His strong hands gripped me everywhere, he knew my sensitive places.
My eyes shone due to my intense obedience and humiliation.
I started to perspire in an excitable way.
My legs began to shake.
I could feel his affection through his endless kiss.
I felt intimidated.
He loved me.

I can still feel his indomitable hands around me, he knows my vulnerable spots.
My eyes glisten from my potent passiveness and embarrassment.
I break out in nervous sweats.
My legs are trembling.
I can feel his devotion in an infinite smack.
I feel terrorized.
He's attached to me.

sink into the silence
nothing left by nothing
a silent trip adviser
to blame the past on
levels of induced mindless
consumption that dealt
with the singularity breath
ghost located in page
after page after page of longing
caress and sniff and smell
the burning rubber sensation of
ice melted fire drops
dealt to deal with dealing
memories forgave in the think tank
calm in the blue raindrop
frisky frisk touch of soul
felt with eyes wide open
and a heart made of gold
to last ever last in the synaptic
convulsion that twitches and squirms
of a mental addiction love and pain
and parlor trick injections
did i mention the hopeful twist
of a sudden quick thinking passing
love is love actually and codeine is
a moment of unloved passive regret
o d on your section of unblinking
overwatch i snorted the powder
to happiness everlasting
cuddle with my corpse
i want to be the little spoon and feel your heartbeat in my back pressed selfishness to hold my soul and revel in the passiveness of unthinking
let me lick your inner soul and taste
the salt of a lie left on cracked breathless lips

Just a black ***** to y'all.
But a hero to me.
A **** to some.
But a poet I see.
Violet and Hard.
But I see passiveness and heart.
Legendary forever you'll be.
A poetic **** who made history.

given the history, all our predecessors held dear,
given the history,

well... i'm starting to think that utilising
italics meant an enumeration,
meaning that utilising italics
gave us non-differentiated stresses everywhere
and on each letter

by that i mean: people italicised entire words to
leave the stresses of individual letters to a continued monopoly,
italicised words meant not adding the acuteness of
stressed correspondance (post-code) to a letter, like é added to e...
it's running out, the monopoly of literacy - but the last
Bastille is on diacritical marks - è, or i ate it / cut it short,
walked from the movie theatre before it ended,
when i collage - ah! ****! found the erzett! ʒ -
the ß of minding a borrowing of ř! in that poem of mine...
woodland bořki - to replace the rz sound akin to ż -
i was looking in the wrong place, looking to stitch
in a plagiarism from Czech - but there it is, the equivalent
of schafres S (ß), the schafres R (ʒ); ha!
to simply change the aesthetic, and i have:
woodland boʒki.

see Communism rising its ugly head with the intelligentsia
once again? ***** pepper shaker shaker, prep talk moan shake
once more... never believe socialist utilitarianism,
the English are the masters of that... never believe it though...
the English, by definition? the utilitarianism bit is correct,
but they also follow the carrot bit of the stick... the carrot
is evidently the capitalistic motto: a Caribbean cruise.

but what this poem really means?
i really feel like punching someone in the face,
preferences like with Middle Eastern
appearances, while Sodomising
western values of politically coerced into
democratic robots... it really feels like that...
wanting to punch someone in the face,
and oddly enough it feels good just thinking
about it rather than actually doing it -

