apologies, but i will not be abstracting people
as mere pronoun users,
i know i should, but i kinda like "painting"
and giving peoeple race, and differences,
i can't really establish what pronoun-bleaching
would do to, oh i don't know,
perhaps i'd be writing this...

back when i still worked as a roofer and was doing
a project in Greenwich,
  nice try, construction industry men don't
go to the gym... what a joy to remember my roots...
anyway...
    what was i saying?
   so i commuted from north east london
this this little village...
and it really has a feel about it that it is a village...
i went into the Greenwich waterstones
bookshop and spotted something interesting...
    a j. k. huysmans trilogy (beginning with la bas)
and ending with *cathedral, or something like that,
if i knew what the internet was saying,
i'd buy all three books...
     but i did the dumb thing of buying
the first book of the trilogy, that's always in print...
anyway, no small loss...
   and there stood sideways joseph roth's
the antichrist...
              i can't compare it to nietzsche work,
even though i should, given roth was jewish...
and i figured: if the concept is not originally
jewish and greek, and anti- is a prefix much
more easily understood these days with
the existence of anti-matter...
            than say... armilus...
    well... so i was commuting day to day,
and over the course of the project probably read
two of three books, roth's was one of them,
alongside nikos kazantzakis' blockbuster...
but something weird happened when i read roth
for the first time...
     sitting in this dockland train heading south
of the thames, a group of muslim "women"
spotted that i was literate,
     they sat, about 10 metres away from me...
but the word antichrist must have prompted them,
one just said out-loud: you're satan's *****...
huh?
   there i am, reading my own book not raving
mad reading it aloud, and there she has the prank
of associating a book to a very mysterious person
who riddles the bible being completed...
      mein gott: two world wars ever since nietzsche
wrote he was the person with the title kept
sorta on a whim for nearly 2000 years...
     and then two days ago my father has a car accident
and this hijab clad woman is driving,
  but she does a Pilate and doesn't take responsibility,
the passenger that's with her jumps out
   and gives my father his details
and the woman is pristine...
     a *******, what do you call it: sacred cow?
most pedestrians in england are treated as such...
  so she phones her son and gives the phone to my father
and her son says to my father: it's against
the law to phone the police, you can't phone them...
well... hey presto! we're in Saudi Arabia!
and this is what's worrying me...
no... nope... this is what pains me...
    i had to take my ego for a walk tonight...
i had to think a lot of ******* out,
how the ego would whimper and whine like a dog...
there's your "janus" / "contronym"...
ego... dog...
   the leash? i'm thinking with it...
and suddenly, clarifty, i can pierce it's *******
narrative and think about it... as any id might...
what i experienced was an ego-dispossesion...
   i lost it, it turned into an automaton,
robotic misery... hardly the angry Frankenstein monster...
i lost the care for an ego-embodiment...
i was dispossessed by it, robbed, thief! thief!
i needed to come back home and read
heidegger's aphorisms 174 through to 178 from
the ponderings (it would help that you read the
ponderings... after reading being & time)...
the pain i felt was very much akin to being British,
even though it's something i assimilated into...
which could mean that's it's the odd bit...
should i, shouldn't i feel some sentiment for my host
culture?
word are flying around the place,
they're calling it cultural marxism...
well... i come from a culture that had stated
marxism, period, i.e. supported by an economic model,
that worked, and would have worked,
had capitalism not done what capitalism does
naturally: compete!
   i'm watching these cultural marxists and, i think,
i'm watching penguins in a zoo...
  i don't know what to make of these marxists,
who aren't even leninists...
            where's the economic model?!
  
that's the problem of going to a catholic school
in england, attempting to stress multi-culturalism,
i even ojected to being confirmed ritually,
with a bishop from Brentwood,
sorry, too much Irish around the place....
i too thought i was about to say something in Gaelic...
outer-east london: a complete ******* jungle
of biodiversity...
     so did i misplace my allegiences?
to the tongue? to faking an ethnicity?
    of course i'm pisssed off, i spent the past 2 hours
walking the most mundane of walks,
bewildered why this woman in a hijab wouldn't
own up to causing a traffic accident...
i helped him will out the police forms,
and there she is, on paper, smug like some ****** mary
because i'm the one that really doesn't think
that Islam got Project Hair wrong,
me? personally? i think that woman's hands ought to
be covered,
     in thinking terms, a woman's hands could
get me more excited than a woman's foot...
but sure... hell... why not hair?!
              the last time i checked, normal people
have an aversion toward hair...
ever see that person almost vomiting when they found
a stranger's hair in their soup?
  that **** that grows on your hair is the only silk
you've got... how about a few toenail clippings
to boot? first thing a sane would think: ****! ****!
oh, we're going to get on... just fine, just fine...
   the next time i think about encouraging
an **** ******* position's worth of prayer
i'll be a ******* cardinal.
   what's wrong with taking responsibility?
why are Islamic women so immune to the tractātus
of law? where's the jurisprudence?
   i'd call it something more than diabolical...
you can really become a vampire when you're told
the lesson: those that thirst for justice...
  lesser leech...
            who gives a **** whether it was: "but a scratch"?
woman! take responsibility!
  pampered little coconut jugglers...
   now to think of it... leave those curtains,
and this one time: she was walking with a buggy
and a small child and she unveiled herself from
a niqab before me...
           the perfect arabian nightmare i could
have ever witnessed...
             i had long hair back then...
what she revealed from under that niqab?
wait... am i writing this in the times
when the French occupied the Holy Land and had
the first thirst / idea of a colony?
  
this is me, imitating punching a brick wall...
this is me... in a boxing ring...
bashing myself...
            this is me thinking about how man
has no capacity to usher in karma,
how man's concept of law is hardly cosmic,
how man is a kniving ******* that
deserves something beyond a heaven and a hell:
rather: a return to his self...
that's what i keep telling myself:
i don't want heaven, i don't want hell...
i, just, want, to, return, to, my, self...
    yes, that's a reflection,
hence the pronoun has no compound, i.e. isn't
a reflexive understanding for the fluidity of language
expressed by the concerning compound: myself.
perhaps that's just the beginning of understanding
the noumenon / thing in itself, or rather to counter
the fluidity of the word itself, since, evidently
it self makes no sense that could ever produce
a concept akin to the noumenon...

why wouldn't this woman care to give an inkling into
her concept of right and wrong...
she's driving the ******* car, she makes a doo doo...
pauper... **** up!
            i still don't know why it was about hair...
you like a stranger's **** in a soup?
   what's with this middle eastern fetish for covering it?
hey! beginning from 1986, am i sorta automatically
involved in a cult that has a vintage of ageing from
a **** of a camel a long time ago?
  no wonder the knighthood ceremony was initiated
by slapping a newly initiated knight across the cheek,
like i said, a woman's hand is more ******
than her hair...
      i'd say: take up ye care to don gloves!
and that, i'm sure, will never happen.

it's probably the most delicate thing a woman can possess...
a hand...
the rest is what darwinism cared to provide us with:
a black widow, a mantis;
and that's talking pure earnest about the matter...

listen, i spent the past two hours having the ordeal of
an ego... which i had to anti-narrate into theory...
yes, the id was helpful, is actually told me, or rather,
interrupted the ego from the narrative
to give me this *******'s worth of profanity
(and yes, with due reason; ever fill out a police form
concerning some accident? do that, then you'll be equipped
to read Tolstoy)...

