.
There’s an ancient duct tape patched
roller suitcase still up in the attic,
scarred by sky miles and undiscerning
indifference;  it came to rest like a final breath
exhaled at the end of the long road ―

In the dusty rafters of silent repose  
the death of an alter-ego comes to life
and jars and jogs the  sleeping dogs 
that lay benign as a pothole riddled road

Holding onto memories buried alive,
hidden away remembered ― 
      sans wings to fly away
laid bare unweighed with the weight
of everything else garnered and saved
      subsisting in a shallow grave;
hoarded and hidden away breathing
locked up with the other baggage borne
       behind tired eyes

Feeling the ache of blood stained knees
falling down sullied at the side of the road
Hindsight and a roll of duct taped memories
linger;   stuck to the  grey bandage scars,
second guessing should have thrown out
with the permanently temporary
fading plasticized luggage name-tags
back when I was still close enough to care;
too many miles to reconsider  ago

Some say: "it's the journey not the destination"                                    .
Some day when its too late we'll know
Some day it will be too late to make amends
        for everything i could not be ...


           harlon rivers ... 07  06  2018

a contradiction contracted in
lowest terms are
you.
[it’s metal edges]

your beauty is
of
a
garden
(suspended at mid-
clouds), to enter
and

to say

that in such a
variety of
flowers
there
can not
be
one that
attracts
you

to pick it

to dismantle it
and
to
neglect
the
rest.

[it’s plasticized segments]

you know how to
quickly imprint
yourself
on me

when

you laugh
at times
and
conversely
you weep
and

you are like

those skies
that shake me
to my core

when

they are
blinding
on one hand
and
violently bleak
on the other

so

clearly
fractured
they shake
me pierce
me
pierced
i am
by

you.

[it’s just thinned points]

imagine if
a chameleon
started
to
acquire
each
gradation
of
another
creature
in the form
already
similar
to
it:

where
could
he
ever
escape?

[it’s inconstant semicircles]

(i can not
delineate
you
it is like
sketching
a tidal
wave
nobody
can:

painters

invent them)


[and it’s shoved arches]


i’ll tell you
of
a
woman
her soul
shattered
and

subsequently

imprisoned
splinter by
splinter
in hail
stones

she

fell
and
she felt
herself
crashing
at the same
instant
millions
of times

however

she
never
went
insane.

[it’s torn curves]


(and I know well
how a continuity
interrupted
succeeds
to make
you
fumble
convulsively
but it’s not
enough
for me to
restrain
myself
don’t
ask
me
to)

[it’s petrified vertical axes]

what i see
is
a cross
section of
enclosure
handfuls with
disconcerting
efficiency
consisting
of prisms
and

you know how to decompose

yourself inside
an innocence
delimited
you proceed
by inconstancies
you lacerate
metabolizing
you struggle
silencing
and

i could
only
teach you
one thing:

gray is not
a faded
version
of
black.

With graduation behind us, my friends, thus began an epoch of slow anxious waiting filled with wonderful times. We ran rampant keeping third party mothers alert and sleepless, while our parents rested soundly knowing we were in good hands: our own. Thoughts of the impending college cold bath swam excitedly in my head, causing soft building of an expectation of golden years.

“””” Part 2
The summer came to an end and I was off to the university, five minutes down the road. It was a weird day. No opportunities came to play out the wonderful situations I made up in my head, months ago. So I felt down in the bouts and, staring at the road, I must have found a million dollars in heads up pennies. So I thought I should lift my head up, like Lincoln, but then I remembered what the history book said. Old Abe was a lawyer without any schooling, and he had the other job too. O yeah, I think he was president. Sitting in class I know I could learn much more than this drunk bro next to me, who will be my doctor someday. Learn more by just lying on the floor at home reading a book or two. But still I have to stay to earn our little paper licenses that say “thank you for your time and your money too. Now here’s some of your money back, over the next 70 years. But, you’ll never get back your time. In fact, we want more of your time if you ever wanna see some of your precious greenbacks again.” And you need a microscope to read all those words cause they want to save money, paper, trees, and all of our gleaming plasticized hopes and dreams.

