Bride and groom Erika and Joshua Garza say they thought their Durham wedding was set and all planned. The owner of the Fayetteville-based "Bragg About It Catering" company had driven up a month earlier so they could sample her wedding wares.

"She had the food ready. It was good," said Joshua Garza. "We tasted it and everything seemed great, and then she wanted to meet at the venue to see the kitchen and kinda get an idea of where she wanted to set up like that. So then we met with her at the venue and everything still seemed great."

They moved forward with the company, signed a contract, and say they prepaid caterer Jennifer Debrue $1,100.

"We talked to her all the time. We kept in contact. Everything was fine," Erika said.

That was until the day of the couple's wedding. The two say they received some surprising news.

"Nobody told us anything until we were in the limo and they were like 'Yeah, your caterer's not here,'" Joshua Garza recalled.

The Garzas now had more than 100 famished family and friends and no caterer. Fortunately for them, they did have some resourceful relatives who were able to run out and grab food for the wedding and save the day, but that did not change how the couple felt about the no-show caterer.

"I mean you don't do that to somebody on a day like that," said Joshua Garza. "You just, you ruin somebody's day."

Joshua and Erika tried to contact "Bragg About It Catering" but never received a call back or a refund.

"I don't want her to do this to anybody else, said Erika Garza.

But unfortunately, Sergeant First Class Anthony Baxley says it also happened to him at his retirement party.

"We didn't want to have to be running around," Baxley said, "We didn't want to be cooking. We didn't want to do any of that. We did a lot of research. We actually contacted probably over 10 different caterers before we settled on this one."

Falling in love with everything on the menu that Debrue offered, Baxley, too, chose "Bragg About It Catering". He says he prepaid the full cost of $1,500 and, like the Garzas, was left with an event with no caterer.

"After the ceremony was over I was immediately told there was a couple of problems with the caterer ... she never showed up, Baxley said.

Stressed to the max after receiving the news, it was Baxley's family and friends who also stepped in and saved his special day.

"A lot of the people found out before they went over to where we were doing the actual reception and they went to the store and purchased a whole bunch of food for us, he said.

With two costly no-shows, I tried to track down caterer Jennifer Debrue, but she did not respond to our phone calls or emails. We decided to go to the address listed on her contract information and spoke with her husband who seems surprised.

"They paid $1,100 and their wedding day came and went and she never showed up," I told him.

"I'm shocked. I don't know," he responded.

He told me Jennifer DeBrue would call us back, but she never did. Meanwhile, the newlyweds and Baxley are trying to spread the word that "Bragg About It Catering" is not something to brag about.

Our advice to viewers would be to pay by credit card so you can dispute it when something like this happens. Both Baxley and the Garza's said they did that.

read more: www.marieaustralia.com

www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses

old makeup spilled on my floor
***** clothes strewn on my floor

You can hardly see the carpet for all the clothes carelessly being trodden on.

Blue holiday lights are strung around the mirror.

I am watching Andy Warhol eating a hamburger
I am watching Andy Warhol eating a hamburger
on a new, thousand dollar laptop, slick-as-a-whistle, paid with a magnetic swipe.

For the past six months,
I have had less than four hundred $
combined in checking and savings,
and that number dwindles by the day.

I have no groceries,
but I've got fistfuls of orange prescription bottles,
and I was handing pills out like treats and candy.

(but they are needed, much and every day)

Where did all these bills come from?
Money is paper, but it means things.
Suddenly, it costs money to breathe.

Eating? Oh pshaw, that costs money, time, and the store's six blocks away.
We can subside on government cheese, beans, and the fiery licks of whiskey.

I pout on my throne of ***** cotton, thinking
"I get what I ask for, when I ask, and it always comes--at a price!" I sigh.

It's always over a hundred dollars more than I could spare
and brings bad luck, moreso than a couple broken mirrors would,
smashed over a the front of your mother's blackest cat.

"Quick! Let's do designer drugs with the paltry change given by our parents, given as allowance!
I wouldn't feel like I wasn't nothing, nothing at all," I say, batting my eyelashes, "Wouldn't they feel proud of our feelings of entitlement to the greater things in life and consciously responsible adult-like decisions?"

I crack open my father's checking account with that swipe of a magnetic strip,
it makes me seem responsible when he sees I just use it for pills and foodstuff.

(I prove I love him, and he loves me in this way)

Now, together, we will buy strawberries with his money, until our lips are pink.
They must be four dollars, at the very least, then we eat like the bourgeoisie (!)

I kiss the cheeks of my reflection in the bathroom
"Como ca va, darling? Comme si comme sa. . ."
I lick my lips, put on red lipstick and then blot,
tousling my hair, tipsy, as I touch up my face by
licking the tips of eyeliner up like a cat's little tail,
the ends of eyes, coated with eyeliner as black as
my tightest velvet pants and dark, dark heart.

We go together. You and me.

Lying on the floor, holding hands, in vinyl bliss
listening to the crooning of sweet Francoise Hardy,
and the addictions of the near-dead soul of Lou Reed

You should move to a big city
and I'll come call, prepaid, with
a voice that is thick and ripped,
from expensive French cigarettes
chattering of sugar-white beaches
as I cross the seas all on a plane,
burning money all along the way
all the while drunk on red wine,
twirling my fingers around, with
bags under eyes, a little anemic

(I think it adds to the glamour)

We will go out to a dimly lit place
We will go out dancing then after

I will put on dab perfume under my ears and on my wrists,
I will wear black tights for pants, but first, do a little *******
and you will fasten the clasp on my silver necklace tonight,
while I smoke, before helping me put on my favorite fur

And we will go see Andy, at the factory
I hear he's doing something
with that Basquiat fellow (!)