the universality of the Cartesian phrase -
non-factual, never factual, never to be factual,
the Iranian volleyball team taunting
the Polish volleyball team,
if a terrorist attack happens in Poland,
i'd be surprised if piglets fly further than plumbs,
and we get French braids on beards rather than
the hair plantation - of the lowest caste
i obviously emigrated -
i had some intelligence to shine through,
to a degree agreeable more or less,
remember i'm working on fame from
the basis of myth (a marathon) as in endurance,
rather than on the basis of being photogenic
(which i'm not) and the short-lived held breath
100 metres... the Olympics is really a barometer
of life otherwise... the Iranians are really fond
of getting braided beard from Poland...
i guess the English are too impolitely politely nice...
Thesaurus Rex would solve a all rhyming clues
with its catalogue of synonyms -
also... i'm a poet, critics of poetry in English
know jack-**** from Jack the Ripper...
i did't steal the language, i merely epitomised it
differently, you merely wrote an analogous epitaph
that was so ******* boring everyone applauded
when you spoke it the sake at a funeral
as you spoke it on a Bar Mitzvah... oddly enough
western society is lactose intolerant the year round,
but when someone dies the fondue set is out,
everything orange including the Essex
suntan is out and oiled to a greasy joke
that only gets a pig's grunting worth of encore.
it's odd, but the best way to write poetry without
English teachers telling you left is left
is by imagining someone being punched in the face,
bleeding nose squished cherry -
it's the violence that we're not allowed that we're told
about about our ancestors who freely exercised,
it's harsh... you're tingling with the anticipated wait for
expressing it, in the end you're turned into an atom
bomb of passive aggressiveness;
a bleeding nose squished cherry - even so, you want more,
more, more, you want the actual ferocity of the act,
not some cinema ****** of passiveness...
there are thieves around us, ghosts, not real thieves
wanting your belongings of handbags,
i mean the real sinister thieves... in one generation
the people of Empire and colonialism were turned
into the people of Globalisation and brothels...
well the brothels bit is currently debated whether
slaves ought to experience paid pleasure,
or whether slaves should just serve warm macaroons
for bourgeoisie opinions to be debated a Tartar stakes,
i.e. never really leaving the saloons of Gucci skirts
and the cancan dance of indivisible politics.

you can ******* a man with accusations of insanity and destroy him instantly, or over a few years... but that only shows the collective approach is insane and, including the man in question the prefix added to the collective: self-destructive... it's no good implying a man faked a coherent use of language, when the western model attached paranoiac iconoclasm of certain pronoun and noun usage - one man had more coherence in language than a million reduced to Emoticons - but no one minded that affair - they simply accepted it - it was once making the populace literate then the unmaking of literacy with technological advances - as ever the lax aristocracy - we don't philosophise in western society, we simply imply logistics of psychology - a Chinese model for the eradication of the unit of indestructibility - a soul, but what happens in China is a success story, the number in question are too man, our experiment is a failure in this eradication of the unit of indestructibility is a failure, excess individuation processes with too few example of coherence and grey matter - the family model is primarily the one source we have no coherent grey matter populace - with its failure no person will strive to wear the mask of father, grandfather, uncle... there's no investment in society of a family, western hands said: freedom to clone, freedoms for L.G.B.T. communities to flourish - surrogacy prostitution... care homes and tattoos of ***** bed-wetting on the skin - individuation's aggressiveness and objectivity's passiveness reduced to a criticism of a book rather than a project of collective cohesion... Communism came across the greatest antisemitism known to man - capitalistic zenith of the holocaust - now slang in populist propaganda - V for Vendetta realism i approach - i don't think i want to go to a pub these days, whether with Scot, Irishman or Anglo - i don't think watching rats scuttle is much fun over a pint of beer... schizophrenia of the collective, from theorem and other additives you can see the reverse chirality - some way or another you become involved - globalisation did that, you want to be un-involved and yet you become involved - you want the village life but are forced into an abstract urbanity - you have the urban life but are discouraged from an abstract village-life although in deepest desire, you wish for it... the day when two speakers of the same tongue undermine each other's speech - by way of constructing the perfect Ypres' replicas of entrenching validations to stand opposite each other on the basis of argument per se, and so the argument comes... how then contend between masochism on one side and sadism on the other, when the former traps himself in a panic room and does it to himself, and the latter is kept repeating a knock-knock joke with no answer?*