so it was ego-possessiveness,
      the ego already thinks its eternally subject...
that's one of the implants...
eternity and god are inherent in ego,
   your heart means absolutely nothing when the ego
has been given certainity that it can't shake off...
what the ego isn't given is a unit of reason
that sees past it... the id...
in relation to dualism and the much active dichotomy
as alternative to an equilibrium of dualism
i will outrightly exclude the superego
  as nothing but antithesis to the ubermann theory
of overcoming man...
  and on their shoulder they once had
the epitomes of cartoon conscience, an angel and a demon...
but thanks to the superego: they had mama
on their left shoulder, and papa on their right shoulder...

just the mere act of shutting that thing up
was enough, and it was apparent,
that writing fiction could be to blame,
   writing fiction can be rightly guessed at
for levitating a condition of medical proportion
into the realm of mythology,
    we have already depersonalised the unit
of ego to the extent that it has become polarised,
bipolar, e.g., comes from a depersonalised
gravity of ego,
we're no longer in need to write books,
we're in a dire need to write our own psyches...
and it all stems from making the basic human unit,
bound to the privacy of thought,
as needing a system that outweighs the moral
stratum,
           what can a person actually be or become
to even dream about asserting that there is
a da-sein (i.e. something, somethingness)
          "happening"?
i feel that there's something worse than a second
nakedness emerging,
         it's this incapacity to move on,
it's a mental nakedness, i am more easily prone
to dress my body in clothes
than i am able to dress my ego in thoughts,
than can correlate adequately, and peacefully...
toward something akin to a symbiosis
that can reach a = status, rather than an
   ≠ or an ≈ status... ****! Aquarius!
isn't the ≈ symbol the basis for it?
oh hell, back into the zodiac...
              
     i know my ego can be a downer,
but at least that's who i am talking about...
aphorisms no. 174 through to 178?
i do odd experiments with books,
     this is the first of its kind,
i'm actually going to rattle-******* this book out
till it feels like having wanked it 20 times
in a single day... i'll write what i "feel",
funny word, that word feel...
you never get to use it these days,
man is more about hammering in nails than
saying: ooh... that hurts...
and we all know what happened to Jesus'
teaching... forgive strangers...
     make sure your former friends are
crucified up-side down...
                 that really went far...
                      i can just see him...
an oasis of bullet-proof clauses...
              about how to handle people...
give them l.s.d. unconsciously!
         then wait for actual l.s.d. to arrive
and then worry...
when they took to their Swiss bicycles...
and writing poetry... and eating a soft-boiled
egg... given the concern for cholesterol:
a hard concept to fathom: that runny yoke...
     never ate mine with salt, i always like
that idea of legalised abortion...
                and we can be just that...
so imaginative to consolidate being mammal
that we can fathom eating chicken eggs
as easily as abortions... runny yokes have no basis
for a morality, or a compass...
they just are... runny... yummy...
             i call yokes the male version of
a woman's fascination with chocolate...
  i think egg yokes are the equivalent of cholocate
for men as chocolate is for women...
or so the advert said...

aphorism 174: as language...

          aphorism 175:
              philosophy catching up to science,
akin to theology catching up to philosophy,
both condescending extracts
that end up with both of the extreme parties
dressing up funny.

aphorism 176: such that newspapers are
the natural preservers? i.e. the idea of historical
escapism.

      (toilet paper does, much much more,
than a newspaper actually provides,
   press freedom is a bit boring to be honest,
beginning with the need for a moral agent
that's less and less moral, and more prone to
darwinism, i.e. selective, which is also said via:
what's natural, in a more and more techno-savvy culture?)

aphorism 177: only as, a rural thinker unto
a rural thinker... a case of describing a perfume
of those thinking about a day after tomorrow,
   but more precisely:
  the day before yesterday that didn't involve them...
say, on the ethnicity basis,
  the talk of being inheriting from the form
of ancestry... how we cultivate cucumbers,
tomatoes, prejudices...
   which is why i'm a slav happily talking a tongue
that's germanic, an off-shoot saxon,
and hopefuly defending it.

aphorism 178:
         "everything great wavers and wobbles,
stands in a storm. the beautiful is difficult."
   Ezra too, with the last, alas.
     but it's true... what happened in england in the second
part of the 20th century was great,
  and it did indeed wobble past the storm into
a desert of retirement...
            a peaceful coming toward terms of
a natural agreement...
   the generation preceding mine enshrined in their
psyche an england they heard over the radio...
king crimson... all such artistic expressions
found a case to take root...
     how parasites never attack a feeble creature
and only take roost in a strong symbiotic partner...
once it was said england could resemble ancient greece,
and it did, from the second part of the 20th century...
but that ended...
               it's gone, i have inherited a communist
past, a marxism with a concept of money,
and economic policy that wasn't inherently competitive,
but it also wasn't a welfare policy of the Marshall Plan,
and all i get is this freakish counter-movement
known as marxism in culture...
   that's worse than marxism in economy!

it should be heartbreaking to say this,
but coming from a monochromatic society,
watching the death of communism...
     i could say it was perfect... but then i can't
given my grandparents have a secure pension plan
that the state provides... i like that joke,
i just said it, and it makes perfect sense...
there is much more of Pilate in the history
of the peoples than there is of Jesus...
washing my hands clean, the companies said,
meaning self-employment...
     unless you have a really hungry libido
you actually do start worrying about keeping up
the numbers...
  companies don't...
      it's a bit of a bollocking...
i come from what could be imagined as a safety
economics of marxism into a marxism of culture
that i simply can't comprehend...
              well: it did give "us" a sense of pride,
and a will to rebuild warsaw without any american
money...
        the russians just said: where's your pride?
do you want to take their money and have it easy?
and when i ask that question:
i just start thinking about arabs without their oily diapers...
oil diaper... not exactly black gold:
oil diapers...
             Ahmed gonna poo poo?
              &nbsp

i kept my hatches battened but that
didn't stop your love from barreling toward me
like a runaway freight train with faulty breaks.
and god almighty, did we crash.
you came to a screeching halt at my doorstep
and i didn't know what else to do but let you in.
you looked so cold. we did not start with a spark but a full-on fire.
i told myself i wouldn't fall, instead i jumped.
our sinking frames somehow morphed into life preservers,
and we managed to keep each other's heads above the waves.
we had seemingly saved one another.
you tossed your pills, i flushed my razors, and for a while that was enough.
but we learned the hard way that even the deepest love
can only keep the storm clouds in your mind at bay for so long.
eventually our cracks began to show.
missed calls and silent hours built houses of cards
that were blown down by too many miles.
we hardly ever smiled anymore.
my hands were sieves and yours were sand.
i want to break the hands of the clock
that cursed us with this bad timing.
i have mourned all the hours i won't ever have with you.
i have felt the thunder that rumbles in my lungs
when i reminisce about the memories we'll never make.
the moment i realized i would never wake up beside you
an atom bomb went off in the center of my chest.
but the radiation is what's killing me.
the life is being drained from me here in the wake,
in the ache of your absence. but i won't beg.
i will live out the remainder of my days
tormented by wondering if maybe in another world
our love is perfect and neither of us bleed.

- m.f.