I will go follow false luxuries, come with me.
I will gamble with you in Monte Carlo or Las Vegas,

just as long as you pay my rent at $695 per month,
and keep pretending,
until I die, or overdose, or something.

i've washed the sheets and slept for days
since you left home
i thought you'd be right back
i thought the last time we ******
wasn't going to be the last
i wish i were sober enough to remember it all

i'm calling from a prepaid phone
to reach you on your prepaid line
i'm sleeping on a futon
that hasn't been pulled out since you disappeared
idk if you still even care
i fall in love and never leave
just tell me you're done and we can figure it out

when are you coming home to me
i've been so alone i can't hardly breathe
i'll get my **** together when you call
i'll get my **** together when you don't

High synth notes

Japanese thunder

you amaze yourself



Walk with headphones

through grass patches

and brightly lit streets



heavy petroleum clouds

nigerian gutter feast

of trash and telephones



prepaid cards

litter homes floors

in cardboard sandals



shuffling past pubs

London clenched ribs

teeth breathe heart beats



Kick old orchestras

through instrumental mixes

modernity insanity




kinyopoetry.com

The ladye she stood at her lattice high,
Wi' her doggie at her feet;
Thorough the lattice she can spy
The passers in the street,

"There's one that standeth at the door,
And tirleth at the pin:
Now speak and say, my popinjay,
If I sall let him in."

Then up and spake the popinjay
That flew abune her head:
"*** let him in that tirls the pin:
He cometh thee to wed."

O when he cam' the parlour in,
A woeful man was he!
"And dinna ye ken your lover agen,
Sae well that loveth thee?"

"And how *** I ken ye loved me, Sir,
That have been sae lang away?
And how *** I ken ye loved me, Sir?
Ye never telled me sae."

Said - "Ladye dear," and the salt, salt tear
Cam' rinnin' doon his cheek,
"I have sent the tokens of my love
This many and many a week.

"O didna ye get the rings, Ladye,
The rings o' the gowd sae fine?
I wot that I have sent to thee
Four score, four score and nine."

"They cam' to me," said that fair ladye.
"Wow, they were flimsie things!"
Said - "that chain o' gowd, my doggie to howd,
It is made o' thae self-same rings."

"And didna ye get the locks, the locks,
The locks o' my ain black hair,
Whilk I sent by post, whilk I sent by box,
Whilk I sent by the carrier?"

"They cam' to me," said that fair ladye;
"And I prithee send nae mair!"
Said - "that cushion sae red, for my doggie's head,
It is stuffed wi' thae locks o' hair."

"And didna ye get the letter, Ladye,
Tied wi' a silken string,
Whilk I sent to thee frae the far countrie,
A message of love to bring?"

"It cam' to me frae the far countrie
Wi' its silken string and a';
But it wasna prepaid," said that high-born maid,
"Sae I gar'd them tak' it awa'."

"O ever alack that ye sent it back,
It was written sae clerkly and well!
Now the message it brought, and the boon that it sought,
I must even say it mysel'."

Then up and spake the popinjay,
Sae wisely counselled he.
"Now say it in the proper way:
*** doon upon thy knee!"

The lover he turned baith red and pale,
Went doon upon his knee:
"O Ladye, hear the waesome tale
That must be told to thee!

"For five lang years, and five lang years,
I coorted thee by looks;
By nods and winks, by smiles and tears,
As I had read in books.

"For ten lang years, O weary hours!
I coorted thee by signs;
By sending game, by sending flowers,
By sending Valentines.

"For five lang years, and five lang years,
I have dwelt in the far countrie,
Till that thy mind should be inclined
Mair tenderly to me.

"Now thirty years are gane and past,
I am come frae a foreign land:
I am come to tell thee my love at last -
O Ladye, gie me thy hand!"

The ladye she turned not pale nor red,
But she smiled a pitiful smile:
"Sic' a coortin' as yours, my man," she said
"Takes a lang and a weary while!"

And out and laughed the popinjay,
A laugh of bitter scorn:
"A coortin' done in sic' a way,
It ought not to be borne!"

Wi' that the doggie barked aloud,
And up and doon he ran,
And tugged and strained his chain o' gowd,
All for to bite the man.

"O hush thee, gentle popinjay!
O hush thee, doggie dear!
There is a word I fain *** say,
It needeth he should hear!"

Aye louder screamed that ladye fair
To drown her doggie's bark:
Ever the lover shouted mair
To make that ladye hark:

Shrill and more shrill the popinjay
Upraised his angry squall:
I trow the doggie's voice that day
Was louder than them all!

The serving-men and serving-maids
Sat by the kitchen fire:
They heard sic' a din the parlour within
As made them much admire.

Out spake the boy in buttons
(I ween he wasna thin),
"Now wha will tae the parlour ***,
And stay this deadlie din?"

And they have taen a kerchief,
Casted their kevils in,
For wha will tae the parlour ***,
And stay that deadlie din.

When on that boy the kevil fell
To stay the fearsome noise,
"*** in," they cried, "whate'er betide,
Thou prince of button-boys!"

Syne, he has taen a supple cane
To swinge that dog sae fat:
The doggie yowled, the doggie howled
The louder aye for that.

