Breathing in that familiar smell of sweet coffee that screams Starbucks i sit quietly inside....alone..but actually, i am accompanied by some cheap elevator music which closely resembles country, and my grande cup of thoughts. This grande cup feels more like a thousand grande cups: a possy almost. This possy fills the empty Starbucks with small talk and the soft murmur that many people usually create. This possy keeps me way more company than any other living breathing flesh.

The thought that sits closest beside me is my mask that i purchased before i could pick out my favorite colored sweater. I wear this mask every day of my life although not always at own will. its hard to admire whats staring back you every morning when your cards dont match the ones on screen. It goes like this, i feel as if i had horse like pony tail hair crawling down my black so silky and taking a skydive at my *** would make it a HELL of a lot easier to wear this mask of mine in which has the title of: MY FACE.
But what is it about the crystal blue eyes that show the rhythm of the ocean or the solidity of the sky? WHAT is it about the deep forest green or the eyes that you can see more than just the sky that is so appealing? HAVENT YOU HEARD??
"THE DARKER THE BERRY THE SWEETER THE JUICE?"

So why does it seem the whiter the paper the more in favor. the blonder the hair the greater the fair, you seem to have in life. MAYBE its the recommendations in which the tv inscribes for us. Maybe its the runway that draws the rules of beauty.
The twiggier the prettier
the fatter the more laughter you receive from people who dont even know
your ****
name.
As I stare at the reflection and into the deep pools of confusion I fish out decent..and different,
but not pretty. I never arrive at the adjective pretty when i look at the reflection staring back at me but
does it ever occur that i do not strive to be merely pretty but something more.
DO NOT and i mean DO NOT EVER
slap a label onto my forehead titled pretty.
dont slap the sticker of cute either.
find another **** sticker
that you can not find at a store, this sticker is so original that it doesn't exist, its so intricate, considered more than an antique
for I AM MORE THAN A MISSION TO ARRIVE TO PRETTY.

Do not look into my cage where I sing and call me beautiful- for its funny how that so called gift seems to be nothing but a mere sample at a beauty supply. Im not a biscuit for you cant butter me up and salt me down for ill never be your favorite dish you can take a bite out of for comfort. I am more than just a piece of meat for I am more than just an adjective for you will not be able to pick up a dictionary and collect the word that fits me best.

I am more, WE are more, we cant be thrown into a binder full of women---no, for no binder is large enough to hold the complexity of just
one. woman.

Listen to the sound, and loose it, its sweet music, and dance with me, for there is beauty in the world so much beauty in the world. But we put a parental block on it we ignore that ad
we throw away that piece as if they are the unwanted leaves to the strawberry,
or the peel to the banana---we drive by that ordinary girl.

We sadly fail to realize-fail to notice the blue skies, notice the butterflies, but you will NOT fail to notice me.
Now, Starbucks is full-full of other rocky mountain climbs and terrible tumbles. It has become a pool of not only coffee...but pools and pools and rivers and seas,
of insecurities.

Stop for a moment
Look around
Observe, Stay silent
Try not to make a sounds

look at that boy on his phone
Sitting in the back, completely alone
But little do you know he's listening in
He knows all the details and places you've been
If you look closely enough you can see his sly G R I N
So watch out for him, cause he knows of your S I N S

Look at the Queen bee of the school
****** uptight, she thinks that she rules
Her possy of friends will surely destroy your life
So beware of her, as the barbie dolls B I T E

Look at the students that blend into the back
Their words and stares will cause you to crack
Mindless zombies acting through spite
Controlled by gossip and tragedy delight
So choose wisely who you befriend
Cause otherwise it will surely be your E N D

Look around you, You're surrounded by liars
Backstabbers, Fuckbois, *****'s galore
But you know what. Its really okay
Because you still have your friends at the end of the day

There are many different people that will still have your back
Some may stay while others will attack
Observe and look out for those around you
And then in return. they will do the same for you

So hold on tight your in for a ride
Its going to be up and down
And sometimes you'll even cry
But I promise you,
You're not going to die

