Choices

This ever blotting simple thing that makes up things

as small as a mouse but also as deadly as sin itself

A simple formula of cause and effect

An effect

A result

A consequence

No pretences

Or fences that guard our decisions

Keeps it safe for being just a choice

For it is no longer just a choice

It is not that simple, see there is a formula to remember

An economic study to this choice where c=e

because

For every cause there is an effect

For every cause there is an effect

For every cause there is an effect

Let it dwell in your mind and affect you

Because that is where it all begins

Let us open up your mind and there we will find that

Alongside that implanted thought are a plethora

Of more thoughts that are placed beside your dreams

Nestled in between your hopes, skilfully intertwined with your visions

There they all lay

Our mind is our drive that takes us down

A road that is long and winding

A highway down to our hands

Which eventually become steered by, picked up with strings ever so delicately like a puppet

Held by that one thought

Your actions are birthed from your thoughts

We see these to be choices

To study these choices would be economics, to understand them would be sympathy

To take a leader who steals from his country

Or a mom who abandons her child to keep herself alive

And view this as sad, as a cry for help?

How and why?

Oh no! We do not stop at just those two ghastly choices

For this is a study of many

Choices

Of things that have happened to determine what will and to save us from what has been

Let us open up this book

And flip each page to see what decrees and laws

Revolutions and words put down on paper

Have anything to do with where we stand today

For the choices of the past still linger here

Mixed in with the choices of the present

Creating this air that we breathe in and out every single day

We would be infuriated with rage as we scan through the pages of this book of choices

A chapter of injustice

A paragraph of cruelty

A statement of selfishness

A line of adultery

But, wait! Oh, let us stop on this

One

story

For this I do not even understand

See I have studied choices, and put them into many formulas

To see the effects and the causes of each

but this story is different

For it is not just one chapter

One statement

One line

It is the whole story and each is intricately woven within it

In fact, the book is titled for this one story

And to begin it would be to start off with a choice

By a God

To send his son

To die for men

Men whose choices we see throughout the whole book

Men whose choices are vile and selfish and ruthless

Sinful men

*****

And yet a God so Holy and pure still sends down his son in His likeness for these grimy men??

See, if we picture it. It is a white cloth, pure and clean not just dipped but completely submerged in dirt

Now that is not a choice that I would make

But it was made

A man so untainted and holy

Came down

To die for the sinner

Who stole from the helpless woman in the ally

Who murdered an innocent child in the womb

Who told a tiny white lie to his mom and dad and gave himself away to drugs and peer pressure

Who lusted after the world and what seemed good but really was death covered in make up whispering

in the promises lie after lie

To die for the sinner who is you

You

Jesus chose to die for you

On that cross, with his hands bound by nails and his feet the same

And with every last breath, last drop of blood and whip of the chain

he thought of you

and that is a choice that no study, no analyzation could ever make sense of

but it was done

it is done

is what he said for you as his arms were spread out wide

and all your choices

he negated the effects, and ultimately the effect of death

and formulated a solution of eternal life instead

for this one choice

changed all the rest

Now, think, think it through

Every choice you make

and every choice that was made is made brand new, infused with grace

Remember this for when there is a test the formula of cause and effect

Still stand true

but also remember Jesus who did what you had to do

for you may make many more flawed choices without a thought

Therefore go down on bended knees gaze at the cross

where stood the Father’s son

never a doubt that this choice for you was a wrong one

that any effect wouldn’t be worth it

you are worth any effect

you are an effect

of that one choice made on the hills of calvary

look up at the cross when your lewd effects force out the mistakes of your personal choices

then resurface that one choice made 2000 years before

bring it up amongst all the confusion and chaos

study it’s economic worth

hold it dear

smile at it even for

that senseless,

unexplainable,

brilliant,

grand,

intricate,

lovel­y,

merciful,

gracious,

holy,

divine,

choice

is all for you

It was those blue eyes, sparkling with words
I dreamt about reading but believed it impossible
Too beautiful to be seen with nuclear nerds
In my breakable beaker, you'd never be soluble.

A mismatched juxtaposition, atom for atom.
Even if I permutate, molecule by molecule.
We could never have struck stable equilibrium,
I could never escape the premise of ridicule.

Spent too much time postulating the unknown
Spent far too long balancing tricky equations
Head dug too deep to realise a factor that had grown
An external variable that had encroached with similar intentions.

My hand slipped from the scale when your finger touched my own
I forgot the words "controlled reaction", momentarily
Seeing goosebumps on your skin, and other bumps now shown
I gently pushed your wayward hair behind your ear, daringly

A moment frozen in the range of sub-zeroes
Dare I forgo the mandatory steps and arrive at a conclusion?
If I do I'd garner the title, "the nerdiest of all heroes!"
My "spidey-sense" failed me this time, and awarded me with a "fist-meet-face" reaction!

Happened in a blur, nanoseconds that sang in mock.
What was it that left me in a twirl?
Propped myself up to see the wrath of a crimson-faced ****.
All fists, no brains who yelled, "Hands off my girl!"

All this hilarious yet passionately painful hullabaloo
Let me drop the beaker of sodium in the zinc basin
Forgetting not to get it wet, the moment, clearly now unglued
When suddenly, "BOOM" it sounded like a pending cremation

Jocks, and nerds, and screaming cheerleaders
Hit the ground like a lunchtime scene from downtown Baghdad
And Blondie whispers in my ear, like a gypsy mind reader
"Maybe we should cool it, for I am in love with another lad"

Her words hit home and burned like The Lindenburg on fire
Amidst the fracas, cracked voice stammered to mask my bruised latent ego
"Nothing improper... Just an attempt to save your locks from the Bunsen burner
Science is my only love, just so you know"

Thanked God for my eyes and the need for correction lenses
Those thick convexes made it easy to not reveal
Steadied my frames and packed in hasty pretences
Accusing eyes followed as I exited the room with tears concealed...

