the tumor and have it analyzed. Thus, St Pat's day 2000 Cassie had the operation. All went well. When we got the results back, they said it was a mast cell tumor type 2. They recommended chemotherapy. Knowing that God made provision for Noah and the animals, we prayed and felt that the Lord was directing us in a different way.
First, we checked the dog food we were giving her. We found that Sci Diet had carcinogens in it. We studied and switched to Innova, a natural dog food. We also recently had heard from the Christian Brothers about raw apricot seeds and their properties that would help the body fight cancer.

We also started giving Cassie Barley Green, a powdered barley leaf that would help make her body alkaline. Cancer can not exist in an alkaline environment. Twice a day we would give Cassie her seeds etc. Her paw healed nicely and the vet was pleasantly surprised. Then, as each year Cassie would go for her spring check up the vet would say how lucky we were. We would usually agree we are blessed.
Cassie had one other small tumor removed from her back about 2 years ago. It was not cancerous. She has been CANCER FREE for 6 years. As you can tell from her picture, she has gotten the raccoon look around her eyes as she has aged. Yet, she still likes to play.
We give credit for her long healthy life from Jesus directing all of our steps-in changes in food, supplements, exercise and B17. Thank you for making your products available.”
Karen Olsen
Elmhurst, IL





“This is when I prayed and asked God to show me another way because I knew the chemo was so painful...
“Hi, my name is Tina Brock and my mother Fanida Caudelle (Faye) has battled cancer for a long time. Twelve years ago she had breast cancer. In 2004 she was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer. She took chemo and the cancer stayed away for a year. It came back in her spleen, abdomen, and pelvic areas. This is when I prayed and asked God to show me another way because I knew the chemo was so painful. I began researching and found B-17. Thank God! I ordered her a bottle and she took it while taking the chemo and we were all impressed with how well her blood counts were each time. She is still using B-17 today and February 14, 2006 my mom turned 74 years old. I would like to thank you for making B-17 available.”
Fanida Caudelle, Age 74
Nicholson, Georgia





“Before taking the apricot seeds, I could feel a couple of small lumps in my *******. Within a couple of months the lumps were all gone and have not returned…
“I have been using Apricot Seeds for a little more than 2 years and believe they have made a big difference in my health. Before taking the apricot seeds, I could feel a couple of small lumps in my *******. Within a couple of months the lumps were all gone and have not returned.
I continue to take the apricot seeds every day and believe they along with whole grains, fruits, vegetables, avoiding red meat and seafood without fins and scales, and eating as organically as possible is responsible for the change in my body.
Edgar Casey had a vision of what he believed were almonds and that they prevented cancer. I believe Casey actually saw apricot seeds and mistook them for almonds because they look similar.”
Carol Loguisto
Nassau, New York




“I tell everyone that I talk to about the natural cure for cancer, which is Apricot seeds, just another gift of God...
“In 2004 I went to my Dr. and had skin cancer removed from my face and back. The cancer on my face was determined to be basil cell but the one on my back came out to be melonomia. Since that time they have returned and the Dr. wanted to do more removal but I decided to try natural remedies.
In September of 2005 I found information about Apricot seeds and Vitamin B17. I started eating the seed and taking Vitamin B17. The cancer on my face was red and sore but today the redness is gone and also the soreness.
The most remarkable part is the melonomia on my back is getting smaller. Once I decided to use Apricot seeds and Vitamin B17, I also started reading my Bible more and using the Bible versed that were given me. My health has improved and my worries about cancer were given to God.
I tell everyone that I talk to about the natural cure for cancer, which is Apricot seeds, just another gift of God.”
Fred Davidson, Age 62
Independence, MO


“The Doctor could only scratch his head and wonder. I have also used it on a dog who had miraculous results…
“I have used the seeds as a preventive for a few years and never have had any side affects. My mother-in-law was diagnosed with colon cancer the size of a grapefruit. A few months and less than $500 dollars worth of seeds and pills and it was reduced to a small mass the size of a grape.
The Doctor could only scratch his head and wonder. I have also used it on a dog who had miraculous results. Read the book "World Without Cancer" so you don't have to watch your loved ones die in vain.”
Steve Strasburg
Arkport, NY
“I believe that the B-17 blocked the spread of the cancer, and saved her life…
“My sister had been diagnosed with Thyroid cancer last year. I immediately started her on 500 mg of B-17 twice a day. She had her thyroid removed, as it was aggressive, and fast moving. The Endocrinologist were amazed that that there was NO spreading to the neighboring lymphatic system as is usually the case.
I believe that the B-17 blocked the spread of the cancer, and saved her life.”
Patrick Harris-Worthington
Minneapolis, MN





“The doctors don't understand how this could happened and finally we told them in March, 2006 that I had taken B-17…”
“In 2004 I contracted liver cancer. My doctor said chemo was the next step in my progressing liver cancer. I had been taking all the right healthy vitamins and eating right and now "cancer". When we were told there were NO guarantees that the chemo would work, my wife and I decided to try the B-17!
It was scary because we were not sure of how much to take on a daily basis but started with 100mg 2xday. We worked up to 500mg 2xday for about 5 months and then down to 100mg 2xday at present. I did take zinc and B-12 for 2 weeks before starting the B-17.
The cancer mass went from a 8cm to 6cm in less than a yr. It did not spread and it had shrunk. The drs. don't understand how this could happened and finally we told them in March, 2006 that I had taken B-17. My blood tests came back "normal" last month and all the friends and family are amazed and we are happy.
PS...the dr. called and gave us a phone # of a girl who was suffering as I was and could we call her and tell her what we did? My doctor said chemo was the next step in my progressing liver cancer. So, we did and she is now starting her regiment...”
Dennis Montgomery
Arcadia, CA

“I finally talked him into B17. He did however try it and was doing much better then with the chemo…”
“I lost my husband 10 months ago to cancer. He chose to take the doctors advice and have chemotherapy and radiation for his cancer which started in his colon and ******. Needless to say after 2 and 1/2 years of treatment he lost his fight with cancer.
When he died it was in his liver, lungs and stomach. It was too late when I finally talked him into B17. He did however try it and was doing much better then with the chemo. Although he lost his fight his cancer was just too far advanced to stop or prolong his life.
I have been on B17 since his death and will continue to stay on it for the rest of my life. I am doing it to prevent cancer because my father also died with colon cancer and it has been known to travel in families. I am cancer free and hope to remain that way that is why I choose to take B17.
I am 49 years old and I tell everyone that will listen that the chemotherapy and radiation killed my husband, not the cancer. It was his life and I had to respect his decision to... “
Gloria Snow-Lambert
Mercer, PA


"I was diagnosed with breast cancer a year and a half ago. I went through some Chemo and Radiation treatments...
I was diagnosed with breast cancer a year and a half ago. I went through some Chemo and Radiation treatments. I began researching cancer and alternative treatments and found a website on apricot seeds and B17.
I remember hearing about this being a possible cure for cancer many years ago, but had not heard any studies since then. I thank the Lord that I found this site. I have been taking the apricot seeds ever since I found out about them.
I started taking tamoxifen about a year ago and recently stopped due to the toxic effects it has on the body. I continue to take the apricot seeds and so far all is well.
I tell everyone I come in contact with who has had or has cancer about them. Thank you, thank you for making them available to purchase and at reasonable prices! I will be taking them for the rest of my life.
Carol Richards
Pittsburgh, PA
Kara MacLean Dec 2010
cervical cancer
ovarian cyst
open your mouth
here's my fist
stomach ulcer
an inflammation disease
got pneumonia
from just a sneeze
inflamed pelvis
stomach cancer
shut the **** up
you don't know the answer
heart attack
blood clots
watch me as
my insides rot
my brain thinks
I've had every disease
but its funny
i've never had any of these
By: Kara MacLean
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2016
~~~
She's Dead (Don't Think Twice, It's All Right)

A poem, forty years in the making,
Part II of a trilogy

~~~

she's dead

my nemesis,
a truly personalized comic book
arch-villain,
all mine to own and bear,
a cost that I comically
and freely chose,
purchased with only,
just the,
larger part of my life

because of a blood letting,
me letting
a lax laziness of fear,
a kind of blood poison,
an emotional self-imposed over-ruling,
"just cry and bear it,
for the sake of
appearance, children,
whatever,"
that was the insane,
disorganized principle,
who made itself
the king of me

an ugly sweater gift to myself
and
ashamedly,
wore its invisible effects
so quiet like,
this self-imposition,
of long standing,
a faithful traveling companion,
quietly unravelling, deconstructing,
this bearer-wearer

I married the wrong woman,

now she's dead

killed by the ovarian cancer
that I nursed her through in the early years
of its misshaped, too late discovery,
with bedside manners impeccable,
even secret whispers,
for who would believe me,
even begging God to give her
twenty years of
my own time

for he was so uselessly beaten down,
and unbearable miserable,
was-would-be gladly rid
of the final semester,
exiting more gracefully
than via other
contemplated and cowardly
methods of terminations

pronounced cured,
she decided a second cure,
like extra points for
a bonus question answered,
was just what the doc ordered

so she cured herself of
me

with a divorcing, stabbing,
emotional killing motion,
so angry, a petulant childlike biting,
relentlessly, revenging,
for all the years that followed,
inflicting, afflicting
me with mine very own
mental cancerous moments

where
I hated
myself
for hating her,
a petulant child who never grew up,
much,
as much as
my censored heart
would permit,
this truth,
to admit

it debased me,
being a raging hater,
yet a hater,
of both
her and myself,
I was,
her best, most successful
victim
of her final
curse

"you're not over her"
all the fools used to say and
then, and even now,
asking pointedly,
why else this time,
one mo' time,
is this small matter
deserving of an ecrive
all its own?

I guess there are glimmers of
secrets in
a life lived in poetry,
(poetry, her unknowing Greek God's gift to me)
in everything,
even in a
confessional,
a special reserve vintage,
for admitting my imperfections

now she's dead,
losing a race to
her curse,
losing a race,
to the most cruelly, patient,
enemy that a human can face,
unwilling self-destruction,
setting one's own
holy temple on fire,
with great irony,
sourced from within,
this tinder
from the very body
she worshipped,
that went finale
crazy ablaze

where ya going with this,
you ask yourself?

a mixed up goodie bag,
of emotional conflicted torment,
brings me here,
to pen and paper

her leaving me
turned out
as the best thing ever,
drawing down my reservoirs of courage,
mined from the deepest arteries
of a damaged heart,
of a recovered addict

a thousand different tunes come to me,
all nurses aides,
to assist me to
stitch myself,
this memory wound
closed

