Murdering murderers
done gone
melancholy
in the moonlight.
It's midnight.
The perfect time
to commit a crime.

Here's to premeditated drug dealing.
And everything else that can get me
a one way ticket.
To the Devil's bed-room.

Premeditated Amnesia 1

For nothing here is old, save for deep layers
Of moss and muck and mouldering remains
Civilisations lit by visions and fire
Now lost beneath a Wal-Mart Parking lot

Incuriously the tentacles of Now
Slither more deeply into the pale past
And churn up yet another housing estate
At the corner of Kingsford Lane and Heather Way

Near the Motorcycle Church, for piston prayers:
For nothing here is old, save for deep layers





1”The U.S. is probably the contemporary world’s purest example of a society which is perpetually trying to abolish history, to avoid thinking in historical terms, to associate dynamism with premeditated amnesia.” -Alexander Woodside quoted by Susan Sontag:

https://bostonreview.net/susan-sontag-interview-geoffrey-movius?utmsource=Boston+Review+E­mail+Subscribers&utmcampaign=b581739691-EMAILCAMPAIGN201808170417COPY01&utmmedium=email&utmterm=0_2cb428c5ad-b581739691-41080789

The spider, dropping down from twig,
Unfolds a plan of her devising,
A thin premeditated rig
To use in rising.

And all that journey down through space,
In cool descent and loyal hearted,
She spins a ladder to the place
From where she started.

Thus I, gone forth as spiders do
In spider's web a truth discerning,
Attach one silken thread to you
For my returning.

All saw united **** of assassin's Gov't's premeditated taking
a knee for 9 minutes on George Floyd's neck, the **** cop
calmly looking into the camera, an assassination for many
reasons, who's seeing past the 'show', following the $?

Ebony, ivory supremacies repeating their victory of 2016's
(Only) Black Lives Matters participation in the Int'l criminal
conspiracy's installing **** into the Black House, etc.,
determining their dividing the nation, in perfect harmony.

Like the bi-headed, Utin and Utin's ****, global axi of
supposed power has re-established, East, West, you're
either totalitarian or not-see, and if not you're murdered
by both, now either Black or white supremacist, or die.

For 15 years ebony has dictated Caucasians call themselves
"white", "be proud of being white", make believe they have
"white privilege", to the benefit of division, ivory, when
there's no "whites", and almost no non-repubs thought it.

That while the reality is their class war against the lower-
middle-class to poor, the boot on our neck, by the police/
military/intelligence complexes, is all 23 flavors of the
baskin + robbins of supremacies, usa, the global oligarchy.

Criminal insanity, that illegally installed the Int'l crime
family **** into the Blackhouse: repubs, conservatives, global
hackers, wicked leaks, J. Assange, usa intelligence/military/
police/prison industrial complexes, J. Comey, R. Barr, C. + K.

West, J. Stein, 13 % of Bernie or Bust 'Bots voting **** and
another % that stopped the youth vote from getting behind a
"not perfect" Hillary, "boat loads" of organized crime $ from
Russia, Ukraine, white supremacy, sinos, linos, ginos, ainos,

dinos, Moore for hawking 'trumpland' entitled book for months
before the election while projecting **** "would win", a % of
the elite of the black supremacy, etc., just allowed the not-
sees, totalitarians to destroy, ****** at an increased clip,

now add premeditated pandemic, ebony/ivory dictated duality,
racial environmental justice "only my environment matters"
movement and voila, the end of the climate crisis movement,
total extermination of humanity to it's extinction, in a can.

It's not a coinky-**** that the "knee" was taken upon the
news that "Biden was considering not choosing a woman of the
right color, Black".  For Ebony figures "if they're not get-
ting a Black president now, through a Black VP pick, they

might as well just put up with 4 more years of ****.  Biden,
Sanders, Warren, etc., will have aged out, Booker, Harris,
Patrick, etc., will be sitting pretty for the 'once you go
Black you never go back' prez job.", same as it ever was.  

Even though the 'show' was able to pull a Mattis out of their
hat, supposedly legitimizing not just the military, but the
republican conspiracy, during this 15th anniv. of the 'use'
of Katrina to "clean out the bowl", and "let the river take

what's the river's", exterminate the lower-middle-class to
poor, gentrify, militarize NOLA by purposely not preventing
the failing of the levees by 2005, by Reagan "we got 300
buses but no drivers" Nagin, Gov. Blanco, etc., to the tune

of mass-murdering going on 3000 predominantly lower-middle-
class to poor, mostly people of color, like king george and
his ****, cheney didn't the terrorist attacks of 9-11-01 and
serial murderers masquerading as cops don't daily terrorist

attacks, their one-sided and continual coverage of the
"current controversy", as ebony and the 'Blackish' lead
actor called the premeditated murderer of some women, ******,
kidnapper of 100's more, B. Cosby, was suffering from, is

clear, keeping the faux opening news out.  No ebony racist
comments, like the Houston Police Chief who repeatedly stated
throughout the day that "the looters were white" only, were
even remarked on.  The lock, ebony and ivory, the fix is in,

if it ain't fixed don't break it.  All the smoke and mirrors,
song and dance, show, weapons of mass distraction, to take
the news cycles off the too early "opening of the country",
pandemic, by ebony for ivory, in the world can't change the

facts, even though it's death toll is only 111,000 by their
accounts, actually 122,000, and there's going on 2 million
infected, there will be an extra 100,000 murdered by ****'s
policies and lack thereof in handling his virus circus.

That there's more prisoners, defacto-slave laborers now than
the number of slaves at the height of the slave trade, here,
not spoken about because ebony, ivory are both the corporate
structure, global oligarchy that it enriches, won't change.

See how the assassinations of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor,
George Floyd, have paid ivory by ebony, like they did in 2016
to stop there being a minimum of 16 years straight of 'white'
prezs, Hillary and Tom.  Their deaths and the aftermath being

used now to cover up the premeditated ****** of 10,000's of
Blacks by ****, because ebony + ivory, working together in
perfect harmony to fill every news cycle now and for months,
want 'the economy open', to make them more $ now, instead

of saving all those Black lives who don't actually matter to
them at all, 'cause it's all about the benjamins, instead.  
Biden should pick a progressive woman to cement Bernie
voters, if not, then a liberal one of color, no particular hue.  