Pieter Meyer
**ryn

I recently got reminded... Oh how I am caught
In a delicate web of disillusions
Make me see what is actually not
Make invisible my heart's secret questions

Been successful in putting aside all grief
But truth has it's way to make you pay
You can bury all grievances; you can mask all disbelief
But it'll all catch up; these things you've kept at bay

Make your silly compromises
To have the the best you just make allowances
Keep up your futile pretences
Accommodate your selfish preferences

Day had dawned where each question need their answer
Questions I've shrugged and left unaddressed
Indistinguishable when fact and fiction begin to blur
When dreams and reality have coalesced

Tonight I lay with the load I bring
Body asleep with my heart fully awake
Blessing or curse, this rude awakening
Decisions and choices left for the following suns to make

Taffeta dress.
Pink bows and ribbons,
Plaited elegantly through her shiny hair.
Shoes made of crystal glass.
Azure eyes that allure.
Princes and spinsters.
All vying for love.
In ball gowns.
Feel the frowns.
The pauper descends.
Out of place, amid friends.
Pretences of sisters who whisper and moan.
Two sisters and mother that clamour the throne.
They're trying for love.
Met on the staircase.
We really don't really care case.
Sisters on ladders of heels,as they stagger .
Their mouths filthy as bladders and bowels.
Nasty creatures.
Vile in lust.
Lustful greed.
Maternal demon seed.
Stepmother, toxically crumbles to dust.
Crone godmother.
A quick sip of milk.
Cinderella my lovely became but a sylph.
Dispelled stepmother and daughter's that cussed.
Transport to the princes ball.
In a pumpkin, should maybe have been made into a sickly sweet pie.
Lizards as footmen, stood fast on the back on the coach pulled by white mice.
The creatures were shocked.
By the changes, all the rearrangements.
Built up with Cinderella before, a creature comfort kind of rapport.
Be back by midnight said the fairy godmother, she knew he'd really grow to love her.
Midnight came midnight went.
A glorious evening only lent.
She tripped on the stair,
Nobody cared, except the prince and cute cinders.
She lost her shoe, in a hurry to flee.
Prince himself picked it up, unable to believe in lady luck was meant to be.
He searched his dominions far and wide, just to find his princess bride.
All the best things found in fairy tales.
What do I find?
Just slugs and snails.
Yep, you guessed it I'm a bit of a cynic.
(c)Livvi MMCV

Percepts of enlightenment & civilization to encounter
The grim aftermath of tales unspoken from the galaxies afar
Betokening Indian tales of deeper truths than ever,
For the Great Spirit still swirls in gestures previously milder,
At a snail's pace and surely winning the pursuit among souls or
Is example better than pre-conceived precept?
or
“Is that a dog in the manger?”
Now cherishing the viper?
The human dilemma between liberty & authority?
“Has mythology now become psychology?”
A dingy white color in disguise of tranquility
To suit the blemished features of the 21st century
With fair women & brave men turning fables into verse,
Yet Socrates’ doctrine about death bespeaks a wafture so callous!
The new-age “iron claw” screams nastiness in time and space.
The pretences of mankind like the puritan;
Mars trapped in the net of Vulcan,
Jupiter is serene and above the conflict to win,
While Venus tries to fight upon the plains of troy
That the Greek gods of serenity may win at Tuscany.
“When do these sultry groans of mortal remorse cease?”
To calm the sordid uproar that Love may peruse
Through the scattered white aromatic rose petals
In search of the scintillating path back to the highland stables
Were snowflakes are an irresistible lure for the Arctic snowbirds!
Nature herself is proud of her designs
Yet!
There is nothing grating in mortal cosmoses but direct villainy.


Sinister fate climbs the lonesome banister faster
Before the “fanged dawn” descends nearer,
As stronger minds virtually become weaker;
These “shameless actors” are melted into “thin air”
“Must they cheat themselves with that same foolish vice of honesty?”
Mischievousnesses feed!
Like beasts till they be fat, and then they bleed
As they are led to bend the curve of “No return”
Since it is only rational that after the darkest of nights
There is a brighter day to reveal the true knights
Of the once gloomy age of Democritus.
Tis plain, from hence, that our vows
Request hurtful intense things,
or useless at the best.

Don't tell me I'm better
Because my scars are healing
Or because my ribs no longer break skin
Don't tell me I seem fine
Because I look like a real girl now
You can't see the battle raging within

Don't tell me I'm better
When you see me eating pizza
Or taking morning pills to keep me quiet
Don't tell me I seem fine
Because I can sit and laugh out loud
And I can make jokes until the night

Don't tell me I'm better
I've been polluting my lungs
Until my insides are smoke and tar
Don't tell me I seem fine
I can't get out of bed every day
I cry apathetically to the stars

Don't tell me I'm better
You can't tell just by looking at me
Or believing the smile I paint on each day
Don't tell me I seem fine
How can you know my racing mind
You can never judge illness this way

Don't tell me I'm better
Because I no longer have the energy to cut
Or starve but that isn't alright
Don't tell me I seem fine
If I talk to you about normal things
Being able to pretend is not the same as fine.

Do you...

