my shrink told me:

"Feelings:
Pathetic.
Baked clouds:
Attention!
A broken butterfly:
Holy fear"

abortion, gay marriage, suicide, depression, faith diversity, disunion, pacifism, the internet, green peace, the national institutes of guns, alcohol and cigarettes, math teachers, poorly written books and well-written books, science, documentaries, the 90′s Cartoon Network, solutions for first, second and third world problems, the Venus project, conspiracy theories, poker, chess and backgammon, ******, music, female *******, boys playing with dolls and offensive language are nothing

we are all attention ******.
we are born and buried
for attention.
we endure awkwardness
for attention.
we have *******
for attention.
god will be afraid of us
for attention.

so I told him**:

"Let's face it
nothing will be everything!"

Hair burned into beautiful submission
Face acrylically defined and chemically composed
Adornments meticulously chosen
Scent tested and approved
Smile practiced and performed
I am a porcelain doll
Sipping tea, at 6 am in the quiet of a sleepy-city apartment
Porcelain doll dainty wrists
Washing dishes, feeding cats
Folding linens, singing hymnals
Praying for peace and safety
Porcelain doll knitting sweaters
And folding paper cranes
Reading poems, setting tables
Wearing cardigans and pearls
Porcelain doll decorating cupcakes
Lighting scented candles
Watering potted plants and humming childhood lullabies
With my porcelain painted lipstick mouth


But lipstick can be dark
Eyes lined black as city alley ways
There is anger at injustice
The world outside the confines of a pastel doll house
It’s messy
It’s hard
It’s iron and concrete and coal
And I am too
Biking through the brick metropolis
Sunglasses and headphones
And anarchist literature
Evenings spent sprinting through the smog
Heartbeats synchronized to the crude drumming of the city
So hard to impress
I’m on the metro
Eyebrows structured and defined
And adorned with a calculated air of apathy
See me social justice march
Down highways with fervently entitled youths
See me armed against misogyny
Until my peers learn to better conceal it
See me smoking cigarillos
Drinking black coffee
Breathing the tainted air of the city that birthed me
And chanting manifestoes.

But my manifesto can be love
And love can conquer anger and fear
And hatred
Love can reconcile, it can erase timidity
And it can abolish resentment
Let it wash my face and take the need for vengeance from my spirit
Let it replace the thirst for power with thirst for truth.
I burn incense
And wear long skirts
Naked face and braless lazy days
Reading pacifism in the park
I walk far to find pure air to breathe
I sit and deconstruct my dichotomy
Under a wise and ancient tree
I trace myself backwards and forwards
I meditate on the paths I have traveled
I cry for the things I have seen
And for the things I have done
I contemplate transcendence
I drink wine and listen to folk music
On the terrace of my home
I bike barefoot to buy Indian takeout
And eat it in silence on the floor of an empty room

I think only of death
And resurrection
Of betrayal and redemption
Of opposites and compliments
And how to progress in knowing how divergent pieces of myself can learn to harmonize
I think about minimalism and materialism
Sentimentalism
And swords and pens
And how this race I run was rigged from the start
I think about blackberries
And the complexity of their literary and symbolic significance
I think about the number seven as I see it reoccurring in every possible sequence and equation
I think about God,
And TS Eliot
And If I dare disturb the universe
I think about porcelain dolls and ****** activists and ***** hippies
I think about war and peace and politics
About corruption and poverty and imperialism
About western ideals and conspiracy theories
And communism
I think about being radical,
And how both sides of this ideological war are defined by fear
And I think about love, as radical but defined by the absence of fear
The absolution of fear
And how I am fairly certain it is the answer
I think about the inevitability of art and war
how they create each other
how they destroy each other
inspire each other and annihilate each other
and how there is nothing that is innocent.
I think about pain and privilege
And stacked decks of cards
I think about dreams and nightmares
And prophesy.
I think about the darkness within me
Tendencies to lie and manipulate and steal
The darkness that I know could make me very great
But alone in the ashes of the world
I think of the curse of wealth and power
And I try to evaluate my motives
And the driving force of my ambition
But I don’t know.
I think about grace and all the things I don’t understand
And toil and fate and destiny
The shape of these things, their origins and culminations
And what this black box of secrets contains.
I think about so many things,
Until everything I was on the outside is gone.
My body is gone
My painted face and sculpted hair
My varnished nails and pierced ears
All my clothes and appendages and freckles are gone
My blood evaporated
My brain an invisible energy in the wind.
My home and street
And city
Are gone.
And even in such complete concentration
When it is only my essence and nothing else
And I transcend throughout my past and future
When I am spread thin
And stretched into the corners
When I fill the cracks and crevices
And melt into the pores of everything
And my spirit is awaked to a dimensionless reality
Even then,
Scio Nihil