You'll make it through this
Trust me I know
The acts will keep changing
But don't forget

You're the main show.

my first memories of england: the dover cliffs, the red double decker bus, and mr. grey, yes, the earl of the perpetuated overcast skies.

i like the kantian compartmentalization concept,
i like the idea of boxes, and there is no finer
notion of a "box" than the *per se:
christianity gained popularity in the coliseum,
and it will lose (zzz, someone please
tap the snooze button with regards to
more anti-christian augmenting argumentation) -
but kant left a "linear" geometry -
the per se -
                     ant-man galore -
    throw enough of a sense either into
a microscope or a telescope -
  it doesn't matter... the same result ensues:
which is not a result at all,
  but a cul de sac of answers,
vis-à-vis a madman's monologue...
         nice zoo, god, shame about the fact that:
we're all living with exhibiting / inhibiting
constraints!
                       you know, i used to play
the sims game, the microcosmos of sim city...
and then i sat my sim at a computer...
     whoof! shoom!
         a buddha moment: i entered a wormhole...
i sought but didn't find, until i did find
a narcissus moment in gaming:
     der spiegel - i.e. the mirror...
   dei trägheit - i always find that things sound
better in german, given that quebec made
french a ***** 'arry donkey than a stallion,
and that french has lost the vogue...
   and that i like the old french with a trilled R
than a harking R...
      excuse moi... dell boy two miles shy of
the cockney manure of gift of the gab and
the bells, the bells, the bells of bow!
    i'm playing a game where the "avatar" is
playing a game, on a computer,
  and i'm on a computer, playing a game
with a character that's playing a game on a computer...
that's the point where i stopped playing
games "seriously" as a teen boy...
   now when i do, i do play them:
to prolong resting from the chain-train-beast
that's smoking... i still think it's better than
eating a ******* raw carrot...
but i dare say, i love the kantian warehouse;
if any revision of the english language,
****-naked without any diacritical marks,
well, i'd simply start deutsche -
       ß -
              after all, why can't i be a remnant
of the anglo-pomeranian - or anglo-swabian?
    sax boop blippy blippy boo (charles manson
could have said that interlude) -
             but when everything is stored in
a per se, you can at least know a chew po
from a chow pi -
                              it's one way of storing things -
it's consciously feeding the unconscious
storage room...
                  the per se is a tool, akin to a box,
of making the most effective storage space
in that fat sponge lodged in your cranium cage
of yours... tip of the tongue, back of the head
analogy...
                 the chinese don't spell, who told you
that lie? the chinese don't spell because they
don't deal in linguistic atomism -
                               they're a syllable riddle!
a chinese walks into a dentistry practice,
the dentist says: say ah -
             the chinese answer: ah choo...
  bless you the dentist replies.
          i don't know why i settled for kant as my
mentor (even though he's dead)...
  i guess, as the patron "saint" of bachelors,
it made sense.
                     christianity was born in the coliseum,
and it will die in the coliseum...
       why can't it, given that the failings of
marxism are almost akin, although parallel
in the secular guise of crisply ironed shirts
and grey suits, compared with the bishop's red
shoes: dorothy! oh dorothy! take me to heaven!
by criticism i mean: the religion is not monotheistic,
it's poly-schismatic -
           it's a schism-theism;
  i'd sooner pay attention to the deities of hinduism!
how can you tell a greek is telling
a lie? he can't keep up with telling it over and over
again...
   i can't believe i was born into this farce...
i just can't...
                and indeed, the sun, like excess sugar,
makes you mad...
  barbaric even...
   which is why i mention the enclave of
extended scandinavia as the british isles...
         sure, the grey skies...
the grey skies, the grey, skies...
             no one ever **** themselves from not
eating...
                    no one ever went mad from
a lack of sun...
                            point being, those two weeks
in kenya was torture, i don't know how
the colonials managed it...
        sure, send them up north, your sub-saharan
your baghdad possy (funny, tehran isn't
on the move, must be a case of persian pride) -
once they stop hyperventilating in their new
environment: i'm just gagging my laughter,
waiting for them to slouch and slump into depression.