'De-funding police dept.s', etc., should wait until after the
election, unless ebony's insisting **** wins to get a Black
prez in 2024, instead.  The determined Winter of our death,
extermination to come, will surpass their class warfare's

liquidation of ases and assets of the masses en masse's
increased rate of blitzkreiging Gaia's kids to their
extinction.  Now it seems too late, their 'use' of pandemic
to subjugate the world to survival instead of alival,

exigency instead of humanity, has closed eyes, minds, pulled
the rug out....  But, "...we(e),..." can't be over-confident,
apathetic, cynical, complacent, nihilistic, pessimistic,
burned-out, for supposed anarchy is the global bi-polar axi

of supposed power's mutual modus operendi, to determine
la machine's chaos, and the division it causes, increases
vacuum-up economics to the global oligarchy, replicating the
'show' that must goes on, including colonialism, hegemony,

patriarchy, imperialism, supremacy, conspiracy, etc..  If you
didn't vote Hillary you voted Utin and his **** be installed
into the Black House.  There's public records of who did and
didn't do what, please stop them from doing it again, or die.

Protect, occupy, GOTV, "you can't dismantle the man's house
with the man's tools", Lordes, notseeism and totalitarianism.  
"The root of all oppression lies in (supposed) science",
Gandhi.  If you're not taking bullets you're making them.  
Viva la vida, solidaridad, la evolucion   :)   reality

Hello wats your name?!?” 
It all started with a greeting 
She was fine so when she answered it felt like an acheivement. 
She seemed so innocent he didn’t kno she was so strategic 
That same innocence in her face made him believe it. 
Time passed and they got cooler. Not later but sooner  she started to manuever 
She was an assassin 
Her weapon was passion 
She used it so flawless 
Somethin she caught him off gaurd with 
She was a professional bent on teachin him a lesson bro 
And he was susceptible to all of the pressure though 
See at first he was strong wit it, he couldn’t go wrong wit it. 
She knew he was gonna diminish when he realize he was targeted. 
He was blunt. Said he dont trust girls cuz he cant throw them that far 
But a couple sweet nothings made him lower his guard. 
Defenses down he began to believe the things she had to say 
He stopped his  wrongdoings and crazy acolades 
He done heard alot of lies too
Cant tell if her words are true or not 
She tell him she been thru alot but **** he been thru alot 
It was all to perfect, thought to himself is it worth it, cuz life is worthless if you not working towards perfect. 
He thought he was the predator but he was her pray 
So he settled in but she wanted it that way 
She caught that boy slippin and he fiinally learned his lesson 
Left the **** in him dead a pool full of love.the ****** weapon affection. 
See fellas if you let a girl **** that **** in you 
That ***** you feel is invincible 
Just know that same girl you called a ***** or a *** had it planned it was all premeditated ******

Hello wats your name?!?” 
It all started with a greeting 
She was fine so when she answered it felt like an acheivement. 
She seemed so innocent he didn’t kno she was so strategic 
That same innocence in her face made him believe it. 
Time passed and they got cooler. Not later but sooner  she started to manuever 
She was an assassin 
Her weapon was passion 
She used it so flawless 
Somethin she caught him off gaurd with 
She was a professional bent on teachin him a lesson bro 
And he was susceptible to all of the pressure though 
See at first he was strong wit it, he couldn’t go wrong wit it. 
She knew he was gonna diminish when he realize he was targeted. 
He was blunt. Said he dont trust girls cuz he cant throw them that far 
But a couple sweet nothings made him lower his guard. 
Defenses down he began to believe the things she had to say 
He stopped his  wrongdoings and crazy acolades 
He done heard alot of lies too
Cant tell if her words are true or not 
She tell him she been thru alot but **** he been thru alot 
It was all to perfect, thought to himself is it worth it, cuz life is worthless if you not working towards perfect. 
He thought he was the predator but he was her pray 
So he settled in but she wanted it that way 
She caught that boy slippin and he finally learned his lesson 
Left the **** in him dead a pool full of love.l he ****** weapon affection. 
See fellas if you let a girl **** that **** in you 
That person you feel is invincible 
Just know that same girl you called a ***** or a *** had it planned it was all premeditated ******.

why do you insist on calling
this a rose when we all know
its really a thorn
and why do you stay in this room
when all you want is a tree
Sometimes, its nice to know
that crying in the dark is the same
as crying in the day
but sometimes i feel like we should crawl on
our knees
and beg for forgiveness
not from 'the big man up in the sky'
but from a garden that we've forgotten about
i mean, which one really
has more power?

Favorite word: “nymphet”, but no!
Halcyon, a kind of drug, you know.
Searching through the pages’ mist
And imagined deeds
Of poets’ needs…
I found my favourite word,
As asked,
Neither sacred nor profane
That describes the Venetian rain
In my beloved’s eyes
And the Florentine sun upon her hair:
“Auburn, russet, mythopoeic”.
Oh, it is not fair,
To liken an object
Of my lust and love
To anything as mortal as autumn air!
Nor “October’s orchard Haze”;
She had her own
Inscrutable, premeditated ways!
Rather let me say that she was perfect,
Though her eyes, pale and myopic,
Her shuffling gait and
Graceless limbs, to them Grace lends
Fey charm, the power to mend
My suffering and
Delusions of a poet’s end
As anything but pathetic,
(Her mother’s fondness for vague emetics)
And I left softly hanging,
On a girl’s new taste,
A tang of russet apples on her face,
But no, not that, the sum
Of my love, My Lo!
Then her bleak demise, partly by my hand
That none of you brutes could understand;
The pure love,
So sadly consummated,
Between a lover
And the one she hated
Yet loved once with inexplicable delight,
On one stolen, frightened night…
In which the two of us agreed
To satisfy a simple, yet maniacal need,
And then depart…
But I could not,
You see;
She was my life,
My love, my heart.