Imagine my ****** expressions that match the nuances in my voice
Tell me of all the attention you get from other boys

Take deep trembling breaths just to hold back the tears
Feel the angry tides as you swallow your fears

Clutch your pillow tight and pretend that it's me
Let it soak up the drops as you sob quietly

Look at the moon adoringly as I do
Knowing that I see the same one too

Replay the words you heard me say
Read my words over and over, to get through your day

Cringe at the idea that we both have to hide
When really we want to spread our wings and glide

Sigh with despair when it all seems to fall apart
Pick on life's lashing when they start to smart

Picture me before sleep in bed as you lay
Let me run till slumber takes you away

Well up every time you miss
Close your eyes shut every time we kiss

Pace up and down as we share days' events
Try to be strong hearing each others' laments

Cover your face when you cry?
Grieve over time spent apart that fly on by

Take breaths in between words or in between sentences
Sigh deeply poring over our wild pretences

Blush red when sweet nothings you hear
Bite your lip when you need me near

Sing in your heart when you hear my voice
Dance secretly with me as your choice

Always think of different ways to sweep me off my feet
Rush of blood with the quickening of your heartbeat

Imagine the way I am as I do you
Get breathless when you say I love you

Feel a stab when we argue about nothing
Wasted words when much more needed saying

Weaken in the knees when for you I'd sing
Find catching yourself to stop yourself from buckling

Sit on the bathroom floor,
Only to let the shower pour
As you hug your knees to your chest
Assuring yourself that it's all for the best

Wish for a second just so you could see
With naked eyes and not imaginatively

Do you?
Because I do...

A bird sings joyfully
in the tranquillity of a moment
as the sun rises
without pretences or affectation
over canned compliments
anguish, alienation
scrambled egos and lonely words.

Congratulations.
You have done it –
Created such a spectacular façade
no one will even try
to see what’s behind it.
No one will get a peek
at the wreck you are within.
So rejoice.
You have achieved what you set out to do.
Kept everyone out.
No one knows you are broken;
no one is looking to fix you.
And you are so busy
keeping up your false pretences,
you haven't noticed
the walls you built
to keep the world at bay
have also fenced you in.

The world shall only see
what you want it to see.
You are safe
in your steel cage.
Really,
well done.

Up and down strange alleyways,
We ride our bike into fences,
knocking over garbage bins,
spilling out all pretences.

Look at the side of my face as I speak,
my mouthed syllables’ suit.
Recognize the shapes I am known to make,
hear my clubs on mute.

Short runways are carpeted tarmacs,
take offs for toy planes.
Neon flags guiding us to square landing strips,
ignoring shin splints and ankle strains.

It's much too late again,
I'm in the bathroom practicing ****** expressions,
locking them into muscle memory
for my future confessions.

Let’s repeat the same mistakes,
until we have them perfected.
We’ll loop our lives,
what's not a refrain will be rejected.

To find somewhere I feel I belong
Someone to connect with
Without pretences
Without hidden motives
Without prejudices

Someone to share,
someone who cares

Some place peaceful and nice
Cozy and warm
Like their welcoming open arms

In a patch of this world
Real or surreal

When I walk I’m deep with my senses, clearly drawn to people’s alluring glances.
So lucid they think, their eyes show the interest far from extinct from my stance in this world.
I feel that I’m respectively speaking, to say so the least.
I’m not recluse or a beast always wanting to feast.
If I had to say so the least, I’m as calm as the tree with the leaf, that stays calm when the wind turns to burn, while everyone goes with the turn.
Because it’s what the tree made them learn.
But back to the point I was making while you are sitting by this tree,
looking at me with such glances pointing at stances,
blaming the cause which in you is aloft,
making you soft to pretend in this wind,
moving you and the others to part sways in the matter the wind is racing.
When simply it’s all about the peace calming transparent flow,
less transfiguring your stance in this warming sensation. . .

When I stroll, I feel deep in my senses, just life of the sound I’m within.
I feel you friend, no need to misunderstand because I’m the kind,
only of a kind, truthfully speaking since the world is ordinarily laid but so many minds sillily played.
What’s the reason to hastily be placed?
Impatiently wasting the self through calamitous wind around you in its ways,
pulled of your senses to part in its flowing admiration to help you feel its position not what the tree has been foolishly placing.
The sternness of impeccable word, just blur through the blurry frustration fostering to break wind from word communication.
But back to the sound that’s within, that plays for me again.
I say its sweet in this miserable place full of faces with eyes that stick with assumptive cases.
I can sense uneasy feeling of their spiritual mirror, lost in their glance even unheard, why did **** **** **** such lovely bird?
So you see what I’m saying, as angry ***** would be saying.
All the angry ***** this part over will be playing. . .because even words turn swiftly by the wind, gripping around the calm of your leaf.
You feel yet what I feel?
Practice with the wind, don’t amend to the blend of practicality because some want one option for you to be planted to grow all over this world as attired.
Only feeling whole after past your time being retired.
How in this sense could we live in such life time without sharing simple joys that some used to uphold,
but then life changed with a fold, all you could is forget and be sold, just like I was.
Funny story, but no worry, I’m no worry for you to worry.
One day I’ll share with you this story.
Plenty time don’t worry. . .to those who die I’m sorry, but there’s more joy in this story,
your story then the idea they abhor to make you feel this squally worry.
Although your dead and won’t hear my story, life will tell you after. . .
But of your self that I've been listening trying to feel you in what you have been missing.
It’s funny to words I have been retorting to, to explain exactly the calm of the self, when the word can never touch on such imperfection as to why the word is always leaning towards this misdirection. . .
hidden deep down in its simple complexion, when its all misdirected with the imagery that comes with projected. . .that’s why ***** get angry at my use of such satisfying word deep under their ego -blistic wants. . .
never relenting their simple misfortune of always trying at preventing the complicated feeling of but resenting what’s to them so complicated. . .
for a feeling they never awaited, stopping into churches thinking its something one day be recon-stated, but when silly as a church where they put you under at your birth, without a will to simply choose the path really most tend to loose. . .instead sticking a mat under your body as if its going to be the least your life can embody. . .and your parents so meek to realize from beginning as it it’s meant to be. . .life of being peaceful, instead disgracing you later for your aspirations. . .in any way possible manipulating your gracious. . .Even this comes as a misunderstanding because some choose to feel my words out of tune in miscomprehending the essence of my stroll through this wind. . instead resentment in the form shows up in assumptive waves with negative impression of your ease for my self I could give **** less when from you I hear your impression, since moi it don’t displease. . .but I keep on strolling with my full senses at life’s mistaken glances shadowed down on the branch caressing with pretences, in which all jump into with a **** full of stances. . . .with my outmost respect I have for everyone in any sort of the trances. . .

