life is never what it seems to be, always reoccuring with a thought as put upon the length of arms that revolutionize this thought. . .for those that can be bought,
is day like today less then feeling of want to rot, because so simple as a breeze brought down your temperment to be pleased. . .caught in a storm, that has outlasted
longer then your heart to feel content and warm, to feel the essence of a breath among a group of bad breaths, in other words, to breath among a group of brothers and sisters
from whom you can gain so much. But life is never what it seems to be, instead you look yourself in the mirror pointing at me, you, fool. Glowing from ragging frustration,
the toll blows for you unsurpassable deflation, because it is not for your hand that grows for the motion, to pick which ******* **** you want to lotion. Spearing the reasons,
the ego is your hero, born to work zero, and trusted with such hand to uphold all by command. To twist on the ****, that opens your door, to circumstances i certainly care less
the **** to continue to explore. But with this slight little mention, please pay close attention because this song is a *****. At least to explain the message, my whole is a
whole that takes life time to experience and grow, and appreciate the things that stoop all the levels around me, no barrier, no door, just genuine life experience to bring me
to come to this point to explain to the world something within the self, that is described by astute persons, for whom these ideas carry on to fulfill an immense part of
something that is casually slipped in and never thought about because it is told within reason that humanity cannot be without such astute person's idealogy. For **** sake my
friend, if your have many common sense, think of the common thing that has driven you to come to the conclusion that you have come to about anything. Everything is absolute and
existent and is evoked through the means. . .from the time of your dissapating freedom, as kids, not as adults, because look at how adults are this days. They teach their kids,
and they let others teach their kids, but the kids never get the feeling of being free. I promiss you, that cry or emotion you have experienced due to lack of friendliness from a
neighboring ****, it is an instillement that sparks up many motions of your life to believe into bizarre things the world portrays. For myself, I find the starting point of my
when I first breathed my first sensible air, when I walked in my own two feet without guidance as to where my eyes were seeing. How can a mind be so tender, lost by the misconformed
train thogh after train thought. That is why I find schooling such a fascinating ruthless thing that can be broken into several fashions as to why is that case. But not even
reason to fashion an answer that I know will and is definetly can be viewed to abhold a societal dismark of "wF"is wrong with that guy's mind. He must be **** casing a storm to
bring an ideaology of thought or some **** religion, but that's what so funny to me. I find everything in life comedic, non concerning except at times if I feel similar to
someone adjacent because that is their essence in my prescence, and I feel the need to comfort it, to bring back the importance of that self. The part of life I find so comedic,
how bits and bits and everything with **** have all so many fascinating
things to learn from, the progression of one's mind never attains self worth in the world with something interfering. That something interfering for example, is me personally
writing what is can be taken as pointless and presenting my writing to you how I say I do. But did I say how I am presenting this writing, absolutely not. So brings the funny,
that school teaches the aspect of disfigurament of a person's essence. This thing is a complete oblivion to everything and anything, that because even though I did not specify
how I tone myself on this paper, there is the predicament to assume that I am very angry deranged person who but pokes charasmatically at something no one can grip, because he
is portraying me the image the way I was bred to see. But then it is so **** funny, you can also take my words describing
all that I intend to explain and stick them against me to simplify your circumstances as to the causitive feeling your experiencing, and maybe the confusion that I am creating
noting a significant point that I do write intentionally without any figurative wording, just simply talking about this to evoke a presence of an essence within you that is hindered,
by what type of **** everybody is wearing, where they are starring, who is ******* and adoring, and who's simply the **** because they don't fit in a deranged group, developed by
ego-centric level stingers, who but want either good for you, or it is the drive to profit from you everything. That is, words blah blah, can take stroll
on one day's role and make no complete sense, and all they did were live the sense of a tangled mind that fostered on what has been in some form, taught, over
what you can call a lively existence, considering how much traumatizing headaches this could cause, and resembled among a group of similar constituents with similar reasons
as to whatever the situation might be. I could point this out within one sentence, but it wouldn't hold any deeper understanding of this essence, so instead I decide with all
my reasoning and tremendous experience that even to some, even at this gritty expertisians who grease up the world to guess everything based on study and reasoning by other humans,
who believe all these ideas are shifters to the mind but always stem the relentless, functioning without any perspectives open to the idea that mold humans into one spatial and far better
so called community, which in all it's case has lost the essence to preserve the self without a ***** on the back. That ***** of course is the communal ****, that builds from a
trigger of words, then they teach the brain as if it is known how to be as a functioning unit. The amount doesn't matter, the amount that is thought brings hope, but the most
amount to the self is the function of you, like I feel I function amongst anyone because I have come to terms and realize what really important things I have learned from my life.
My life to some is gripping, only because it sounds unbelievable, but of that life I found the same driving forces that drive madness even today, and has been reaccuring for as
long as some form of expression has been. And in all humiliation of humanity, or as I consider it digression of being self around the bounds of comfortability, it has been
a grand experience to see many a people transgress from the point of my meeting them with a continuous contact to the point of now, and then, and future plausible. But then
and future plausible for me stand out as notions needless of evocations due to the fact that the self is a dwindling factor hung by a rope to swing the way the self first portrayed
to me, and then to the direction away from the first encountered mind. But in all, without senseless ignorance, I do understand these things are studied for a reason, for a reason
that is workable to be as they are for some variables do affect person's in many different way. That is why, the sense of one roof and too many aloof is but a big spoof. With
sensibility, how can forging something into your life help you to achieve greatness within self to portray it in a manner plausible. The only way is as a current flows, so do
the gulls.