I can't wreck this boat
I can't crash it into the depths once more
I gotta clean it up
I gotta clear the skies and wasp this deck
Otherwise these sails will forever fall
Otherwise the murky waters will creep aboard
Underestimate the strength of a breeze from the past
Underestimate these old boards, but they can float
everything can fall off it'll come back to the surface
everything can't go back together
NOT this time, no repeats, this boat is no Delorean
NOT in the past everything is right now
again no thanks my friend
again this boat has life preservers hope you can find them

The spirit of invention is a wild one:

it does not fear failure,
it craves adventure,
lives on inspiration,
it is misunderstood,
yet preservers trough the hardest of times...

It accomplishes the impossible and elevates the spirit to new heights...

It has passion for art, creation and perfection...

The spirit of invention lives in us all.
Dare to release it!

I am not only some peaceful stream of the forest,
Twinkling beneath songbirds,
Watering romancing deer.

I am also the river that cuts through the mountain,
That carves the earth to better fit my ease.

The one bears dare not cross.
The cascading ire,
Raptors are unfit to tame,
With any bellow.

Men will come to know the rocky bottom,
And winding parts,
Men will come to know their helmets and life preservers,
Won't be salvation,
When I say that they shall drown.

Another day, riding on emotion
Seldom ever breaks down
but I don't have the potion,
To fuel my being.
Lucky to be alive
but there's something I'm not seeing.
Lapped around similar 'scapes
Falling all the time,
with all the scrapes to prove it.
My body itself is a high-powered vehicle,
just hope I don't lose it,
Prematurely with the things I've been doing.
Sometimes I see surroundings pass by but
it doesn't feel like I'm moving.
Reach out to those that could use it
Lead them away from the mentally abusive.
I'm still there though,
the expression on my face even looks weak.
Guess I just hit bleak patch,
but again I'll maintain a satisfying streak
Innocence never left,
But the breaths are slowing.
Used a bit of what I had left to fill up an inner tube,
My body's too weak to maintain how I'm flowing.
So I drift off, into another realm.
A place where people are underwhelmed
And stay to help each other grow.
This place exists at a point in time, but when,
I may never know.

So I'm taking a vacation from my mind
that constructs an absurd blur,
Keep living for the kids and kisses,
and moments that creates blisses
Love and writing are my life preservers~

Started off small.
The world in our hands.
Four years pass.
Like a camera flash.
Boyfriends, parties, now we're in my car.
Road trips, "I'm glad you're my friend".
You're unique and I'm consistent.
I understand you.
You appreciate me.
Soul-mates.
College, drinking, smoking.
I'm in your house with no one home.
Depression, obsession, times are changing.
You're drowning.
Your eyes are clouding.
I'm on the shoreline watching.
I'm throwing rocks like life preservers.
Waiting for you to catch one.
Blinded.
Undecided.
Sitting in the silence.
Waiting.

Pastries of the mind
Float like hollow driftwood,
Indulging the self-serving bind
That makes us think we are good.

It's a feasting born from birth,
"Inter urinas et faeces nascimur,"
They say, "it's the greatest shame we all endure,"
And the ******* sure won't lure with a pure cure.

They expose the submerging life preservers,
The hero of our name: the one that flips the burgers,
Fights the herders; causes, calls, and solves the murders,
All the infiniyy I could ever build and to make Her's.

With a diaper full of bricks
We are given humanity's paradox,
For in the ethereal plane we fully exist
Until the ****** bricks turn us sick.

But it's not so black and white,
Nor is it so yellow and brown.
The human creature can be beautiful
And the mind made delusional.

If we can repress our mind to find meaning,
And we can open up the chakras we're feeling,
But the world is just Black Sludge creeping,
Then why trade Protection for the real thing?

These things belong on a shelf
Like a bottle of tears that looks like a stuffed animal
And a pillow case that became a great transport of rage,
Amidst the dust and clutter
Runs my subconscious animal seeking blood, meat,
Retribution and the slightest gain
Through the wires of the human body
Cut and casually rearranged.

These things are purposed
As notches in a Grecian urn
Cold reminders of a worthwhile mistake
Taken astride and antiqued
For me, for you, betokened at my expense
Because I need to eat, occasionally oddly,
And when the stomach can’t trust the hands
Your clothing stays close to your body.

These things are like dresses on a library,
Dressing the dirt underneath
As life preservers full of water, full of wine
But these are situational traumas
And never lacking their angel wings
Defective and cuckolding self-esteems next to me
Hold hands at the bottom of the ebb and flow
Of human misery or ecstasy,

Just maybe it’ll hurt too much this time,
As revenge for my laughing at its brothers.

it's tempting sometimes.
the impulse to withdraw all the money from my bank account
and drive down I70 until the scenery changes,
the impulse to wander without bothering to find anything
let alone myself.
the impulse to disappear.
but impulses are just impulses,
i think this is just the way my mind convulses
and, obviously, i can't do any of those things.
or maybe i just feel like i can't do any of those things.
i mean, i've got responsibilities i've got people counting on me.  
i can't just up and leave my life
even though sometimes i'm itching to like i've got poison ivy
crawling all over my skin.
speaking of poison, i've heard people theorize that
maybe oxygen is slow-acting poison, taking all of our lives
to **** us under the guise of "natural causes"
i think if you stay anywhere long enough
the air becomes polluted, the air gets toxic.
my highschool art teacher,
who was incidentally a real conspiracy theory kind of guy,
once told our class that we're all too locked into our realities.
that life is only what we perceive it.
i had snickered along with the rest of the class,
the rest of the unwilling congregation to his soapbox pulpit,
because that's what people do when they're uncomfortable.
now i guess i wish i was a little less locked into my own reality.
i guess i wish i could be the kind of person
who bought plane one-way plane tickets and could be reckless
without first getting tangled in the repercussions.
i think the problem with running is
that no matter where i ran i'd still be me.
most people tie their feet to the train tracks of inevitability,
they will build a house there until it falls down around them.
they will live there until they're evicted,
with their hands still clenched in the sheets
and their feet planted in the backyard.
most people never leave where they grew roots.
but, see, the problem with roots is that unless you want to die
you can't ever pull them out completely.
i am always going to be from somewhere.
i am always going to be from here.
i am always going to be myself.
but life is a work in progress and i'm ******* working on it,
i'm not where i want to be
but as long as i know where i've been,
i don’t ever have to go back to where i was again.
my head is so crowded that sometimes i think it's exceeding its occupancy.
i think that i'm going to start having to get rid
of pieces of myself to make everything fit.
sometimes i just want to lose all my thoughts along the interstate
like i lose them halfway through a poem
i'm not quick enough to write down.
my head is like a graveyard with good ideas
buried under cracked tombstones that no one leaves flowers on.
sometimes i think of my brain as a black hole,
a place where light gets lost and doesn't come back out the same.
sometimes i think of my brain as a moratorium,
a place where dreams go
to get dressed for their funeral processions.
but sometimes i think of my brain as midas,
any idea can be golden if i get my hands on it.
sometimes i just want to hold my coalmine heart so tightly
that all that's left is diamonds.
the thing is, sometimes my brain is a like a black hole
and sometimes my brain is like a galaxy.
on my good days i'm golden, on my bad days i'm falling apart
and i lose a couple more more of my pieces every time i hit the ground.
but it's all internal; i think if i were to self-destruct
it wouldn't even make a sound.
and so often i think of the world as a battlefield,
i think i was born in the trenches instead of the home front.
i think i found myself in the worst place to get lost.
we went to bed as children
and woke up with the world on our shoulders
we went to bed as innocent and woke up as soldiers.
and you can't save people from themselves,
even though we've spent the last few millennia trying to.
we're like that sometimes, we never learn.
and even when i was drowning six feet under gasping for air,
you never needed to save me from myself,
my shadow is more than just the reflection of somebody else.
so go on, get your armor
so go on, get your battle scars
so take aim, so don't be ashamed
it's uphill sometimes but i kind of think we're getting there,
even if i don't always know where is.
sometimes you don't sink or swim,
you just thrash around until you start floating
our life jackets are all labeled "here's to hoping, here's to coping"
so **** your horoscopes.
you only listen to it when it tells you what you want to hear anyways.
so don't go to bed, kid, stay wide awake.
it's better for dreaming, it's better for scheming.
nobody is going to hand you your destiny,
you've got to ******* fight for it.
and we're all learning how to open our eyes
when we get pulled under by the tide and lick the salt off our teeth.
and if you're searching for purpose,
for something that might be worth this,
i can tell you where not to look.
kid, i've been there.
**** it, most days i still am there.
i built a house out of deflated life preservers there
and was surprised when it didn't float me home.
but this is what i know now:
i know i have a choice in how i look at this world.
am i going to focus on the brutal or the beautiful?
because for all the ugly there is so much that’s still lovely,
so don't let this ******* of a world steal your bright eyes,
cutting your eyelashes down to size.
don't let this ******* of a world tell you to settle for anything.
and when they tell you about icarus like a warning sign,
ask them "what good is a cautionary tale that doesn't **** up?"