Humbert Humbert 1950

Sharon Talbot ca. 2005

Since our political system has been laid bare, after RumputiN was installed
in the Blackhouse, it's beautiful complex of lack of complexity, in a word,
conspiracy of conspiracies, has moved me and "...we(e),..." to have as a few
of my favorite things be far more reaching questions, out of necessity. Like,
without acknowledging, and demanding others do the same, that it's been
purposely engineered to be a criminal injustice system instead, how can one
even have a real conversation that would lead to potential for real change
of it taking place in reality, if you don't know who you were, where you've
been, how on God's green Earth can you expect to know who..., where you are
and what's going on, necessary to start thinking about changing anything,
even yourself, as well as directing who you will be and where you will
be going, etc.?  Swine slaughtering lower-middle-class to poor men en masse,
mostly of color, instead of just doing the usual liquidation of their ases
and assets, are just serial murderers masquerading as cops, and what goes
around comes around, no?  If you're not taking bullets you're making them.  
Also, people are fed up with felonious RumputiN and his rootin' tootin'
organized crime family spree from the Blackhouse, which should be prosecuted
using the RICO Statute instead of just being elaborately covered up by Mueller
for he's not using it and he's handing out immunities like soldiers candy to
Iraqi kids, duh.  I would add some salient pointless points, beyond the 'empty
boat' of Zen, and 'useless tree' of the Tao, we can understand the burden
placed on our shoulders by our ancestry not exercising their responsibilities
as they should have, and thereby it's Siamese twin sisters, their freedoms,
Withered like unused muscles as well, as a panultimate challenge, saving
humanity, literally. Also, understanding Jung's "80 % of all actions, thoughts,
feelings we have, that we acknowledge, or don't, perceive or don't, are
compensatory towards our pasts", necessitates an integral understanding of
Satre's existentialism' meaning of angst, as experience integral to life, not
opposed to it, but, rather, central to it, and a nexus of it.  This is more
than an embracing of gestalt's, Perls', moment, now. Moving away from sophist
perspective, we also experience the meaning of life is struggle, which comes
through all our meaningful work, succinctly. Further, what is life beyond that
foci is also, the where, when, who, how, and sometimes why too (but never Y2K)
of life; beyond our masks and ego fulfilling stories, schtick, lines, etc..
Do we struggle, not just as lifelong students, with the impossible, not just
the improbable.  Yet, it's actually more layered than that in a much larger
dimensional paradigm than 4 dimensions.  Yes, the effects of our causes in any
action usually have effects that undo our causes as we act them out, intend,
present them, etc..  Yet, those more superficial, linear, first conclusion
layers are not less effective, per se, as the complexity of Karma, Dharma are
beyond our normal comprehension. What is the root of thought, feeling, the root
of feeling, being, the root of being, the extent to which we struggle with what
it is, no?  For, as the following twig of poetree gleans: Soul//
As my breath
is the one, prana,/
And the life's pulse, pala,/
Reaching angelic source, sura,/

So is this mind, manas, a
/  Flowering unfoldment,
/ Unendingly touching
/ The eye
that would it see,/  
Unbeckoning unto thee./
As well, this Bodhi, a temple,/

Of the four and fifth, nur,/  
So entered by atma, a ray of thy sun,/  
Thus being
winged, and
/  As such with wind,/
Flying only in dharma's dance,/
Is returning
to, Brahma, you./  For, there yet, by thy grace, go I./  
We are not who we think
we are, we are, rather, the extent to which we struggle to evolve to be some-
things, spirit, soul, Bodhi, etc., on the path of study that could and should
be one, you, me, forever asked and never answered.  Yet, even if we lived as
prayer, our light only adding to the well of light, our every step in grace,
leaving no footprints that followed none, echoing in all ways, always,
sometimes, like pulling teeth, "...we(e),...", must stalk our words from our
insides 'til we wrangle them, like cats, to the tip of our tongues, no?  For,
"Words weren't meant for cowards..." and we must "be brave...", Happy Rhodes.
We can't allow ourselves the luxury of taking our supposedly 'golden silence'
all the way to the bank, as your average bear does.  These are the end times,
we successfully struggle, to abolish global defacto-slavery by the non-renew-
able energies' corporate structure's machine and it's convolution, against
the global oligarchy's premeditated mass-****** of 7.5 billion people, or
humanity's extinct.  Gandhi, "(supposed) science is the root of all opression"
and, "...we(e),..." must be the change we want in the world".  Is not life
relation, are we not responsible for one another, are not all threads in
the fabric of life needed, as is the evoliutionary ones' mendings, for we
can't allow it to be torn asunder?  If not here, then where, if not now, when,
not you, who? Viva la evolucion.  Indivisible, illimitable you, GOTV.

Good evening, lettuce.

You are not long
for this world.

Keep your comments to yourself
I’ll keep my bullets to the side
Through the center of President Ford’s head
Gerald Fordhead
Gerald Forehead
President Gerald Ford’s forehead
You want grey matter?
You get a miscalculation
In flashy red and blue
You heard a squeak
You know it’s me
Charlie never taught me how to surf
Charlie doesn’t even know how to surf
But then again, who does?
If I belong in the ocean
Then why do I have these hips?
Sorry, too much information
Please look the other way
And you’ll hear me
As I squeak
Squeak away

i.
He stared at the woman, eyes darting to memorize her angles and features,  
at any moment this mirage could disappear.
For two full minutes he was unable to speak, too scared to let words loose;
they can no longer be hidden once they’ve been exposed.
So he kissed her instead, because he liked how it felt to no longer feel alone.

ii.
The grip of loneliness refused to let her go, like the claws of a jealous lover.
“One thing for certain, there is no god. We are completely alone, love is *******.”
“What if I showed you that you are not alone, how would it change your life?”
“I think I might actually be happy.”
“You are happy when you let yourself be…there is this…fire inside of you,  but
every time the momentum starts to build you tell yourself whatever you need to
hear to keep it from taking you.”

iii.
“Why the hell are you starting this with me? This isn’t right.”
“Who says I’m starting anything?”
“Oh, you’re one of ‘those’ guys.”
“What are ‘those’ guys?”
“The type of guy who pretends that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and
doesn’t admit to what he’s doing so he can play innocent when he’s called to
the carpet. But in reality,  he knows exactly what he is doing, and most of it
is premeditated.”
“Like ******?”
“Yeah, something like that. There is a good chance something or someone
could die in this scenario.”

iv.
They laid still for a while, trying to catch their breath.
“I think your parents named you after the wrong Craig Finn character.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“They should have called you Hallelujah, because you sound like an angel
when you ***.”
She smiled and she kissed him and they made love again,
and she felt like an angel.

v.
He started out the door and turned, lifting his shy head to look at her
“As far as I’m concerned, you are the only one I’ve ever slept with.”
She stopped breathing, afraid to believe the nouns and verbs that were floating.  
She repeated the sentence out loud after he walked away.
They were the most loving, pure and perfect words she had ever heard.