the one that make the most sense,
an old Dylan lamentation,
correct only in exactly every phrase,
yet forced to admit,
I am indeed,
despite it,
for now,
yet,
thinking twice...
~~~

"It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal
Like you never did before
It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal
I can’t hear you anymore
I’m a-thinkin’ and a-wond’rin’ all the way down the road

I once loved a woman, a child I’m told
I give her my heart but she wanted my soul
But don’t think twice, it’s all right

I’m walkin’ down that long, lonesome road, babe
Where I’m bound, I can’t tell

But goodbye’s too good a word, gal
So I’ll just say fare thee well
I ain’t sayin’ you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don’t mind

You just kinda wasted my precious time

But don’t think twice, it’s all right"
Jan . 17,  2015 ~

Don't Think Twice, It's All Right
by Bob Dylan


It ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe
It don’t matter, anyhow
An’ it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe
If you don’t know by now
When your rooster crows at the break of dawn
Look out your window and I’ll be gone
You’re the reason I’m trav’lin’ on
Don’t think twice, it’s all right

It ain’t no use in turnin’ on your light, babe
That light I never knowed
An’ it ain’t no use in turnin’ on your light, babe
I’m on the dark side of the road
Still I wish there was somethin’ you would do or say
To try and make me change my mind and stay
We never did too much talkin’ anyway
So don’t think twice, it’s all right

It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal
Like you never did before
It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal
I can’t hear you anymore
I’m a-thinkin’ and a-wond’rin’ all the way down the road
I once loved a woman, a child I’m told
I give her my heart but she wanted my soul
But don’t think twice, it’s all right

I’m walkin’ down that long, lonesome road, babe
Where I’m bound, I can’t tell
But goodbye’s too good a word, gal
So I’ll just say fare thee well
I ain’t sayin’ you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don’t mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
But don’t think twice, it’s all right

Copyright © 1963 by Warner Bros. Inc.; renewed 1991 by Special Rider Music
Nothing Personal May 2012
I knew I was dying when you called.
I knew I had barely weeks left
when you said you wanted to meet.
Then came the big news
You were supposedly pregnant
and I was the father.
When on earth did that happen?
I thought a millennium had past
since we last dated.
Back then,
Men still used to hunt in woods
and live in caves
savagely eating each other
when time came.

If I told you all this,
your Catholic sentiments will be hurt.
I barely agreed to meet.

The sun did not miss the chance to disappear
Horizontal, bull like clouds bellowed past the golf course
and winds blew like a ****-storm of hail and blood
It all hurled on my face as I rushed to work.

I remembered how some and perhaps all children were born innocent
But they did not choose stay that way.
Some were caught cheating
some were mortally punished.

The omen was bad.
I met my boss at the boss-stop.
That murky bit of time when you know you
are working late to avoid meeting your boss
and yet ,
you would meet him and
he would stare right at you
a terminal stare.

I decided I will drink coffee
The sun came up
and a girl with beautiful hair
asked me out.
I told her
"Time is limited"
If you want grandkids,
tonight is the night"
She said she had ovarian cancer.
We went out.

I know I had cheated on you.
Maybe a couple of times in the past.
But not on rainy Thursdays.
Not when the amore wasn't with life
but with death.
But see ,
I did that too.

God graced me when the rains didn't stop.
And you did not call back.
All the oncologists were on leave
all headed to warm Florida beaches
They have seen enough deaths this year already.

I knew October was coming.
My dreaded October.
I decided to keep dating this girl.
And the skies decided to stay murky.

On a October morning,
when the sun shone
miraculously
you dropped unannounced to my house
and asked me to marry you.
I resigned to my doom.

A war broke in a Middle Eastern country
And somewhere else in North Africa.
China was shook up by a 8.9 earthquake.
Giant tsunami waves rolled up towards
the Eastern face of Europe.
Australia passed a racial law.

I died on 17th October.
They said without much pain.
Few came by to the funeral.
People decided to cremate me
and blow the ashes away.
There were few people who attended.

You gave birth to a lovely child.
My girlfriend found she was misdiagnosed.
They found oil.
Miraculously.
Stephen Spender got the Noble Peace Prize.
I did not see the sun shine that day, of course.
Lora Lee Jun 2017
Inside this
depth of the perpetual,
I hold onto the light,
learning that
it is not an illusion
but a constant
            fire within
hard as metal
simultaneously lava soft
no longer boneless,
lumped jelly
              in a flaccid bowl
Instead I am bowled over
with new power,
plugged into
my own electric universe
in rushes of ******* voltage
that was always waiting for me
to see it
to allow it inside
the tissues of my body
to flow up and through
intestines, muscle, heart and bone
threads from
                 a glowing orb
that slake
and snake through me
like a river's glory
leaving the spirit on edge for more
and I am ever grateful
to take that light
                  spin it into a gift
                       unwrap it slowly
                            drape it
                              over me like
                                 a flowing,
unstitched garment        
pour its liquid-tipped velvet
onto my follicles, sensitive
tender luminosity
touching all the right places
its silvery essence
flooding me in
drips and slips
healing all the lost
and lonely places,
desolation's imprint
hollows of brimmed-over    
                        despair
I have become
a quivering, stellar bud
bursting forth, each day
                       burning into new
rebirth in quenching torrents
ripe as ovarian silk
soaked in
cellular juice
inner seeds ready to be flung
unto the earth
into the wilderness
into expansion
ready to
bloom
          and bloom
          and bloom
   again
Brian O'blivion Aug 2013
everybody
whispers in shoeshine voices
(through polished brass lips) when the ovarian light hits
her
glittering in designer degrees of loss
and  cherry *******
unfolding an inner eye while opening her wings
to the ages
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
that's it! i've had, enough!
english existentialism is crude, too crude
for my liking -
  it's a comic book script -
and a ****** mess -
  it obliterated history, it obliterated
yesterday, and sure as ****:
it will obliterate tomorrow -
my turn: to obliterate today.
the english, i find: really don't like reading -
unlike the russians -
i read it once: the russians read,
as if their life depended on it...
while europe was expressing its fine
details and sorrow:
the english were in a sleepy state
of blakean lullaby...
   yes: but at least the icelandic people:
are not ****** pompous about
their natural borders beginning
with S and ending in E;
   i mean, it's no wonder sometimes -
given the current climate of digested
literature,
       i'm sure there are no mature readers
in england, or at least: i've never met
one! adults reading harry potter without
any sort of shame,
      the lunatics will lead the blind,
and young with old souls will dupe
the young with... young souls...
just like the old play games with the young:
the most unusual perk of being old:
fake it... and then turn into
a eclair surprise of sucker-punching
  a youth, while performing a zui quan
punch...
   absolutely no existentialism,
everything's so ******* egalitarian...
when it's not,
   ants in your pants
        your shoes are on fire...
double-faced liars...
     i mean... the only existential points
of interest in english existentialism are?
somewhere along the line of
evolutionary "chronology" -
   and the big bang...
i still love the interplay of these four
words:
          bang (a) ******* hole...
cat's out of the bag, can't him back in,
ask schrödinger to bring a few boxes
from the store house...
  in the meantime, we'll also build
a cardboard box castle we'll call home,
then put everything on social media
and then you can have what i already
suggested:
  people living in the already present
glass houses, reached a new zenith:
       glass people, living in glass houses.
the english have no existentialism,
  they got the bore-ism,
    much cartoon fakery and all that
techno whizz kid jazz...
    no wait... there's one good example of
"existentialism" -
but it's treated like a footnote...
  even though it's in a collection of works
that also includes camus & marcus aurelius...
william hazlitt's: on the pleasure of hating;
and to be honest? that's about it.
i'm just bored of: this is not objective
enough... what, so detach myself from
subjectivity and argue like a psychopath?
that's what you're implying!
i can say with calm 2 + 2 = 4...
but if i have to say some complex
arithmetic... i will either brood over it,
pensive... but at the same time:
i know i am prone to some sort of frustration!
but at least both can be deemed healthy
reactions...
     now ask for the psychopathic maxim,
yes? what is it?
   apathy breeds no pathology...
see, psychopaths are oblivious to emotions,
they have cool arguments,
  if you mentioned a "necessary"
distinction between subjectivity being
"negative" and objectivity being "positive",
they'd reply: i can't tell the difference:
oh, you mean the thrill of argument / act?
i can't give that away.
the germans had existentialism,
   the norwegians have it, the swedes had it
with ingmar bergman,
the poles had it with krzysztof kieślowski,
the russians had it, heavens!
even the french had it!
esp. given that we're still trapped in
the caveman existentialism extending from
darwinism...
   i'm not a caveman... i go to a cafe and drink
coffee, i'm tired of hearing this biological
history ******* without civilisation...
there's a reasonable cut-off point,
   there are reasons why you cut off pieces
and live in the present...
esp., oh boy... a video like this,
entitled: why women pass up good guys for
players...
honey, that "question" just flew past my head,
can't think why, nor will i,
  i've seen a few prostitutes to wonder
about a "why";
          mind you... upon that fabled plateau
of the ovarian desert: party's up...
guy's - make sure you've seen an
actual ******* first: it'll ease the blow
with regards to what you'll be settling with;
now, that doesn't get plainer english
as that.
Gynecology appeals to the rooting instinct and not just among pigs,
apartment-dwellers too crave the spotlight especially in cheap digs
A tree puts strength in its cambium membrane, seeds, bark & twigs
whilst outgrowing the imperilment of remaining grounded as sprigs
It was not long before the Rolling Stones were being paid for gigs,
in the day when greasy Guineas plugged sheenies & cultivated figs,
decades before sainted negroes thrived as reactionary brillos & nigs
when a schweinehund on par with Club of Rome's lard-*** Al Gore
was realistic enough to accept his natural vocation as a male *****
even though no Avon salve could rescue him from being still sore,
he collected for prostitutional services that there existed no bill for,
while at Sea World Shamu can't fit through a pinniped or seal door,
as whale flesh ain't no antidote for pill-heads on America's pill tour
Keep whacking the side of your head to hammer out doubt till sure
you become of religious piety while acting out a radio-active story
that destroys tumors and fecundity while rewarding war-won glory,
for critical menticide administered to each Margaret Thatcher Tory,
to render brains slack so that each id's reduced to a formless slurry,
and made denser & dumber than the dumb-*** mind of Ann Curry,
who sits around picking fleas off her pet rats calmly with no worry
like a pederast whose name is Marion but likes to be called Murray
because of thickset hair that was as curly as Bill Clinton's was furry
it made Hillary's perverse predilection into a ****-emergency hurry
as she faced extortion rackets entailing mucho homosexy potpourri
It's I.T.T., A.T. & T., F.P. & L. and A. & P. in lieu of slave-holder
In a demi-godly role of being everyplace looking over my shoulder
Like advice taken to heart by a ***** the tenth time you told her
On the occasion of the hundredth time that a ****** **** sold her
Put down that rifle and also that cup as there are doggedly two ratty
trees of wood: wood I stole & wood I shoplifted as doggy eats pup
Congratulations *******, you won the Nobel prize for shutting up
Move from a hovel & put down that shovel as there are 2 unkindly
kinds of wood: stolen & discounted as my rabid ***** eats her pup
****** Mary Jane Christmas to Quakers winning gifts for rutting up
Return my shovel and **** a guppy as there are 2 hunks of wood:
wood I stole & wood shoplifted as a dog ***** eats a hungry puppy
Cheers cancer-ridden surgeon, here's the Shaw prize for cutting up
The tall first wife, who was fleet of feet, was the easiest to book for
she preferred rat tail over bat wing and won as a dream to cook for
she hid herself very obviously therefore she wasn't hard to look for
her manifold athletic talents made her the leanest witch to hook for
Give me your hirsute/textile/hombre love you lovely hairy rag man,
with your pointy nose, unlimbered leg & warts from Larry Hagman
who from the horse's mountable side snuck up like an airy stag ram
Don't take what little's left via state Santa Christmas merry bag ban
Let's dress like women in debt at the oldest Chuck Berry drag stand
My happiness is easily seen in blood-letting cirques as corpuscular