Syne, he has taen a mutton-bane -
The doggie ceased his noise,
And followed doon the kitchen stair
That prince of button-boys!

Then sadly spake that ladye fair,
Wi' a frown upon her brow:
"O dearer to me is my sma' doggie
Than a dozen sic' as thou!

"Nae use, nae use for sighs and tears:
Nae use at all to fret:
Sin' ye've bided sae well for thirty years,
Ye may bide a wee langer yet!"

Sadly, sadly he crossed the floor
And tirled at the pin:
Sadly went he through the door
Where sadly he cam' in.

"O gin I had a popinjay
To fly abune my head,
To tell me what I ought to say,
I had by this been wed.

"O gin I find anither ladye,"
He said wi' sighs and tears,
"I wot my coortin' sall not be
Anither thirty years

"For gin I find a ladye gay,
Exactly to my taste,
I'll pop the question, aye or nay,
In twenty years at maist."

I got to where I am today
Without the aide of
Book-smarts
And being a nerd.
I beat up nerds,
Steal their girlfriends
And drive them to
My parent's summer house
In the Hamptons!
No, I don't need
Book-smarts
To graduate from
Harvard.
My tuition was prepaid
And business comes as natural to me
As does stealing your girlfriend!

I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp
a postage stamp, that is;
unique and proud, in my own class,
for I’ve carried queens and kings and emperors
(I still do)
and I carry Presidents and Poets and Rock Kings
and Pop Kings
and Musicians and Legends and Heroes
and Gods and Nations;
and I carry **** blondes
and old dames who’ve dedicated their lives to others

I’ve borne with no complaints
the weight of genius
and soldiers and founders of nations
and martyrs; and I do not discriminate
and with like gusto and color
I’ve carried tyrants and murderers and charlatans
and once-were-legends now the shamed;
and look, I can encompass the universe
and within the shapes formed by my perforations
I’ve held together flowers and birds
and all wonders of nature
I am each a poem, a work of art
I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(What? You heard me the first time, did you?
Well, I’ll say it again for emphasis!) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud -
though, I acknowledge,
the image of Royalty or Heroism or Greatness has
not saved me from various knocks and hard presses
and the ******* bin!
But then, so have mighty royal heads rolled!
but look, hee…heee….heee…
I can be absolutely adorable,
and I just love, love it when you lick me;
and often too
I’m a collector’s item
increasing in value, and even with artistic merit -
though no doubt, there are countless with no idea
of how so darling precious I am
which is I why
I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(And what? Why do I repeat myself?
Well, there are thousands of copies
of one issue, aren’t there?) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud
and I’ve created worlds all of my own
with pen pals and commerce
and industries and clubs round me;
and I’m not alone, you know,
well-supported by relatives
like prepaid postal envelopes, post cards,
letter cards, aerogrammes
all of us served loyally
by unquestioning Gurkha-style postmen and women;
and I’ve brought hearts and minds together
and I do it in a day or days and or weeks
and if I feel like it, I even arrive decades later! –
and there’s nothing you can do about it!
And oh yes, I can see, you’re prone to neglecting me -
you ungrateful scoundrels! -
first replacing me with cold
Franking Machines,
and cheap, unimpressive, unimaginative franking marks
and with postage meters
imprinting an indicia;
and all of you now
deriding my world as snail pace
in your world of instant e-mails -
but I persist, and I still am of much use
for - listen carefully -
and I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud;
and if you, once in a while,
want to show me your loyalty –
come to a local post office and lick my royal ****!

Ian Kennedy and Pavle Pavlović

As Sol the Rouge begins to rise,
it warms Eve’s heart, but Downs her eyes.
A dusty halo round the flame
will touch the dunes and dawn proclaim,
as distant dusty storms reflect
on Eve’s dry eye and her deject.
To get up now it is her task –
No more in Sol-light can she bask.

You must recall: it was Eve’s Gran
who went to Mars to start a clan.
From little pool Eve chose her Buzz
and paired with him, who was her cuzz.
Through porthole now Eve sees no wood,
nor earthy ground for motherhood.
With hasty zeal space courier flies;
A sandy landing ’fore her eyes.

So, as the dawn of morn is broke,
our Eve then hops, with grace unspoke,
goes out of base to Lander Stop
to fetch the parcel she does hop.
Her ‘FedEx’ was by Earth prepaid,
and on this day had come her AID,  
by careful voyage, with prosp’rous end,
the ***** arrived that Earth did send!

Low-G and man-made air do need
the seed to make a better breed.
Incestuously is not a scheme:
a gene pool needs a brand new stream.
We want no feeble Mars-strain seed,
So A.I.Dee is for the deed.
From Earth doth come the flow of genes
as bottled stuff – you know the means!

To make the Martians extra strong
The Earth Decreed all inbreeds wrong:
All ***** from Earth-bound men must come.
Through outer space it must have swum!
In DNA do secrets lie,
tho’ some do think that fated sky
will give them scope to freely screen
the final flux of wanted gene.

“I’m not at ease, but lurk and look –
  I peer at pack from Earthly nook.
  Where linger ye, my family lift
  to proffer me some needed gift
  of fruit or nuts and comfort care?
  The time is right to use what’s there?
  No creature comfort do I need.
  My friends, I’m ready for some seed!”