At this point I am so disconnected from myself

that if one day I ever decided to take my own life

it would be premeditated ******.

red stains, fading, cracked, scented

     if i kissed your prints, would they kiss me back?

sighs, thoughts, spaces between prints

     spaces between words, between parted lips and floating thoughts the world! is so crowded with space but yours is the one i want to fill .

     but where are the lines? lines of loss, lines of lawns, lines of ink and rips and more stains and letters, in the hands and on the pavement

where are the lines?

why won't you go there?

why do you hover in these foul, indomitable spaces? why do you seek that which you should not?

     if the shadow of lines slinks in your quiet expression, then why are you still here?

     if the echo of your soft face lingers in my hands, if the whisper of your breath and the heat of your skin still singes my own, then why do you disappear?

lovely wraith, lovely memory of a thing that once was, why do you sit so alone?

because i am coming to your space, and if you can see me, of shadow and fog, then i will meet you there,

     on a line of our own.

>because it's a death premeditated and i can see it unfolding,

     sharp wounding painful

and the discourse in the sky is telling me so, yet why do i keep walking west?

uncovering my emotions,
I sit in a plume of words,
washing over my senses,
clouding them over with potential
and destruction.

you sit in your straight back chair,
legs stretched out in front of you,
before you hesitate and put your feet
firmly on the ground.
my words are like the fan drowning
out your demons,
but providing no extra insight,
just white noise.

I talk in my sleep
because the words don't pass me in my
subconscious.
they rule over me, sometimes guiding,
sometimes hindering.

a pillow, sleeping aid, ear plugs,
conveniently placed on your nightstand
whenever I sleep in your bed.

our fingers touch, and our shoulders lean toward the other,
wondering if we will follow our bodies' lead.
but you roll to the other side and I mirror you.
strangers in a bed built for one,
occupied by two.

four thousand
different dreams about you
last night
you stalked through them
like you owned the place
(...maybe you do...)
so many different places
positions
smiles
back-drops
all because
you held me last night
on accident
just to see
how it felt

a ****** of crows gathers
over Hamburg, carrion carrying on
with business as usual.
feeding on the festered flesh
of a gentrified populace.

in private jets coughing carbon
they fly from the west on turbine wings,
engines screaming as they dive towards a nation
secured by razor-wound walls
and barb-wire borders.

they pitched a battle in Germany,
convinced that austerity
would ******* the resistance
and give justification to premeditated violence.
but the tables have turned on the thieves again.

we are the end result of your failed policies,
globalization has destroyed our homes.
if your cabal rallies like a kettle of vultures,
you will do so behind closed doors,
cowering in your fortress' halls.

you shall not pass. watch as the power shifts
like the melting gears of torched BMWs.
we will tear the vestiges of your authority down.
we will black out your surveillance cameras,
smash your windows, and block your limos. no pasaran.

flee, while you can still run. this city belongs
to the wild ones, a black bloc, thousands strong,
dancing amidst the tear gas, tossing molotovs.
marching to liberty's sturdy drum,
equal in our solidarity song.

It took,
one of the most beautiful sunsets,
I’ve ever seen in my life,
to get me to write again,

I’ve been taking a sabbatical from personal periodicals,
not that it was premeditated,
it was or rather is,
that I hadn’t felt motivated,

still don’t really feel inspired,
even after such a beautiful sunset,
which I watched from seat 1A,
in the front row of an aircraft,

another First Class flight,
this one shorter than most,
SFO to LAX,
been around the world but still I rep Westcoast,

the girl next to me missed the whole thing,
she was and is still fast asleep,
but the guy across from me saw it,
probably the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen,

see he’s a Navy Seal,
so I guess I don’t really know,
the Lord and He,
are the only ones that know what he’s seen,

at any rate the sunset was beautiful,
like I said one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen,
missed the first half because my view was blocked,
by a gay couple and their cell phone screens,

jeez,

can’t we ever just have a moment with Beauty,
without having to feel like we have to capture it,
why is it the first thing most people think when they see something beautifull,
is “Oh yeah I should take a picture of this!”,

and then their interest usually only last,
as long as it takes to take that photo,
then they go back to doing whatever they were doing,
before they were interrupted with something so beautiful,

but I’ll take a Beautiful Interruption before a Mundane Day any day,
I’ve always been one for the inspiration that comes with impromptu moments,
I’ve learned to Love unconditionally Beauty in the instantaneous moments Beauty exists,
I’ve learned to be able to appreciate something without having to have the urge to own it,

lost a lat of Love before I learned that lesson,
but better late than never,
so now I write these memoirs,
to help us all act better,

because there’s always room to improve,
and that’s whey I stretch out in my yoga practice,
take moments to meditate and put it all in perspective,
because that’s the only way to stay balanced in a world off it’s axis,

see the US government shutdown today,
January 20th 2018,
and here I am on plane flying 1st class,
from San Francisco to Los Angeles,

and even though,
it’s only an hour long flight,
it was day when we took off,
and now we’re about to land and it’s night,

amazing how much can change in an hour,
sometimes an hour can change a whole life,
and I’m reminded of all of this on this airplane,
as I gaze amazed at an amazing site,

that of one of,
the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen in my life,

it took,
one of the most beautiful sunsets,
I’ve ever seen in my life,
to get me to write again,