England has become a place where
i don't want to socialise -
i wouldn't want to be in a pub
full of Irish or English -
i've become marginalised as a user
of the tongue - i'm a user
but hardly the attaché - the "where you from"
question is always asked, i'm here,
but where from seems to matter more -
it's not fun anymore - London is
slightly confused at it all,
they said the European Union experiment
is a failure akin to the Communist Plot -
but of course both were pre-readied failures,
the former was tackled by puppetry of the
American president, the latter by the Pope -
both were ****** - the populist assertion
of the dream of Nebuchadnezzar -
if history is hardly a hindsight, it certainly
is a way of sleepwalking -
the failure from places not formerly conquered -
the anger of north africa and the elsewhere
encompassing the Mediterranean -
invigorating a force of conquerors by the once conquered
by goose-pimple buttocks of the Romans not
heading north on the continent (islands are insulators
of the cold) - hence the once former conquered
trying to scold and try out their post-colonial
authority - white v. white won't work -
Scandinavians and the Baltic States weren't
ready for ***** Gaul or ***** Britannia setting
orders - the Roman didn't go that far -
the failure was imminent from a single dream -
history is nothing about hindsight -
the hindsight default is nothing but the wrong
of the waking hour for many a man,
to take a dream as a vector for forward only sent
as backward - never make history from the interpretation
of a resting body - from a dream -
to make history from a dream is to give more men
unrest in the waking hour - to make history from
dreams is to make history without hindsight
but with sleepwalking, and few men are given
the anti-psyche drugs for a sober approach,
they say: but i didn't drink... but their intoxication
came from dreams... a drunk man will stumble and fall,
but a man intoxicated by dreams will make more
horrors outside the realm of cinema than is already
there with an eager audience - indeed, a cinema with
an un-eager audience - residues of symbolism,
the quote: for king and country and such baffling e.g. plural.
Ukraine was almost ready to join... you could say
Russia and Britain pulled the project apart...
i just don't think you'll like this aggravated German
with the expulsion of Jews from Poland -
the Visegrad Group - partly because this is the undercurrent -
so when will the channel tunnel become a plot-line
for Guy Fawkes? it's already rearranging itself -
a new chapter - a new nothing - it never worked in
the first place because there was no respect for the diversity,
we shared a single phonetic encoding, sure, some of us
used diacritical stresses, one particular didn't -
but it was anti-representing the diversity, this was
supposed to be an European Union -
not the Post-Colonial-Pseudo-African Union -
the great colonial states ruined it, that's why the greatest
of them has left - the European Union should have
excluded Britain, France and the Iberian peninsula -
it was intended as the revival of the Holy Roman Empire,
but including post-colonial states invoked the realisation
of their colonial past, thereby necessitating an integration
of their past colonial subjects into Europe -
Britain left because they heard the news... Turkey is going
to join... well... never mind Rotherham, eh?

Its 1:30 in the morning.  And I’ve begun to think of the rarities and adversities in life, which shape

us into the hollow ghosts called humanity. Machines that listen, and obey.  Becoming slaves of a

mundane existence as we go about our days.  Wake.  Eat. Sleep.  Repeat.  With the slight possibility

of variation that may never come to fruition.  Why must we consume, but not provide?  We

multiple uncontrollably, take from this earth, yet never seem to substantially give back.  Something

so beautiful and yet so abused.  To give, may be to take away from ourselves.  But is selflessness so

horrible?  To make the life of another better, at the small expense of ourselves should be but a

small price.  Yet the few whom know this and continue to give out of the goodness of their hearts,

are scoffed at  by the selfish majority.  Why must we, the hollow ghosts of humanity, make

decisions for whatever objective we may have, in whatever situation should be presented, and

then complain of the results or the consequences should they not go accordingly?  Rather than

vowing to improve on the matter of contempt?  The decision was made, and cannot be

changed.  Why fret so much, over something that is now unchangeable?  Why not simply decide

within one’s self to, when presented with a choice of a similar nature, make a different

decision?  We, being the hollow ghosts we are, dwell so frequently on the past.  Thinking so hard,

as if to change events of times long behind us.  We think, as if to comprehend our very

nature.  And in the absence of the desired understanding and/or enlightenment, we complain

about our very existence.  As if anything and everything in our daily lives may hold precedence

over the very fact of our existence.  As if to curse our Creator for making us such simple creatures

not able to grasp the complexity or diversity of His design.  Rather than taking existence itself for

face-value, and enjoying the many fruits of this beautiful earth, we **** ourselves with selfishness

and passiveness.  And we, the hollow ghost of humanity, will ultimately be our own miraculous

yet untimely downfall.

I

“Poor wanderer,” said the leaden sky,
     “I fain would lighten thee,
But there are laws in force on high
     Which say it must not be.”

          II

—”I would not freeze thee, shorn one,” cried
     The North, “knew I but how
To warm my breath, to slack my stride;
     But I am ruled as thou.”

          III

—”To-morrow I attack thee, wight,”
     Said Sickness. “Yet I swear
I bear thy little ark no spite,
     But am bid enter there.”