“My boy must have my Buzz’s face,
  and then our girl should have his grace.
  A pigeon pair with rusty hair,
  and maybe also one as spare.
  We want his freckles on each cheek,
  that all who pass-by touch and tweak.
  Buzz wants them looking just like he
  yet also really be like me!”
                                                        
The­ season’s winds bring rain and freeze
and stirs up dust with just a breeze.
And when Sol’s power does make it soar,
the wind behind rolls more before.
If’s no heat from sunless sky,
with daylight gone, the storm does die.
Unlike her feelings which grow strong,
uprooting thoughts of what is wrong.

The storm now sounds like raging ire,
and echoes of her inner fire.
As sand blocks Sol for just a while,
it’s just so long that she’s fertile.
With redhead Buzz she wants to splurge.
To break Decree she now has urge.
“I need a gravid tum, now mine’s too thin!
  A child by him: I need to sin?”

To lock herself to Earthly Kit
and shrug off worry just a bit?
But she recalls her lover’s eyes
as endless hormones swell and rise.
“Here is The Kit for you to use”.
“I do detest! I do refuse!
Then fast it dawned on me.” – she smiled –
“I’ll flip the way to have my child.”

“ So at a juncture here I stand,
  with earthy Kit in my right hand.
  Now let me throw it out as trash,
  and see Kit burn to light gray ash!
  For we are first to break Decree.
  Oh gosh, it’s us! My god, it’s me!
  On Mars it is a primal crime!
  ’Hind bars might we be held to time?”

Unlike the Martian pioneer race,
they can no longer pick their place.
Air in the base is made for breath,
for outer air is instant death.
So Eve and Buzz are in the can.
And who’s to blame? It was their gran!
The Space Base is completely jail!
(Nor could they ever raise some bail.)

As red sky flares in real turn
then Earth’s old rules do curl and burn.
While sky does grow in ****** glow
Her love for Buzz will drive the flow.
“’Tis I, the bandit, burned The Kit,
with Buzz my man! To Earth: ‘Go flit!’
Like clarion storm I’ll shout, Rejoice!
and fiercely punch the air with voice.”

“This is the daybreak of my life!
  Tonight I really will be wife.
  I know this is my true found right –
  No more for me, moist tears at night.
  Instead, I spread some happy joy
  towards my big and beaming ‘boy’.
  O, Oh! how happy we are free,
  just jestful, zestful, Buzz and me!"

Next E-mail from the Earth appears,
and has our happy pair roll tears.
“A flaw was found in chromosome  
On all accounts must ***** succumb”!
“My heart confirms that right’s my choice:
  oh, come with me, let us rejoice!
  Today Mars broke the Earth’s Decree
  Last night we loved in our low-G!”

Next Sol does rise – Eve’s hopes do too,
as thoughts begin for Martian coup.
“Can women have new Martian Law
  to stop the rules that have a flaw?”  
“The Laws of Eve on Mars now reign
  and Earth does not its Laws ordain.
  From Earth it is today we deign
  that laws of Earth and Mars are twain.”

-----------------
Legal opinion: Eve's love-making was incestuous in two ways as it 1) involved having excessive intimacy in one third gravity 2) was with Buzz, her third generation cousin, which was against the reigning Earth Rule. (She escaped sanctions by going on to found the Martian Unilateral Declaration of Independence!)

old age arrives**

old age arrives
in a plain, brown box,
prepaid and taped
against intrusion.

loosely packed,
it rattles
in the handling,
invites curiosity and

with no return address
suggests
opening.

M’lud
I stand before you
Contained within this dock
The night I was arrested
I can tell you
Was a shock!

Because? … I do NOT write in metaphors
Because?… I say it as it IS

This is the crime
I’m guilty of
By the …

Poetry Police

Another one that irks them so
Is because I write in rhyme
They think that they are clever
That extended is

Divine

I would like to

                        exercise

                                     my

                                           freedom

                        Wield

                                   my

                                           pen
                              
                          Just

                                  as

                                        I

                                            please


M’lud
Take pity
On this soul
Who pleads
On bended knees

For … there is much room in the pantry
For us all to get along
For … there is much room in the pantry
To sing our different songs

Songs of different cultures
Songs of unrequited love
Songs of just plain nonsense
Songs yet to be dreamed of

M’lud
I now beseech you
Appeal for your support
Pay credence to my musings
Throw this case
Straight out of court
For the greater man
Will walk alone
When his backs against the wall
The greater man
Will stand alone
In any port of call

For he has the inner knowledge
He has free rein of his mind
He understands complexities

Eyes       are       no       longer       blind

Blind to prepaid formulas
Rules they set in stone
Please protect poetic liberty

For … I will never be a clone



CASE WAS DISMISSED AND THE JUDGE SANCTIONED THAT ALL POETS FROM NOW ON WILL BE PROTECTED BY THE POETIC LIBERTY ACT 2010

Six Minutes

Created: Jun 18, 2011  2:27 PM

Finished: Jun 18, 2011 2:33 PM
-----------------------------------------------

In every breeze, in every blade waving to me,
I hear the poetry that encompasses;
the insects brushed off my tattered t shirt
are eavesdroppers, premature sightseers,
over-the-shoulder peekers,
wanting a preview of what has just been scored
and written up and how big a part they have.

shadows upon the lawn,
dancing a modest but frothy salsa,
my heart lips speak peace unto us all
and my eyes see my dear ones, beside me,
in my envelope of words, you are embraced:

to all, I say now you are bound to me
by thoughts of tenderness no lawyers can sunder,
that needs no caveated blessing from
city clerk or prepaid spiritual diviner.