I’ve been taking a sabbatical from personal periodicals,
not that it was premeditated,
it was or rather is,
that I hadn’t felt motivated,

still don’t really feel inspired,
even after such a beautiful sunset,
which I watched from seat 1A,
in the front row of an aircraft,

another First Class flight,
this one shorter than most,
SFO to LAX,
been around the world but still I rep Westcoast…

∆ LaLux ∆

(2pac talkin)
You know what gang violence is, mostly
And the people don't want you to hear this
Somebody shoots your family member
So of course you retaliate, You know what I mean
Same thing the you. S does except nobody even shot their family members
You know, they see that, somebody bomb a school
And all these people get killt
So the united states feel like ooh that's messed up
We gotta go show em who tha real killers
This country was built on gangs, you know
I think this country still is run on gangs
Republicans, democrats, the police department, the fbi
The cia, those are gangs, you know what I mean
The correctional officers,
I had a correctional officer tell me straight,
We the biggest gang in New York state
Straight up
[Verse:]
Supress the revolution of premeditated scheme
Introduce a drug called crack, to us ghetto teens
Got a law for raw ******, now playa what it be like?
When will ****** see they got us bleedin with three strikes
Can't seem to focus hopeless, with violent thoughts I wrote this
Got these Devils petrified, hidin from my hocus-pocus
And so I learned to earn my currency in over time (muahahaha)
Affiliated, clearly click a military mind
May God forgive us though we dwell inside a paradox
Thugged out and drug dealin, from the womb to the block
My live mind got me survivin five rounds
My forty-five got my fortified with live rounds
When ****'s thick we plot hits, when our glock spits
All hail, Out on Bail, Wrath of 2Pacalypse
Forever ghetto necessary picture food stamps
Outlaw **** ****** never left the boot camp
Chorus: Busta Rhymes
We got the real live **** from front to back
To my ****** in the world, 2Pac is back
Where my soldierz is at? (2X)
Where the **** my soldierz at?
Where my soldierz is at?
[Verse 2:]
Now I was born as a rebel, making trouble for the devil
Take this ******* ****, to a whole nother level
Can you feel me now? Armies in every city
Definition of power, players are you with me?
See the war is the profecy, survival is the strategy
Rest in peace to my comrades that deceased
(Busta Rhymes: Notorious B. I. G)
Organize these streets in time
Youll have these devils petrified of a ***** in his right mind
They tell us that we hopeless and hell bound
This for the brothers in penetentiaries jailed down
I got you in my heart till tha day I die
Think of tha damage we can do, if we wasnt high
Can you picture me loc? Its a thugs wrath
Political contracts and blood baths
For Matulu Shakur up in the rikers,
Though they got you, I never let them stop me
The struggle continues
(2Pac Talkin)
Now if we do want to live a **** life and a gangsta life and all of that,
Ok, so stop being cowards and lets have a revolution
But we don't wanna do that, dudes just wanna live of character
They wanna be cartoons, but if they really wanted to do something
If they was that tough, alright, lets start our own country
Lets start a revolution, lets get out of here, lets do something
Chorus: Busta Rhymes
We got the real live **** from front to back
To my ****** in the world, 2Pac is back
Where my soldierz is at? (2X)
Where the **** my soldierz at?
Where my soldierz is at?

The rooster swivels on its axis returning
coarse wind into the pyre of mad, mad tongues
raving alongside charred ivory. Lifted by sorry hands
from dying embers’ embrace and eased with foreign pity,
ceremoniously, into a cardboard crate wheeled against
the traffic, stumbling backwards through yellow canvases,
between my family dressed in black, to dress the void (deck),
mourners spitting soda into their cups, as word paddle upstream,
onto a thin futon within four walls stained with unfinished ghosts.
The doctor removes the white shroud like God coaxing pink light
on the first day and wine oozes through elastic veins to the far corners of my skin thin ventricular walls. One crack, in the doors and in my chest, paramedics in white blur in, heel first,
Pan-island couriers on reverse gear to the corner
of a numbered street, where I am delivered like a gladiator
thrown into the arena of nosy gazes, with the urgency of
hens clucking away from premeditated slaughter:
deep Christmas red on the tessellated parking lot.
Clumsy thumbs dialing 599, I moan inwardly
to the concentric circles of strangers retreating, erasing
me from cell-phone cameras. Then like a flip animation I
snap backwards, up 21 floors,
pause for about an hour on the ledge before smashing
backwards, back down, past kids scratching graffiti off the cement
and growing cigarettes in their mouths. The rain ascends and I take
wet cash from the driver while I fidget on the leather and throw up
mediocre coffee into my cup. I dig into my throat and return the bread
to its plastic bag and when the cab stops I fall left out onto another parking lot,
moonwalk up the stairs to where I unwrite my name in the
annals of failure and
shove the Fs of my past back
then
I take the bus instead.

I always wanted to be that random style of writer
Writing about things which have no connection
In reality but they are connective only by the ingenuity
Of his genuflection; the circumvention of his
Circuitous routing, his plaintive perturbing petulance
Which insists on stacking things of different orders
Flying birds together of different species
If I could write something of the ticking of clocks
Not as though the ticking were of premeditated duration
Embedded in metal tracks around perimeters
Of prevaricated die-cast hours; but as though the ticking
Were only a random fixture of a theoretical day
In which random clocks ticking played a minor role
During the still life of which a poet happened along
And copied it all down dutifully, not caring if
Ticking clocks were related to pitchers of Forsythia
Or falling off of cliffs into the Aegean;
The only task of the poet to capture it all
And let the reader sort it out later
In the random tracks of his circuitous brain:
Whether the pitcher was full of sea
Or the sea was stealing into the pitcher
One blue, serendipitous drop at a time
And where no clocks were keeping time.