          IV

—”Come hither, Son,” I heard Death say;
     “I did not will a grave
Should end thy pilgrimage to-day,
     But I, too, am a slave!”

          V

We smiled upon each other then,
     And life to me had less
Of that fell look it wore ere when
     They owned their passiveness.

I'm every rho you know in alphabet rhyme football
every proof patterned in logic that you'd measured utmost to every new fall
at every fit you'd know you're the number one of profit of rage
having perfection to perfect what i am like being the true prophet of rage,
I'll get at you birth heavy like genius, having you walking with peg legs, as calculation wind blown like every pin known true like it's  been age
mixing with my mics you'd think i was truly bald
when actuality you're singing with the control of my voice as time newly halts
not knowing hindsight, i'm now informing my women what the u in **** as the mimicking fault
slippin ******* thats why you're face lacks
bo legged at everytime you'd think i didn't know as you get your face jackED
murderin while a professional wrestler i had you employed and now before you, you embrace jack
**** with my bald *** of growth, it's just that fact of being me when at that has your race blacked
women know and men of woe is sorrow receiver catching your space MACKED
who'd ever say that ******* with you all like you could ever get me arrested
another attempt will give me back the sleep you jacked in me when i'm a natural depressant
i'll expose that my wife made you and now you're without legs
tryin to sing with a guitar like you're singing without pegs
'difference is strength when i return as mediocre
i'll tell you know that i jacked you up so you know that life's the owner.
i'll bring you back to when i was born, that would be the age of the brown at '82, jacked them all like if i was in the back of the discovered future exists parallel like you ever knew like how I proved anew,
like my wack smile i gave you to have you know i owned yours as duck rapper interoggation like your *** that proof of scent you're drag like having your *** to think now that you're cooking food.
you're cooking while every chief is now overlooking the passiveness, like how every german hybrid british will have to have you as i move near
feel rhyme as i have you feel time, woe wish now what you couldn't now know that my women own time to have every man to know that both sides know fear
every discovery is everything that i hold dear
**** what you all are cuz what might is that sight as all in are known peers
majority of chaos inferiority as the majority known how which is what you not've known like how they hold on is what i hold all to known dear
actual is obvious to have you all at blank stag actual wrestler like you ever even owned deer.

I'm waiting, for someone to care, for people to change, realize what they're doing and why. I want to stop thinking that I am alonee, want to know there's someone else that thinks like I do you and sees how the rest of these people are so shadowed and blind. I want to see the good times again, and I want to remember these moments, knowing there are more to come. But my hope is falling through my fingers, as each day passes drearily in the same **** way. Without Change. And I wonder why people think their way of life is Okayy. I want to fill the lonely emptiness and longing I have, but they continue to make me more and even more empty, leaving me a shell of the wonderous possibly I know I can be. Just held back by their thoughts of their reality. They can try to listen to me, like anyone should, but I know they just don't understand, and I just wish I could change that, and let them see what I see, how ugly they really are. Allow them to know what their actions really spell.

I want to escape to a place with passion, not passiveness. A place with spirit and soul and color and good vibes, full of true originality and heart. With NO INTENTIONS. Just truth. Just simplicity. Just happiness and laughter and love. No consequences. No melodramaticacy. A place where there are no fake smiles, only unstoppable dimples. Made by REAL and TRUE moments, moments so rare to me now I can hardly remember the last. I just want the truth, not lies. And I want everything the world can offer. Is that too much to ask? I want risk. Where did that go? I want to be and feel like an entire human being living for true happiness and potential, fulfilling dreams, no matter the circumstances.

But these kids, these future conquerors of the world, they continue to allow themselves to be completely controlled by the social norms of our ******* society. I refuse. But it has no mercy, society is a killer, high school it's ally. It controls, infects, then kills the soul. A sad death all too willingly accepted. It hazes the youths real priorities, and takes over the immune system, rejecting difference.

Your childhood dream
Your teenage dream
Your 20s dream
Your 30s dream
Your 40s dream
Your 50s dream

Measure them in decades
Transfixed before a distorted hall of mirrors

A cycling fun-house

While presidents come and go
Parachute pants, bomber jackets, bangs

When you’re drifting off to sleep
What feeling awakens in your heart?