my forked branch twitchs where wells,
nay, reservoirs of all cherished natural vitals
are awaiting for us to drill and drink,
raw, direct to the bloodstream,
which when warmed by a warmth
I have no words to describe other than
it is given and stored within for consumption
when sad moments arrive,
and when called upon, restores and soothes
when hugs and words cannot,  
but for now, for knowing, for keeping.

you though distant, grow closer,
and I will ride through the nite
with two lanterns to announce our reunification
after so long, what could be better
than to fall upon your neck, and lips parted,
whisper words of thanksgiving

When you cease to talk to me
I feel empty more than you imagine
My life seems to drain away
I sit and wait for you to call
Or drop me some long awaited text message

Then does my heart rejoice
Trying to slow my return text

Oh, she replied in 15 minutes
That means I have to wait at least 45
Eh, I managed 35, let's do it anyways
And thus we continue our beleaguered talk

I want to be near you
To talk in person
But without a prepaid gas card
That will definitely not happen
Though every weekend just might be possible

I will do my best to be around you
But my lips will invariably stray
Wandering away from you is unquestionable
Though how often is up for debate
I will do my best to make it less than once a week

I'm sorry for quitting you so quickly
I must be the biggest freak
That you have ever met

Watercolor forests time lapse
in their creaking ancient rings
We're smearing their earth tones
as the sawblade sings
Grins of snake oil drilling
seeping speculation
on massive scales
Rigged justice with financial backing
even as the prepaid system fails
Golden ratios and timeless cycles
failing the fickle expectations of
fiscal years
But you should know dead
money tastes awful
on a trail of tears
Captive nations petrified
in amber waves not replaced
Borrowing fallen feathers
to hide all we've faced
Dialed down the stars
To depict time as
a definite place
our fragile Axis Mundi
fallen from grace
But how do you find a voice
to speak for the trees
When you’ve been living
in skyscrapers
slums
and SUVs?
As bloodshot tired eyes fail
you've gone too far away
If we meet between the rows
what's left to say?
Brief clashes of red
then long fades to grey?
Am I your keeper
or am I your slave?
Your strip mauled *** toy
to plow and pave?
If you miscarry what was it
we even wanted to save?

You know the cemetery but
I know the grave.

we are always on our way
we beat our chests,
broken clocks, we are honest twice a day.

our groundhogs overstay
in cuckoo nests
we are always on our way

in metric evenings led astray,
most of us have been recessed,
broken clocks, we are honest twice a day.

we are made to coil halfway,
beat those who love us best
we are always on our way.

we make time prepaid
and tendons compressed,
broken clocks, we are honest twice a day

we say
we are guests
we are always on our way
broken clocks, we are honest twice a day.

Captured in the psych ward part 19


You see the hospital is having a hard time dealing with a mad bomber who is frightening children in the children's ward saying if the kid says no to him, he will chop their heads off and put them in the toilet and flush them down and suddenly the kids will be dead, and the male nurses despite the fact of being labeled gay and stupid, came in there saying just leave these kids alone and I promise to give you anything you want and this mad bomber said, yeah the last fucken time you quacks told me that, I ended up in prison and I have schotzpgrenia but nobody here can help me, so me and all these kids are going down with me and it was at 3-00 am in the morning and the night staff rang Ron on his home phone and said, Ron we have this little situation, mate there is this man with a bomb strapped to his chest threatening to blow up the children's ward, and we definately need you here, mate and Ron got out of bed and got into his clothes and came down and clocked in and said is the bomber still here and they said yeah and have him a needle with ****** inside to jab him with, and then he will plan to take him to the HDU and when he got their it wasn't was easy as he thought. You see the nurses were protecting the children and the doctors were trying to talk him down and when Ron came in who *** trained to deal with him said, mate, what is your problem? And the bomber said I have been sacked from all my jobs because of fighting and now i think fighting is in the blood and I am not going to better myself while ******* like you are trying to say you know my mind more than me? You see mr cooper, all you are good for is hanging with mate. You don't know my illness very well, cause if you did you would helped me by now, no Ron you can't help me, no one can and nobody ever will help me, so don't help me
Just give me what I ****** want, ok
Like a $1000 in cold hard cash and a prepaid cab waiting outside and if you don't give me that I will shoot you right through your stomach and Ron said, you can't expect us to be able to do this for you and really you shouldn't expect a free ride, free rides are only when you are 2 years old and then Ron took a risk and jabbed the ****** filled syringe into his arm and then brought the bed out and wheeled him to the HDU and they also unstrapped the bomb from him and the nurses told Ron to take the rest of the day off, cause that was a stressful situation but really Ron wasn't in the mood for carrying out his duties, at that moment at 6 am and went to frans and dans cafe and told them all about the mad bomber who was in the children's ward who he calmed with the ****** syringe and Barry said yeah, it sounds like you had an interesting morning you know getting out of bed
And being woken up are you going back, well I told them I will come back to take bill to the TAFE, cause that is simple for us to do and Ron had his bacon and eggs and coffee and went back to the HDU and took bill to TAFE and had a coffee in the TAFE canteen and when Bill's lesson was finished, they went back and Ron was given the job to talk to their mad bomber in the solitary unit in the HDU Ron found out his name was Robert stone after saying it was Jesus Christ and yeh devil and mother Theresa and finally said it was Robert stone, and then Ron said what brought you on to blow up these innocent children and Robert said, no I haven't anything against kids, I had just lost a kid in a fucken custody fight with my missus and I got a fist full of memories and she got the kids. And I am *******. And Ron said yeah you do know that these kids in the ward have done nothing to you, and Robert said, yeah I know. But everything was getting on too of me, I just wasn't thinking and the only option is to ruin another parents life. I ain't a bad person, I just want my kids back Ron
Can't you help me do that just can't you help me do that now, Ron said how about you rest and I will see what I can do for you ok, now because of what happened you won't be fit for society for a long time. So I tell you dinner is in 1 hour ok and someone will bring your nightly medication around to you ok
And then Ron left there and told the nurses to ring around for ways to grab some information on why his kids were taken away from him and
His name is Robert Stone and then Ron clocked off and went to red rooster bought takeaway and sat near the yarra river and Barry said how are you going and how is the mad bomber and Ron said he is going well, but it is conplicated and total high maintenance and really it can turn ugly if we discuss so Barry and Ron sat there not talking about the event  for 2 hours and then Barry went home and 1 hour later Ron went home and bought a 2 ltre bottle of coke and drank in front of the box and fell asleep in front