where do you. . .come from. . .so many leagues unbeknownst among my dreams.
life is never what it seems. . .until i met your eyes.. . that built
my stongest implication, dire in desire to live a life inspired. . .
but then so is, to dream upon what tends on building motivation. . .
life is beautiful sensation. . .
from the first rainfall with you meeting outside spontaneous realm. . .
we fought the solemn wind to calm our cumbered spirits. . .taking flight,
fighting what might have been. . .semeless to even entertain. . .lost in
each others warmness. . .everything we built tended harmless.

now see how we have. . .related to each other's hearts. . .left the scrutinity
at obscurity prolonged on scale of mirror. . .where it has always belonged.
now it's just time darling
i promiss it wont be long until our roots bind the maximum strong.

from even across the plains, and mountain long trip stains. . .i feel
less pain. . .from what's the phrase non loose then gain, consorting time
absorbing each other's essence in rhyme.
the deepest of sensation of you. . .the meekest of me, makes me be the simple thing
that i've reconnected to . . .to realize, the sensation of you. . .from our first
encounter, i felt deep into your eyes. . .what agree's none behind with lies. . .
you evoked the deepest motion within my sphere of emotion not to betray myself within
this realm and dark frivolous potion. . .for my first set of emotion set on your tone behind
this potion. . .

i face you eye for an eye of every day until i die, but will ever will i die. . .not with you
never. . .darling angel, angel you are my expressive tone to call you so. . .nothing more
is the essense of you that you seem to implore, how busy life must be. . .we need feel free
to good ridance from this fee that life doesn't instill our good griefs beyond simple joys and beliefs. . .
for simply darling we are each other's heart beats, if it's simple smell of you
i will carry out my deeds in hell. . .beneath on hearth this earth, where all of us have been given
birth. . .but sent to spend what is driven by multipolluted cord, the time in blunt approach from
the thing that planted our roots. . .

how i feel you is simply too rich for some dirt to enrich you. . .i simply love and cherish
every bit of your essence, it has lifelong presence that even doing what they call
reminiscing, can't surpass living without missing what they have been reminiscing. . .
i cherish you beyond what little faith can teach about having bigger faith, when all my hopes
ride faithful slopes without elongated stops and rope bearing hopes. . .
my life i see to the extent to remorse only what some feel beyond scope of too openly. . .
but how can i retreat on what i can't stop to feel to protect you from, to their heads we are getting closely. . .
how in the scope of your first essence, can i give up to give way to ruin such pure essence. . .