For just a moment
Would you slip away with me
Into dark corners of anonymity 
Could we lose the fear.
The consequence.
Can you loop your fingers in mine with the simplicity of a lover 
And push aside the flush of watching eyes.
Be the steady tide in my ocean of melancholy 
And wash away these familiar faces 
With their poison darted tongues
Glass hearts overflowing 
With the bitterness of realism and lost ideals 

Can we lose our pretences
Our falsities and masks
And let our minds meet in serenity 
Sheltered from a world of turmoil 
From wars and tears
Outward pressures and inner conflicts.
Lets live instead within honesty and earnest hearts 
In hidden tracks and secret words 
Where we can speak our own truths in roaring solitude 
In silent riots that enflame my heart and remind my soul to sing

In this moment 
Can I be nameless
Faceless 
Can I disappear into the love behind your eyes 
And be remade inside the warmth of your opened arms 
Can I vanish from the humdrum 
From the familiarity of the accepted
And walk with you down foreign streets of passion and vitality 
Hand in hand 
Two beacons alight with fire 
Standing tall against an encroaching dusk of normality and routine 

Just for now
Can we be anonymous
Can we be unknown 
Maybe then we can learn to know ourselves

the palace of the moment having sold out
of her usual tear soaked apparel
and her casual wear fascination needing a
quick fix lead her across the wastelands the shopping plaza
to this wind-soaked backlot and its hidden wonderland
the store has no sing
just a off green door with the words
only the accursed may leave
she shimmies through the door

he makes his way up endless sidewalk
doing a little dance step every few feet
because he knows that is what a madman
would do in his place
his rags are the best he could muster
but they will serve
to be mad is fashionable
and appearance and substance is everything
he mutter to himself
he walks the rainswept backlot and its blatant ****** factory
and finds a green door with the words
****** your own pretences
he slips inside to gaze with open awe

she keeps her politics in her pocket
the latest soapbox to preach the ******* line from
politics fashionista who dabble in whatever
the latest trend on facebook seems to lend
new age drivel or some bomb throwing **** with
a distrust of anything that might be another point of view
got a real open mind
long as it something she wants to hear
shes occupying the breeze block in the backlot
sitting by a green door with the words
believe in nothing and that's all you'll have
she whimpers at the thought
but she trots in to take a look

he washes the blood off his hands
but it never washes away
don't judge me you aint
seen enough
been enough
known enough
to judge much of anything
sleepwalk through your days
with your  diapers and handbills
inviting to the great change that'll never come
its all just a fashion statement
social tyrants protesting political tyrants
go find your green door
find out if its a lion or lamb

Damaging choices
Circumstances of lust
You loved me under false pretences
This futile chasing of beauty mistaken for meaning
Gone forever with the summer breeze
These illusions,
The touching of your skin, it doesn't mean a thing
But it will always be the mind turning things around
To create empty beauty to love, to fill the void of ennui
But it shatters under scrutiny when we try to get closer,
Try to breathe it in to reality
It dissipates
It disappears
Each time
So stay under the dome of imagination
Never try to merge it with reality
Love is a game
You can't always win.

may i ask, which pronoun are you searching for, and if in which model, which pronoun-verb in the Cartesian duo function could you ever ask me what pronoun occupies f(∴)? you see, mathematics doesn't sincerely pledge i think with i am, given dues to f(∵), given geometric intersection, both are Gemini, unequivocal, David's abstract.