Writers are like gods,
While singers are angels;
Writers can be both,
If we fit in both angles;

Writers are creators
And the preservers of history,
Keeping accurate records,
From century to century;

Writers are prophets,
And oracles too,
We speak of the future,
Most of which comes through;

Writers are artists,
We create drawings in words,
And nothing's been more beautiful,
Than our gallery of words;

Writers are warriors
Winning wars with words-
Bullets and machine guns in our letters,
Have ended numerous discords;

Writers can be good lovers,
With strong emotions too,
A heart that is very fragile,
willing to share a love that's true.

The Night of the Christmas Bus
Holiday accented all decked out
People observed as it was moving about
Santa was aboard
** ** ** accord
Santa told a Christmas story of the Christmas Bus
The children were aboard being a plus
Children were all sitting in their reclining chairs
They listened carefully with care
The Christmas bus that journeyed to the North Pole
As Santa narrated, the wonder became behold
The bus arrived at Bus Toyland
All kinds of scale buses were there
Each had their own stories to share
All the scale buses were of all kinds
They all unique and genuine
Some had operating lights
Others made engine starting sounds
There were some that were remote controls that were found
The scale buses would capture a child’s delight
However, Santa has a bus story to tell tonight
There was a European bus sitting all alone
No momentum and not full blown
The European scale bus was considered as a misfit because of a weird design
Every bus should be in a child’s hand
This is the Christmas Bus Caravan
The other scale bus models were singing, “We are buses for every Boy and Girl, it will bring them joy to enjoy”
But that didn’t settle for the poor European scale bus
There was no fuss
Misfit is a European Scale bus that sits in a corner
All neglected
But that is about to change
The story relishes with a rearrange
Santa felt bad about the whole ordeal
A child’s heart is warmth being for real
Santa abruptly shouted, “Every bus deserves a chance being part of a child’s heart as the holiday season is about joy and love being the reason
Santa thought to himself, what a wonderful idea, and a misfit European bus no more
The misfit European scale bus was told his, and Santa and the other scale buses saw the Flashing headlights of approval
By the time Santa finished the story, the children had felt a sleep, and dreaming deep of buses to keep
Imagine Christmas morning when the children woke up
There would be cocoa filled in their cup
It’s the midnight hour, Santa is busy with the Elf’s packing all the toy buses for the night ride
Santa said Off Greyhound, Trailways, Coach USA and Academy and into wintry road
We have a schedule and must be on-time
As you know, Santa is genuine
Christmas cheer as Santa preservers
Buses travel during the night to touch a child’s heart
Dash away Dash away
Buses rolled into their getaway

I'm not good at falling in love
but I seem to be good at being in it

I kick and I flail when emotions start
to trickle and accumulate
to pile upon one another like clues
toward a conclusion unsatisfactory
because I know where this is heading

I've been head over heels
and *** over elbows
and flat as a board on my back
but each time as I felt it growing
I denied, and I lied, and I wept

See, I understand what it's like
to start a war over the wink of a lady
I know how it feels to share a crush
with those whose happiness
you prioritize above your own

I know how to feel worthless
and I know how to doubt
and I know how to keep my mouth shut
but I know how to love without regrets
and I like to believe that's enough

See, sometimes I feel the need
to browse through old tags on tumblr
and sometimes I stare at my phone
and debate sending a text
and lots of times I remember
that I saved every message I sent you

But that isn't fair.

Because you know love is ever evolving
and there's so many different types
and perhaps never the same love twice
at least I hope not, anyway.
Cause I always seem to throw myself
into chasms overflowing
with deep dark water
and I'm not the best swimmer.

And I love to believe that people
are life preservers
stuck on shore.

i’ve always preferred rainfall over sunshine.
maybe that’s why i preferred you.
but maybe
when this plane fell from the sky
there were no life preservers or
oxygen masks or second chances.
second chances was another way
to write paradox
second chances were inscribed
on to the back of my throat
like paintings i couldn’t see,
paintings i didn’t see until we
had been drowning for too long.
sketched in my soul were
all of the things i should
have said to you, all of the
things i could never say to you-
i wasn’t decent enough
for a second chance anyways
i’ll wash my hands instead.
this time i’ll use my blood
now,  
i hope every time you kiss her
you cough from my poems
caught in your throat
and every time you hear my name
a house fire starts in your lungs and
when it reaches your eyes you
have to pretend you don’t feel the burn
and every time you tell her ‘I love you’
you stutter from
the sound of my voice,
like an eviction notice,
nailed to your door
like the god you once believed in.
you used to plead slurred words saying
i made you okay,
i’d stand there in silence
wondering if one day
you’d notice the thunderstorm
that i really am

https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/l8njruxa73yee9b0jzmhd/The-Ultimate-Unabridged-Guide-to-Esoteric-Working-English-2.docx?­rlkey=kunoar7ghpfkb7fjk5xkdgx95&st=i84ornny&dl=0