i understand the world makes a feeling for such pure feeling is counted by blessings. . .
and in order for us to make it, that thought i feel senseless baking . . .constant roll of assorted
reasons for why we bleed to them treasons . . .for how can i express, how simple love doesn't
just digress, or something with time you invest. . .it's simply have been a joy of building
together a foundation for our nest. . .**** the rest. . .**** the pest. . .the world is the best
when sleepers are put to rest and the spark of commune are dwellers dwelling on these mischivers'
locked up chest. . .
to find out that darling. . .you simply are a joy to give me whole, that i'm not uninspired troll
reluctant to breath beside the one he placed his greed upon. . .or her, or it. . but all the essence
is closed and beat, by some known with ideals humanity can't consider too farfetched to bare to grit. . .
and sway to the essence that i hold in my glances. . .are as simple as these branded constructed norms
that most tend to manipulate and distort to one contorted form. . . .so all can bend into one socket for 365
degree view that most tend to agree. . .but never really see.

i know it's many there with this essense around the breeze of an aura, that simply are stranded too far apart by such horror.. .
to relent their essence with their prescence. . .to whom Barbarians find the essence is planted full on messes.
but how can we relate to such things darling. . .when the first glow of your essence showed me life full
of memories by the smile in your eyes, glowing beauty of any sort. . .i feel the world will someday . . .
take flight. . .in my way, but **** that. . .i'm to speak when my message is too simple, provoked only by the
thought, "protect the world its miser mother has been beaten". . .i can never relent, the message that is never
but to contradict what's life has not eaten. . .because of the times put to squares, living life, fostering a step back, into recluce. . .these biches wont even
say cause their too ****. . .to figure out that there's a worrior to stump them pleaded sheets out of wood. . .
i say this out for your sarcasm, elongated this song a bit to give you big ******. . .so when you repose, you
think nothing but what side are the pro's. . .and enter them into oblivion, grasping each by the billion, how
can i repose for i know, without one word it is and has been always come down to the special chosen million. . .

because my darling, i feel the miser that this essence in me you inspire, is up and target for no good. . .for
these pleaded fockers granted themselves unrelentless priveleges for centuries, changing diepers to giving
blood diamond marriages. . .riding on what they call prestine carriages. . .oh what,you don't recognize this
what the world has come to building from everybody's demise. . .feeding on high rise. . .splitting cots in the
rots, most alluded with plots and continued building upon the essence of you, keeping you stewed, brewing up a flu. . .
to this day when i met you. . .
will never cease your memory by only that it was circumstance. . .romance among thieves denying our chance to dance. . .
with one glance, their world just plopped a chance. . .for i know they know who im refering to, without a glance
i'm sure they feel my stance just to look **** eyed puking. . .**** blocking their world to rocking, while else where goes to foster under
this ugly monster. . .stooped on a porch ******* their air, without any underwear. . .haha must be due to how
much pull goes to their hair. . .how do i, they feel ****** diddlidy ****, what, is this person a human or a
restored frame of mind living. . .i can't be what's in my eyes to be believing, but i simply am retarted man. . .
a ******* rough psychological fighting bluff, to them i would. . .but trust me, how could i in my life, i
never could.. . .fall to false pretention, that life is a great invention, that my desire's are for simple
hires. . .for i know my life evolves around that which your first essence, darling, we built stronger everyday
to our future of what we call present. . .

life with you, i simply can't resent. . .but figure out what's best
to make what we don't need to make. . . because the essence uproots life's shrivel of what they call romances. . .
rooting upward from the seed we planted on the day people deside to bleed
all over the notion, that this emotion they conquered stems from shot of elixir handed down from the heavens by
some they call cupid fixer. . .relentless, they push through many dances. . .all so strained and constricted by many
glances, restricting their free essence to feel in whole their life is shot down by simple messes. . . .
but you, none taken, broken and mistaken. . .how can simple things be so. . .when you know my essence for you is
far greater then what one instance can remark for the whole, i feel simply. . .protect you from their hole and
bind you with my essence that strives in whole. . .even through tormenting lonely dances. . .when i saw the world an ugly form. . .
nowhere to want to run to, or feel
resentment.. . where's life going to go. . .if my essence in a whole feeds you. . .away to their
mysterious goal. . .i wouldn't have the patience to ***** their abnormal pretence, as if life is sweet with
such mysterious fowl. . .create little thought to create bigger picture, many aditions just create tensities
among those who bicker, loosing control each time only quicker. . .that's why it's never lesser to speak for the lesser
dresser, or the person they showed you, that looked like he ******* told you, but instead they made the mistake
to grow lower. . . cowering even bolder. . . what **** is the point of that. . .to say it none meeker as if its meant to outcast the bleeker
. . .i'm not that so. . .to scowl like fowl crackhead, loosing self reliance to gr

**** angles.
This house has got plenty of **** angles. Tom knows, I don't. Tom knows more about that kinda stuff because that's Tom's forte.
Old Cochrane.