while my rippling backwards frontage is of a physique so muscular
that it is known by fat aunt Joan as socked-in and highly avuncular
In icy Florida I pine for Klondike my favorite Alaskan lesbian lover
who, in our gay igloo, resembled that big oily ****** Danny Glover
whose **** buddy Mel Gibson made him half less pockless gaining
☹a little more of plenty above Kenai's northern-lit blinding darkness,
and punctuated by those empty promises of ****-driving starkness
that were dogged by monster sightings quite common to Loch Ness
where **** Welshmen smoke Scottish-spiced cigarillos smockless
Fear not as chronically-starved people are traditionally not so tough
so feed the hungry & while they are eating steal their bags and stuff
as unarmed Cymry won't do more than storm off in a Goidelic huff,
akin to a Tom Jones hissy fit of ***-wriggling dancing and gay fluff
This normal man wonders: How much public ******* is enough?
Pushing Fukushima scenarios beyond the point of a no-return bluff
and extraneous of a federal Continuity of Government powder puff
while parked on a decrepitly-reliable-ever-burgeoning-lard-*** duff
white men, like coal miners, mine mineable depths of Filipina ****
gynecologically like the average gynecology enthusiast off the cuff,
rejecting Bicol pathogenetic carpet chaw to dip Copenhagen *****,
a sprinkling 'tween lip & gum proves that no slanted ****'s too tuff
A trans-orbital lobotomy's necessitated when plants are root-bound,
Hello Addisonian crisis dysfunction when adrenal glands are found
insufficient when production of adrenaline is diagnosed as unsound
Mormons note the absent look of foremen in the Book of Mormon
and an absence of the Book of Mormon in the outlook of foremen
You hid it 'cause I can't find it every elsewhere a package for string
this catastrophe that threatens tragedy above the tryst below a fling
With cords knotted tightly around something tumorous I won't sing
It is the chlorine that cancels detergent in that electric washer thing
beneath cellar steps that David Niven's wife fell down while hiding
I lost her you found her, it's a dollar for riding plus a fee for finding
all broads blinded to inequity and to chick Nazis' unguided guiding
Oh Lord with such ease the slippery have slid into slipshod sliding!
The frailties of free men're exploited by N.S.A.'s jingoistic deriding
General Ike exposed the military-industrial-congressional complex
which strikes against the citizenry by venomous rattle snake reflex
faster than a dope-crazy Marilyn Monroe could reach for a Kleenex
thru curvatures in a third-dimensional, spatially-pornographic helix
that approximated the Mexi-milkers of actriz: la doña María Félix
rutting elephants in musth must respect advisory: kneel-harm-****,
to honor the moon-hoaxing memory of chronic liar Neil Armstrong
as obviously for **** Rosie O'Donnell her gay meal alarm's wrong
Johns familiarized themselves with Lillian Russell by buyin' ** Lil
as masochists meet masochistic needs with movies of Ryan O'Neal
Sadists satiate sadistic surges sharing sermons sold Séamus Ó Néill
& beheld-redemptive pleasures for patrons of free mass soul appeal
I'm nailed in my sub-par carpentry by all do-gooders of the nail ban
to the point where I'm willing to mail my big sister to the mail man
who's part & parcel of a mail-fraud plot & brother's can't-fail plan
Escaped & uncaught I will be no prison monkey's cell-mate-jail-fan
'Cause shorts clothe Richard Simmons' lard *** he has a pale can as
oil-from-rock Daniel's been given the pétrole epithet Ol' Shale Dan
Latino block & cinder create distortive Hispano-Américano rubble
'cause stirring up spics & greasy wetbacks invites N.C.L.R. trouble
Stand back anti-pope as I am about to burst your pederastic bubble!
Your egg-shell-thick pate's no match for a black jack as this club'll
smash its way thru cardinals, reverends, ministers, priests & dukes
to make cream taste like ***** and turn cake into what a dog pukes
Under U.S./Euro socialism there'll be no guy who's a young codger
and popular forenames will be banned including Preston and Roger
Trans-national entities whip horse dung into curdled cottage cheese
while denying rescue inhalers to asthmatics enjoying a bad wheeze
so as to avail publicly purpled aureolae of ready women who tease
Now is the time to release the promised South American killer bees
as the hour's passed to exact vengeance for a beheaded Robert Lees
Mafiosos contract that Joseph Valachi-types be capped at the knees
then hanged by their what's-her-names from il duce poles and trees
in such a fashion that'll tighten the ropes by cough, belch or sneeze
Long legs, wrong eggs, strong pegs, King Kong begs with a song of kegs
Let us dog dealers of wieners & corporate schemers: those 2-bit reamers
extend a left leg into the sacred space of my right one for time remaining
It's easy to harp on topics commiserate with crap profitably entertaining
A man who courts dogs & a court manned by dogs quibbles over kibble
Dogs devoid of canine teeth are not as happy to gnaw and to nibble
The Arc of the Covenant bestowed ancient promises metaphysical
shedding cockroach-scattering illumination that set courses tragical
on a populace & citizenry that were more attuned to an era magical
Before Zionistic Elders prepared an Order within cabals strategical
Beneath plum sunsets & catchy maladies that deafened folks lyrical
“Turn me on dead man” the Beatles backwardly warbled mystically
as the means and the method to sexcite vampresses gynecologically
For all shoulder-locked movements sway men anthropomorphically
Let us seek bi-lesbians who fear concerted opposition diametrically
as their prized packages remain barren, as they spawn ineffectually
Sappho's ovarian host pouch is barren as ***** meld ineffectually
as Western, Fallopian-tubed freakazoids are ****-probed habitually
Sapphic ovarian balloons shrink when hens ******* reciprocally
On Pearl Harbor Loch a false flag blackened Mister Moto's beacon
by shadowy, white manipulators under a U.S. sinister, proto-deacon
who, as a cousin-marrying-pipe-******* *******, emulated Lincoln,
the war-loving queer who went above & beyond his task to weaken
the will of sovereign states to sustain free-market economic health,
by exacting confiscatory taxes resulting in punishing capital wealth
The Beatles were creatures of M.K. Ultra's institution at Tavistock,
lost to a shocking future as shown by Alvin Toffler in Future Shock
whereas nothing can help us from taking an epidemiological knock
by Mao a la Trotsky, a la starvation wages via phony-baloney stock
in the image of Pol *** a la Lenin contrary to righteous John Locke
Our fused-egg brothers gestate together, flying as a migratory flock
dolled up in vestry wardrobe: papal bikini brassier, ******* & frock
awaiting George Orwell's 1984 English socialism known as Ingsoc
X number of years before Nancy Kwan wed ski champ Peter Pock,
& after Bob Ripley's Oriental/Occidental miscegenation ****** talk
as it was curlier than was Nimoy while he portrayed Vulcan Spock,
whose sweetness was unrehearsed, unrestrained & of a sickly mock
once taken, out of time as taken twice daily on any ol' broken clock
flesh stripped & exploited as the flightless relic of Earth's great auk
enjoying the laze of Sunday oblivious to extinct Darwinian schlock
as chastised love is Leonard Nimoy-pitiable with chastity-belt lock
Upon a Massachusettsian shore puritans purified Plymouth's Rock!
Forever amounts to nothing in betrayal of Heinlein's empathic grok
Back off quack as I'll **** the next 1 of you applying scalpel to ****
as a dad must regarding neo-Kantian, fatherless-**** Johann Bach
Deep in hell's bowels fricassees Jew Elizabeth/***-to-Death Taylor
who did every Joe Nobody from Captain Crunch to Norman Mailer
A harlot ***** was she from 10 niggerly toes to scary mulatto tone
as hellishly deep in Liz's brain was a splinter of hamster wish bone
& her ***-end was broad from fat foods Safeway to her would loan
Beneath her 3rd world-chiding heft Larry F's lawn chairs did groan
as this princess of whales never said no to hog jowls and corn pone
which made an interesting cut-out to novices of the porpoise prone
There won't be another Liz till Rockefeller perfects a Warner clone
with the aid of sewing machines to hem-stitch hems that need sewn
& a positronic brain stem to achieve mortality previously unknown
since Alex Bell pilfered **** inventor Antonio Meucci's telephone
Truth is light that Illuminists keep shadowed, darkened & unshown
for Hank & Phoebe Snow and Johnny Winter who would not atone
Thomas Edison stole or bought the patents to ingenious inventions
that he was more than happy to claim as his brilliant contributions
to the wealth & state of inquisitive Mankind's Earthen conventions,
also he took credit for Biblical allusions to immaculate conceptions
Which Bible books Tom Edison wrote no G.E. employee mentions
as stealing, purloining and commandeering were his 3 predilections
True historians know well charlatan Edison's dastardly elaborations
To pinch a hairy, chapped man is wrong as it puts him in more pain
For century-old Harry Chapman Pincher pinching made him insane
His unholy joy was to lay prone with mouth open to catch acid rain
& then hop into the commode to affect a toilet-related ankle sprain,
not too unlike Richard called **** & Jean who liked the name Jane
whose corpulence demands a piano coffin burial with crawler crane
Formaldehyde replaced 7 quarts of blood that went down a drain as
the proverb fits: when there's nothing to lose there's nothing to gain
Alan Ladd snuffed himself over a self-destructive hatred for Shane
and because Sue Carol preferred men of height Ladd couldn't attain
without elevator shoes & leading-lady actresses walking in ditches,
the love-life that humbles a netted shrimp into paralytic twitches as
Alan often got nothing from Brentwood ****** & witches because
****** pimps don't scrape **** off them Hollywood swanky *******
Tragically it's true that God's in the details & Satan's in the glitches
when Hippocratic Oath-denying doctors say don't bandage stitches,
it promotes infection needing treatment that add to a quack's riches
Apply no anti-bacterial salve unless your unbandaged wound itches
Amerika will be a Marxian paradise after we guillotine the snitches
harvest their organs, cremate & consign their ashes to crude niches
Give me, give me, give me, I can subsist not on a mere, single bean
Hey cheapo, get off your greasy ***, take me to Dairy Queen as my
**** is shaved, bra's padded & all kinks are relaxed by Afro Sheen
Western ***** are fattened for slaughter as sloped slants grow lean,
for lack of appendix, tonsils, adenoids, warts, piles, moles & spleen
Refugees flee what's so repressively dangerous that it's forever fled
The bloodied blood biz passes pathogens to bleeders bloodily bled
It is a dreadful situation that ****** folks find difficult not to dread
A gent is obliged to face conflict face first short of living in a shed,
plying the rough trade, rough-necking with ******* or playing dead
When my cruddy teeth are encrusted I brush the crud off with Crest
while working drainward with this golden cake of soap called Zest
Like a woman on public assistance I refuse to let my choppers rest
There was a time when talk of quiz was a precursor to an Iowa test
My basic skills are determinedly under-cutting my housewife guest
whose stems run north to her malignant tissue free mammae breast
In movies shooting orphans with high-powered rifles is done in jest
'cause in Amerika making ammunition is what wage-slaves do best
When I'm not utilizing forks for recreational after-meal dog-jabbin'
I am staking out hog farms for the planning of gainful hog-nabbin'
or making log-planing modifications on my pine-logged log cabin,
before crossing teamster picket lines for wage-earning job scabbin,'
I take pains to avoid being skinned in a Jimmy Hoffa mob stabbin'
A thousand Confucian truths drive my happy dreams to nightmares
as bi-****** pass out on Calexico-Mexicali-low-calorie light beers
I haven't the moxie to skate through hydrants of fate terminological
as those 78 crumb-bums behind T.V. “comedies” wax scatological
Ernie killed Chip & Robby to stamp his father a cipher biological
He hadn't room for women for production smacking gynecological
The last time he looked skyward his thoughts weren't cosmological
S.O.B. Ernest cursed routinely at arthritis diagnosed gerontological
He gives not a harlot's hello for innumerable faults anthropological
nor to lend his energies to scopes that abuse harmonics hormonical
as he stumblingly falls prey to meanderings sickishly trophological
Lord of Hostesses salvage carcass mine from insults cancrological
Redeem me in sudden form humanoid of activities pathogenetical
We mourn in Gettysburg's city as unrepentant lesbians on probation
Defying errors inflicted upon soldiers who forsook proper vocation
Anti-poping Argentine Francis as he's ****** to Satan's invocation
It remains the best course to abide by stellar laws of spatial rotation
Whether one's nationality is Romanian, Finnish, British or Croatian
Lost people will eat food outside their region &
Emily Joyce May 2015
She looks up into the ever darkening night sky and laughs bitterly
two choices, two horrible options
One diagnosis makes you want to die
and the other it’s inevitable
endometriosis
or
ovarian cancer

She laughs again
staring at the night sky
she's afraid
she can feel it slowly bubbling up
like a *** set to a boil on the stove
except no ones watching over her
no ones making sure she doesn't boil over

She looks up into the ever darkening sky
tears slipping down her face
praying to a God she doesn’t believe in
*let the medication work
L Marie Mar 2015
You are too young to die, they say
But now my friend is there dying