What small feet run across your translucent landscapes
Cubists blocks of what might have been

Twisting , reforming…, parallax

Like Etcher in motion, Inception

Dark cities floating overhead while eclipses burn red

Do your hands tremble with rage or with despair?

Or do you lie perfectly still, resigned

Practicing for your casket

Selfies of your head sinking into starched pillows

You’re responsible now

Clerks and coroners pat you on the back

The least you can be is responsible

Hunting down dreams in dreary forests
With bow knives and bandanas

Is foolish

Better to fill out your W2s

Calculate your interest and help with homework

Don’t be selfish


Let others burning with madness, desire and discontent

Dream for you

Shape the future for you

Preferable to be content

An anti-pioneer   To Nest in paperclips and razors

Satisfied with consolation prizes, Ms. Congeniality

To sink silently down the toilet of trivialities
Floating listlessly like a ****
Flushed out into the polluted ocean of time

But let us not dwell on dreams

Let us drill, let us dance, let us down

Korean BBQ and snap-shot sunsets

Never mind the shadows swirling

Through you, deepening with every tock

Civilization calls  - You must be integrated.

Not like days of yore

On the hunt

But wrenched into a mechanical maelstrom

Input into a coded vision

An alien incubator zooming through metallic tubes


You are an app

Of Aborted dreams

Of pragmatic passiveness
  

Fingered by millions of strangers

To **** time and hope

It was a very thorough grinding and a overly slow unwinding
The passiveness intensifying to the perfect medium
and beyond this equilibrium it was still churning
this void that is fire extinguished
an emptiness that is passion relinquished
The table was empy, full and cleared of all substances
the cup was overfilling, spilling but content
The tendrils retracted to the cavernous maw from which I succombed
the throat I threw myself down
and clung to the uvula with my toes out of lingering basic reactions
a stimulus that I cared to respond to
My lymph nodes were a sore blackness, penetrating all the wiles of wills
it was the spiders again...
let's talk about evolution for a bit
why do we do things?
survival?
the basic desire to be and propagate oneself
some psychologists would suggest that it's all based on ***.
that's why there are so many ****** and manwhores as well
they trick their bodies into believing they are succesfull.
why do we wish to be succesful?
to attract a mate? yes'm
some of us can move past this sole purpose, but it's still an underlying cause yo


The bossman keeps me a-slaving away..working my time for his pay
The teacherman keeps me a-studying all day, working my mind for future wage
The bassman is me a-slapping a way, mumbling a mating call

So, the plumage is quite bright..genuine too
but not as full and phosphorescent as ******* mcassbutt's store bought version
but, there are no real peahens.  only chickens
so, who'm I trying to impress here? Mr. Director Man, what is my motivation in this scene?
"If you need someone to tell you that for you, then you should probably **** yourself"

this is why I don't give advice much..

I've been told very often, that one should look to themselves for their happiness..
but these people who say this get laid frequently.
not that that is my unit of happiness measurement here.. but try it before you buy it
I'm not going to waste my time.. mating for the sake of having a mate
it's fake. it's vacuous. it's vapid. it's false. it's unreal. it feels wrong and you know it

but...someone to bounce ideas off of. a special someone
put me in my place when im full of **** and it's pouring out my mouth
to recognize that point of light, so many have talked about with me..but ran away from
understanding the cosmic joke..it's not evil or crazy.. it just is and it's wonderful


the lymphatic darkness spreading.
why the lymph nodes?  cuz it's fun to say
lymph lymph lymph
get it? WHEEEE!!
it was once a false light,  some kind of poisonous neon spiraling around my core
but it was torn away..body evacuations of necessity alone
then it was an astral negative, ******* and ******* hard i tell ya whut nyow
it finally found something in all that darkness...the cosmic infinitesimal
the smallest decimal
like a rasinette, with doom insteada chocolate
and dang it was good mood food
i would follow a trail of those fuheva eva
I finished devouring this morsel of anything at all
and found the lighting almost acceptable
readable, but with permanent eye damage after a while

There is the iron gate.
It’s ornate.
A work of art.
Not really a deterrent to anyone that yearns to be beyond it.
It’s just a gate.
But it’s the start of the journey that will begin at the long driveway that holds us apart.
But it’s just a gate.
It’s pretty but it won’t hold me back.
It’s just another barrier to your heart.