perpetually open eyes, never acknowledging a blink,
Venetians cascading on Byzantium, near blink near conscience,
but never near an Ottoman consequence;
how ***** into role of Janissary: fear the impaler and all
who reign in his caste disguised... yet you encourage
that they come.... what tailoring of suit
so well disguises the blood? a heavy collar or the lightly
mandated to feel a "conscience"?
i like freaks like him, i too cared to wear many
masks, is that worth a psychiatric evaluation,
you spared me no trust,
your secret dealings could have spared me
my health, what you fear is double-jeopardy,
including a seclusive f.b.i. reclusive supposedly paranoid...
please leave all your badges of officiation to
an affiliated organisation of governance behind
including your firearms, and other scientific
conditionings prejudiced against the church v.
Galileo... please leave dogmatism to students and
anomaly encounters to professionals as stated by
the entitlements of doctorate...
the plot has no identifiers worthy of investigation,
unless everyone was brainwashed into thinking
that goldfish held a greater memory span in a
fish tank than all the people in the world, atmosphered,
and later impregnated by nothing other than
vacuum and astronomical interactions of simple
alphabetical greek into complex chemistry? or
could a world conspiracy come about as simply
the words: she was worth a 1000 Greek ships
worth of **** to later ascribe the capital
of love as Paris? the raw animal is worth more in
his ontological environment than in a zoological one,
cages enliven violence rather than envision them
in either subject or the culprits mind...
it's the added prospect of seclusion that animates
a piquant status of memory to a kindred
fingerprint cloning deviation, a susceptible replication
environment: esp. through no familial motive, other than an
individualistic swarm-like reaction to an insecticide:
however much the individual invigorates a
suspect accommodation to an equilibrated pluralism
within a status ascribed to an: individual.
i admit, the psychological rhetoric is the new
invention of the wheel... it goes on and on forever,
i fear for those hapless idiots studying the logic
of excluding soul (as an absence of thought), god,
and free will to ever return to the rational / sane world
of afternoon tea, given they specialised in these
specified wording to a rubric equatable to 1 + 2 = 3.
you'll learn no more human secrets than that of
a *sloane's viperfish... otherwise you're entering a realm
of perfected adaptability with some quasi-science
via fiction and conspiracy, that leave you no more than
an agent of the priesthood and a loss of a good
niche of ******... well, is't the priesthood
pathetic so jealous as to have lost the reigns having
kept them for so long? oh yes, the public will react...
regarding the next nutritionist's fact...
it's called adaptability i may say, leave them to it,
you kept to your symbolism for too long,
we learned the crux like we learned to say X
three times ensuring we watched ****...
oh i'm not jealous, i won't be the one having to
orphan the ******* sons, as your church had to keep
them to keep up pretences... all they have to keep
up is the stability of universally recognising a
centimetre, which, like satan said of the kingdoms
to be given, the Orientals sort of ignored with
the grievance demanding an explanation for
the ineffectiveness of thus said temptation.

Diane,
I enter this mysterious town welcomed by the eyes of strange owls seeping through the trees like city lights.
The wooden town, primitive in its functions, is set to the backdrop of two twin peaks, bursting out from the earth.
The ground is uneven from the roots of the great trees it has given birth to.
Looming above like majestic pillars erecting the sky with their enormous height.

Yes, there is definitely a mystic hidden in the misty air that’s lingering low along the ground.
Covering up the what’s, they why’s and the how’s.
Of this young girl, who walked with fire,
And got burned, ***** and torn.
With her body in a bag, sealed and taped,
Sent down the stream, sailed the lake and drifted to shore.
There’s an answer here somewhere to this masquerade ******.
It’s hidden under layers of false pretences of which I am going to have to use my sixth sense to understand.

No, this case may be more dangerous than I come have dreamed possible.

Ps, I think I have the right to suspect that the owls are not what they seem.
Goodnight, Diane.

a ***** gets captured in the psych ward



you see today ron is busy when a loudmouth beer drinking ***** has been admitted

after he got in a terrible fight, and charlie chaplin said, howdy and the ***** said *******

YA ****** and charlie said, i was in silent movies, and i think your jealous of me

and the ***** said, silent movies were made a long time ago, and we must focus

on the here and now, ya know, be positive, so to speak, and charlie said who are you?

ands the ***** preferred to stay being ***** because to him *****’s a cool, and

the ***** sat down olly and said, do you know, i am jesus christ and i was really created

by the devil and olly said, no, you are not, i am the one who can tell each others previous lives

and then the *****, said ******* YA ****** and asked ron for a beer, because hev was

chucked out of the club in false pretences, he never laid a finger on that woman in red, you see

they were playing lady in red, and i danced right up to a lady in red, i never touched her

and ron said, did she say for you to stop, and the ***** said, no, buddy, but if she did

i didn’t hear her and ron brought out the lunches which looked discusting, but the ***** still ate it

and yes, he really liked it.   the 2nd harry walked out and said, i am not a pedaphile, i am nice to everyone

and ron said, yeah your nice but i thought i locked your door, because we have a minor here

and we have requests from his parents to keep him away from you, and tommy walked out

and 2nd harry walked up to him and said, boo, and tommy said, my parents are scared of you, not me

and 2nd harry said, ******* ****, you looked very scared last night, and tommy got his keys

and jabbed them in his leg, and draws a bit of blood, and 2nd harry, went over to ron and said

look what your minor did to me, he should be locked up, and ron said, is that why you scare kids

because they jab you with their keys and after lunch ron went on youtube and looked at 2nd harry’s site

to see if there is anything disturbing on it and found nothing, and went out to start a art class where

they write stuff out of them, like olly’s encounter with the ***** this morning, ron thought these people

need to be creative, or try and find their creative side, because ron doesn’t like long stayers except for

charlie and patty, who are being stuffed around by the government and put in here because the streets

was too rough on them, and in the HDU, all weapon like utensils are taken away from the patient, so

charlie and patty are safe, mind you ron wanted to move them to a group house, but the rents were too high

so patty and charlie live in his HDU, ron came back to the HDU to give the ***** a ****** because the drink

was going to his head, making him very angry, but ron, got a bit of muscle man doctors to calm his so he can be sedated

and after the art class with tommy patty and charlie who were the only ones who attended it, ron packed it up

and in 1 hour, he brought the dinners out and 2nd harry had his in his room and the others had it in the dining area

and after dinner charlie and patty as well as olly went to the TV room and the others retired to their bedrooms

and at 7.00 pm, ron brought out the nightly medications, and everyone took theirs, except for the *****, who

claimed he wasn’t mentally ill, he was just a fun loving guy and after the medications, at 8, ron brought out the

supper and then clocked off, bought chinese food, and went home to retire to the couch watching TV.