And here I am, healthy, alive
And I know they have been lying
For she is just my age, "too young"
With an ovarian cancer.
Her wedding and graduation
All in May-why?-give me answers!
Is this now some sick joke to life?
Where we all dream of full futures
And then when our dreams are brimming
Some win, the rest see raw torture?
It is a twisted circus act
Where the parents tell their babies
They will one day find love and age,
When that promise is a maybe?
We trust our mothers and fathers
To tell us the ways of the world
But here I am, too young to die--
Then there's my friend, a dying girl.
Vicki Acquah Oct 2015
God had a green card
But cannot get back in the gate.
The Bricks are thick
But not so tall, I think
God may need to scale the wall.

Are we safe in structures gated
Must we stay in this prison
Where women are hated.
Our bones are hidden in tunnels.

Where has my mother gone
My sisters have disappeared, been
Abducted into a cult; Suspicious
Disinterest displays their guilt.

There has been nothing to report.
Maybe she has run away
To find a new God, Someone has
Touched her, she was not safe there
In her own bed, in her own home.

Some Blackman- Chanted hate lyrics
At her; Encouraged by their overseers.
Asian cultist cursed her in the womb.
In India they ostracized and brutalized
Her melanin, Queen of England, a
******, watches through syphilitic
Eyes without concern.

Beautiful cocoa,vanilla, and mustard
Babies sold or married off to smelly
suitors for ***, before puberty; mere
Children, march and are showcased
For the wicked pleasures of men.
But should I call them men?

Remember we once ruled this planet
Remember once we bore your beloved sons,
Now we work and twerk our bodies
As we answer to your perversions
We no longer dance to bring rain.
We slide down poles reluctantly
Displaying our pain.

My mother is crying for me
My sister's are crying for me.  
God will ignite the lamp of justice
God now has her green card and shall
Return us "Back to our Spiritual selves.

We dared not become too ripe, though
We must remain agile or we be thrown away
Like rotten fruit, never to be seen again

God now has her green card and
Will return us back to our Spiritual State.
Once again - You shall call us "Heaven".

Woman, who created man in her womb..
Became the enemy of man, and has been cast off.
We cannot testify with ovaries or inverted testicles.

Soon there was no natural preference
No perspective of gender has man !
Procreation ceased,the ****** forever
Banned to bear ovarian fruit.
We who remain alive wait.

Awaiting a Foreign God who's eager to
Receive her green card, and save us from our fate.
From the hands of a wicked system
We are doused in the agony of acid
Women perish, For the mercy of death we pray.

My mother is crying for me
My sisters are crying for me.
God will again ignite the lamp of justice
God now has her green card;
And shall return us to our spiritual state.

Remember we once ruled this planet,
We bore your unloved seeds, who
You've turned against us; We shall
Return them unto our bosoms....And
Once again, you shall call us " Heaven" !


© Vicki Acquah
shireliiy Sep 2015
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Dear Dr. Krebs. Thank you for giving me another birthday (May 17). Please, again, remember November 15, 1979, when my doctor and four other urologists gave me a maximum of four months to live with my prostate cancer, and they set up appointments for radiation and chemotherapy, which I knew would **** me if the cancer didn't, and I refused their treatment. Then on a Sunday afternoon I contacted you by telephone and went with your simple program. I am 71 years old and am on my 13th year [of survival]. Three of the four urologists have died with prostate cancer, and forty or fifty people are alive today and doing well because they followed my "Krebs" simple program. Thanks again for giving me back my life. Your friend, H.M. "Bud" Robinson

15th March 1999
All I can tell you is that I had a growth about the size of a pea on my eyelid for two years and nothing would change it. The eye doctor said he thought it was cancerous but I did not have any tests. After 4 months of taking one b17 tablet per day and 15 apricot seeds per day the growth has totally disappeared.
Al Bresciani
abb642@aol.com 407-426-5832

“This is when I prayed and asked God to show me another way because I knew the chemo was so painful...
“Hi, my name is Tina Brock and my mother Fanida Caudelle (Faye) has battled cancer for a long time. Twelve years ago she had breast cancer. In 2004 she was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer. She took chemo and the cancer stayed away for a year. It came back in her spleen, abdomen, and pelvic areas. This is when I prayed and asked God to show me another way because I knew the chemo was so painful. I began researching and found B-17. Thank God! I ordered her a bottle and she took it while taking the chemo and we were all impressed with how well her blood counts were each time. She is still using B-17 today and February 14, 2006 my mom turned 74 years old. I would like to thank you for making B-17 available.”
Fanida Caudelle, Age 74
Nicholson, Georgia

“Before taking the apricot seeds, I could feel a couple of small lumps in my *******. Within a couple of months the lumps were all gone and have not returned…
“I have been using Apricot Seeds for a little more than 2 years and believe they have made a big difference in my health. Before taking the apricot seeds, I could feel a couple of small lumps in my *******. Within a couple of months the lumps were all gone and have not returned.
I continue to take the apricot seeds every day and believe they along with whole grains, fruits, vegetables, avoiding red meat and seafood without fins and scales, and eating as organically as possible is responsible for the change in my body.
Edgar Casey had a vision of what he believed were almonds and that they prevented cancer. I believe Casey actually saw apricot seeds and mistook them for almonds because they look similar.”
Carol Loguisto
Nassau, New York
“B17 still continues to save his life every day...
“We were skeptical when our holistic vet advised B17 therapy to our German Shepherd Baron, who was diagnosed with advanced hemangiosarcoma or blood cancer and given two weeks to live. It's now been 7 months and he's still with us. B17 still continues to save his life every day.”
Mary Smith
Oakland, CA

“I tell everyone that I talk to about the natural cure for cancer, which is Apricot seeds, just another gift of God...
“In 2004 I went to my Dr. and had skin cancer removed from my face and back. The cancer on my face was determined to be basil cell but the one on my back came out to be melanoma. Since that time they have returned and the Dr. wanted to do more removal but I decided to try natural remedies.
In September of 2005 I found information about Apricot seeds and Vitamin B17. I started eating the seed and taking Vitamin B17. The cancer on my face was red and sore but today the redness is gone and also the soreness.
The most remarkable part is the melanoma on my back is getting smaller. Once I decided to use Apricot seeds and Vitamin B17, I also started reading my Bible more and using the Bible versed that were given me. My health has improved and my worries about cancer were given to God.
I tell everyone that I talk to about the natural cure for cancer, which is Apricot seeds, just another gift of God.”
Fred Davidson, Age 62
Independence, MO

“The Doctor could only scratch his head and wonder. I have also used it on a dog who had miraculous results…
“I have used the seeds as a preventive for a few years and never have had any side affects. My mother-in-law was diagnosed with colon cancer the size of a grapefruit. A few months and less than $500 dollars worth of seeds and pills and it was reduced to a small mass the size of a grape.
The Doctor could only scratch his head and wonder. I have also used it on a dog who had miraculous results. Read the book "World Without Cancer" so you don't have to watch your loved ones die in vain.”
Steve Strasburg
Arkport, NY

“I believe that the B-17 blocked the spread of the cancer, and saved her life…
“My sister had been diagnosed with Thyroid cancer last year. I immediately started her on 500 mg of B-17 twice a day. She had her thyroid removed, as it was aggressive, and fast moving. The Endocrinologist were amazed that that there was NO spreading to the neighboring lymphatic system as is usually the case.
I believe that the B-17 blocked the spread of the cancer, and saved her life.”
Patrick Harris-Worthington
Minneapolis, MN

“The doctors don't understand how this could happened and finally we told them in March, 2006 that I had taken B-17…”
“In 2004 I contracted liver cancer. My doctor said chemo was the next step in my progressing liver cancer. I had been taking all the right healthy vitamins and eating right and now "cancer". When we were told there were NO guarantees that the chemo would work, my wife and I decided to try the B-17!
It was scary because we were not sure of how much to take on a daily basis but started with 100mg 2xday. We worked up to 500mg 2xday for about 5 months and then down to 100mg 2xday at present. I did take zinc and B-12 for 2 weeks before starting the B-17.
The cancer mass went from a 8cm to 6cm in less than a yr. It did not spread and it had shrunk. The drs. don't understand how this could happened and finally we told them in March, 2006 that I had taken B-17. My blood tests came back "normal" last month and all the friends and family are amazed and we are happy.
PS...the dr. called and gave us a phone # of a girl who was suffering as I was and could we call her and tell her what we did? My doctor said chemo was the next step in my progressing liver cancer. So, we did and she is now starting her regiment...”
Dennis Montgomery
Arcadia, CA

"I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer in both ******* in December 2003 and had an operation to remove 2 lumps, some lymph glands and some nerves. Thankfully, I heard about B17 and did not proceed any further with another operation for a half mastectomy, chemo, radiation and tamoxifen.
I am pleased to say that I am doing very well. The doctors at the hospital have ignored me since February 2005. I had requested that they continue to monitor my progress with ultrasound. They insisted that I see a particular radiographer because they wanted to see the results they wanted, whom I knew was a particularly rude and rough ultrasound scanner. So I requested to see another radiographer. They kept sending me appointments for the same radiographer and I kept phoning the Ultrasound Department to change to another radiographer. Each time they said that the consultants refused! This went on for months and from February 2005, I have not heard a word from them.
They were not happy that I had refused their barbaric ways of practising medicine! They told me that if I continued to use alternative medicine, my condition would worsen and I would be back to go on conventional medicine, by which time "it would be too late"! I did offer to give them information on all the supplements and about B17 but they flatly refused saying that they didn't care about what I was doing because it won't work!!! They kept saying that as I was in my late 30s the cancer would advance at a great speed and I should think about my daughter!
That's my story in a nutshell! Keep up the good work." - Laila T, London, UK

Dear Angel,
I don't know if you still remember me. I wrote to you early 2003 about my dog, Life, she's got cancer in her spleen, and was undergoing chemotherapy with the vets. Well, I think you do remember haha. Anyway, just to update on what happened - her chemo finished May 2003, and I've been giving her 3-4 apricot kernels a day ever since. She is now still alive and well. I take her back to the vet every 3 months to do blood counts, and all her white blood cells are within the normal range. So, it has been 1 year and 4 months since her last chemo session, and the vets are very very surprised! Because out of all the vet's chemo patients, Life is the only one alive and still under good condition - which is totally out of their prediction!
Oh well, just want to thank you for the apricot supplies. At that time I really didn't know where to find them. You've opened the door of hope! And now I'm ready to order some more! Annie, Australia

To The BBC
"Sirs. On the 6 o'clock news tonight a medical professor was stated as saying that it was dangerous to try to cure cancer by 'untried' and 'unscientific' alternatives to the usual methods applied in hospitals.

May I say briefly that I have been cured by one of the horrors he mentioned, namely 'eating apricot kernels.'

Some years ago a nasty oozing swelling on my right ear would not respond to any treatment, but just grew in size. It was painful, it messed up my pillow each night and caused me emotional worry. Eventually I was sent to the Lincoln Hospital by my GP. They took a biopsy, and a specialist told me that I had a squamous cell carcinoma and that I would have to have a certain percentage of my ear removed. This was not good news. I deferred having treatment. I said I wanted time to think it over.