The large mahogany doors that stand closed to me are just that.
Closed
But not for long.
Open for me, I can hear you singing our song
Open!
Bring me into your outer world.
It won’t be long.

The marble foyer is cold.

The chandelier?

Bold!

The emptiness is a blessing in disguise. I know you are watching
I can feel your eyes, upon me, a gentle caress upon my inviting skin.
You don’t fool me,
I can feel your sin.
Please, you invited me in.

The hallway is cold and dark, the cold of the rooms that are left and right of me is stark.
There is no fire burning in these outer rooms. No life for me to wonder about and yet, I’m here, wandering aimlessly in these empty halls, and the echo of my lonely moan is projected back to me on an angry shout.

Where could you be about?

I’m drifting past the library that is filled with your intelligence
And past the solar filled with unearthly blooms that drown me in their fragrance
But there is no other sign of life
I walk the raw edge of madness upon a finally honed knife
Madness is gladly pressing upon me and its pungent aroma is rife

But I’ll continue to glide toward an essence that is pure
Because it calls out to me.
Waiting.
Wanting.
Listening.
Asking.
Wanting to know that what is coming is sure.

Down barren hallways and steps of stone.
I’ve traveled them all.
I did it alone
Across a landscape that was draped in a colored shroud
I stepped into a chamber that was devoid of all sound.

I’m here

You’re there in front of the fire
Surrounded by nothing, you stare at the flames that reflects back all your ire.
Your mirth, your understanding, your passiveness is greedily eaten by the hungry lick of a relentless flame
But as I glide silently to your side and cast a mercurial look at the hearth, I watch the roaring fire become soothing warmth and know that I have gained your inner sanctum and your life will never be the same.

Douse the fire in the cold hard hearth

*I will forever be your flame

The bloodred Sun rises.
Misplaced souls and victims stuck in the upper parts of the atmosphere
giving the rays their ominous colour.
Blood particles risen from dead bodies float high in the air
painting the sky in orange-red.
Clouds form where humidity is highest, travel west
to a grey society, with hazed heads
where it rains Dead.
Blood reigns on our hands. Emphasis on reign.
Silently participating, masters of passiveness.
Shackled minds, broken chest
every infant born deaf
For sheep speak and think the word of the flock.
So wisdom's lost, past mistakes made will
eventually lead up to another rainy day.
This vicious cycle will stay the same
the climate acts according to our rainy ways.
For the smell of rain and the taste of blood
is ironically the same.

we are imperfections of the universe
Power greedy beings, who do not understand
All knowing, stupid creatures of habit.
Believing in all, Realizing nothing
with questioning morals
We lie in the name of love, **** in the name of God.
We judge everything, as if we have the right to.
We depend on the passiveness of non-violent people.
To bully them and prove our power
Stating they are "weak", when in fact,
Are intelligent. Amongst the powerful morons that govern our society.
They **** children, for freedom.
Stealing their innocence.
We all watch on, intelligent and stupid alike.
Do nothing and justify ******.
Learning nothing from the past,
We continue to be guided by falsehoods,
Such as religion and democracy
Millionaires, **** for oil.  ****** the youth of a chance for peace.
Blood rains down on the world,
Lies, hatred and envy grow.
Until one day, no one will be safe.
No one will know the true meaning of love,
or peace.
We will blame the media, society, parenting.
Anything but ourselves and the ignorance we hold so dear to our cold hearts.
Forgetting that we all played a part in digging the mass grave we will all one day lie in.
Where will the politicians hide when the bombs strike the world?

I am the wood burnt and cracking,  my strength lacking.
I am the smoke swirling with the wind ,  my memories swirling reminders I have sinned.
I am the embers cackling and flickering, mymy fears and doubts bickering.
I am the flames hot and passionate, my love and rage full swelling lacking passiveness.
I am the ashes all that remains a memory of the heat and intensity, the end of our shared chemistry.