THE FORFENDED CODSWALLOP OF MURENGERS OF VEHEMENT VAPULATED CREDENDA OF THE VISIOGENIC MEGALOGRAPHY OF THE FORTUITISM OF GIMCRACKS THAT WITH STALWART WHIGGARCHY AMONG JOUGS OF JIGGERMAST CERTAINTY CRACKLING WITH FULGURANT ACCLAIM MIGHT THE TREMENDUM OF TOOTLE OF CAFARDS OF BIFIDS BETWEEN CATALLACTICS OF CORDWAINER KIPPAGE FROLICKING IN HEARSES OF ANTILOQUY BECAUSE OF BARYEICOIA STRENUOUS WITH THE RIGORS OF GAUNTLETS OF SKELDER IN RISCTENDER BECOMING A CLINKSTONE CLITTER OF CLAVATES HANDSPIKING THE AVINOSIS OF REFINED AND REIFIED PROCATELEPSIS IN WAINAGE ABOVE POWELLISATION THAT WE REBUKE THE HEADLONG POTICHOMANIA OF WELDS OF WHELKIES FOMENTING THE SARANGOUSTY BURROLING THE DREAMS OF ONEIRODYNIA THAT ADMONISH WITH GRAVID BELLETRIST WOVEN INTO THE FUCOID FABRIC OF CAESARAPROPISM FOR THE WEIGHAGE OF PORTREEVE STEVEDORES UPON THE BACILISUM OF AGGRY PIEBALD SKIRMISHES WITWANTON IN SKEUMORPHS OF DAYDREAM BELIEVERS REPLICATED AND REDOUBLED INTO THE WIDDERSHANCY OF CATAPLEXY CONTRAHENT TO DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS SACCHARINE HUMORS OF CONTESTED LITURGY SUSSULTATORY AMONG SPATTEES OF SPAVINEDS NO LONGER COMPELLING BELIEF IN THE RENEWED GELOGENIC ZEITGEIST PARADED BY NEPHROLITHS OF ESTEEMED STOCKINETTE MIGHT THEY FIND THE FRACTIOUS ANIMADVERSION OF SACRILEGE IN PRAXINOSCOPE BECOME THE WOONERF UPON RIDDLED WOOLPACKS CRAVEN ONLY BECAUSE OF RETINACULUM OF SUBINTELLIGENTUR VERY VAPID IN TACITURN LIFE-PRESERVERS OF AUXILLIARY MOVEMENTS TOWARDS STOLID FORTITUDE IN DEMASSIFIED TROPISMS THAT CHOUSE THE YUZBASHIS OF YASHIKI BECAUSE TOO MANY CHERNOZEMS BELLOW THE BLUDGERGRUMBLE OF ZEITGEIST FOMENTING MYTH AND WRITHING IN WREPOLIS DICTATES OF RESCRIPT BECOMING TOO NEBBICH FOR APIKOROS OBSERVANCE OF REMIGATION THAT SHALLOPS THE UNTIMELY ENDS OF THOSE BLACKGUARDED BY THE NEBULOSE WARNINGS OF CUDDIES OF CUCULINE SOCKDOLAGER RUMMAGING FOSSARIAN GROWTH OF GLEBES HYPAETHRAL AGAINST KILLCOWS WHO BECOME IMMISERATED IN THEIR OWN SCHADENFREUDE ALWAYS THE WADMAL OF THE FRUITION OF FUTURISM STOKING ONCOSTMANS TO CASEFY THE VANDYKES TO BE FORMATIVE IN FUTURE GLORY. THE CAPREOLATE ATTEMPTS AT INTERRAMIFICATION BECAUSE OF URCHINS OF CODSWALLOP IN WROTH IN PARALLAX ENTOMBED ONLY BY RIVETING DURESS FOR THE DURAMEN OF DENEHOLES WHELVES ADMIRE AND THE VEESES THAT BLANDISH WITH ACORIA AND AUGENDS OF ARGALI RARELY EVER SURDOMUTE IN RAGMATICAL RHIZOGENIC CALCULAIC ATHENAEUM BECAUSE MOONSHOT AMBITIONS HUSTLING THROUGH URBANE CATACOUSTICS OF CARRACKS BECOMING RESOURCEFUL IN THE PRIMIPARA SQUALOR SWELTERING IN BARCAROLES SUBMERGED TO SINK THE TITANISM OF NAUFRAGES OF HEDONISM AFLOAT UPON SLELLUMS OF OCEAN PRAGMATIC IN PARALYSIS SUCH THAT THE GINGLYMUS OF HYDRAHEADED TRANSCENDENTALISM ESPOUSED BY THE BEBLUBBERED ROMANTICISM OF STORGED SALMAGUNDIS OF CANCELLARIAL DEFEATS OF COVVENGERS BECAUSE THE BRONCHOS THAT WAS STALWART IN REGELATION OF THE INTELLECTUAL TABERNACLE SUBSUMES THE LIONIZATION OF ALL INURED PYRETOLOGY THAT THE PYRANOMETRY OF SUBORNED GAMINES SQUAWKING COSTERMONGER SIMPLICITY AS A VEGETATIVE STATE OF REMIGATION FOR OLIMS THAT CREEP ALONG THE PURPRESTURE OF TIME MIGHT THEIR CHRONOMANCIES BEFIT THE CABRILLA OF SWANK THAT THE FILEMOTS OF FENNEC DECLARE WITH THEIR SONDAGE OF AVIZANDUM BEFORE THE AUSPICES OF NOBILITY AND GENTILITY BY GENTILIANS WHO SWEAR BY THEIR BYWORDS OF NAZE AND CAGOULE THAT THEY FIND THEMSELVES DEFEATED BY THE MODERN DEMARCHES OF A WORLD IMBREVIATED ON THE TOLERATION OF NEUTROSOPHY OF GRAMERCIES TOO WIDELY SWORN IN HALLSWALLOP TO EVER FIND THEMSELVES ANCHORED TO THE REGIMENTAL BEDROCK OF SOVENANCE FOR ABIGAILS THAT BLUNGES THE BLAINS IN THEIR SWORN ALLEGIANCES TO AMNESIA AND CECUTIENCY IN CTETOLOGY THE MALAXAGE OF SITHCUNDMEN AND THE REMARKABLE PROWESS OF THE DOYENNES SHEPHERDING THE ARTFORMS INTO POWERFUL GALLOPING HEADLESS HORSEMEN POLITICS OF THE RESIDUAL COCARDEN LUCKY ENOUGH TO BE AN ADVOWSON OF THE RICHES OF HAMARCHY THAT AVOIDS WITH ALL DELIBERATION THE PICKELHAUBES OF PROCRYSIS BECAUSE OF THE JIMSWINGING DAYS OF DEATH AND GLOOM OF KITTHOGE BELYING KITH AND KLENDUSIC DERMATOLOGY BROCKFACED BY INTREPID PIONEERING ELITISM THAT THE CHARITY OF PROMACHOS TITANS IN MIRRORED ENANTIODROMIA FOR THE EISOPTROMANIA OF THE EAGER EARWIGS MIGHT THEY SUSTAIN THE BRUNT OF THEIR LEVERAGE TO ANNEAL THE COAGULATED TIMES AGAINST THE AGENCY OF RHEOTAXIS IN A WORLD BESET BY CHAOTIC DEMOLOGY RATHERIPE IN CONTRAPLEX DELUSIONS FEEDING THE SWARTHY STORMS ON THE PRECIPICE OF TODAY BECOMING THE HIGHLIGHT REEL OF SO MANY ARISTOPHREN YESTERDAYS BECAUSE OF THE BACILISUM OF AITCHBONES RASPY IN THE CHALKISH HUES OF RHADAMANTHINE NOSOCOMIAL TWIRES OF FEAR AND FAMINE AMONG DESOLATE LANDS OF PHAROS AND PHAROAH COMBINED INTO THE VIRTUOSITY OF COACERVATING SPHACELATION THAT LEADS TO THE PRESBYTERY SUFFICIENCY OF THE TORCHIERS BEFORE AND BEHIND THE VANGUARD SLEEK IN THEIR JAUNTY DISGUISES OF MASCARON MIGHT THEY INTIMIDATE AND ARRAIGN THEIR SECRET SAMIZDAT FOR THE LUCRE OF ANTEPONE BECAUSE OF TUMESCENT BUREAUCRACY MET WITH CAPITALISM ASTOUNDING IN GIMCRACKS OF PORTFIRE AND BALEFIRE WITNESSED WITH THE GREATER DISCRETION RATHER THAN LESSER LASSITUDE.  