Give me all your pretences,
'cause i have no defences

Hide away your prejudices,
i've thrown all my dices

Put me on a pedestal,
'cause i like being the fake royal

All the time,...
... all the time...
That's how i'm fine,
all these times...

Let me know again how it feels to fly...
for i don't care if it's just your lie...

There is
Nothing.
There was
Nothing.
We made it
Something.
But before that,
It was nothing.
These dumb
Pretences,
These shows
Of emotion.
All based on
The face
We made.
The words
We say,
Must we
Say them?
The prayers
I pray
Are all
I have.

It's a shame when you have a good thing going
& people want to intervene.
They don't want you to have
They get jealous & mean.
Their lives are not going well
They have nothing at all.
Instead of enjoying watching you prosper
They pray for your downfall.
They see you happy they will rather
Ruin what you have.
They see a crack in your foundation
They will be so glad.
They try to end your happiness
When God gives you favor.
They try to destroy your blessing
Before you could even savor it.
Meddlers are people whose
Lives are a mess.
They hate to see others happy
Until you're broken they won't rest.
They'll smile in your face
While twisting the knife in your back.
They're relentless in destroying you
They're always on the attack.
They'll whisper in others ears
Trying to tear you down with words.
If you have a meddler, in your life
Cut them off, kick them to the curb.
Meddlers are the lowest thing
The Devil contributed to this earth.
Once you come in contact with them
Your life will be cursed.
They live in misery
& dabble in destruction.
They are all about hurting those around them
With deceit & corruption.
I had a meddler in my life
Their actions destroyed my family.
We tried to help the meddler out
They were so smooth with it
That we were too blind to see.
We didn't see in time
What were really their true intentions.
They had us fighting amongst each other
& did I forget to mention
How we took in a meddler
We allowed them in our residence
But they came to us under
False pretences.
They said they needed help
& we tried to be there.
But they destroyed my family
& they didn't care.
They tore a wedge between us
We fought all the time.
They just watched us destroy ourselves
& stood on the sidelines.
They took pride in watching
Our family dissipate.
They liked watching us crumble
They watched our family deteriorate.
Now my children miss their father
They are in so much pain.
The father leaves
But the meddler remains.
God don't like ugly
& that meddler showed their true colors.
They ruined a family
But they'll soon discover.
God will give me strength & in his grace
I'll continue to grow.
My faith will not waiver
My inner light will still glow.
I'll let that meddler enjoy this victory
Because I truly don't care.
I've got God on my side
So meddler beware.
I'll never wish you any harm
I want your life to grow.
But remember this meddler
You reap what you sow.
So if you can't get ahead
& you're always in a bind.
Remember Romans 12:19
The Lord said "Vengeance Is Mine"

Love is not nice.
‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive
‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive
‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change
she’s cotton wool trying to soften the pain
but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface
ready to be blown away or pressed
under a muddy boot of disinterest

‘Nice’ is a damp whisper
a mouse cowering in the corner
hoping you will blink and miss her
lest she attract your notice
lest she presume too much
and cause a whisker of offence

Love is not like that – 

Love pushes in, quick and nimble
a hero with no mask, unasked
unexpected, dodging the turmoil
leaving nothing unsaid and little undone
in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption 

Love defies convention

Love carefully aims her weapons of choice
and advances relentless and regardless
of any and all obstacles in her way
Love perseveres all the love-long day

Love doesn’t delay

Love is gleeful for the chance of invasion
ready to disarm with expert compassion
with her regiments of patience
armed to the teeth with gracious
placing tanks of good faith on all fronts

Love confronts

Courage is her currency, kindness her language
trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored
happily wearing all-weather clothing
for any and all unexpected storms

Love transforms 

Love weakens all defences
and challenges all camouflaged pretences
Love pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds
and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields
she - blooms

Love perfumes

Love is not 'nice'  
Love isn’t in this for the likes
Love bites
She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight
Love never bails from the fight
never fails, never takes flight

Love is nothing casual,
nothing incidental
This love is elemental
She is Avengers-Assemble, End-Game-level
monumental

So as the wise man known for his proverb-ials
might have said:

Rob and Polly

Don’t be nice
and I’ll say it twice
nice is a vice that will never suffice

So heed this scriptural advice
[Proverbs 3 - expanded version]

Let love and faithfulness never leave you
bind them both to you (whatever the price to you)

Sustain one another with mutual collaboration
and on a God-given foundation build up a reputation
for a love that,
okay, as the good book says
might be a poor reflection of perfection
but for now - what you two have become
is a fairly close representation
of Christ’s love for his bride, his church
and that should never be besmirched

so let God’s love rise to meet you
at each and every unwinding curve
because it is nothing less
than what both of you
undoubtably
deserve.

Let me end by being more precise
follow Christ’s advice:
love one another
every day and every night
forsaking all others
with all of your might
and do it in a way
that pushes
way
past
‘nice’.