As it happened, I soon got to hear about apricot kernels, and began taking about ten each day, together with a generous helping of pineapple plus supplements. Within a couple of weeks I began to notice an arresting of the ulcer, and then it gradually began to decrease in size until finally, after a few months, I was left with nothing but fresh pink skin. The specialist was very interested, and took photographs, and said he would confer with other specialists in the hospital. He asked to see me on a regular basis, in case the cancer had spread to glands in the neck. But after twelve months he declared that I had been healed, and didn't need to attend the clinic any more. Strangely, he didn't seem inclined to discuss the matter further. As I understand it, the medical profession is not willing to accept 'anecdotal evidence.' Let me say this. I am not a medical man but a physicist. Even if Newton's apple is apocryphal, he certainly knew about things falling to the ground, and using his keen mental acuity, formulated the theory of gravitation. Astronomers knew all about the peculiar motion of the orbit of Mercury, but it took the mind of Einstein to provide us with the reason via relativity. These 'anecdotes' were the stuff of scientific method and advancement. If I (and apparently quite a number of others) are finding that skin cancers respond quite quickly to the eating of apricot kernels, the medical profession should be asking why, and coming to a scientific solution, rather than denouncing the anecdotes as 'unscientific', and the apricot kernels as 'dangerous.' Arthur E., Alford, UK

My introduction to apricot kernels was through a friend who lives in New South Wales. She visited my house in September of 2000 and was very sad as she had been diagnosed with metasised bone cancer and had spots on her rib, spine and hip. She previously had had breast cancer some six years before this diagnosis. I know she thought her life expectancy was doomed and I felt quite shattered as I also had breast cancer 18 months before this and had used my friend as a benchmark of how I was going to progress.
When speaking to her some months later to check on her health, she informed me she was eating apricot kernels, and in huge quantities each day. I believe it was around 30. This intrigued me as I had no idea there was any value in the kernel of this fruit but decided to start searching the internet for information and this is when I started to come across Phillip Day and other sites which endorsed this cancer strategy. My friend is now cancer free according to her professor/specialist and a hair test, she has a lavender farm which she works from the bush to the end product and also has alpachas...hard work......what an inspiration she is.

My cancer was bad, aggressive, two tumours in the left breast and 14 of 17 lymph nodes cancerous. I had a mastectomy of the left breast, undertook 4 intense doses of chemo and 6 standard doses, spaced 3 weeks apart. I also had 6 weeks of radiation therapy. I knew I had a fight on my hands as the specialist was very clear to explain that their belief was the cancer would be elsewhere.
I made a decision to take other vitamin supplements, including selenium at the very beginning of my diagnosis and then when I heard about apricot kernels, I thought maintenance and prevention was my next option. With experimentation I had the kernels daily but found I had reflux so interpreted that my body was telling me I did not need to have these so frequently and have now taken them twice weekly...the equivalent of a flat teaspoon of crushed kernels each time. My five year extensive check up happened in March of this year and all my tests are great. I am very well, feel terrific and know I have lots of energy to enjoy a wonderful life with my precious family and friends. My health is my wealth and the help and joy I give to others, who are embarking on a journey with cancer, is a wonderful reward for being a survivor.
Thank you again.
Regards
Judy


In 1987 a sun spot of many on my scalp developed into a malignant cancerous tumour which grew for ten months. For only the last three of those months I began eating apricot kernels daily, but the tumour had already grown to considerable size; invasion of the bone (skull) was suspected. I finally agreed to operation to remove the squamous cell carcinoma on 28/6/1988. The plastic surgeon was puzzled as to how the cancer by then had not spread to other areas.
Over the following year a new tumour started slowly next to the skin graft area whilst I continued to ingest the kernels (Vitamin B17), three times a day before meals. The new tumour was excised without skin grafting on 2/5/89. I declined to undergo follow-up radiotherapy after the operation in spite of dire warnings from medical staff that the cancer would almost certainly spread.
Many years later no cancer has developed so far. I have continued to eat one handful of kernels a day before meals, drinking some water before chewing them to reduce saliva contact. Doctors at Royal Perth Hospital expressed surprise that their predictions had not been realised. I continue also to concentrate on a high fibre and low fat diet. Combination with selenium is said to enhance the process.
The theory of the above is that the cyanide content of fruit kernels (mainly apricots) penetrates and attacks the cancer cells but leaves the healthy cells unaffected. The medical profession, who pour scorn on this theory, and government have caused the sale of the kernels to be banned in the shops and elsewhere. Consequently I have to obtain my own supply of stones and then have the dreary task of hulling them with a mallet. I suffer no ill-effects eating them. Incidentally I have found the kernels are
freely for sale in the United Kingdom! - D.B. Wundowie, Australia

Dear **Just a short line to thank you for all you done for us and all the help you gave us.
we got a phone call from Dorothy's brother George this morning. He went for an x-ray yesterday and got his results this morning. Apparently the lung cancer has gone completely but they still want him to finish his chemotherapy.
We think it is a combination of all the therapies he has been taking, but mainly the B17 as
Bob B Sep 2016
In rural Georgia lived a loving
Man known as Robert Eads.
People with a heart as big as his
Are more of what this world needs.

Life has in store for us
A future we can never foretell.
As loving and kind as a person is,
That doesn't mean that all will go well.

In 1996, Robert
Found out he had ovarian cancer.
Ovarian? How could that be? you ask.
He was transgender--a simple answer.

Experiencing abdominal pain,
Robert knew he needed assistance.
But because of his gender identity,
The sick man met with careless resistance.

As Robert grew sicker and sought treatment,
More than a dozen doctors would meet him.
But fearing he'd make their practice look bad,
Those same doctors refused to treat him!

Shirking their responsibility,
Those doctors sealed Robert's fate.
By the time he found one who would help him,
The cancer had spread; it was too late.

A year of aggressive medical treatment,
Gave him time with those he'd befriended,
And time with family, until the day
In '99, when his life ended.

Robert had never understood
How people could be so cruel, and yet
He bore no hatred and took each day
As it came without blame or regret.

How he had loved his girlfriend, Lola--
A transgender woman and love of his life!
If he were still alive today,
I'm sure that they'd be husband and wife.

In Robert's memory, a pine tree was planted.
His ashes were scattered at the base of the tree.
How often in life people must struggle
To be the person that they must be!

- by Bob B
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Apr 2021
Life is as predictable as a pair of dice. At times not so nice, at others, glorious. The notorious mix of dreamy-eyed moments with dreadful surprises, not knowing how or when. We are at the mercy of the winds of vissicissitudes. Our attitudes, our presuppositions are tenuous at best. At one instant, your head will be resting on my pillow, at another, on a hospital pillow because you are dying of ovarian cancer. Uncertainty is our highway;  there are many detours ahead. Kiss when you know it is possible, hug when you know the same. Love, in any given situation, is always the antidote. Memories are but for the future, so live now, always with your heart.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS
AJ Oct 2013
The door up the stairs,
It eludes my conscience,
I'm ignorant of what is to wipe,
Across my thoughts.

Come here, they say,
Sit down, they say,
We have news, they say,
Stage 3 ovarian, they say.

How could it happen, I ask?
That so innocent a person,
With so much life and vigor,
Can fall into such a void of hopelessness?

She arrives in the door,
70 years young,
Sullen and tenuous,
Her tears fall caustically ,
Down her face.

The older man, hit so hard
Falls short in his strength;
His arms fall numb,
To the pain of occurring loss,
His tears fall caustically,
Down his face.

Hugs are thrown left and right,
As tears shed violently,
The shock kicks in,
Where will she be in the future?

I suddenly think, as quickly as i see,
Their willowing visages,
How long will she last?
And my mind drifts into the unknown.

I see her face covered in sun,
Illuminated by the vigor of health,
Her breaths cease to exist,
Yet she is more alive than ever.

She turns to me and says,
Isn't this wonderful?

My mind snaps back to reality,
The cold house chills my body,
The tears still feel caustic,
And the pain still feels unbearable.

But in all of this misery,
There is one thing,
We can look forward to.

The thing that we can't predict,
The place we can't imagine,
The experience we can't escape,

The Future.
Natasha Teller Jun 2014
if you fill your pockets with stones
if i make a bed in my oven
if we fade into whispers
who will write for us?

I.

your Blitz came in the form
of uterine invasion, tissue and blood
in ovarian prison camps,
red as the streets of London.

****** lives in the same apartment
with a beer gut and "paternal rights,"
sieg heil* forced into your mouth
and you are too weak to fight.

You close your eyes.
There has never been a door
to my bedroom,
you think.

Blood seeps from your thighs.

Every night, you sleep for so long
and waking up is agony:
what if-- what if i didn't have to wake up again--

once-verdant fields are dry,
dreams are dead,

and the stones feel smooth in your palms.

II.

My world is a bell jar, a chrysalis:
I beat my tiny fists against the glass
until they are bruised as midnight.

They cried his name, cried "suicide,"
speculated on prescription cocktails
as they tipped back wine and thought nothing
of the ones he left behind,
crying on the livingroom floor.

Life was taken from me then
and I have no power to grant it now--
I am Rachel, barren, empty,
in need of a Bilhah.

I was born to a trailer park mother
and a farm-bred father,
and I am proud of them both--
their secondhand flatware was better
than any silver spoon

but here in the land of the stars and stripes,
you cannot break your cocoon
you cannot spread your wings
unless someone pays to crack your shell.

I am stuck.

My oven is apartment-sized
and the kitchen has no door
but it is small enough
that it wouldn't take long.

III.

You and I have loved each other for years,
and the cruelty of distance has kept us
from touching each other.

Once, you said you hadn't given up
because we made a promise to each other,
and it hadn't yet been consummated.

Part of me never wants to kiss you,
if only to keep you breathing.

IV.

Or maybe--
after--
we could hold hands
and walk into the ocean
together.
for j.

title is a reference to sylvia plath and virginia woolf, in case that was unclear.

thinking about expanding the last two and letting this be a cycle of four stand-alone poems. idk i just spit all this out at 3 a.m. soooo... we'll see
toward thee spunky gal,
     whose impregnation and debut appearance
     way to brief a tale for Aesop
cuz, (umpteen iterations recounted),

     out the birth canal aye did bop
analogously compared
     to a mealy mouthed measly crop
a spindly tangle of arms and legs

     radiated (starfish like)
     dangled and would uselessly drop
like a raggedy ann male counterpart
     (raggedy andy - how original)

     with limbs that didst flop
and tis no small wonder, thyself as one
     newborn baby body electric
     easily confused with bony glop,

which skimpy weight
     leant convenience as sigh grew older
     to alternate jumping
     (ala pogo stick mode) and hop

from one skinny spindle shank leg to another,
     and manifold orbitz whip
     sawing round the sun
     bore witness to puny laughable specimen

     of a nerdy lad, who (in hindsight)
     grew long straggly hair,
     which NO ONE (except me) could touch,
     nor most definitely NOT lop

off (this fetish) compensation
     for very slight physique
     in dewed time begot
     pencil necked geek milksop,

now at an age prowl lix sing viz
     dragging, crawling, battling...
     slight abdominal bulge  
unlike widower octogenarian biological pop

whose once strapping superman
     like build atrophying (sad sight)
since grim reaper put objectionable stop
upon head of harriet harris,
    whereat two and a half score years
    her longevity did top.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
now, comb may tooth how zen,
sans eight plus ten
'twill be thirteen yars
when me late mum agonizingly relinquished

     an indomitable loo ving life,
     which strong fighting spirit
     (spittle and vinegar) yen
reached a juncture,

     (sans metastasized ovarian cancer)
     forewent heroic measures, which ken
not avail bottled anger within this sole son
telling thee, he didst love ye
     never communicating NOR often!
Yesterday.... Like the Beatles my troubles are here yet seem so far away...
Blood from my body and eyes blinded my visions of cesarian executions that brought light and a beacon of hope that's here to stay..

The year before, Mother Nature ripped my Afro centric other me from the abyss of an ovarian society...

Yet healed the once mentally enslaved legacy, holistically increased that same evil capital into tranquility...