THERE IS AN ANZACTILE PERFECTIONISM AMONG PICARROONS WHO BLARINGLY ISSUE THEIR SEMAPHORES MIGHT THEY BE ENTITLED TO BRAG ABOUT THE CELSITUDE OF CEILOMETERS AS THEY WITNESS IN RETROSPECTIVE AUGUST REGARD THE CELLARERS WHO FESTOONED UPON THEIR TEPID CARNIFICINE YELTING TRIUMPHS GOWKS OF GRAMPUS IN GOSSYPINE COMPLICITY WITH STANNARY AVARICE AND BULGURS OF BUDDLING BODEWASH FOR BUMICKY BADIGEON THAT HAS STAMPEDED FROM THE ALCOVES AND CAVERNS OF THE GREATEST SEMPERVIRENCE AND JIGGERMAST JURYMAST THAT THE PIRATING AITCHBONES WHO WANDER IN EMISSARY KNIGHTED NEMBUTSU THAT THEY RELISH AS SAFEKEEPING YEGGS BELONGING TO COAMING COBALTIFEROUS MENACE SKITTISH IN THIXOTROPY AND GENTEEL IN THIGMOTAXIS BECAUSE OF THE VORTICISM OF THREMMATOLOGY THAT ITCHES AROUND VOLTINISM CAUSED BY VASTATION YIELDED BY PANDATION BECAUSE THE POTAMOLOGY OF ELECTIVE PRIVILEGE INDOCTRINATES THE PAST MASTER INTO FIDELITY AND ALLEGIANCE TO PARASELENE ELASTANE TRIBUTARIES AND TRIBUNES OF BERLINE BOYAU BURIED IN THE DEPTHS OF METAPHOR AND RELISHED LYRICISM THAT EVENTUALLY THE DEMASSIFICATION OF THE HUMBLED STANJANT OF OBVIOUS METAPHOR AND CLOAKED NEPHELIGINOUS NEBELWERFERS THAT STORMED THE BASTILLE AND CONQUERED THE MOON WITH GEOSELENIC AMBITIONS HARPOONING THE TRAULISM IN TRUCIDATION SERRIED IN THE SULKIES OF ALL PARAGONS CONVENIENT TO EVERY HITCHIKER OF GALAXIES OF MOONCALF DEMISANGS THAT BELONG TO CARDIOGNOST AGENCY SWELTERING IN BEAMISH BEATITUDE FOR THE PULCHRITUDE OF PHILOTECHNICAL DIVERSION TO PONDER WITH GREAT PENSIVE PERPLEXITY THAT THE HISTRINKAGE HEIGHTS OF FANFARE MIGHT LEAD TO A GALLOPING GLADIATORIAL PAST ENLIGHTENED BY THE THEOLOGY OF MAGNANIMITY AND ANSWER THE QUESTIONS OF  IDOLATRY OF ESBATS WHO FOMENTED AMONGST THEMSELVES A TRIBUTE TO THE SENNET OF ARTISTIC MACROBIAN CREATURES OF KNIGHTED GLOAMING TWILIGHTS IN THE HEYDAY OF NIGHT SUCH THAT  THE WELKIN TRAMONTANE TO THE CHAMPAIN LIFES WE ALL LIVE IN A NORTH, EAST AND SOUTH WORLD OF FORESIGHT IN DELICATESSENS WHO URGE WITH HORTATORY VALOR THE CHAMADES OF CHOANIDS IN THE SAPROSTOMY OF SCHWERMEREI AGAINST THE LAST DEFENSE OF EXTINCT SCHMEGGEGY WHICH BARNSTORMS OFTEN FOR SCARAMOUCH TESTUDOS IN TESTIMONY TO THE CRAPEHANGER JOLLYBOATS OF NIHILISM IN A CENTURY OF DOUBT ATTEMPTING TO RESURRECT LIFE FROM THALWEGS THAT NEGOTIATE THE METEMPSYCHOSIS OF ALL NEOMORTISM AN ALTERNATIVE ULTAMATIM THAT SUGGESTS A THIRD ROUTE TO BYPASS THE NARROW GATE OF SALVATION AND ENRICH THE THEOTECHNY ALL BASED ON A HYPESTORM YAFFINGALE MYTH OF YARHZEITS OF SHIBBOLETH THAT BROWBEAT THEIR NEOTTIOUS NEPOTISM TO INSURANCE POLICY ESCHATOLOGY BRACKISH IN EVERY INSISTENCE FOR TAMARAWS TO CONQUER THE EXTRAMUNDANE BY A VIRTUALASIS BECOMING THE VOGUE RATHER THAN THE TRIBULATIONS OF ORGANIC DEATH LEADING US ALL TO THE PARADISE WE SEEK IN THE ALABASTER CAVERNS OF HEAVEN. AN ACCOLENT MENTALITY WHICH BEFRIENDS DEATH AND BEFRIENDS ALL WITNESSES OF THE GOSPEL THAT FINALLY THE CAMARADERIE OF MAGISTRATES IN DORMANT HARBINGERS OF BARKENTINE SUFFRAGE OF WOBBLING WARTORN SPECTERS OF NEOTERISM FOR OUR NIMBOSE DEMASSIFICATION AGAINST BOWDLERIZATION IN ATTEMPTS TO STIFLE THE FREEMANS STRUGGLE TO OBTAIN TRACTION IN LEVITY AND FACETIOUS LARGESSE AGAINST THE BRONTEUMS OF THE POSTCENNIUM OF ELAPSED CUDDY IN CULVERTAGE TOO SOON TO BE A PRIMACY IN PRIMORDIAL CAVERNILOQUYS OF APOSTILS THAT SEEK TO DECIMATE WEGOTISM AND ENSHRINE THE UMBRILS THAT MARCH TOWARDS SALVATION BY LEADING US OUT THE TEDIUM OF SUNKEN NOYADES OF THE TITANISM OF THE LOUDMOUTH AND THE CLEPSYDRA THEREBY ANOINTED BY HIS GENTILITY TO PRIVILEGE AND HIS PREROGATIVE TO DECRASSIFIED UNDERSTANDING SUCH THAT THE CUNICULOUS AMBITIONS OF MANY A FAMILY REMAIN REVIVED BY OIKONISUS RATHER THAN THE PERILS OF POPULATION COLLAPSE IMPLODENT UPON INTRORSE CONSTELLATIONS OF RABID DEARTH PROSELYTIZING DOOMSTERS ADEEM OF THEIR OWN SACRILEGE EVEN WHEN THEY SEE THEMSELVES RAISONNEURS OF THE HEROISM OF STRIFE AND SIFFLEURS OF PROCRYPSIS BECAUSE WE WALLOP WITH WHITTAWERS RATHER THAN REGRESS ON WOONERF OF EXTREME TORPOR AMONG MONGERIES OF VIOLENT RESURRECTIONS BLEMISHED BY PARTURITION MISGUIDED. IN NIMIETIES OF  SUNBITTERN SUMPTERS GRAVITATING TOWARDS MARTINGALES OF BYSTANDER SUNDOGS ALLEGIANT ONLY TO THE CODIFIED CASEMATE OF SILENCE BECAUSE OF BRITSKAS THAT STAMMER IN TRAULISM TEPID IN EVERY LUKEWARM THOUGHT OF SURREYS OF SAGINATED SURETYSHIPS OF THE SATINET COERCED BY THE BOBBINET OF BODACHES TO ROIL IN TURMOIL BECAUSE OF LIMACINE MACADAMIZATION OF A NEWER MACARISM RATHER THAN AN OLDER STULTIFICATION MOTIVATED BY STANGS OF BANGTAIL CULTURAL ARTIFACTS OF JEALOUSY CAROUSING WITH JALOUSIES AGAINST THE MANY JORDANS THAT LEAP OFF THE PAGE IN THEIR WEATHERBOARDS OF POPULAR FLAGRANT FOULS AND NEWSWORTHY BERLINES THAT BESET JASPERATED JARVEYS OF BARTONS OF PANMIXIA IN THEIR PANDATION OF IATRALIPTIC RENEWAL OF THE TRIBESMAN AND PEOPLE FROM OTHER LANDS FILLED WITH A NAUCLATIC CLORENCE AND A RENGALL DIVERSIFICATION OF EQUIPOISE FOR EQUESTRIAN HABITS OF KOBOLD CHUCKWALLAS OUR GREATEST ALLY AND SIMULTANEOUSLY THE BOGGART BUGABOO OF MANY SPECTERS OF MYTH AND LORE REGISTERED IN THE CLAVIS FOR THE CLAVATE THAT THE PLAGATED PLAGIUM OF THE PAST MASTERS MIGHT THEY CURTAIL WITH CURGLAFF THE SYNCLASTIC PRISM OF THIS ZEITGEIST SUCH THAT THE CLAMBER FOR HOLOCRYPTIC HOLMS OF METEMPERICAL DISCOVERIES SO FAR-FETCHED IN THEOLOGY THAT THEIR LAXISMS BECOME STRANDED IN AN AVALANCHE OF TORPINDAGE BECAUSE THE TRUTH ABOUT GOD WILL STARTLE EVERY LEGERDEMAIN AND ENROLL EVERY PRESTIDIGITIATION THAT GOD’S COUNTENANCE WILL LAVISH ITSELF UPON THE EARTH BROADENED BY BROCKFACED BARMCLOTH THAT FINALLY SOME GAMMERSTANG IDEOLOGY FINDS THE PROPER PIVOT BETWEEN MULIEBRITY AND ALSO VIRILITY AND WHEN THOSE