Paraphrasing:

Oxygen feedback don’t
provoke me;
I relieve
all the need
plasticized lips to a
nail gun at
your forebrain
steal yourself a jacket;
don’t **** around
my home
when the freeze
follows every
sinkhole step
your fat toes

fall away

Let me de-muck
that nonsense:

Met a gal,
I did
name was Hannah,
spat mucosal ****
between my duck feet
And my tasseled spine
H   e av  e  d, hu rrr led at
T   he s i   g  ht o     f
M  y   s ki n

But I cracked and ground
my molars and I
gobbled that aching
dejection & snickering
and commanded she

****!

vanish
so it was

OK

for **** near three seconds
three
two
one

till she re-arrived
and rebuked a gull’s shade
for looking too much like
me and I
loved
her

now and
again and
three second
place trophies ago
she brushed me first

with that formidable
brilliance
a third of what
that beauty,

****!

that body
was gifted with
poison
that leeched
through palms
to my nerves

them bones

and out again

plasticized packaging of ******* another supermarket shelf.
give me another reason why i should give a **** to reason with myslef.
alone and i'm dieing, crippled self. beat and im broken another discarded self.

together we're dreaming, dreaming of dieing, set us free, alone and i'm dieing, liberty.
give in, give up, wasted space. thoughtless protrusion, it isnt me.
giving and taking always mistaking. forgive and forget, I hate myself.

endless illusion, sanity. believing and defying, alone and im crying.
heartless conclusion inflated contusion
lets just breathe.
give it away now, insanity.
bringing it back now, releasing me.
holding my hand now, unity.

Ignorance filters through the air likened to a plague
as the screens fill the silence
with plasticized glowing.

What adventures are we missing?
Ivanhoe, Dunsinane, Middle Earth?

Between the pages of our very busy lives, we miss
the written out thought processes that inquire
after why exactly we are so hellbent on
radiating our only pair of eyes out of our skulls
with the futile use of nonrenewable energy.

How is it that something so natural, so ******
between the lines of our genetic makeup
can be filtered out all within the means
of a filtered lense and a shining
artificial light?

I digress.

Her name was Maddy, a young logger by trade;
Her face still on old plasticized signs;
Please step forward. Welcome to the Highway of Tears,
B.C.’s picking ground of violent crimes.
Girls come, women go, never to be seen;
People fear what they don’t understand.
Isolation lingers near the edge of the road
While moments pause, the unanswered demand:
“We need to know where you went in the woods,
We know you set up camp by the lakeside;
Others arrived and soon a large party began,
Then you disappeared, now others hide”.
Fifty years of spirits watch from high above
The vast expanse of the wilderness highway.
Unanswered questions still linger and remain
With only hints at answers to this day.
“Please talk to us Maddy, are you now safe”?
As our minds wander this miasmal mist;
You will always be loved, our search will never end
Until you come home, are tightly held and kissed.
But her eyes look on from the old plasticized sign,
No hidden hiding place has been found so far.
The mystery continues, our thoughts still focused
On finding you, wherever you are.


http://madisonscott.ca/

For some designers, fabric is the starting point of their collections. For others, it’s their initial sketches. But for Edda Gimnes, it’s neither. Or actually both.

The Norwegian born, London College of Fashion graduate begins by creating graphic drawings executed with her left hand though she is right-handed, and which possibly adds to their naïve charm. Blown up across canvas or reworked in fur, these drawings, inspired by an eclectic collection of found vintage photographs and objects, animate her living fashion cutouts. While this approach earned her more trouble than praise as a student, it has now paid off, earning her the 2016 Designer for Tomorrow title, sponsored by German specialty store chain Peek & Cloppenburg and its online shop Fashion ID, and this year under the patronship of Alber Elbaz.

Although Elbaz, who is recuperating from pneumonia, was not allowed by his doctors to fly to Berlin for the June 30 DFT show held during Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Berlin, he was nonetheless most perceptibly present. Jury members all remarked how his hand — and his eye — could be felt in the cull of the first 15 finalists. Filmed the night before the show in Paris, his video welcome to the five finalists and the audience couldn’t have been more personal.

Watching the live-stream of the show, and together with the eight member jury board choosing the winner, Elbaz said he saw a lot of potential in Gimnes. “She captured my imagination and I’m keen to find out how her talent will evolve,” he said. The young creative will soon be meeting Elbaz in person, a trip to Paris to meet the designer the next step in the one-year sponsorship program.