I know nothing. .

Sadness
Weapons of mass destruction
Witness protection program
Mutually assured destruction
Plausible deniability
Too big to fail
Pre-emptive strike
The final solution
Master race
Total Spectrum Dominance
Untouchables
Genocide
Greed
Racism
Sexism
Homophobia
Ca­ncer
Hate

Hope
Blessed are the peacemakers
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you
Turn the other cheek
Judge not lest ye be judged
Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone
Sacrifice
Non-violence
Integration
Pacifism
Environmentalis­m
Empathy
Understanding
Tolerance
Equality
Cure
Love

2:00 am and it’s that other-worldly heat
rising from the deepest hell, earth’s centre
extra a.f., as she would say
and she would know
at 15—
our separate bodies (spring of her life, mine between) give way
to an inevitable biology

2:00 am and another long hazy chain of women
my foremothers, and we are
single file, through burnt fields in blazing sun
walking a thousand miles
searching for god,
or our free selves—
tired faith stirs
to rightful power

Again, and a heavy grey-smudged blanket
settles around me, uneasy
I sip black tea with milk, eyes adjust, and
night becomes a friend
morning light will appear again
as it does—
fear surrenders
to the unknowable

In the night, like my bearded ancestors
shouting sermons from rough cut pulpits, doctrine
five hundred years old,
I am making peace
but laying down body, soul and mind
not arms—
a new pacifism
old as my mothers

strength doesn't mean courage
suicide takes courage
persevering takes strength
approaching that pretty girl
you saw in starbucks
takes courage
loving her
even at the times
when you think you might hate her
takes strength
fighting takes courage
pacifism until you find something
worth fighting for takes strength
encased in our ideals
they catch quite the beating
and if they still stand
once the dust has settled
the smoke cleared
then you know they were strong
I might not be brave
and I might be short and skinny
but don't relax that guard
I have strength enough to know
that you are mistaken

Back with only memories of tomorrow.
the Personality that simply engulfs mine.
A hazel blaze that ate the small flame.
Tomorrow, you changed the entire world

burned down the sky, for the color of sunsets.
cynic turned something more facetious.
Pinwheel-heart only moves when you walk by.
simplistic melody of “ba-dump, Ba-dump”

fought for pacifism and won.
You and your crazy handful of nothings.
tore down the libraries to save the books.
Killed the dreamers to save the dreams

Dark Brown sunshine fell on your shoulders.
crescent moon sat under your nose.
and the stars twinkled across your face.
I only look to the sky to see you.

Build a life where tomorrow is not so far away.
where should we meet up? i know.
Lets meet at the edge of where you’ve been.
Lets meet at the edge of where you’re going

In our voyeuristic ambivalence
In our savage pacifism
With bureaucratic diarrhea

We **** on Lady Liberty
And wipe our *****
With the Constitution

The chagrin is profound,
A heart is marred,
And bane mushrooms diffuse spores ---
But they deliver elation,
They all deliver pacifism
For which the weary
Spirit yearns.
They deliver elation
In a trivialness
From where
No spirit returns.

in an attempt to save what can’t be
Anjun begins his faithful quest
to deter tarator’s wrathful hand
and convert the faithless to faithfulness-

-O, lands, air, and flame,
can you hear my plea
for a risen dawn
over the rushing seas?
let my words be planted
like hidden seeds
inside the hearts
of my enemies-

-let peace succeed-

“My dearest brothers
Clothed in roaring fires
Let your mercy meet my words
And may your hatred transpire-
A loving hand I offer you
A loving heart to inspire
Love inside your empty chests
And raise up loves great pyre-