Into life I emerged my fathers queen of his forest lands with his death suffered my Purepecha Tarazcan Mestizo gene mold
and my massive character
developed seared with scars;
first grand loss my father my land
Foe pierced my Teen
Mestizo cactus pear
by deceptive method
his ugly bitter tequila mix
second loss badboy with
a twist virgins his compulssion
the wise universe quickly RANSOMED my pain!
in Texan country songs and mariachi night parrandas
wedding promises galore
in Irish cream PA-dreams
entwined disavowed
drowned all this magic.
along came refuge an evil poisoning uzo on his dunkey
slandering Grecian mythology teaching his many medeas
executing premeditated cruel early death wasn't what I had in mind for restitution
leaping from foe to another one worse  and still I loved life repaying evil for my good
malicious slandering experts
stealing envious jealousy torturing my baby girls new born making pieces of me giving birth!
all this and more remained impune being dead calm in shock
All I ever saught in life was to love be loved cherished adored by one special human regadless of name nationality creed or social status and guess what!?
I found all the BEST all treasures all bank amidts all this saga.

Yes I was too battered to seize opportunity too rejected to say
" I love you- I am sorry,
I'll marry you." my beast!

twice husbands didn't call me wife first time I married only the ring I bought with my savings, tears and scars no husbands were they but foe covert enemy ****** sadist poisoner Greek
chicken **** Hen. in CA fed on******* agendas sold my baby girl coco to his infertile ex hell nurse bailing him out******* dues possing as Mother to my child invented a birth certificate 1983 then tried to ****** me each time I went to E R. smothering me during minor urgery 2009 in honor a covert life insurance criminals with a twist
many times they tried many times they failed I have more lives then a cat.
The Greek human trafficant
blackmailed by his medeas
for his ongoing crimes sadomised my baby girls I give this Greek geek ten traits of narcicistic personality more in his grave "haralobo"his kiriakis and many mistress
I escaped him inhell greece
I emerged seared with scars.
a fierce protective Mother
now a grandmother stern
but ever understanding
ever loving
I am not ranting
nor lamenting!