COMPROMISES ARE STRUCK WE WILL FIND A RENEWAL OF GALLANT COURAGE AGAINST MACROPICIDE ON THE TAFFRAIL AND THE ABAFT ABARTICULAR ABAXIAL NYALAS THAT FINALLY YIELD THE CLOVERYIELD OF STRIFE INTO MODERN REVOLUTIONS BY SUPPLYING ALL INTERRAMIFICATIONS THAT FUNNEL THE SYRINXES INTO THEIR PERCEIVED AUTOSOTERISMS FOR SURNOMINAL LEVERAGE THE ARTIFICE OF ALL NOMOGRAPHY IN NOMENCLATURE. WHEN WE ANALYZE THE SVEDBERGS WE SEE THE DISSOLUTE EUDIOMETERS INFORM THE SQUAMATION OF ALL MORAL VIRTUOSITY THAT FINALLY RHEOLOGY IS COUNTERMANDED BY MORALITY CZARS WHO POLICE WITH MUGIENCE AND EVEN RUDENTURE A CULTIVATED SOCIETY THAT SURROUNDS US ALL WITH VEILS OF PROTECTION SUCH THAT SUFFRAGE AMONG VEILLEUSES OF RATOMORPHISM OF SYNOECIZED HARMONY THAT BELLOWS THE CARTHAGIAN CARNAGE OF THE AGES OF TIME IMPERILED BY THE BRICOLAGE TRIAGE OF MALAXAGE SUCH THAT WE FIND OURSELVES MARAUDING IN MOONLIGHT TERPSICHOREAN POLYPHILOPROGENITIVE PLEROMORPHY IN PLEOCHROIC HUES DESIGNED FOR WASES OF WAPENTAKE TO ENSURE EACH STATE AND DIVISION EARNS ITS FAIR SHARE OF BOONDOGGLES THAT THE IATROMATHEMATICS ANALYZED BY GRADGRINDS IN TRUTINATION OF THE MOST PERSNICKETY BUT LOYAL DISSERVICE TO PIEBALD GLABROUS CONFORMISM SUCH THAT THE MUTUALISM OF INTERNECINE DIVIDES LEADS US AGAINST ZUGZWANG WITH NARRISCHEIT BECAUSE THE JAMDANI CAN ONLY BE HEALED WITH AN HONEST OBSERVATION OF THE THERMODYNAMICS OF STOCKINETTE SUCH THAT ALL ARE INFORMED OF SHIBBOLETH AND ALL ANGARY LEVERAGE OF THE UMLAUT BERATING THE IBERIS MIGHT SALVAGE THE HIDDEN POLITIES OF THE PARCHMENT OF THE LORD’S SUPPER FINALLY CONVENED FOR THE SACRAMENT OF A UNIVERSAL EUCHARIST FOR THE UNIVERSAL CREED OF AGGIORNAMENTO. WE BELONG TO THE INTAGLIO ISOGENS THAT BURROLE WITH DEFT COURAGE A REMEDY AGAINST CHARLATAN QUACKSALVER WORMCASTS OF HYPOGEIODY IN NESTITHERAPY AUTHORED BY APOTHECARIES BELONG THE UMBRILS THE CHURCH ALLOWS TO ENSURE THE FULLY LIVED LIFE CAPTURES THE DENIZENS OF TAX COLLECTORS SUCH THAT A REFORM OF IVORRIDE AND OCCAMY WITHIN THOSE GINNELS OF CIVILIZED URBICULTURE CREATED THE MOST FERVENTLY BY BERGAMASKS OF BRITTLE BRONZED BONZOLINE ACCOMPLISHMENTS SUCH THAT THE SPHENOGRAMS OF SPHACELATED AND SPIRACULATED IMMISERATION MIGHT FIND ITS WOUNDS HEALED EVEN IN THE DIACOPES OF INSECURE BRONTEUMS PROCLAIMING ONLY THE YELLOWBACKS OF ALL SENSATION AND SENSATIONALISM BECAUSE WE  WANDER WITH THE MINSTRELS AND TYMPANY OF A MACARISM EXACERBATED INTO FURY AND FRENZY SUCH THAT WE MOBILIZE THE YOUTH INTO YOUTHQUAKES AND YESTERTEMPESTS OF FINALISM MIXED WITH CASUALISM SUCH THAT A NEOVITALIST SURREY WILL BECOME THE SONDAGE OF THE TRUE SYBOTIC UNSEELED UNREEVED INTERPOLATION OF ALL ILASTICAL TONICS OF HEALING AND THE LOVE OF THE LORD BEYOND THE SPANS OF TIME ENCAPSULATED IN IMBREVIATION STRICKLED BY SILENTIUM AND SILENCE. THE AVINOSIS OF THE ACROAMATIC HAMARCHY THAT BURROLES WHEREVER CONVENIENT TO AVOID WHERRETING WHIFFETS AND BECOMING UPON THE VERDERERS OF THE ESCAPADES OF A TIMESPUN GLORIFICATION THAT HONORS OF ISOKERAUNIC AND ISOHALINE ISONOMIES OF SCALE AND ECONOMIES OF REVALORIZATION MIGHT WE CHANCE UPON THE PALLOR OF REFLECTIVE NIGHTS TOO PENSIVE TO CONTEMPLATE WITHOUT A WHIMPERING SHEEPISHNESS THAT ALL IS REVEALED IN THE LORD’S TIME AND THE LORD’S SUFFRAGE FOR ELEUTHEROPOMANIA SUCH THAT PNYXES ARE DEFEATED BY THE HONEST HINDSIGHT MEETING THE BACILISUM FORESIGHT THAT HOUNDS US ALL INTO FINALISM IN OUR AUSTERE REGARD OF THE NEW YORK TIMES AFFECT ON MAN SUCH THAT OGDOADS BECOME DEFEATED EVEN BY THE PARTICIPANT NYALAS THAT ENLIST THEIR SERVITUDE BECAUSE OF ORGANITY AND AGAINST THE STATOLITH BEHEMOTHS OF THE STERNWAYS OF STERQUILINIAN HATRED COBBLED INTO ABSOLUTION WHEN WE ALL REALIZE THE IMMACULATE HEART OF MARY LIVES IN EVERY ASPIRING DAYDREAM AND THE PAPAL DECREES OF THE SOPHROSYNE WILL DECIDE A FATE THAT GOD OBEYS AND HONORS WITH HIS PLEDGES OF PLEVISABLE PERMISSION TO LIBERATE AND COMMUTE THE SENTENCES OF SING-SING PRISON. WE WITNESS THE CASTRAMETNATION OF THE ELAPHURES BECAUSE OF ORYZIVOROUS WHO ENCROACH SUBTLY IN LAMBENT PERFECTED NIGHTS OF THE PURPRESTURE OF CUCULINE AND CUNICULOUS OBEDIENCE TO A RENEWED DEMARCHE ON THE BARNSTORMS OF HEAVEN UPON THE EARTH SUCH THAT IN EVERY TEAR OF THE MAUDLIN SENTIMENT BECOMES AN ALPENGLOW OF HEAVENLY REGARD SUCH THAT ANNEABILS OF TIME AND THE ANGELS OF HEAVEN SPY UPON THE VANGERMYTES TO KEEP THEM UPRIGHT AND SAVES THE WREPOLIS SUCH THAT THE CELSITUDE OF THEIR BOASTS BECOMES A TRIBUNE TO ENLIGHTEN EVERY HEAVENLY HALLOWED HALLWAY EMERGES WITH CERTAINTY INTO A NEWER FRONTIER OF THE NOVANTIQUE THAT ALLOWS SCHOENABATIC CONTORTIONS OF LEVERAGED LITURGY SUCH THAT NO ABEYANCE CAN EVER ERASE GOD’S PERENNIAL LOVE FOR HIS SPECIES AND FOR THE AGRIZOIATRY OF ZOOLOGY SUCH THAT GRAMPUS BECOMES BEMOANED BY GOSSYPINE GOWKOS RATHER THAN HUMAN JOCKOS AND JOLTERHEADS BLARING A NEW SIREN INTO THE SWARM OF MELLIFEROUS LOVE IN THE HARBOR OF TOMORROW GLORIFYING GOD IN THE HIGHEST RESPECT RATHER THAN TREATING HIS AXIOMATIC AXIOMS AS ONLY AN EXCUSE TO CONSUMERISM IN BANGTAIL STANGS OF OSTENTATION. WE WITNESS THE WORLD ABAFT IN RAPTURE SUCH THAT THE FUTURE NOYADES WILL ALWAYS BE ANTICIPATED BY THE VISCIDITY OF THE VITRAIL THAT INTEMERATES AND PREMONISHES THE ERRORS OF MISTAKEN MALADROIT NEBELWERFERS OF PSITTACISTS SUCH THAT THE GENERATION THAT GREETS ROBOTS ALSO REGREETS TIMES BEST CREATIONS AND CELEBRATES ALL THE VIRTUOSITY OF THE ATTEMPTS OF URANOPLASTY UPON THE EARTH. AMEN