There are men who are boys
they dally about in their passiveness
waiting to be showered and flowered
with no sense of a loved one
they blossom in selfishness
awaiting for the plans to be drafted
and nights to be illuminated and crafted

There are men who are players
whisking games on the preys
as their charisma prevails
and their prominence remains
they tick all the possible boxes
dining with winning romance
Clocking whilst shooting

There are confused men
they are loyal but not committed
never aspiring a family or title
they are emotionally repulsive
present but absolutely absent
Living for today without a future
enjoying a nest whilst single

There are many good men
once the fog clears there they stand
Past the boys, the players and confusion
they will cater and give their all
loving their woman unconditionally
they brace and embrace love gracefully
putting to sleep all the pain and misery

Blameworthy,
That's me.
Bound by judgment
And childhood nightmares.
Did I mention sleepless nights?
Even though my eating disorder has dissipated
I still forget to eat at times.

What's wrong, darling?
Who told you that
You're not good enough?
That no one wants you?
Who would lie to you and say that you aren't beautiful?

Look at yourself.
Attractive and thin
Friendly and loved
By everyone.
Have you looked at me recently
Or ever?

I am your antithesis.
Grotesque and bloated
Introverted and lonely.
I wish I could be like you
But I will not try to let that happen.
I need to somehow embrace
This unsightliness
This passiveness
How I let people walk all over me.
But do I accept it
Or do I change it?

In essence,
You are nearly sublime
And all I am
Is one mess of a life.

the magpie's machine gun shattering croak.

i too would have wished it,
if the damage was unintentional
the two of them would
have taken me to a hospital,
instead... they took me home...
and that was the end of the near-death experience,
but as one old man said:
what guarantee do i have to have fallen
and later not be bound by a wheelchair?
none, i said, three stiletto dances later,
i'm seeing a wheelchair-bound youth
giving a rap tat tat lingo western motto
'boots on the ground boots on the ground
so we can print our stupid opinions
as if they're morals' dance...
but then i was walking into the woods
with a migrating cloud of crow...
a migration of messerschmitts...
and into the forest, sat on a wooden stump
waiting for the owl's call...
but i left the forest before the night came.

what sort of power is this, a power that cannot
reach me, but requires a passiveness, a permission
to only enact choices like abraham's choice
to circumcise himself and then later circumcise
isaah (translated as a need to sacrifice with death)
to disapproval, because it mentioned
circumcision, like: an unsheathed sword.
so what power is there, if power is riddled with
bureaucracy and muddled, and chaotic, and in
quicksand? before it rises, it falls, like an weak dough
that is baked for pita bread rather than bloomer bread
of working yeast? what power is that, if the power
is merely a sidelined chronology of passed-on
responsibilities? democracy is but an idle fancy
that breeds lost young men and exploitative old
perverts... the old men should be enshrined with
making decisions, but in a democracy they're deviating
into thoughts about ******* and ***** extinction...
if you dare educate children you also dare to
not educate old men, and for that reason, you're at
your weakest.

I am tired
of being told
that I shouldn’t
express what
I think and
who I
am

yes,
I know it’s
in my best
interest

the world is never
ready for somebody
to challenge their
ideas

but I’m tired of that
this needs to happen
if I won’t speak up,
who will?

passiveness got me
no where

activeness has always
seemed to work

I know the risks,
the issues, what
can happen if I
go to far, but I
live in an age
where anyone
can say anything
and that alone
is worth exploiting

so I will say what I think,
what I believe in, how the
world should be!

I will scream it from the rooftops!
from the hills and in the valleys!
my voice will reign through the land

and as more ears turn
to face me and learning
sets in I will give one
fair caution to those
out there listening:

I may not be right,
I may well be wrong

don’t worship my prophesies
take them, and make your
own

I loved you.
I showed it.
You knew.
I tried.
Tried to help, tried to heal -
but now I see,
you really hated my zeal.
My excitement, my attempts
at giving you love
in return, you gave contempt.
How was I so blind?
So blind to your passiveness,
was I out of my mind?
The answer is yes,
I was "in love" -
really just infatuated, I guess.
All I wanted was to give to you
what everyone wants most -
something real, something true.
I gave you what I could,
and what did you do?
You took my love and threw it,
you threw it all away;
but this was long ago,
now what do I have to say?
Well here it is, you arrogant little boy,
I wish I could hate you -
you treated my heart like a toy.
But to hate you, it'd confuse me..
Truly, hating anyone,
the thought just drains me.
So now, I hope you see;
you're not the one I hate,
really, it's just me.