I survived where many other battered women died
seared with scars
I write.
O how many women do!
O how many Moms don't
survive covert enemies
with a twist.
~~~~~~~
By: Karjinbba
All rights reserved.

I'm a human of the contemporary times
A millennial, part of Generation Y
A digital native in shrink wrap
An open minded, wide eyed, big mouthed wind tunnel

A genetic, mathematical, anatomic error
I'm souped up and decked out
I'm high maintenance with low standards
My humor is low brow, my expectations are nonexistent
I see the negatives as positive
I see the positives as negative
I think in subjective and objectives
I'm on the web
But off the grid

My pockets full
But my wallets empty

I'm over educated
But underemployed
I'm overworked
But under paid

I'm a bisexual, bipolar by product of society
I'm a hardworking, dedicated procrastinator
I'm an inarticulate fat head who isn't afraid to speak his mind
I'm a cold hearted hothead
I can hear, some times I don't listen
I'm clean and polished to get my hands *****
I work my fingers to the bone
Then cross them in hope of better tomorrow
And knock on wood until my knuckles bleed

You can check my Facebook profile
Read my Tweets
Scroll through my Instagram
Send me a Snapchat
And you can kiss my ***
I'm non-toxic
I'm irreplaceable
I'm a rarity
I'm an oddity
I'm offbeat
Off centered
Off color
Off kilter
Out of tune
Out of my mind
Hypersensitive
Indifferent
Rude
Crude
And universally unacceptable

I'm wasting time
And taking up space
But I'm living it up
I won't die down
I'm two steps ahead
I'm left behind
Coasting on thin ice
Walking the edge
Pushing the limit
And taking a nap
I'm greedy
I'm *****
I'm lazy
I'm angry
I'm cocky
I'm envious
And I'm
Not sorry

I like laying low
I love being high
I don't want to be a stick in the mud so I get ******
I'm a street smart *******
I'm book smart dumb ****
I'm an eloquent gutter mouth
I speak in
****** vernacular
Passionate profanity
Cynical sarcasm
And choleric curses
I have criminal ties
And it suites me
I'm a ball hogging, showboating team player
I'm a devoted alcoholic
I'm a thrifty shopaholic
I'm in school
But out to lunch

I've got friends
I've got enemies
I've got my family
And I've got problems
I hear voices in my head
I see things that aren't there
I over look
Over analyze
And over think
I under cook
Under appreciate
And underestimate

I use my WiFi to listen to LoFi
I watch low quality television in Hi Def
I'm a bombastic contentious objector
Taken aback but forwardly thinking
In your face
Out of stock
Unisex
I get down
And get it up
I'm a low key middle man
Undeniable
Unlikable
But lovable
A grounded skyrocket
Detachable
Seasonal
Unflappable
An everlasting
Know nothing
Know it all
I'm a egg-headed basket case
I'm a real heel
A loafer
I got the boot
Because he couldn't afford to live in a shoe
Or the box it came in
I'm broke
I'm busted
Discussed
Disgusted
But I loved
I care
I help
I laugh
I try
I cry

I'm on the short bus for the long haul
I have no money but I always got my two cents
I'm good with secrets
I'm bad with numbers
And good with money
I'm bad with people
But yet they love me
I'm unbiased
Tolerant
And impatient
I'm abstract
I'm avant garde
I like violent ***
With volatile love
I like pornographic snapshots
******* ******* motion pictures
Live action lust
But nothing beats my meat like the real thing

I shop at second rate super markets
First rate second hand stores
I'm on cruise control in the fast lane
I'm double parked
I've been traumatized
Dramatized
Hospitalized
Ostracized
Demoralized
Desens­itized
Exorcised
And I've had my toes stepped on

I was a premeditated mistake
A failed abhorrent abortion
Vaccinated
Alienated
Regulated
And always medicated
I have a an attention span an inch wide
But, I'm real
I'm honest
I'm kind
I go hard
But  take it easy
I'm always slick
But never ******

Wheeling and dealing
Clipping and stealing
Lending and giving
Living and breathing

I think this one's a keeper
You've all dug me a little deeper
Hope you enjoyed my veracity
Because this poem is completely me

I am a criminal, 
A low down ***** convict, 
Robbing old ladies and turning the youth into like minded thugs and killers. 
With my gun, I can turn any day into new years eve. 
Bang! Pow!
I've just shown you how, 
I ***** somebody's light out. 

I live by the gun 
Ready to pull it out and start blasting away,  
And if you're in the way? 
I hope you've had an eventful final day. 
One more body to my death toll is of little consequence. 
And to  those who choose to cross me
will be dealt with in a premeditated sequence. 

So many women I've widowed, 
So many children I've left with only half a family.
Do I care?
No. 
For my heart is as black as my skin 
I have no feelings of remorse or empathy. 

Or do I? 
Am I really this despicable person? 
Is what I've just said is not me at all, 
Or just what people perceive me to be.

The truth is, that's all it is
A perception 
A perverted perception forced upon me and others like me by illogical stereotypes, 
A perverted perception perpetuated to the the point where it has become the status quo,
A belief so deeply ingrained in the minds of the masses that I become public enemy number one, two and three, 
so deeply ingrained that I should not know what it means to be free, 
so deeply ingrained that I should not even be given the change to better myself. 

Does this perception out rank reality?
Does conceptuality govern the actuality of reality? 
 

If so, I perceive this world to be full of ****.

Urdhva Hastasana
Salida del sol.
Her paws are bare
Ablaze against the black stone heat of the morning stroll
Pausing for the last monsoon, whispering
Salut?
There would not exist consequence for a dampened nose of pusillanimity
Carelessly drawn to the astrophysical realm of celestial bodies
Illuminating the chivalry once more.
We'll sing chansons
Oh cabaret!
The circumstance and pomp eliding
Lavishly rouged lips from sterling glances
Exposed by the slow and sultry raise of copper eyes
Premeditated, so that they lift in perfect timing
Beneath dark lashes to seem accidentally mesmeric.
I still lose amethysts
They drop from the back of my ears unexpectedly
Their plunge of contact against the water
Catches my attention but no more
Of a thought should surface except to surface
The stones from the depths pooling around my ankles.
The rain won't drain and hasn't for months
She scratches her hair but the pining never stops.
I rub her ears so she'll display such an ardor
Revealed in company and solitude simultaneously
To be weighed and doubted and accepted and declined
Beneath the stony gaze of the eyes of a god
Swindling a wrinkle in the shower curtain.
Alas what a shame it is
Besitos aren't quite fancied here.
Ne prennent pas garde aux berceaux, Que la main des femmes balance.
Puesta del sol.

orange sweater with wrinkled sleeves
it fits you perfectly. it looks like it was taylored to your measurements perfectly
i bought it about a year ago
let you wear a part of me i felt safe in
worn proudly you are the boy that i thought would never
i painted a picture of you in my head in which you were perfect
i had sculpted each pore perfectly
placed each thread of your hair on your head but
i guess i must have done something to mess up because the perfect picture i painted
dripped with wet unset paint
on top of me suffocating, i couldn’t move
i could only see your chest covered in the stupid orange sweater
tongue deep down my throat with your hand on my neck
your face is dripping on mine this wasn’t who you were supposed to be
it hasn’t been longer than a week but the days drag on years and pull on gods ears and beg for more time to pass but less and less goes by
never ending i feel like i’m stuck
im in an artblock
your face is gone but it was just there i must have misplaced the brush that i drew your short eyelashes with
whimpering you are but why, was it something i did?
my paint brushes are all intact and my workspace is clean
how could i have messed up
the painting with the orange sweater delicate brown eyes and thick bleach hair is dripping
off the canvas
i haven’t done much other than wait for you to dry our before i can add more on to you
but you won’t dry and you’re on top of me
my neck is wet with the saliva you won’t stop touching me
no i said i would take a break from this canvas but it’s encasing me i cannot leave
i messed up havent i
wonder why i did to deserve this
im using my fingers to put your streaky smile back in place don’t look at me like that please
i have to ask for you to leave i cannot stand the shade of orange you’re wearing being on top of me
please leave
im letting you out to dry

in the same position i can’t move
my neck is casted by guilt i must have done something wrong
looking back that couldn’t have been you
it must have been the wrong medium
your acrylic is dry and patched you couldn’t have torn me down like the thin canvas dripping with trauma filled sweat
no because you would never let yourself wear something mine while you took myself from my own body
right?
youre the boy i painted over and over in my head just to get you right
hold my hand let’s go for a walk hold me tight because the wind against my cheek causes a shiver down my spin
lift my head up to glance at the intentional light because you know i’m scared of looking down at the petrifying dark
but you burned my eyes and i am no longer mine the painting is ruined and i can’t fix it
but that’s not who i planned for you to be you would never do that because i don’t mess up the watercolor goes on thick paper while you go on premeditated canvas
was it me?
have i misread but i do not misread i am not an idiot it’s not my fault you chose to do this yet i cant not feel this in my chest