Design competitions, like wine, have their good years and bad years, and this year’s DFT crop was especially strong. The other finalists included David Kälble, whose cross-cultural South African-inspired collection mixed fur trims and cable tie fringes; Elisa Kley’s ultra linear compositions; Marc Morris Mok’s geometry in motion (and Sponge Bob footwear) ideas, and Ancuta Sarca’s plasticized fashion wardrobe.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

He is double-sided
and speaks with a second tongue
There are legions of him
sneaking out from under stones
casting spells
to win you over
would-be plasticized trophy

He will bamboozle you
with the nectar from his lips
He's no sir lancelot but
a shapeshifting
boogie man waiting to
kidnap you and
hang you on his wall

Night Class – Cellphonia in F Flat

A chamber piece for two sulks and a soda

He yawns, his head propped up against a wall
Of head-stained, head-banged green fluorescent blocks
In the back of the room, in Marlboro Country
Reposing in sad, sullen insolence

Furtively strumming a silent keypad
Flinging his unique existential angst
Into cool, pure, plasticized electrons
And out into the meta-fusional night

Where there’s real life, man, not these books and stuff,
Real life; you wouldn’t understand. I’m me
And you don’t know who I am, man.  I am:
An inspirational singer-songwriter

My own me journeying onward to me
An artist, a great soul misunderstood
Raging against a machine that isn’t there
An angry rebel on government grants.

The U.S. is adopting Euro socialism to add to the misery of Agenda 21's codex alimentarius, internal border check-points, aerial obscuration, no-knock raids, mercurialized vaccines & plasticized estrogen mimickers. The F.D.A. is allowing the cannibalization of unborn children to produce rejuvenating ointments & aphrodisiacs, & as "flavor enhancers" for soda pop & fruit juice.

clause for peace now a trolls ignorant fiesta once was widely traded now is slaved for civilized postering concaved into subjugated plasticized lies while elite have feast what's left shinking privileged every color doing battle on market floors flooding sea shores and healthy cells with waste on sale to the hospital war or jail spend for more wars effectively killing eachother live life less in such haste compete "wasted turn" no ones gain insane pushing away any chance for lost causes stooped vessel of pollution deplete indigenous snuffed out sell fruit from carts pushed away health wealth gentifified packaged **** genocide resulting right to life bid lost television lies create comedies laughing blinding crys for cheers and sigh at the sports show snorting blow emerged  **** show cancer feeding frenzy hardly know care apathetic slaves lost aren't brave enough leave the lie hide more die stay destroy leave save absolutely nothing slow suicide these charities steeling minds hooked on prime time continue do nothing duped for some fiat money doing something captalism scheme elitist ******* conned amerikkkian screams gagged out choke knees master anything you want just feed more ***** Babylon here again keep buying what they're selling ******* cowards echos for eons ensuring the repetitions needed idiots eventually listen remeber trying save from utter ruin lifetimes this nightmare all cave for swinging door looking nice at what price cheap thrills much sacrificed borrow you'll pay back twice in sorrow respect life common place for fellowship and development of kind things not this savage conflict of interest for the few who hoard the riches blind eyes see a different reality when smoke is cleared and in mirrors you see another being just trying as you to be apart something uplifting under the weight of it all we must crack storm casteles pillars empires will fall until that day we'll never have a chance learn share in it all until  empires fall We'll continue to craw for all existance until resistance cripples the few who have been bullies to all

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

     An LGBTRDCST Deconstruction of Gainsborough’s Blue Boy

Blue Boy must be examined through the lens
Of neo-post-colonial queer theory
And LGBT hegemonism
Inverted as bourgeois sentimentalism

It subverts the trope of trans-feminism
As a patriarchal gesture of scorn
Plasticized in pale iridescent blue
And transgressive in its imposture

Or maybe it’s some kid bribed with a shilling
To pose for this picture, however unwilling

A mother's right to contract the ****** of her unborn infant shall no be infringed. [9 bullets in my 1957 revolver means nine head-shots...] Why do flannel-shirted ***** and negroids in floral underpants enjoy preferential treatment from hot- dog vendors? All hail a world swayed by plasticized, estrogen mimickers! Let's pile onto the stinking bus! It'll be a blast! People are forced into ***** buses because their licenses to drive have been revoked. Everybody wants a car to tip over.