I should not have washed the shirt you wore
You have left
No traits of you to be found

I still could smell your scent
I still feel the texture of your skin
the silkiness of your hair
on the tip of my fingers

I am infatuated with you
My vulnerability comes short of your passiveness

Wake up, because your dreams are only temporary
Sleep, because in your mind is a sanctuary
Lay down, because in your passiveness burns a fire
Stand up, because there will be a spark of confidence
Quiet, because in your silence plays a symphony
Sing, because music is life
Whisper, because someone is listening
Shout, because some cannot hear
Reach, because something lies just beyond
Retreat, because patience rewards you
Climb, because you never know what is at the top
Fall, because someone will catch you
Embrace, because there is always something to hold on to
Let go, because there is always more
Understand, because knowledge is power
Ask, because it is better to know
Listen, because you crave enlightenment
Speak, because wisdom is meant to be shared
Trust, because many accomplishments come with help
Never trust, because even your shadow leaves you in the darkness

The field of passiveness, sits next to the forest of confusion. This forest echoes true sorrow from it's creator, but that sorrow was only a state of mind; one of many the daunting trees express. They all call in any who are unfortunate enough to be caught under the hypnotic pull. They say you become someone else when entering that forest. You have to rebuild yourself from confusion, but for what... To stuff away the being you once were. Try to understand that the being you were and the being you become are two pieces to the "real" being. The forest is a stage of transmutation. Most die before realizing this, because most fear what they become. Causing them to falter when they need to move with haste. The truth is, the forest cannot be understood. it can only be embraced.

moths land on the screen
bathed in the light off the corner beam
they appear to me as men clinging to a prison fence
staring out at possible freedom
only they are staring in
into my asylum
they wonder what it is I do
tapping away for hours
while fixated on this screen
'why does he not free himself
from this prison
and explore the endless beauty that surrounds him'

blackbirds gather just after dawn
in the trees near my asylum
dive bombers
picking off the moths one by one
as they ponder my peculiar passiveness

food for thought

Colors have faded away
All I see is shadows and shades of grey
There’s a man’s silhouette up the way
I hear faint whispers permeate
I wish his words crisper
But his voice is more distant
With each step he takes
I can hardly make it out
So I try to chase him down
As he walks the other way
I struggle to catch a glimpse
His stride looks eerily familiar however
I feel like I’ve known them forever
Wait that can’t possibly be
That silhouette is me
Or a symbol of what I will become
If I let my dreams drift away
So I refuse to succumb
To passiveness in any way

- Diangelo Tyler

Day in. Day out. I am relentlessly consumed by contemplation. He , who is the insatiable flesh and blood of my uninhabited imagination. My mind steadily overflows with thousands..millions..billions of unborn possibilities that lay dormant within our connection...And basking in its golden glory, lies communication, key to activation.We both know something is wrong. Gut feeling. Subconscious. Intuition. They all sing the same song, don't you see? The further we dive into passiveness, the more this..problem..grows strong.

They may ask if I'm the Resistance or perhaps Heightened.
It's my call to make it so.
Should I break from the pack or stand unnoticed.
In the end I have to admit the fence is wearing thin.
Indecisiveness is so unattractive, especially to me!
That's who matters the most anyway.
Control issues being my worst defect.
I tend to try to stay out of the limelight.
Only as of late that's been a luxury I've not been privy to.  

So I remember lessons taught and used.
Wills and ways, even though they be backwards and awkward,
are most effective.
That passiveness that allows me to let go of anger,
malice and greed.
Letting go of all the ugliness I see within me.
I'm not enlightened or part of some covert resistance.
I will do the most right thing I've ever done!
Give Up!

Give up the struggle and let a very forgotten child be set free.
Locked up, thrown away, broken, torn inside.
Sitting in some forgotten corner, pitilessly crying.
Time to stop the crying, walk out of the room to the light of day.
Those saying there're enlightened confuse me, while,
those claiming to be fighting some agenda are
far beyond my intelligence.
Now I can see so many more options to choose from.
Gentle options that will allow happiness to be the only goal.
Not about what I eat, wear, my latest profile picture
on the internet or whether or not I'm on the
internet or in real life. 
There are so many options that lead to happiness!
No pressure, taking time to choose, actually enjoying the process.
No over night sensations, quick fixes... just logic and peace.

What will they think!?
It really doesn't matter anymore!