im a failed artist with a body stolen in disgust
i want my orange sweater with wrinkled sleeves back

Preferred  are those conversations accompanied by cigarettes and splifs and misfits sitting where they knew they always should.

There comes a time when cleared minds realize conversations of personal problems and unified disfunction's exposed feels right. As though your ideas of crazy themes and wandering dreams are unified.

Listening to the good die young by billy Joel blasts as slow motions and hand gestures toss stories and emotions like cracking the binding of a books once judged by unpredictable covers.

I connect with people who's skin has sunken ink that tell stories people think need to stay forever by vibrating needles. Piercings on questionable parts like on noses that drip from other kinds of recreationals. that give bad impressions to those cliche stereotyped people. But if we're all the same species then how do you begin to distribute labels?

I believe there are certain people that smoke cigarettes. That need a release knowing risk that with each pack your buying death. But living larger then safe is easily the option that's best.

To fly free through roads just watching others live lives and in  split seconds build their story lines. Like that feeling of peoples first expressions when first meetings happen and the only conversations are those of eyes that frigidly glance back. When you realize everyone is there for same reason. But curiosity is the catalyst for judgement and we have all done that.

I believe there are layers to the soul. Not like designated  pieces and parts but one giant relation that we all hold. It's that common beating of trapped souls kept in that bone cage our chest mold. Each chest holds humanities most sacred vessel so how come so many people turn out damaged and evil when born starting with the same soul?

I'd like that think that our common bind is that we have the ability to breathe. And even when things get crazy and life gets messy and that ability to breathe starts to feel more like your starting to choke at least it's sign your still apart of this earth as a whole and not already six feet deep...

There's something beautiful in the fact your mind makes you who you are.. Or do you make up your mind? Are we all strung up like puppets being pulled on premeditated strings? Or are we morally free willed  where fate is created based off every individuals caged vessels desires and whatever subjective shoulders conscious ends up deciding.

It's funny to me that people have angelic and demonic whispers on opposite shoulders because I believe that they are one in the same. That in reality our conscious is one unified subjective subconscious who has free will to take a ride with the devil but if they chose to live a live of angelic routine the heart gets hurt and your heads to blame.

Because the heart wants what it does but the mind always knows what's best. But what if together they worked the same and the explanation for decisions being made, are based purely on happiness with consequential benefits determined by what's locked inside that bone cage.

When does choosing between what's right and what's easy ever stop giving beatings to the beating vessel a rest.

Because I have never seen them coincide for most instances there's always that contradicting choice. The one you know you've already chosen but if you want everyone to win you will have to personally sacrifice happinesses of the real meanings of life.

The ones that hurt the most but are so addictive they are mentally deadly to any head that's got a heart full of selfish wishes that claw to fulfilled within me.  

Regret is a funny concept because it can always be avoided, that intuition is real and if any instance of doubt or denial is present during, before, or after these ordeals,
you know your accepting the warm rush of blood make it's way home and suddenly your head turns numb and cold. And the only thing to do is uncage that spirit and let it go.

And these constant battles of war and peace have never in history coincided it seems. But what makes you the winner or the losing team? In reality it all doesn't matter in seems, because things happen and If you chose regret and if that's true happiness should anyone put there's souls intentions to rest?

Because hurting are those who believe they would  rather  let everyone else win because being themselves would ultimately hurt others.. And its conclusions like these, they say, you just cannot win. But I grew up when I realized life was really about how your pawn is played. And let's be honest,  Humans have always been the most dangerous game. And ultimately everyone wants to win in a way, but their victory prevents others from reaching their souls restless place.

So this circle of life is that of our species chosen shape. Which makes a lot of sense in minds bigger state.

And I guess that's cool because anyone could say, that we do live condensed on a circle floating in an infinite space, where its never ending and confusingly contradicting , kind of common to that comparison about humanity's constant levitation around mixed messages that mind and heart keep sending.

But in the end were all just spinning. Rotating on sanities axis and gravitationally pulled one way, because that's the way the stars aligned. And that seems quite similar to humanities battle of premeditated fate. So free wills just another excuse for regret shunned away?

But after your feet get planted back in the ground and your mind doesn't feel like it's spinning, that's when you know your true conscious is winning. And even if I there's regret as minds price to pay, let your heart benefit from not caring what decisions it's made.

And for once don't settle by locking it back away in its cage.

See ribs have have rows of entrapment like cell doors and windows but don't they say if god doesn't open up the door he will a window? I think your heart needs to only be able to see through what it can handle. And your mind only cages that soul of questioned decisions away, because it's the one that hurts in longevity and gets damaged with mental repercussions in your head that will always stay. And hearts vessels only know what they've seen through the cage. It will be bruised but like clockwork healing starts and familiar tempting feelings once again become craved.

And anxiety of memories are sent to the brain when the heart wants to start over and relies on its mind to be brave. And sometimes that deceivingly beautifully ****** devil, on your shoulder distributes desired deadly sins your mind is banned from letting it's sweet heart discover.

Which is when it knows it's time to come back down from that beautiful risky heart thumping heaven and evaluate  the damage you have done. And so now I see why hearts and minds don't get along. They desire each others abilities of their methods to stay strong...

Growing up never comes when you expect it:
It's when you realize that the suicide note under your mattress
Probably has a few too many commas where semicolons should be,
And a little too much emphasis on the last four years of your life-
Missed due dates, flunked exams, and friendships that were supposed to be forever.
It's when you figure out that the boy you spent your freshman year of college worrying about
Never even knew the name of your favorite book,
Or anything else that really mattered.
It isn't something you can predict, or prepare for-
It isn't a sudden shift of priorities that all of a sudden appear
Somewhere in your subconscious, making it a lot easier to get up at 9am for a statistics class
That you're inevitably going to fail.
It isn't anything you do that will change, but rather
A shift inside of you that slowly shakes your entire being.
Youth is only beautiful until it's corrupted,
By the sultry hands of time, beckoning you forward when all you ever wanted to do was hide.
It slowly seeps down into the darkest corners of your mind,
Swallowing up all that innocent ambition
Flung upon you in the fifth grade by a board of indifferent teachers
Who decided to deem you gifted, introducing you to a world of knowledge
Too fascinating to mingle with the uncertainty of responsibility.
There's something frightening about growing old,
Maybe it's because you spent one too many hours of your childhood
Pretending to be someone else- caught up in a storybook world
Full of daydreams and simplicity, too one dimensional for reality.
It's not that it goes away all of a sudden: all the premature doubt
And impulsive wishes of death, or something like it.
But rather, it takes a different form-
That which was once a big red ball full of passionate emotions,
Has deflated, leaving you with only a faint residue of what you used to feel.
Maybe, you got your wish after all- something had to die, you know,
In order for you to carry on without losing your mind.
It's a sad paradox, this sequence of living,
As intuition slowly deteriorates, and common sense
Slinks in, in its premeditated, yet lackluster manner,
And before you know it, you're not a kid anymore.
Peter Pan flew the coop years ago, but Neverland still remains,
A testimony to all the lost childhoods of the ones
Too eager to lay their stake in the land of milk and honey.

this is what heartbreak looks like.

you looking at him

him looking at you

me, absent.

I know what love looks like.

this is what heartbreak sounds like.

your promises you would never do this to me

my heart breaking more when you did

this is what heartbreak is.

the smiles you two share when you know he is not free

still caged, still wings flapping,

and me

wings broken.

left behind

to fend for myself

weak and tattered on the floor