And like an eagle soaring over the highest peaks of hope came to be in 1983...
Shocked the wintery mix with Egyptian ice cold veins and Greek ****** proclivities...

And though the vices that sinned my birth swayed my lens
Wings of stoic proportions haloed to an ascended degree, I contend

Oh I believe...in yesterday...
storm siren Sep 2016
You're ten years old,
And it's your first day of fifth grade.
Your mom made you wear something feminine,
Not quite girly, because you would have thrown a fit
And she just doesn't have it in her anymore to fight with you.
You spent the last three days hiding in the corner of closet with your dog,
Crying because you don't want to grow up.
And this year, you have to. This year, it means you are doing just that.
Grown ups are never happy.
You don't want this.
You're nervous and insecure as you search for your name
Written in permanent marker on some laminated name tag
Taped to a desk made of linoleum that looks like wood.
When you find it, you cringe at the way the teacher wrote your last name.
All pretty and feminine, when "Blood" is nowhere near that,
But you sigh and accept it,
As you watch the other kids filter in.
Two boys walk in, they introduce themselves.
Another boy walks over, settles himself at the desk near yours,
You notice he's shorter than you,
And already being small, it makes you feel somewhat better.
He notices you staring,
And your father's voice echoes in your head,
"Staring is rude...!"
So you look at the book on your desk,
The one about cats that's below your reading level,
But thick enough to hide behind.
Sooner or later,
One of you introduces yourself to the other.
You only stop smiling that day when your older brother gets hold of you.

You're eleven, in sixth grade.
He's still your best friend,
And you were chattering all about him in the car to your dad
On the way home.
Mom's still sick.
Hasn't seemed to recover from the car accident last year that you still blame yourself for.
They've both come to the conclusion you have a crush on this boy,
And it's special. Your first crush.
You disagree wholeheartedly, but that will change.
You get home, into your room to start on homework,
But then your stomach starts hurting.
Everything starts hurting.
You're getting dizzy.
There's so much blood,
And it's making you queasy.
You scream and cry, you don't understand.
Your mother warned you that this is a big part of getting older,
But you don't want it.
You run to tell her,
She helps you clean up,
But you miss your chorus concert that night,
And the next two days of school
Because you can't get out of bed
It hurts so bad,
Worse than when big brother is mad.
You don't talk to him when you get back to school
For the next three days,
Because you're ashamed that this is part of you,
That you're grown up,
And if you talk to him he might find out
And not want to be your friend anymore.

You're twelve, and in seventh grade.
You came home from school,
A little bummed.
You barely got to see your friends that summer,
Definitely not him,
And you don't have any classes
With any friends
Or him.
But he was on your mind all summer,
So you've come to the conclusion that you'll just
Find him in the hallways
Or at lunch.
Your father comes to you with some bad news.
Mom's still sick. We don't know why.
You frown, but nod. It seems like he has more to say.
And he does,
"We're moving."
And you ask, calmly but your hands are shaking as you begin preparing a snack for your little brothers, "Will I stay in the same school?" Having been home schooled twice and sent to four different elementary schools (one of which you were sent to twice) you were genuinely worried. Not to mention you had no way of contacting him or anyone else.
"No, you'll be switching schools."
You give your brothers their snacks,
And you begin to walk to your room.
You have to get out of the room,
But you're already crying. "Are you sure?" You've already started the fight.
And from there insults are thrown, and it's an all out screaming match,
Who can be louder?
Who can be meaner?
Like wolves fighting for who should be alpha,
Who can bare more of their teeth
Before the other lunges for their throat.
It happens with similar personality types.
And finally,
The straw the breaks the camels back,
"What, are you in love with somebody?"
As though mocking your ability to care.
You go to your room,
And close the door without slamming it.
You look at your sketch book
Flip open to a page and draw.
Put on music.
Anything to drown out what you're feeling.
You look at the clock.
You look at the clock again.
It was six fifteen.
Now it's twelve forty five.
You're covered in your own blood and feel dizzy.
You cry harder,
As you pour hydrogen peroxide onto the scrapes and cuts on your arms, and bandage them up.
Put on your mother's old black hoodie,
And so it begins.

You're thirteen,
It's summer time.
A friend just texted you that his sister died.
You can't breathe. It's your fault, if you had only been there for both of them.
You should have been there.
You weren't, though.
It takes your little brothers waking you up at six am screaming
To get you to come out of your room after four days.
This time the screaming match is with your older brother,
And though you're terrified,
You win this one.
But he isn't happy,
And neither will you be.

You're fourteen, ninth grade. New friends that all adore your clothes and last name.
You're the new kid at a new school.
Again.
"Ask him out! He's your friend! That's how relationships start!"
You'll mull it over, but something in your gut says not to even stick around.

You're fourteen.
Going to your brother's old school's football game.
That boy from fifth grade? He's there.
You want to talk to him all night, but you realize he has his friends there.
You speak with him as much as you can,
But you can feel yourself fading out.
Brother isn't happy with you that night.

You're fourteen. One of your little brothers is sick in the hospital.
It's Christmas. You're all there to go see him.
They have to rush him to another hospital.
You're praying for an angel. You didn't even know you still believed in a God but
"Desperate times call for desperate measures," You sigh as you kneel to say another plea.
Your mother calls,
He's gone.
You can't breathe.
Things are going black,
But you can't do this.
Not here,
Not now.
Your mother gasps on the other line,
He's back.
Maybe God is real.

You're fifteen.
A boy touched you without asking.
You didn't like it.
You're at home and you can't stop throwing up.
Your brother's at-the-time girlfriend texts you,
You tell her you don't want to exist.
He figures out that you're purging.
No one ever asks why.

You're fifteen.
He hits you for the first time because you said no.
You go home,
And don't know what to do.
They all said this was normal,
And maybe it is.
It's nothing new, right?
Just a different person.
You're at the computer,
Decide to make a page called
"The Sun Came Out to See You"
Because you need a reason to keep going,
And maybe that's all you got.
You roll up your sleeves,
And your mother catches note of the scratches and cuts scabbed over
All over your arms.
It isn't a screaming match this time.
She's screaming,
You sit there, ashamed.
Your father cries--
It won't be the last time you make him cry.
You go to your room,
Your parents are still fighting
Mom leaves,
You black out again.
It's the largest scar you have.
Mom doesn't come back until after work the next day.
You don't show her your hands again for months.

You're sixteen, sophomore year.
Your mother has been diagnosed with stage four breast and ovarian cancer.
The doctors have done as many surgeries as possible, but the cancer is still there.
They're doing all they can.
You refuse to accept that this is it.

You're sixteen.
You've finally escaped that horrible boy without any of the messy stuff,
And you're living in Georgia.
It's horrible,
But if you can escape this,
Maybe you can get back to your best friend from all those years ago.
You wake up smiling for the first time in years
Because you dreamnt of him.
It was warm and hopeful and foolish.
The dream becomes the place you retreat to so you can escape reality.
No one ever learns of it.

You're sixteen. You move back home.
You're taken in by your drama teacher.
Your mom is losing hair from the chemo.
That horrible boy is back in your life.
Something terrible happens
He's horrible
But how can even this happen
People don't do this
That's not how this happened
You said no
You screamed
You hit him
And it hurt,
Oh god it hurt.
You don't come out of your room
To socialize anymore.
You escape reality
As often as you can.

You're eighteen. You just turned eighteen. It's senior year.
You get a phone call.
Your friend was out of class.
He killed himself that morning.
It's your fault.
You saw the signs
And did nothing.
You'll hate yourself for it
To this day.

You're eighteen, almost nineteen.
He does it again,
For the umpteenth time.
Differently,
But the same.
You hit him with a book.
And after two years of telling him you want out of the relationship,
This time he leaves you,
With violent words.
You cry at the front door.
You go to the psychiatric hospital for the third time.
You're finally free.

You're twenty.
You've been trying to feel better,
And maybe you finally are.
You've dropped out of school,
You can't seem to balance it with work,
And your grant got taken
Because you went from being a foster child
To being adopted.
You meet him in a parking lot,
With your best friend at the time.
He's brash and straight forward,
And for some reason you find that charming,
You're inexperienced and vulnerable
And he takes advantage of that.
You last one year with him where you aren't allowed to speak to YOUR friends or family
Before he abandons you on your (real) best friend's doorstep
With nothing but the clothes on your back
And the shoes on your feet.

You're twenty one.
The Monday after he left you he went out
With the girl he cheated on you with.
You don't know this yet.
You go to the hospital
Because you have to get better,
Be better.
And you meet great people there,
Probably talk about yourself too much,
But you're told "Please be strong; Please be brave"
After you realize you're a good person
And you should like yourself.
The words stick.
Sadly, the people don't.

You're twenty one,
You have that "escape from reality" dream again,
But it's different.
You live with your biological parents again,
Your mother beat cancer.
You are sure God is real.
You decide to contact that boy from fifth grade,
That you loved even past seventh grade.
You're nervous
But he actually responds.
You talk almost every day
Until July
When you meet up for the first time
In seven  years.
When you see him,
You want to hug him but you're scared.
He's grown up.
He's taller than you.
He's handsome.
You frown internally.
"Don't fall that easy," You think.
You don't listen.
You tell him you like him,
Two days later.
He likes you back!

You're twenty one,
You're writing this poem.
You love wearing feminine clothing,
And you could care less about your last name (almost, still hate it a little).
On both your little brother's birthday,
You'll have been dating that boy you've loved for so long for three months.
You've loved him all this time,
All this time it's always been him.
No one else.
After four months,
You'll live together.
Because he's not only the love of your life (literally)
But your best friend.
And you couldn't be happier.
And you look at your scars,
Slightly ashamed,
But you remember that he kisses each and every one,
And you remember that your scars
Have nothing to do
With who you are,
Rather with how you've grown.
You talk to your father about him,
And he approves.
Remember when I said that wouldn't be the last time you make him cry?
All the other times you make him cry will be for better reasons.
You've grown up.
But you were wrong.
You're happy.
Timelines! <3
Satsih Verma Mar 2017
Let it remain
ovarian pure. After strangulating
the truth,
for hypoxic euphoria.

Flies in your face
the dirt,
the denial, the terracota
of superposition of speech
hiding self-interest.

Blackened crozier
for wrinkeled crotch
drops the ashes of love
on unopened buds.

Weeping willow sways
in warm winds of prayers.
Strawberry in holes
nothing like bruise.
~ May fourth, 2005
wedded bliss nearly fifty years
half a century almost
me not most favorite grown offspring,
she (when alive) did boast,
about youngest sister and her family,
unlike me – severely socially withdrawn
a veritable wallflower
as a result, I suffered emotional contusions.

When thru life yours truly did
nervously, frightfully, blisteringly coast,
nevertheless her spirit dwells
within wonky tonk prodigal host
crafted in the following poem he doth post
holding tumblr full of favorite brew
probiotic kombucha drink
to thee mother dearest
foregone fading memories
your long haired heir does toast.

Often these days,
the following genuine sentiment
Matthew Scott Harris
doth wish to share
how one and only son,
remembers his mother
cuz about eighteen years
after she succumbed
courtesy of terminal illness
he trots out and updates yearly
a poem initially crafted
when she passed away.

I still reckon eyes how yours truly
analogous to the fountainhead  
of Atlas shrugged off,
whose fanciful essence coalesced
immensely helped  sired,
and yelped ****** ******
when ******* ***** in heat whelped  
at what human biology wrought
doggone muttering schlep
despite being nurtured,

proffered, and registered
tender loving care
within whose womb,
a mature haploid female cell
experienced fertilization courtesy
complimentary male haploid *****
underwent fertilization yielding
zygote thru mother nature's gestation
this sole male offspring born,
thus subsequently after her demise,
yours truly shouldered himself with self scorn.

He clearly recounts
when she felt the scythe of the grim reaper