Sent from my iPhone

A Poor man,
And a Rich man,
Live in a hotel,

One man pays for his room,
Always two months in advance,
But before he could move in,

He had two months to wait,
He slept in the street,
Cold, wet, and sore,

The other man,
Who pays one day at a time,
Has already moved in,

One day both men die,
Both were successful,
But one was happier,

You see we call one rich
Because he has paid in advance,
He has no immediate bills,

And we call one poor
Because he has bills each day,
He has not prepaid,

But the poor man is happier in death,
He never slept on the street,
He has enjoyed his wealth and life,

The rich man is dissatisfied,
He has paid for another two months,
Now it's wasted, he lived on the street for naught,

This is a sad truth of finances today,
We think that worrying constantly,
And trying to plan our future,

Will put us ahead, but in fact we fall behind,
Do not waste each day on the next,
Only to die without enjoying your fruit,

The carpenters house is never finished.

The dishwashers roomate leaves passive aggressive sticky notes on the faucet.

After work, the cook does not make dinner; the cook finds dinner.

The retail worker will not hesitate to call you an *******.

The bartender
can not hold a relationship.

The caregiver
can not bear a child

When the lobbyist comes home, there is no talk of money; there is no talk at all, only passion, hands and coffee.

When the lobbyist does not come home, there is plenty talk of money; prepaid hotel suites, passion, hands and no coffee.

In the *** workers free time, the *** worker does not give body to strangers; you will never find a lover more faithful than the *** worker.

When the prophett dies, the prophett keeps living.

When the artist is not painting
the artist is watching.

The worlds most powerful leaders have a dungeon in their basement.

The sociopath can know what is right and do the wrong thing anyway.
The sociopath doesn't need a job for that.

It just happens...

sometimes...

The sociopath is working on it.

Call me Cell; call me at your will.
I am mobile, ever awake and agile
I am numbered and remembered
I am charged daily, let me discharge.

I answer calls without slip or sleep
Post-paid or prepaid, I am prepared  
I am with you, keep me with you
I have wide network of fast homework

I am in your pocket close to your purse
Preserve me; I am meant to serve you,
My presence is pride and precious,
My absence makes all the difference


I am at your beck and call
Take me with you and use as well
I take you to all to be with you
I am multi-functional and multi-dimensional

Today’s life is hell without cell
Touch or tab, I keep you in touch
My voice has its weight and value
It is heard in tunes and tones you value

In crowded calls, some calls may miss,
Answer mischievous calls in silent mode.
Beware, mobile mob may rob mobile
Be wise and vigilant; I am your personal device.

Call me Cell; call me at your will.
I am mobile, ever awake and agile
I am numbered and remembered
I am charged daily, let me discharge.

I answer calls without slip or sleep
Post-paid or prepaid, I am prepared  
I am with you, keep me with you
I have wide network of fast homework

I am in your pocket close to your purse
Preserve me; I am meant to serve you,
My presence is pride and precious,
My absence makes all the difference

I am at your beck and call
Take me with you and use as well
I take you to all to be with you
I am multi-functional and multi-dimensional

Today’s life is hell without cell
Touch or tab, I keep you in touch
My voice has its weight and value
It is heard in tunes and tones you value

In crowded calls, some calls may miss,
Answer mischievous calls in silent mode.
Beware, mobile mob may rob mobile
Be wise and vigilant; I am your personal device.

/0/Illusion of choice
/0/0/0/0/and half of us cannot even see our internal invoice
/0/Our choices are prepaid for us. choose to do nothing while we are hooked on what we think is a must/070/our addiction becomes a relapse. /00/ times for our mind to succumb into collapse//096/Dividing into what you think is control/06/Dangerous organized power overflow//01//hooked upon hope/ distortion of  reality//07/' another string added to our rope that is choking and dividing us/223/0to the point of death while they are watching//0/ and
surveying our ****** dismemberment//0921/and they expect me to have grips of sentiment to this dis-array of lost hope67/// reality is questioned as your eyes and ears are not seen as is////0 this is true dysfunction and the s33ds of new corruption/0/// question the S!MULATION///0// Isolation/// suicide rates are higher than ever and then once your g0ne you are lost forever/desire to connect together/I AM here you are al0ne/ alternative ways to throw a stone/// ParAnoia
actions that are questionable/ unreliable/undivide-able/// the days move on with regularly/09/ while the corruption comes alive periodically/// if you wake up in a different time/in a different place/could you wake up as a different person//0 staples of my unstable state of mind/09/// numb the pa!n and don't die in va!n

Speak up more, not less, using your own ideo-vocalized mess.