Mother Earth, our home planet,
Gave us land to sow and oceans to explore,
But what have we given her, except pain and torture?
Oh, the very horror

There were times when and where we all were one,
Nothing could shake our foundation, not even the sun
But time did cast error after error,
And from the preservers, we became the terror

Wars were waged, forests were eradicated,
Instead of creating change, all we have done is waited
Species are becoming extinct, natural disasters are striking one after another,
Humans have become so self-obsessed, they have forgotten their duties and their own creators, their beloved mothers

So let's forget our differences and let go of the past,
For if we truly want to protect our future, we must act NOW and try to last!

i kept my hatches battened but that
didn't stop your love from barreling toward me
like a runaway freight train with faulty breaks.
and god almighty, did we crash.
you came to a screeching halt at my doorstep
and i didn't know what else to do but let you in.
you looked so cold. we did not start with a spark but a full-on fire.
i told myself i wouldn't fall, instead i jumped.
our sinking frames somehow morphed into life preservers,
and we managed to keep each other's heads above the waves.
we had seemingly saved one another.
you tossed your pills, i flushed my razors, and for a while that was enough.
but we learned the hard way that even the deepest love
can only keep the storm clouds in your mind at bay for so long.
eventually our cracks began to show.
missed calls and silent hours built houses of cards
that were blown down by too many miles.
we hardly ever smiled anymore.
my hands were sieves and yours were sand.
i want to break the hands of the clock
that cursed us with this bad timing.
i have mourned all the hours i won't ever have with you.
i have felt the thunder that rumbles in my lungs
when i reminisce about the memories we'll never make.
the moment i realized i would never wake up beside you
an atom bomb went off in the center of my chest.
but the radiation is what's killing me.
the life is being drained from me here in the wake,
in the ache of your absence. but i won't beg.
i will live out the remainder of my days
tormented by wondering if maybe in another world
our love is perfect and neither of us bleed.

t.m

and so there she stands
your daughter liberty
alone and weak
because you left her unattended
in a sundress and fireman's coat with blood
on her chin and her face contorted
for the cameras to see
stupefied on the edge of the gravel pit
with the confetti ash swirling in her hair
and her eyes filled with animal fear
as her slack body slams against the railing
and a swan song swells in her throat

they use billy clubs to beat back the rats
under the skull of the moon and
the fickle stars like frantic pouncing eagles
the neighborhood dying has scratch marks all over it
diamonds etched in storefront windows
and rollicking clouds of tear gas to make it fun
there's a ****** taking a **** out in the open street
and where's the flag? oh i remember
it's snagged on a parapet five stories up
burning in the ignored sunset between
the silent buildings

we are an enormous pile of sentient garbage
coming up from the rot wearing life preservers
advancing with the picket line tide
blowing flashbang death on flugelhorns
outside the framework of the 2-party system
invented by the mongrels in hollywood
guerrillas moving in troupes thru the city streets
filled with exhilarating hope and
plumes of smoke insurgents chanting
violence is american as apple pie

i keep my tv dark to reflect the flames
of the grocery store outside and my insides
feel ripped up, i've never had a shave this close
squish my denim body against the window like a telescope
to hear the growl from the depths under the city
this is the moment just before something big happens

this is the flashover
this is when the panic begins
there's a man in a tree out in palmdale and
i need the morphine to tell me it isn't my fault
i need my pastor to tell me god doesn't lie
tonight the fuses blew out on an entire continent
tonight i wept