as if her death occurred yesterday...,
when all mine troubles
(emotional, financial, and physical)
moost definitely
no more farther away
then present moment.

Tempus fugit popular worded couplet
brings Latin alive with succinct precision
or imagine an hourglass
where fine granules
analogous to last remaining
grains representing sands of time
trickle from one to another
(upper to lower) bulbed chamber.

Just prior when coroner decreed death,
yet once in a lifetime opportunity prevailed,
wherein said self (me) chose
NOT to stand vigil at deathbed
(analogous to sitting Shiva)
of she who begat
an older and younger daughter
(mine sibling sisters).

Last breath(s) expelled while mama
tethered to machines,
one or more helped diminish
agonizing, depressing, and writhing
pain and discomfort
figuratively and literally
wracked and pinioned once fitness
and health conscious, flirtatious
industrious, tenacious, and vivacious body,
dinged, harangued, peppered
nefarious carcinoma by dint of
common atomic beastie boy
among certain Semitic people
linkedin to presumptuous inbreeding.

According to google search
frequency of breast, ovarian,
and uterine cancer among Ashkenazi
elicited revelatory statistic
1% of all Ashkenazi Jews
living today inherited
a defective copy of one
of their BRCA2 genes.

Unbeknownst to them,
these carriers of BRCA2 mutation
at increased risk for developing
breast, ovarian, prostate
and pancreatic cancer.

Indomitable esprit de corps
eradicated courtesy regimen of
chemotherapy and radiation,
which latter malignant terminal illness
(no joke) riddled a former robust
Arthur Murray ballroom dance instructor
(think approximately sixty nine years past),
whose coy and coquettish demeanor
instantaneously caught fancy of handsome
twenty something papa at his prime.

Before rigor mortis quickly
stole precious lifeblood, and
final minutes ticked away until
countdown to... realm
of absent consciousness
scant moments before subtle transition
slipped our beloved mother
out of misery (a veritable battleground)
where she did silently rage into deadzone...,
neither final adieu, caress, grief...,

nor poem written...
never communicated to deceased,
not an iota of sorrowful lament
bequeathed, prevailed, relinquished...
over lifeless body (mommy dearest)
relegated limp suddenly
cold stone pilot less body,
where morgue aged corpse
kept in cold storage
(despite aversion to frigid air
exhibited when mama alive)
preparatory to cremation process.

Rather... suppressed resentment
exhibited itself at 1148 Greentree Lane
(partially listed abode -
Matthew Scott Harris,
where family of mine then resided)
by mister recalcitrant,
felt ambivalent carte blanche blasé affection
regarding once young bride,
(who metaphorically
smothered cingular heir insync
with dada i.e. Boyce Brandon Harris),

cuz he (yours truly) overstayed
livingsocial under same roof as parents,
which happenstance situated
at me boyhood home
once located upon
six plus wooded acres;
324 Level Road
constituted the whittled down
once sprawling Leiper Estate,
which encompassed about
one hundred plus acre wood
home to Winnie the Pooh.

Both thee aforementioned
supposed biological guardians
railed, screamed, tormented
(albeit verbally traumatized)
yours truly, upon attaining
mine eighteenth birthday,
when great expectations
greatly exacerbating
emotionally hard times,
which ill suited poet de jure
experienced, brickbats rained

akin to fountainhead spewing
painful pelting piercing
poisonously pummelling (python like
hashtagged with moniker Monty)
down upon these
considerably mooch younger lovely bones,
whose anger (mine) smoldered
linkedin to constant epithets of expletives
out the mouths of those who begat me,
subsequently their livid with rage
tsunami festered within me
every holy moly molecule.

Mine atomized corporeal being
manifesting itself as deprivation
to embrace dear mama
attended at hospital with
both my non twisted sisters;
one hailed from Woodbury, New Jersey
and the younger staked out
modest digs within Bend, Oregon,
meanwhile thee grim reaper
did patiently soon scythe
heading back to his old curiosity shop,
a rather bleak house, I now conclude.
You hid it 'cause I can't find it every elsewhere a package for string
this catastrophe that threatens tragedy above the tryst below a fling
With cords knotted tightly around something tumorous I won't sing
It is the chlorine that cancels detergent in that electric washer thing
beneath cellar steps that David Niven's wife fell down while hiding
I lost her you found her, it's a dollar for riding plus a fee for finding
all broads blinded to inequity and to chick Nazis' unguided guiding
Oh Lord with such ease the slippery have slid into slipshod sliding!
The frailties of free men're exploited by N.S.A.'s jingoistic deriding
General Ike exposed the military-industrial-congressional complex
which strikes against the citizenry by venomous rattle snake reflex
faster than a dope-crazy Marilyn Monroe could reach for a Kleenex
thru curvatures in a third-dimensional, spatially-pornographic helix
that approximated the Mexi-milkers of actriz: la doña María Félix
rutting elephants in musth must respect advisory: kneel-harm-****,
to honor the moon-hoaxing memory of chronic liar Neil Armstrong
as obviously for **** Rosie O'Donnell her gay meal alarm's wrong
Johns familiarized themselves with Lillian Russell by buyin' ** Lil
as masochists meet masochistic needs with movies of Ryan O'Neal
Sadists satiate sadistic surges sharing sermons sold Séamus Ó Néill
& beheld-redemptive pleasures for patrons of free mass soul appeal
I'm nailed in my sub-par carpentry by all do-gooders of the nail ban
to the point where I'm willing to mail my big sister to the mail man
who's part & parcel of a mail-fraud plot & brother's can't-fail plan
Escaped & uncaught I will be no prison monkey's cell-mate-jail-fan
'Cause shorts clothe Richard Simmons' lard *** he has a pale can as
oil-from-rock Daniel's been given the pétrole epithet Ol' Shale Dan
Latino block & cinder create distortive Hispano-Américano rubble
'cause stirring up spics & greasy wetbacks invites N.C.L.R. trouble
Stand back anti-pope as I am about to burst your pederastic bubble!
Your egg-shell-thick pate's no match for a black jack as this club'll
smash its way thru cardinals, reverends, ministers, priests & dukes
to make cream taste like ***** and turn cake into what a dog pukes
Under U.S./Euro socialism there'll be no guy who's a young codger
and popular forenames will be banned including Preston and Roger
Trans-national entities whip horse dung into curdled cottage cheese
while denying rescue inhalers to asthmatics enjoying a bad wheeze
so as to avail publicly purpled aureolae of ready women who tease
Now is the time to release the promised South American killer bees
as the hour's passed to exact vengeance for a beheaded Robert Lees
Mafiosos contract that Joseph Valachi-types be capped at the knees
then hanged by their what's-her-names from il duce poles and trees
in such a fashion that'll tighten the ropes by cough, belch or sneeze
Long legs, wrong eggs, strong pegs, King Kong begs with a song of kegs
Let us dog dealers of wieners & corporate schemers: those 2-bit reamers
extend a left leg into the sacred space of my right one for time remaining
It's easy to harp on topics commiserate with crap profitably entertaining
A man who courts dogs & a court manned by dogs quibbles over kibble
Dogs devoid of canine teeth are not as happy to gnaw and to nibble
The Arc of the Covenant bestowed ancient promises metaphysical
shedding cockroach-scattering illumination that set courses tragical
on a populace & citizenry that were more attuned to an era magical
Before Zionistic Elders prepared an Order within cabals strategical
Beneath plum sunsets & catchy maladies that deafened folks lyrical
“Turn me on dead man” the Beatles backwardly warbled mystically
as the means and the method to sexcite vampresses gynecologically
For all shoulder-locked movements sway men anthropomorphically
Let us seek bi-lesbians who fear concerted opposition diametrically
as their prized packages remain barren, as they spawn ineffectually
Sappho's ovarian host pouch is barren as ***** meld ineffectually
as Western, Fallopian-tubed freakazoids are ****-probed habitually
Sapphic ovarian balloons shrink when hens ******* reciprocally
On Pearl Harbor Loch a false flag blackened Mister Moto's beacon
by shadowy, white manipulators under a U.S. sinister, proto-deacon
who, as a cousin-marrying-pipe-******* *******, emulated Lincoln,
the war-loving queer who went above & beyond his task to weaken
the will of sovereign states to sustain free-market economic health,
by exacting confiscatory taxes resulting in punishing capital wealth
The Beatles were creatures of M.K. Ultra's institution at Tavistock,
groomed as constructs to transmogrify youth into an immoral block
lost to a shocking future as shown by Alvin Toffler in Future Shock
whereas nothing can help us from taking an epidemiological knock
by Mao a la Trotsky, a la starvation wages via phony-baloney stock
in the image of Pol *** a la Lenin contrary to righteous John Locke
Our fused-egg brothers gestate together, flying as a migratory flock
dolled up in vestry wardrobe: papal bikini brassier, ******* & frock
awaiting George Orwell's 1984 English socialism known as Ingsoc
X number of years before Nancy Kwan wed ski champ Peter Pock,
& after Bob Ripley's Oriental/Occidental miscegenation ****** talk
as it was curlier than was Nimoy while he portrayed Vulcan Spock,
whose sweetness was unrehearsed, unrestrained & of a sickly mock
once taken, out of time as taken twice daily on any ol' broken clock
flesh stripped & exploited as the flightless relic of Earth's great auk
enjoying the laze of Sunday oblivious to extinct Darwinian schlock
as chastised love is Leonard Nimoy-pitiable with chastity-belt lock
Upon a Massachusettsian shore puritans purified Plymouth's Rock!
Forever amounts to nothing in betrayal of Heinlein's empathic grok
Back off quack as I'll **** the next 1 of you applying scalpel to ****
as a dad must regarding neo-Kantian, fatherless-**** Johann Bach
Deep in hell's bowels fricassees Jew Elizabeth/***-to-Death Taylor
who did every Joe Nobody from Captain Crunch to Norman Mailer
A harlot ***** was she from 10 niggerly toes to scary mulatto tone
as hellishly deep in Liz's brain was a splinter of hamster wish bone
& her ***-end was broad from fat foods Safeway to her would loan
Beneath her 3rd world-chiding heft Larry F's lawn chairs did groan
as this princess of whales never said no to hog jowls and corn pone
which made an interesting cut-out to novices of the porpoise prone
There won't be another Liz till Rockefeller perfects a Warner clone
with the aid of sewing machines to hem-stitch hems that need sewn
& a positronic brain stem to achieve mortality previously unknown
since Alex Bell pilfered **** inventor Antonio Meucci's telephone
Truth is light that Illuminists keep shadowed, darkened & unshown
for Hank & Phoebe Snow and Johnny Winter who would not atone
Thomas Edison stole or bought the patents to ingenious inventions
that he was more than happy to claim as his brilliant contributions
to the wealth & state of inquisitive Mankind's Earthen conventions,
also he took credit for Biblical allusions to immaculate conceptions
Which Bible books Tom Edison wrote no G.E. employee mentions
as stealing, purloining and commandeering were his 3 predilections
True historians know well charlatan Edison's dastardly elaborations
To pinch a hairy, chapped man is wrong as it puts him in more pain
For century-old Harry Chapman Pincher pinching made him insane
His unholy joy was to lay prone with mouth open to catch acid rain
& then hop into the commode to affect a toilet-related ankle sprain,
not too unlike Richard called **** & Jean who liked the name Jane
whose corpulence demands a piano coffin burial with crawler crane
Formaldehyde replaced 7 quarts of blood that went down a drain as
the proverb fits: when there's nothing to lose there's nothing to gain
Alan Ladd snuffed himself over a self-destructive hatred for Shane
and because Sue Carol preferred men of height Ladd couldn't attain
without elevator shoes & leading-lady actresses walking in ditches,
the love-life that humbles a netted shrimp into paralytic twitches as
Alan often got nothing from Brentwood ****** & witches because
****** pimps don't scrape **** off them Hollywood swanky *******
Tragically it's true that God's in the details & Satan's in the glitches
when Hippocratic Oath-denying doctors say don't bandage stitches,
it promotes infection needing treatment that add to a quack's riches
Apply no anti-bacterial salve unless your unbandaged wound itches
Amerika will be a Marxian paradise after we guillotine the snitches
harvest their organs, cremate & consign their ashes to crude niches
Give me, give me, give me, I can subsist not on a mere, single bean
Hey cheapo, get off your greasy ***, take me to Dairy Queen as my
**** is shaved, bra's padded & all kinks are relaxed by Afro Sheen
Western ***** are fattened for slaughter as sloped slants grow lean,
for lack of appendix, tonsils, adenoids, warts, piles, moles & spleen
Refugees flee what's so repressively dangerous that it's forever fled
The bloodied blood biz passes pathogens to bleeders bloodily bled
It is a dreadful situation that ****** folks find difficult not to dread
A gent is obliged to face conflict face first short of living in a shed,
plying the rough trade, rough-necking with ******* or playing dead
When my cruddy teeth are encrusted I brush the crud off with Crest
while working drainward with this golden cake of soap called Zest
Like a woman on public assistance I refuse to let my choppers rest
There was a time when talk of quiz was a precursor to an Iowa test