Soliloquy  — in front of yourself and everyone else-a-melse.

Monologue, dog!

You and I can flip-flop nonstop lolly pop but that gets trite fast and then we just so need to speak our favor-ite verbo-bite.

Bebop, hiphop, tipitity-top, slop-a-pop.

Ski-ba-bop-ba-bop-voc; do that thang nonstop.

Be-cause …

We have been flattened by the road-grade blade of the prepaid lexicographers.

We have been run over by the top-botched, pop-a-voc.

We have suffered weak-a-squeak.

We have sold out for safety and we have shut up way too much because we thought we were stuck-a-muck with duck and cluck.

Nope! Fess; you’ve got that vocable mess!

Unperson; you’ll worsen, but word-dive and jivity jive and you’ll revive.

See!

Be inventy.

Sync with your blink.

Que with your you and do-ba-de-do

2a.m. is when my mind goes to work
And of course it's dark magic mixed with mayhem
Of course it leaves me cold and vulnerable
This world is more corrupt than I thought it was
I grew up on playgrounds and forests
And nowadays kids grow up on streets and prepaid jail cells with body bags on standby
Our landfills filled with plastic and our waters polluted because profit is more important
But no one will really read this so my words hit the air and fall to the ground
Like the voices of young African Americans who have already been taken
And for some reason media portrays the good as bad and the bad as good
And black people are thugs
While white people have mental illness
I try not to judge
And I can't sleep at night
I worry about my brothers out there while trying to portray myself in a different light
My head won't stop spinning some times
I think we should all be as natural as possible
Free your mind from society and abnormalities
Try counting your money as you hold your breath
I'm afraid to be in debt
But education is what we need for a proper foundation
So why is the key to success so expensive
The 1% wants us to be helpless
They want us to struggle so they can reign supreme
It's no longer about happiness or following your dreams
It's become a way to just survive
And I don't know how I'm going to leave my parents house with the wages they provide
Maybe this is why depression is so common
We all know we're gonna die
But for some reason they don't want to see us thrive
My friend Tony was shot 7 times and the murderer is walking free
All because of his skin color and a badge
If that doesn't make you angry then you're part of the problem
When it gets late at night I don't know what I will start to ponder
I just know the world is messed up
And I'm afraid of the future
If we don't fix things it will never get better
So open your heart before you open your mouth
You might be surprised about what ends up coming out
So please listen to the world around you
Take into consideration that we are all here for a greater destination
I started writing this with the intention of a different message
But some things just shouldn't be kept quiet

If You love to hear your own
voice at every function,
then bring in paid audience.

Loyalty
bought with the cheque book,
Reality is,
so few care and give a **** about loyalty
unless you're the man with
the cash in his hand
and think
you've got it all planned but
plans fall apart as the cash dwindles away along
with the dreams of the people who creamed off the top,
you say,
' that you bought them,lock, stock,contracts carved into rock'
but you can't buy a loyalty card prepaid,you can't put a lock on
the aspirations of men,cannot parade them as your yea, yea, amen,
you know it too
and the reality is,
Loyalty is earned
burned into the hearts of the women and men who were with you back then and are with you today,
are you with them?

One words worth of attention, prepaid. Free.

What is the value in fame?
What is the ranking on the spectrum of good better best?

No losers, doerdiedoerdiedoerdie try
umph,
po-et-tu-try
a ah ahhh
'istory
shew, a reeely big shewbread sword of Goliath, by golly,
weapons for pullin' down strong
holds, hordes of dragon lies,
and deadly fears

for your attention to this word from my sponsor,
true.

You don’t want commitment
I am not a prepaid affair
Lets try this out first you say
There is a no refund on me

Lets get some things straight

If you’re a cheating player
I won’t be your playing field
I’m not a confessional
Your lies are not forgiven here

No masks allowed on my stage
Don’t sell me your fake ****
Break my heart and leave
I won’t be a post you can delete

I will give you my love, my all
Unattended you lose me
Love is but a fair trade
You get what you give.

I’m done with modern relationshit

taken prepaid call taxi
without reserve cash
reached unfamiliar place
asked him to turn few
left and right
got down
came home
by searching….

who said monks are desperate to get laid? when they can buy an hour's worth of, two month's worth of a gym membership in a brothel? pwah boys gonna get nasty! really? pwau(h) boys gonna get gnasty? locksmith and shovel... we're gonna save rapunzel on the words: go! double! oh look, 'ere they come 'ere they come, the southhampton f.c. fans - oh when the saints... oh when the saints - come marching in... oi! pwah boys... god laid... and i didn't even have to eat at a restaurant, and pay for me and her... just ate her **** out, and that was a prepaid meal.

there's no such thing, as a *poltical view...
it doesn't exist,
           that statement is either a misnomer
of the word political, or in compound form:
a fallacy...
                there are no views in politics...
politics isn't about having a label ascribed
to yourself, so you can achieve a stasis...
            i really over-exaggerated the point
i'm trying to make...
    so let me simplify...
      there are, no "political" views,
       because in politics, there are only motives!
it's the principle of a monetary system!
there simply aren't "political" views...
there are only motives...
   because that's the prime principle of politics;
it's the basis for third-party exchange
      via a $ or a £...
         strange how 20th century psychoanalysts
didn't allow themselves to encompass this unit...
ego (1), superego (1 + 2), id (0),
and then £ (∞)...
                          this really looks like *******
by now...
             all i wanted to say: there are no
political "views"... by the definition of politics,
id est rei publicae...
     politics-in-itself, it isn't about having a liberal
or a libertarian, a communist, a ****,
           a conservative         point of view...
there are no views in the game of politics,
there are only motives, and these collapse
and self-equate themselves as... simply... self-interests,
  and that's politics shoved into a nutshell;
**** me... it's not that complicated.