I have the Devil deep inside me
And he’s playing a cruel game
It’s my life ‘Vs’ his life and he’s
Fuelled by all my pain. A deal
I made many moons ago, I shook
His hand and let him know that

Life wasn’t all that it should be
I wanted out, I wanted
Peace. He raised his head then snarled a grin
Opened his arms then pulled me
In, loaned his eyes so I could see the
Deep Red of Eternity

White dust he sprinkled, fires and sparks. My
Life seemed meek in dull contrast
“I’ll give you life in turn for yours, with
One small price to pay of course.
I’ll take away each bowt of pain, I’ll
Teach you how to smile each day

You’ll fool them all, you’ll have good fun, you’ll
Laugh and dance under the sun
As time goes by you’ll grasp the chance to
Reacquaint with confidence
Walk hand in hand with me, you’ll see how
Easy it be, to exist

Carefree” - I knew that life could be much
Worse than all he’d painted with
His words; I was already giving
Up you see. I gave my hand
Reluctantly. He grasped it hard then
Pulled me tight. He stared so deep
Within my eyes that, soon enough I’d

Lost all sight and Line-by-Line
I’d lost my touch, with Magic dust I’d
Found my crutch. The pain subsides,
My soul was priced up Gram-by-Gram, the
Whirlpools spun me round ‘n’ round
And the Devil Cloned me as I drowned

A mind once mine was now half-
Owned. Shame so vast I could barely breath,
False Pretences filled with Greed
These days I walk by in two-halves, each
Day I fight I can hear him
Laugh. “You silly Fool did I not say?

“Addiction is the Price you’ll
Pay?! For everyday you thought you’d Won.
The endless Masks which you’d piled
On, to hide the pain to cheat the game
Avoid life’s lessons you’d made
In vain; with me you chose to spend your

Days. I have your hand. You gave
Your blood, blind-sighted tears because
You ******-up. Indulged in Drugs
You masked your pain and now I hear MY
Name in Vain as you Beg and
Pray for me to end the game. Such a

Naieve young fool you were back
Then to think that ‘I’ would be ‘your’ friend
Now day-by-day you’ll hear me
Laugh as you try to loosen up my
Grasp. With new eyes on the prize are you
Surprised, that you see me ROAR?!”

Don’t Fall down now as you run;
The Devils deal you should not have done!



© 8 hours ago, Karen L Hamilton

Welcome to this brave new world
no longer needing reality
into this new existence you’re hurled
we will replace everything with fantasy
you would like to live beyond your senses,
to transcend mortality

Embrace the illusion,
Existence vaporises itself
spreading the confusion
It  has its breaches its glitches,
but you want to be fooled
you want somebody to flip the switches
you want to be ruled

live in anonymity to avoid consequences
Project the right fictional life of pretences
Embrace life in the simulation
Reality is to plain and you are too trivial
Avoid the frustration
Swiftly avoid the material


Reconstruct your existence the way you always sought
Fill the void inside,
To the old you give no more thought
your  former has  died
destroy the absence drifting within
You new life will fast begin


Remake yourself to cast the divinity
you always craved to be  
indulge all the sins you hunger secretly
as a slave of the deception
you will finally feel free
close you eyes and allow yourself to drift
it will not take long now
Uploading complete...

she stool my heart
And she said
"your heart belongs to me forever"
I was fooled by her words
I was fooled by her pretences

I gave her my heart my soul
I didn't even have to think about
I just gave her everything that belongs
To me

She played me, she broke my heart
And left it in peace, now she says sorry
But I think her apology means something
Is left in me

maybe she left a peace of happiness in
My heart that's why she wants to come back
No no I can't forgive her, she left me
For anther man, she can do it again

She says this time is different she really
Love me,
But I heard those words before
And she left me crying, crowing,rumbling,sleeplessness and sadness

she's a pain that keeps on coming back
Hurting different places
She's a devil that hunts a happy soul

Am doing better without you go go
Back to your man that you left me for

She she she she she she

Hurt
In your eyes
On your face
In your smile
In your gaze
Body language
Never good at lies
False pretences
Deep down
your
Hurt is severe
Tell me
I am so so wrong
Tell me
I am so so right...
Talk to me
Heal your pain...

GOD sees us without our defences
He sees us without our pretences
He sees us without our sins
He sees us for who we truly are

And

HE LOVES WHAT HE SEES...the real YOU!

**Isn't it beautiful :)

I live in a world of many colors
Of many sounds
And many names
Where people seem to care
But turn out to be the same
I live in a world difficult to tame

I live in a world of pseudo equality
Where declarations are plentiful
But work remains unchanged
Where harsh words take but a second to say
But the impact lasts for many days
I live in a world confused and deranged

I live in a world plunged into darkness
Who boast of immense openness
But remain rigid as rocks
Where nuances are seen and heard with pretences of interest
But internally cast aside with scorn
I live in a world of trickery and false talk

I live in a world of schemes and conspiracies
Where happiness is transformed to hatred without a backward glance
Where creatures with human names
Lead lives devoid of love
I live in a world offering no second chances

I live in a world where only miracles can occur
Where brilliance blossoms desperately like the tired asphalt flowers
Where specks of gold reside among hearts carved out of iron
I live in a world moulting within the hour

I live in a world of imperfect delights
Where wields to satiate one's moaning stomach
Overpower pleas to fill one's grieving soul
Where cosmopolitan societies
Shape answer-seeking personalities
I live in a world, incomplete but whole

I live in a world triggered by cataclysm
Where earth-shaking catapults are inspired
By steadfast truth that still exists
Where the written word still provides more solace
Than any gruesome battle
I live in a world where happiness persists

I live in a world of humanity
Where blood flows rich with eternal adventure and free thought
Where life and death is but a transition
I live in a world of eternal love and change