Mercy, peace and grace align
Let mercy burn and mercy shine
And let foes leave hand in hand
Friends at least till timeless ends

Mercy, love, and truest hope-
A twine of thread is easily broke,
Unless to another fastened
It can not prevent the chasm-
So let us tie our hearts in one
And let nations befriend, and with war be done.”

out of true love and heart he spoke,
and from the dark the hearts awoke-
yet
what is put into practice
is sure to follow through-

Anjun had surely come to the end of his quest
With Tarator’s men seeking holy steps
Yet the great Bear ,Neltoc, chief of tarotor, was not easily swayed
Inviting Anjun to speak privately about such holy ways-

Neltoc:
“Anjun, I know your heart is pure gold,
Desiring nothing but what you think is best,
Changing our ways of old
To become new, to change, to reassess.”

Anjun:
“Mighty Neltoc, what you speak is true,
I only seek to enlighten and share new truths.
For a nation cannot truly be set free
Until the leaders release the power to serve the lowly,
Which is what the divine scripture has shown me,
Which I believe wholly”

Neltoc and Anjun conversed long into the night,
Discussing their shared values of their people-
Although clearly it was dark outside,
The light on the inside shows two men, both equals.
The bear and the mourning bird had formed new trust
And had compelled a new start, though still feeble-

but upon the wall a shadow was seen cast,
as a fox moved outside the window
(a fresh zealous disciple desiring to protect Anjun,
in fear was cracking back the arms of his longbow)
but mighty Neltoc was prepared for an attack
having archers on the roof of his palace;
so when the shots into the foxes skin we’re heard,
Neltoc became enraged with malice!
turning now to Anjun with fear and anger,
he asks his newfound friend why he’d done this.

though the mourning bird plead innocent
the thread of trust had already been broken;
so even though Anjun was free of guilt,
the floor confessed his throat had been cut open-

news throughout both nations spread quickly,
waking all able hearts from their sleeping
and as the warriors readied in the cities,
disciples could be heard in Anise weeping:

(the mourning bird
is dead
and the sun
bows in shame
------- watching -------
as they lay a precious spirit
deep in its grave)


ring now the bells of destruction
and weep for the passing of anjun!
here comes the king to silence an eruption,
to destroy tarator and bring about their final doom!

off with the head for who the mourning bird has bled
and lay him dead so that the beasts may now be fed
eating of the flesh which has stolen flesh
and may the bells toll at the finalized revenge!


(off with the head for which the pacifist was bred
and lay his kingdom in the rubble of its death
burning up this weakness that only fire can perfect,
leave none left behind, finalize our steps!)
-
we trust in the power of blood
to write this tale complete!
cowardice has no place
within the eyes of fate,
oh great sword of death, let your glory be our final speech!

out with the heart for which wickedness does start
and cleanse the dark out from where it does depart,
cut open the chest and remove its sacred parts
scatter the remains on the plains under heaven’s stars!


(out with the eyes from which shedding tears are cried
and purge all charity from the lion’s pride
rip open the skin and remove what lies inside
scatter the remains on the plains under the mornings sky!)

we trust in the power of blood
to write this tale complete!
cowardice has no place
within the eyes of fate,
oh great sword of death, let your glory be our final speech!

Blood
Rain down
Blood
Rain down
Blood
Rain down
Pardon all our sins
Blood
Rain down
Blood
Rain down
Blood
Rain down
And in your rain let fate be set!

split open the earth
and let the bodies fall in
as bones seep into dirt
we forget their origins

as the trumpets begin to sound
a weeping wail is heard
for although securing victory
the king's last words were heard.
for as sickness has no allegiance
falling on the good and bad,
though the wicked may be dead
the righteous lose the head they had.

peace returns to the land
but at what perilous price
two cities meet now hand in hand
but at the cost of a lion's life.

Peeve growled
at the gnashing, hypocritical teeth
took a step back to avoid another fight.
His pacifism remained unnoticed,
his pride maliciously mauled again.

It’s difficult to beat a pair of dogs
demanding retreat
yet never retreating themselves.