By the by, we sit
to watch a week end, on television,
or your time's equivalent seefar-aparat.
Ignoring moon phaze, we count sevens,
under the generic mandate of God's Truth.

Submitted, bowing low on Friday, next day
Chosen, allowed through some revealed loop hole,
Called, day three, permitted by grace alone, undeserved or earned,
to wrestle with the liar calling war your duty to truth.

Long weekends for all, let us contend, we are biding time,
occupying our spaces, our bubbles of being, our guiding
principles leading us with peaceable nudging, this way…

Each cluster of monotheists insists the truth,
is for their own protection, a tested faith believed,
certain to eliminate each individual fake follower,
while allowing holiest of priestly classes work not a whit.

Call us the common sort. We less holy plain folk.
Each one, each bubble of speaking flesh,
given one guide, with constant comforting, this way, in
contact face to face with the great weaver of wind and seas.

Alerted become, some sense seems to say, lend an ear,
hear the conception let loose,
precept upon precept,
here some, there some,
line upon line, thought on thought, each a prayer,
an asking, an appraisal of the price prepaid called worth it.

On second glance.

Having many miles back submitted, bowed low
to a teacher who taught that tears are grace,
a heart softening remainder
from infancy,
when we are hard selfish takers, helplessly
weeping when confusion topples all balance
and we fall into serious wailing,
as snotty salty tears wrap us in
a core cushioning patience
on which pity for innocense rests,
self-pity, poor me, weeping prostrate
waiting for patience to function before I die.

And should we weep for some fool today,
seeing his zeal manifest to earn God's grace,
by any name, in any mind let be aware
that
madness
defies wisdom.
Should we not weep for the liars
who taught the child that the wisdom
which made us, rewards us for killing
other thinkers of the same crazy idea,
differing by no means significant to infants?

Ever, after time, or before, I've not a clue,
yet, now, I do assume
we all may, and often do, think wrong,
falling so safe within the lie fed us, to make us
willing to support the imprisoning of hungry us,
by forced mind molds earning the interest
on world debt for constant war readiness.

Our beloved lease on life is not sublet.
Any infant who survives the womb is entitled.
Each breather rebreathes, giving back received life.

Now, as an interstellar life raft, earth laughs,
when the lies about who owns the planet
ignor the approaching reaction to imbalance.

Free lunches for Gaza, and grassy football fields.

Stop hate, abhor the law that calls hate truth's will.
Watch truth lift the crippled conscience we share.

Make lying anathema,
and fearful hateful exclusion laws
auto morph into correctible knowledge,
each real empath sympathy blossoming
soothing all pain in scars nullift, so as we can
never bring a helpless child to tears for wars' reasons.

When war comes to excuse its expense, I must
laugh with life, call war to bring cause, prove worth,
sit with first Is-ai-ah, come, let us reason, together.

War rises on pride's haunches and calls me the fool,
I call pride's worshippers to count the cost.

If  you made mankind, wombed and un,
for good reason, with a will to power,
a will to self control and rights,
by Nature,
and Nature's spir'tually discernible goodness and power,
would you use life of satisfaction, or desparate poverty
to teach the art of agape, charity and such?
- freedom of speech - say true, no lie.
- But why, can we not freely destroy,
- can we not freely force children to serve?

Better living by global ignorance reduction.
If the truth made minds like ours,
if the truth its anthropomorphized self,
made us pathetically spiritual enough to weep…

at the fruited fields cratered by artillery
to starve the enemy, back when the strategy,
left the scars on generation after generation
of poor, outside the class of chosen, by law,
which orders outsiders to submit, knowing
one's place, hewers of wood,
drawers of water, pickers of fruits,
plowers of fields, diggers of ditches,
washer of dishes and floors,
builders of shelters, dismantler of obsolete weapons.

Owners and renters, live in peace. Under holy order.
Oh, no? Call the message itself a lie,
say the truth does hate those who know otherwise.

Who holds the pledge for your share in this war debt?
When some side wins, whom shall we owe?

the art of hellos
& crushing goodbyes
tell me i'm dreaming
awoken to die
i killed myself years ago
none noticed, (no) not one i'm afraid
i kept the water running afloat
with the power and net prepaid

Im dismember him.
Remember him
The very coffin closed
Its a merry thing
December is
So very ******* cold.
Its a scary thing
Prepare this thing for this is how it goes....
Ima rhyme right now like i was writing raps for my ******* closest bros

Im a goblin.
Not a contract.
Uou act like im so prepaid....
I did deals with
Carrot top just to rock this
See a free agent.....
I give props to every
Monster
That can consciously
Eat green eggs.....
*** doctor seuss
Aint going ham
Less he gets them chickens free range...