My basic skills are determinedly under-cutting my housewife guest
whose stems run north to her malignant tissue free mammae breast
In movies shooting orphans with high-powered rifles is done in jest
'cause in Amerika making ammunition is what wage-slaves do best
When I'm not utilizing forks for recreational after-meal dog-jabbin'
I am staking out hog farms for the planning of gainful hog-nabbin'
or making log-planing modifications on my pine-logged log cabin,
before crossing teamster picket lines for wage-earning job scabbin,'
I take pains to avoid being skinned in a Jimmy Hoffa mob stabbin'
A thousand Confucian truths drive my happy dreams to nightmares
as bi-****** pass out on Calexico-Mexicali-low-calorie light beers
I haven't the moxie to skate through hydrants of fate terminological
as those 78 crumb-bums behind T.V. “comedies” wax scatological
Ernie killed Chip & Robby to stamp his father a cipher biological
He hadn't room for women for production smacking gynecological
The last time he looked skyward his thoughts weren't cosmological
S.O.B. Ernest cursed routinely at arthritis diagnosed gerontological
He gives not a harlot's hello for innumerable faults anthropological
nor to lend his energies to scopes that abuse harmonics hormonical
as he stumblingly falls prey to meanderings sickishly trophological
Lord of Hostesses salvage carcass mine from insults cancrological
Redeem me in sudden form humanoid of activities pathogenetical
We mourn in Gettysburg's city as unrepentant lesbians on probation
Defying errors inflicted upon soldiers who forsook proper vocation
Anti-poping Argentine Francis as he's ****** to Satan's invocation
It remains the best course to abide by stellar laws of spatial rotation
Whether one's nationality is Romanian, Finnish, British or Croatian
Lost people will eat food outside their region & of course: location
They'll surely theorize on arcana that's weakly deemed postulation
Worshiping Sunday is as heathenish as a Roman Catholic sunburst
Be better, be worse, be it ham fatted on toast or mayo in liverwurst
F.E.M.A.'s big plan to ****** 200 million citizens is planned first
Our fate is the guillotine & Chinese torture for we who are cursed
Beneath a deluge of a radioactive Pacific California'll be immersed
as Fukushima's boiling cooling towers are centrally timed to burst
Save it untainted as radiological-free water is better to slake thirst
For it's less desirable to be formula bottle-fed than it is to be nursed
January 14, 1957 : 57 years ago today Humphrey Bogart died at 57
His engine has stopped, his gas pedal is capable of no more revvin'
Happy 83rd birthday to thy cremated mom

Harriet Harris fought tooth and nail
Mother succumbed
to terminal illness without fail
Ovarian/ Uterine Cancer to no avail
hosted by death feasted fancy
at Oyster Bay metastasized inducing this male
the sol son to grapple as psyche didst ail.
***********
Major organs compromized grim reaper and
carried corpse into dead zone as a keeper brand
donned as one Canarsie flashy dame grand
ball room dancer didst skittered in right hand
side o' me noggin, the idea flit ta left land
of gray matter thru me mined task didst ex panned

foregoing bidding on e-bay, ruminate how trite
online shenanagins, never asking nor knowing spite
most likely raged within yar being,
which lack of filial duty haint right
to be near where psyche flails quite
understandably, but no matter matthew scott

never did ask, how emotions most clear aflame
with anger writhing asper your terminal plight
vis a vis injustice to ****** desire with shroud of night
arising each morning to brilliant light

ye, thy lover of life becoming ashen gray
with recurring incomplete bucket list that may
already, a dozen plus years ago - neigh
aye methinks, so much deprived of grandchildren ply
their oars thru the time stream, how **** sigh
to partake whence thee drew final breath thy
avoid seeing thee stiffen with rigor mortis, why...

did unlucky dice throw of fate
rob and steal unattained goals ye strove with grate
fully before out bidden by dead souls, who hate
mortals to complete, thus truncate a lifelong mate
to papa, whom recouped severe loss, though his pate

undoubtedly flits with remembrance
of thee one he did highly rate
despite occasions, where spats hood did vitiate

this son feels he did not booster morale at all
with Huzzah, but stood mute in proximity
when ye didst call
in kitchen of century old stone
mansion built and hall

ways echo wing the absence sans pall
in droning sounds of silence, a squall
vacuumed a key per, a gal fairly tall
whose son now reflects how many a wall
he figuratively erected shuttered from y'all

that home razed, yet memory of complex edifice
still intact, averse to let eyes sweep, the home I miss
analogous to house at Pooh’s Corner
viz shared with a younger and older loving sis

both edging into their twilight zoned time on earth
re: the outer limits of expected longevity, yet stoking
the coals essence of each their respective hearth
324 Level Road Collegeville above recaptured
with recollections of merriment and mirth
oft occasions this sol heir withholding telling worth

thee ness, and must therefore purge such grief
considerably less than when pages
of me life seemed like a shuffled sheaf
or soon after yar demise, a sense of drowning
without recourse to being rescued,
nor near enough to grasp hold of any reef

that home stead, blessedly played important role
constituent key residence like quasar pole
sated light years removed from civilization, when goal
acquisition February 28th 1968 won land slide cole

essence tract of idyllic radiance upon open space
already slated tubby outfitted, transformed for race
sing urbanity asper mobile Americans at a pace
greater than mother nature shows amazing grace
as commercialization takes charge and doth efface,

the once bucolic, ecologic, and idyllic
forces this sentimental sir
to latch upon steady brace
bemoaning and tempted to take ace

hip of hemlock to forego discontent with bing hue
man, who cherished tender mother-son glue
and wondrous tribulation, 
I harbored enshrined and unwittingly flew
from pristine sanctuary secured
deeply in consciousness,

which access to retrieve circumstances
of myself as a boy still dwells in this man shun - clew
less nothing can recreate, nor reconstruct boyhood,
teenage and adult hood pangs
scare me wide-awake
whar frightful dreams serve as boo

stirring of dormant sentiment,
especially thee 13th day n 11th month
of each year
the aura, charisma, and persona, veer
dims sum milk of human kindness bequeathed tear
ring inner sanctum, where
this offspring doth miss his mum, he doth rare
lee shed light, only when faux pause (all faux)
aye scrawl a mini opus knowing you will

never be cognizant, extant, for me to grant mere
cathartic expunging in situ flowing emotions hear
able only to live kith and kin or
akin to Rapunzel unfurling tress buffeted hair

inside my being for love unspoken dare
ring father hood got taught true value, sans two beautiful
grand daughters ye would marvel
poignant traits, and disbelief that this bare
wren wove within DNA lasses who usher an air.
Aye Go Gaga

Hey Play boy bunny,

(▒)(♥)(▒)

Are you tired looking for real dating partner like me
whelp...probably nada worth yar while spending precious
   time frittering away re:
ding tha following mish mash literary mush - we
ving, and bobbing, which iz meaningless mum bo pap agree?

(▒)(♥)(▒)


This poker face mwm 4 bad romance gamboling hall
ideal to suit up for a fun virtual cat and mouse chase
myopic eyes stare intently into cyberspace
folk kiss sing song snap chat ting
mine eyes fixated b4 ur image seconds erase
with an exclamation of eureka a ha -
u look familiar at least yar face
mebbe we both lived during same time centuries ago, eh
perhaps in adjoining caves some place
and/or dashed off the starting line of tha human race.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
this yo dull ling josh hing glute max a mess aye n us
tooting ring ding oof a max i mus drake
haint named Bruce
boot ah do like the taste of cous cous
what the deuce
as i goose
whereby bull winkle the moose
n Natasha the squirrel plus otter creatures tink i lack mental juice
er purr haps goot a ***** loose
right duh gray matter of dis knit wit, the "infamous" they noose
sum hmm iz amiss from indigent guy lugged in papoose
cob bulled with whirled wide web
peppered with rotten green tomatoes -
prompting n immediate VAMOOSE
& find my rye ming ting ab
solute zero in chime with zee cuckoo
ready to call doktor demento ore Zeus.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
thus, this friendship introduction
will mutual ideally nada blow
based on ma unseen essence of body, mind
& soul more so than dough
i.e. money, which tends tubby superficial criteria
viz assess worthiness to flow
toward greater comprehension akin to garden
requires one 2 **** din ***
thus, this common non sloppy joe
maw owl ease keeps tim self i.e. ya know
a contemplative sort & writes ha low
crossing fingers immediate aversion arises,
yet an emphatic "no"
toward me would be taken in stride per this poe
it, whose ability finds comfort within simple pleasures
of life while invisible one that doth row
this creaky human vessel occasionally
calls out for big tow.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
mebbe as a d liver e purse son
2 supplement social security income
(this disability 4 generalized anxiety)
within me gray matter doth lay.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
although (mentioned for noah particular rhyme nor reason)

of heterosexual tendencies, my inner sanctum affected

by unkind actions towards those,

who (by choice, genetics, fondness,

or environment) steer clear of the madding crowdsource

who (as a rather skinny diminutive boy - and average emasculating

asia meister wordsmith) experienced constant taunts.

no matter that  me very late mother (who passed away from

ovarian cancer some decade plus two years ago) encouraged me to

give the bullies a WHAT FOR (in that era kids could pummel

without reprisal),  but fear kept me back,

viz the brutish nasty monsters zeroed

on countless vulnerabilities such as being affected with blatant

nasal tone when talking,  extremely shy,

and undersized physique honed - fallacy

sensitivity to others differently abe bulled

or others, who hapt to be fair

game sans being gay or lesbian for instance.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
can be accurately ascertained, this archetypal nonestablishmentarian
introspective individual attempts to affect exultant image
with words my (ahem) pen ultimate aim.
yet all the while trying
to steer clear enduring wagging virtual finger in blame
neither at this fellow via x 'cept able dame
chance circumstances of existence akin to being frozen
in some space/time paradigms frame
attempting extricating ourselves a lifelong game
which message offered in poem rather lame.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
email moi, which means
applying cerebral muscles 2 flex
fire off a brief bull a tin

or mebbe u wanna drop me a lion by zoo
per doo purr postal service, si from you.

Okay.

(▒)(♥)(▒) - pose crypt:

death tomb he iz a permanent good bye

though, when me mum passed i only did cry

for about one week - cuz resentment did not die

within me, yet toward me octogenarian widower dad

who during tumultuous prepubescence a fie

re: cold war raged,

which deprived "dad" tune oh his guy

now grown (with two adult daughters) says "hi"

allows emotional connection, cuz - lesson learned late -

need to communicate sentiments today, lest they lie

dormant, and return with a vengeance after grim reaper

doth exuberantly and well nigh

whisk a family member, friend, neighbor...away on the sly

thus - even if the wording nada so perfect, the effort to express

heartfelt feelings well worth a try

thus, every mortal shares this bitter irony of life

forever asking being born only to pass away

(vis a vis via whatever faith) why...?
After about fifty years as married wife
the last three fraught with strife
obvious telltale signs of terminal illness rife
hysterectomy irrevocably didst jackknife
at the least severely incapacitated
think pitted, riddled,
and rounced her tortured life.

Ovarian cancer affliction
on par with megadeath
bald pate (color of bleached skull),
and crossbones characterized mortal death
oxygen tank to sustain each measured breath.

Nonetheless her angry spirited accursed
ferocity, ejaculatory, denunciatory burst
expletive and epithet
peppered preponderant rant,
(no kidney you) laced
and dull livered worst
fulmination, exasperation,

(albeit feebly faint)
damnation well versed
lips mouthing implacable thirst
to defy grim reaper uber
lyft driver analogous hearst
jubilation immune to
interrogation and/or humiliation
diatribes interpreted glorification,

remained scythe lent bore
scathing rebukes hurled regarding
her sole son (courtesy
miraculous biological reproduction)
dogged with financial perdition
eased series of unfortunate events narration
blessed nonagenarian widower husband

generous father gave male progeny
eased (his/mine) absolution
availed immense monetary boost,
she (envision banshee)
voiced abhorrent objection
regarding liberal outpouring
triggered her vitriolic remenstration.

Similar with pointed gesticulation,
excoriation, cannibalization, abomination...
against reducing his albatross
yoking penurious defeat
her livid hostility displayed, decried,
****** how Matthew Scott,
(I shoal mussel metaphor

without clamming up, how
said offspring coasts) along easy street,
while she sorely protested (thankfully in vain)
even after succumbing to painful demise,
she vehemently, obstreperously and helplessly
loathes handsome handout
to yours truly forsakes Pete.

— The End —