He has doubled his weight,
newly found power pulses in his pupils,
his lacerated skin begs for revenge.

Legs fully cocked,
pleading for release.

Try growling now, *******.
I dare you.

I have no fear of anyone who opposes me,
Shall I live? Forever, I am
****** to die, regardless
Of the life I lead. So,
To nihilism and cynicism; should I cling?
Or fight for my ideals and beliefs?
What is it, to fight? To be violent, to the pacifist;
To resist violence, with pacifism.

I fear no man that would oppress me,
Shall you live? Never, would I
Bend the knee before being
Brought to kneel. Rightly,
You can **** me
But what I die for lives on;
Drown in the wake
Of those that love,
Those that bleed

What peace allows;
Time to think, of
What freedom means

Constantly suffering like this is never a good thing.
It's peculiar to think otherwise.
I mean, I can't really do anything stupid.
Sure, I'll suddenly gain that rush of temporary popularity;
Since the dead are always so glorified,
But when they're living, they're trash.

I mean, isn't that how things work?
Well, that's the cynical, dark way of thinking about it.
What about the reverse?
Alternate dimensions, multiverses of beings that are you.
Six or eight, I forgot the precise number to them.
But the importance is that there are other outcomes,
To the solution you long for.

Then again,
Problems can't really be solved by the conciousness
That created them.
Just like wishes are only a success plan for failure.
Well, what's more important?
To be or not to be?
Pacifism or aggression?

Earnest Hemingway was always active with his words,
But there's nothing wrong with being the other.

As migrants from our own pious bodies,
we held hands through pouring rain and
ran from those things which hoped to keep us.

We submerged ourselves deep into the Cuyahoga,
letting the currents ease us away from our lives;
her pacifism, something much more to learn from.

We let the water glaze our skin with rich culture
and vagrant God’s who’d settled along her banks.
We thought it chance that life would become

something much bigger than we’d planned.
We designed skyscrapers to build with our
hands as we’d tightrope across wire cables

high over upper-Manhattan or someplace grandeur.
We let our tears fall from rainclouds and hummed
along to the soft music which played inside of us.

Young nights grew into days as we learned
how to use our youthful bodies as something
more than for breathing and running.

We read books for the promise of a greater tale--
maps for the promise of finding ourselves
through the devilish hellfire of the Arizona

desert.  We thirsted for love and found it on
park benches and back seats.  We prayed to the
Sun God’s that this summer would last an eternity.

During the pre-evening liturgy
Betwixt a shabby stall
Irate I sit scribing seasoned verses
Silent as an infant in production

Whilst the slaughtering of pacifism
Across the universe ‘tis my soundness
Perforated by the eerie current
‘Twas delivered via the vapors of her breath

Curtly, such graphic memories gnaw the very bones
Of what I had thought to be timeless romance
Though once again I’ve been forsaken
To drink all ‘twas left unsaid and unknown

I subside on the constants
in waves and meters.

three am or pm:
one in the same.

apathy begets
apathy
in a circular swirl.

I remain insaitable
in my thirst for fluidity;
I foam at my breaks.

I remain solid;
jaw jutting against liquidity.

despite my pacifism,
I still cannot dissolve.

Sewn, stitched above the bubbling scare,
Where children learned the world’s ways
And soldiers accepted their dismal fates.
Where one white shoulder moves from East to North,
And the two quivering fools never split –
                Their cousin never wagged incessantly like he does at parties,
He hid behind the wall like a yellow beetle, fearing the house owners may come home.
Yet what to utter in such circumstances
Where the belly falls
                And the arms divide to point at the planets.
This, now, is the end of syllables and rapture,
Intelligence and effort,
                The sacred voice that shattered mirrors
Now frozen forever in guilty shakes.
Frankly, I never possessed the stomach.
Pacifism is the hot blood rising from groin to punch the stomach
And the dry sand that erodes the throat.
And anger – that chained, wild dog thrashing, snapping its teeth with the dead sound of a slap.
And pride – the hands entwined in the chains, forming shadowed figures against the fire.
                I see myself no higher than him.
Submerged in the afterthoughts of the silent battle,
Our cocky speeches dictated in private
Now seem like pillaged playgrounds.