./*because thinking about money is always a "near-miss"... this hierarchy of transvaluation... money and the philosopher's stone... compound the paradox... toying with nouns and adjective to imply almost anything... to compose an artifact that could turn a stone into gold... put money: which is now a f.i.a.t. *****-wonka... that money isn't even paper anymore... some major ****** blues... what's the point of thinking about money seriously... when... clearly... there's such a defire to not spend it... let alone earn it... to subsequently spend it... for a contest of "life" outside the realm of "existence" as defined by auxiliary strategy of: because the theatre allowed me to pass the time... mere mortal man... a month's worth of time: with pressing interludes... i dedicate to a juggling act between a charles dickens' novel and a milan kundera essay... "somehow" i listen to the adverts and i am inclined to be immune to them... since... if i only have enough for a bowl of rice... real or hypothetical scenario... or: i only want a bowl of rice... the advert is like a t.v.: a 20th century pièce de résistance... how can you make adverts for people: who are unable / unwilling to spend "money"... mough-knee... mow-mow? last time i heard my student loan is written off after... 15 years? and i am not supposed to pay a pound of it... if i... do not earn... over 15 thousand pounds a year... such the pleasures of thought: after a while.... you can almost forget a pleasure of spending money... let alone earning it... otherwise... such a fluidity goo section of life: when earning also implies: spending... on non-essentials... a concept of money akin to something essential like wielding a spear... or throwing a stone... but... tipping a waiter... because... it's somehow socially "convenient": the aesthetic of having to over-price a cooked meal in a public event... *

   by no extension of the "claim"...
it's impossible to claim a cognitive coherence:
a narrative... these days...
there's still barrage of lukewarm giggling
events though...

ad hoc: hammer / nail...

        and... a priori / a posteriori?

or rather: that there is an an hoc
hammer / nail...

             most certainly there's an a priori
hammer / nail...
          
the a posteriori hammer? a ******
tool...

       the a priori hammer:
                       is clearly defined by...
   the action of hammering something...
most probably to break it open...
rather than also stumble upon
nails... and subsequently
worked on planks of wood...

            the a priori hammer is:
           a "hammer"...
                it's only a stone...
  there is no handle there's only the head...
or that the head is flat...
which would pre-supposed nails...

then again... the a posteriori hammer:
can be the ad hoc hammer
but it can also be the a priori hammer
should such murderous thoughts
of hypotheticals tangle...

          lazily inhibited or otherwise making
a leisure of a coherence...
once upon a time there was the existential
thorough-through-and-through
of "concern"...
                 now this burdening:
  
cope via bearing -
             it is exhaustive to merely cope...
to fit the shoes of mediocre pretences...
the burden of coping is
somehow... not a concern:
along the way so many ad hoc propositions
lie inquisitively numbed...
a skull envy of brain mushroom juice...
a wholly adjective project
of...             "detail"...
      something a question of an ottoman romance...
at the height of their imperialism...
there was the victorian novel and a london:
ad hoc: for the purpose of the mythos
of jack the ripper...
an elder hyde... a dorian gray..

  jack the ripper is unlike a clear cut
media celebrity of the h'american way of:
beside thinking...
      the credentials of making a...
profiling spectacle...
    jack / jacob was never...
sentenced... alluded to... made into
a certainty...
      rummaging in victorian detail London...
a height of an empire...
readying for the decay...
               there's a scent of...
a trust in ottoman hair / bear oils...
then the stink of mastering
the unfathomable foe of one's own hair
using nothing but rain water...

this romance of history: as with all history:
a look toward a past is
always a look toward:
yes, there i was... rich and grievous with pride
akin to a Cicero...
the past... when one had the money...
is always a prized concern for staging
nostalgia coup d'etats...
                and such....

                        nothing in the currency
of... to have invested in a currency of a surname...
one must have been born with...
a concern to bereave an upstanding
via lady mort...
       it's not like i was...
the ******* son of... the Merovingian...
loiter further to loot...

             if i were the born satire of Mr. Kalashnikoff...
a hybrid non-essential sour...
and sorrow of a son...
the cooker oyster...
the... hardly pickled cucumber...

bunny-bon-weaver...
    come the tail like cotton candy and
the forever missing 1960s
nostalgia that: once upon a time...
a spacing... mirroring nostalgia for...
a past...

        no            no            no
this part... of "disappearing" into the sunset...
my hardly best exercise in
the use of language...
such an objective detail of "concerning"
grammar...
           it's beginning to last...
having this language... not as an indigenous
lifeline and rehab...
             to speak only one
language in this... globalist choir-practice
of inferno...
             it'z alzmozt amasing...
                     it was bound to reach
fever-pitch of: a "happeningz"...

                          i would like to veto...
but no... it's not a philosophy of an exercise of vote..
i simply... default...
                 to barricade fudge-packaging
factory dynamic of stealing: stool.

- the sanctity of the most tyrannical...
echo-whimpering...
       that it's forever the night...
                         that there's a shadow-body replica
to invest in... could a dream-world
architecture come into play...
a *** a wine a ***** cocktail...
alcohol is not a perfume base
or a piña colada "after-party"...

  repentant drunks and people:
who dwell on alcohol having some...
ulterior purpose...
beside... a numbing altruism...
teasing at a solipsism...
    
as of: forever "passing" as  "pass grade"...
this lobotomy encompass
this harvest of:
there's a cat sleeping in
a place where my head
should align itself to the purpose
of quickening lacklustre:

that there's greenwich and that that there's
a loon'don..
somehow there was "someone"
sensible dragging my carcass
to the foundation of salt...
for the possibility of:
that there's water too...
but a stone!
                      i want to find
a crease... and sand too!