My mind becomes cluttered.
Since I was a kid.. the simplest of thoughts add on  top of one another.

even though there is a big lack of stimulus
Like a television with one hundred channels demanding "A  view"
the "medical clicker" is lost and your brain seem's "too full to align with clearing itself back to  complicity..".
You are full in the head..newer ideas are next to impossible
temperament becomes askew
The "treatment" is "stimulus"
the doctors mistake such as "mania"
Since a hyperactive child never grows..the energies never cease, as well.
Blind eyes, who fail to "look outside an unorganized box of practioner's recycled thoughts,"
could ever help (neither the victim nor the prescribe)
to place on the right pair of glasses
Such failed views .. clarity.. shall never be  something that  they "see" in order "to grow" or are willing to "grow with" refusing newer education and treatment grounds  
An open page of a "still unfinished book"
Such meanings
which all who need to be "open eyed" enough to be able to show them in order "for  them to ever  know"
To teach the afflicted
"How to channel the energies and the focus"
as you mind's eyes are "in need of glasses"
Give the wrong treatment
and the medicine can burn out clearer views
than the regimens he's tried and deemed "the only one"
Not one size fits all
Look to the old, however, might be a mix with the new?
"Not every remedy is addictive or harmful"
"nor does one pair of glasses clear the visions of all.."

just as these so called "experts say"
to " save your life is the quota"
not "how many cases in which the practitioners have half-way  saved.. walking on egg-shells..to save  their own careers"
(Shells)


It makes another successful life
from a once cluttered mind
to loyalty and honor of the one who had helped him
Such a a once lost patient does keep in his now "clearer mind."
Who cared more for the advancement and quality of life of the one who asked for his "helpful hands"
Not "Magic hands"
"openness" is always the "better mixture" of "pills and therapy"
The vision cure that always seems to be the math equation that leads to successful medical group and their great sounding cliche and "medical change and reprimands."
Not afraid in sticking up for the betterment of their one client
then such additions of success become an army
of the "grown children"
with the right "pair of glasses"
that see more than just a "glass" half full, however, "the world."

Now, this bright and more colorfully lit world will shed light to those left "in the blurred dark"
as the once lost were found and the found shall become part in healing
those professionals who chase "selective cases" like "hungry sharks."

I wish my name was Ryan or chase and I had no hobbies or interests outside of smashing hoes and the gym.
I wish I could just eat Panera everyday and drink with my bros and go to Peru with my daddy's money. I wish I had all the connections and sure-set entrance into the firm
I wish I could meet some newage ***** named McKayla with a flower sleeve who listens to imagine dragons and Bobby eilish and have some kids. I wish she'd cheat on me with Kevin and take all my money and then divorce me and accuse me of **** and send me to prison where I get ***** too. I wish my sons grew up to be junkies and overdosed on fentanyl. I wish my country became some culturless ******* devoid of value and meaning and was a consumerist nightmare and I worked like a peon for a bleak future. I wish I knew how to make spaghetti. I'm a ******. I wish I was gay amd cared about Taylor swift or popular media. I wish I had a loaded gun so I could go to the gun range like a normal sane practioner of the second amendment. I wish I could be god and make rainbows. I will stop now. It's so boring
Lol lol lol lol lol

She fidgeted all the time,
working in her cubicle,
with a serious smile
always on her face
& a faraway look
forever in her pretty eyes.
Sometimes she'd wear lace skirts,
accenting her feminine graces.
Her language was often
a bit ***** (but not too much),
and occasionally sighing sounds
could be heard
emanating from her parted lips.
I thought it strange
when she requested to management
a rocking chair for her duties.
What a cutie!
There were rumors swirling around
that she was a practioner
of the Burmese bells.
I so liked working with her
before such innuendos
circulated.
Now I love it,
she's swell.....

The art and the craft are one. The practioner, an Oracle, the Wizard of Words. Constructing spells, conjured in the sequential scribblings symbolic of sounds. Letters to words to sentences. And in so doing, transmits a magic, a beauty that is communicated and understood by the Soul. Anyone can write down words, but there is that certain intuitive dexterity required, to coordinate the Souls song, to bring something special, magic... not just for the exchange of information, but exchange of emotions. A giving of oneself. A True purpose... To be in service. To guide. These are magical beings, the Sages of the Pages, who Ive only recently rediscovered, after one of them, was right under my nose for so long... She brings pure Magic, she is pure Light,... You know... She is one of your Tribe, She is a Poet... I know this, because everything she did, was poetic. The way she moved, the way she Loved, was pure poetry.. and I interpreted it as Magic.. because thats what Poets are. Gifts of Light...

prior to the actual sadism
of a nation,
you get to admire petting
cats,
    and participating in
                       nibbling;
           might mean chicken,
or might mean having
memorised
   a ******* computer keyboard
to write without typo...
    unlike your local g.p.
  (general practioner)...
   but because that discouts
the need for
   conan the barbarian
   having a impetus
to congest the fireplace with
a "desire" to congregate....
tell me if i'm wrong...
       i'm still a cave man when
it comes to electricity...
who the **** wears "sun"glasses
in the night?
          when it comes
to televisions?
     **** cares for a nostalgia for
"ancient" greece...
                          sitting in dark
rooms with sun-glasses...
              **** me...
    and the remnants of amazonian
people...
              implies we have to
explore mars?
               this is going to fun...
                                       esp. the dying bit.

oh, i'm sure,
once you hear
the story of
your mother...
oh i'm sure...
kneeling at
her feet
you will pay her solemn
"dues"...
because by then:
like ******* will!
9 months = 90 years?!
***** is pushing it...
and i know so,
a man comes from
back-breaking labour
and she starts faking
sleep!
       no... *****! no!
that's pushing it!
get your arabic
sugar daddy to sort out
your typo of
your grandmother's
"sloth"...
   because women
were
only allowed
but one labour,
i.e. giving birth...
        if only upon a time
in **** europe...
            now?
whatever... whatever the germans
make of communism,
whatever the slavs made of it,
whatever the germans made of
capitalism,
           whatever the slavs
make of it...
              me?
as i said to my general sikh
practioner... i'm a beggar,
   like buddha,
            yes, i left them:
but i didn't sign!
              any legal contract!
next time you ****,
let me suggest
the word-of-mouth
contract with a *****...
so, much, easier!