Nevertheless –
Time is the hands wearing away,
And unleashing the beast with fire on its tongue.

Oh Yorick, you little crunchy skull, tell me, baby,
answer all the questions in "Blowing in the Wind"
on pacifism and what-is/how-to-be a man, please

and then play the piano while I lie on the lid of it
and let's sing the blues about being and nonbeing
and get drunk on scotch, as old as little young me

and the places, faces, and names we've forgotten
all while my rusty-stringed guitar gently weeps,

and geese run in droves over my grave, shivering
up and down my spine as my ears just burn alive

with the sword of death on a frazzled dried string
hangs over our heads to remind us we are young

we must not waste a second of life with "frivolity"

we are young, dead, all roguish,
we are real, but not broken--yet!

You said, I want to go where the riots are,
Where my affliction has no name.
That's what you call it, your pacifism:
Your affliction, your disease.
Like a flaw that keeps you from fighting.
But I've seen you argue with
Unclenched fists and
Disappointed eyes and I know
It's not that you can't fight,
It's that you won
A long time ago.

'Q

Butane lungs,
forty different faces, too many of them too numb.
Too many cups, too many cups, too many times I've called your bluff.
Stop your eyes from fallacies and incoherent lies, stop your mouth from the ******* that's falling out.
Inconceivable pacifism and flower petals made out of eyelashes and dead skin.
I don't want to go through this again.

Complicate the scales, complicate your lengthy tales, complicate the way she says your name, complicate the way I have too many finger prints on my veins.

Stop slitting wrists, go for the bruised knuckles and ****** fists.
Stop slitting wrists, go for the bruised knuckles and ****** fists.
Smile like there is no such thing as goodbye, smile while your teeth fall out, smile while you die.
Keep your eyes peeled, keep your eyes open with blood shot lies.
Covering yourself in lucid dreams, covering yourself in water it seems, covering yourself in pieces of me.
I'm too ****** up, I swear to God the Devil knows this isn't how I wanna be.
Overtime, over the night, over time, over night, under your flashlight, shadowed with with regret, I was never a satisfying bet.
There have been too many times that I've heard the phrase, "Darling, you're possibly the darkest person I've ever met."
I just talk to the ceiling and tell it about how I hope you never forget.
But I know this is it, I know I know I know, I know because you already forgot.

our cry of war;
peace
the streets, O, how they testify
accused of false prophecy.
but a people's truth
known best by
them who walk it.

weapons,
bluebird hashtags,
palm portals broadcast high definition.
hands of pacifism write a
play of sunken morals
a stage—the world
capturing heart;
caging it beside mind

no longer abiding forced compliance
to the dollar,
and the jester king's control
making mockery of the throne they sit—
unrighteous fools.
we refuse a subject's posture.

they deem a mask cowardice,
fickle and shallow understanding
an insult of fear.
a brotherhood of belief to represent—
uniformity
together
by rank and by file,
stalwart to stem the loss of blood;
against greed.
independence
from them—from one another,
from the cookie cutter's imposition
advertisement imprisonment

once thought killed
succeeding only, they
made his cause indefinite
made message
immortal.
forever grinning,
lips curled across porcelain visage

on asphalt battleground
a rose outstretched,
the bearer beaten with sticks
put in chains.
soaring cans noxious,
tears not their result,
but of sorrow
for them, and
their acceptance of bribe white picket, the
Judas price.

hypocritical perpetrators
betray hollow oath,
smashing split fingers
the unspoken message portrayed
outlasting beating's bruises
heftier and more distant in reach, than strike.
hands cut by thorn whilst seeking to tear down
rose
regretful tears of power's illusion
wash the ground
but freed of blood impossible.

power's impotence seen,
the world's future bearing witness to
false truth.
a promise greater
a seed planted
generations to grow, in time
shading all mankind
when children lead men,
the mask removed
unveiling equality in our difference

I wouldn’t pinch
Not **** or slap
No sucker punch or idle tap
No tipping cows
No booing geese
Or folding frogs until they crease
No splatting bugs
Or spraying flies
No salting slugs into demise
But mess with my dog and I’ll tear your ******* arms off

**