I'm not sure what disabilities he suffers from, but to be honest it doesn't seem much like he suffers. He's just a dude with a loud set of brains fixated on a very Cochrane world, sort of like Plato I guess, beard and everything, looking at the angles and strange asymmetric dots with a feeling that there’s some preternatural 'other world' where all of Cochrane's expectations are met and this house as well as the world would do ******* well to abide by it if it knows what's good.

Old Cochrane loves Superman Returns. I once saw him watch Superman Returns 3 times in one sitting, to the point that it became Superman Returns Returns Returns and for Chrissake if Metropolis were real I doubt his ethics would be much appreciated anymore but hey, who am I to say? I'm no Clark Kent but I'm sure Cochrane thinks he is, and if he's damnwell Plato he can damnwell be Clark Kent just as well as the next Kryptonian sucker to crash-land on planet Earth, and it's damnwell possible Cochrane is from Krypton for all I know, he's got some miraculous will-power and push, that's for **** sure.

He's always yelling, 'ober-der! Ober-der!' like he's some sad German screaming at the **** Poles across the Oder-Neisse line as if it were there **** fault. It's either that or Krypton is ober-der and he just wants to go home, or maybe his face gets red because he knows damnwell where Lex Luthor is hiding and he just wants our ******* help finding him.

I think Old Cochrane has a crush on Kevin Spacey.

I wouldn't know, but I'm making that assumption *** Cochrane looks pretty spacey sometimes.
Okay, that was just a bad joke. I'm not too good at jokes.

I have two coworkers named Ryan. To avoid any confusion we all just call them by their last names, Soprovich and Danyluk, but most of the time we just call Soprovich Ryan Sop, and I'm not sure if he much appreciates the nickname. Our bosses name is Pam Wadden and in response to her calling him Ryan Sop he asked if he could call her Pam ***.
Pam didn't hear that of course, but I heard it. And it was at that moment I made the judgement that old Ryan Sop is good at jokes.

Anyways to slide back to my point, once I was working with both Danyluk and Soprovich and as I was leaving, to shave a few seconds before my bus, I said, 'Bye.. Ryan..s'
that made them both laugh a little so I quickly made the judgement that I'm sometimes good at jokes but I never mean to be which is kinda Zen I suppose. Buddhist effortless effort or whatever they damnwell call it.

I've always been somewhat of an intellect, but not usually of my own freewill. I read a lot, but I sort of read like a ****** addict shoots-up.. just one more line, just one more paragraph.. and before I know it I've finished a book that kinda scared me but good ******* the high was fine.

I guess it's not really like that at all, but I like to think of it like that sometimes, it kind of excites my stomach in the good way, makes me feel like some ******* rebel reading **** the government has probably already burned or recycled into the paper bags I shop with at Safeway..
shopping at Safeway.. livin' life the Safe Way.. gatherin all the grosh-rees, yeah, you ****** know me
I forgot to mention I'm somewhat of a part-time rapper and 40% of the time I have rap lyrics pulsing through my head as my own inner monologue. I dunno why but it's always kinda made me proud to think the way I do and ******* does life get high and low and if you understood you would know what I'm talking about, but I know you probably know what I know, I just like to be a little pretentious about that kinda stuff *** if I pretend I'm the only one it kinda manifests in my attitude and I get girls easier.

True story.

Maybe.

Probably not, but if ya see what I'm getting at that assertion is part of the pretention *** I'm a ******* hipster for Chrissake, writing like J.D. Salinger, reading like Kerouac without the squinty drunk eyes of infinite sadness.

She stunned me when I first saw her looks
Never seen like her even in books

An angel who dropped from the sky
To say to me "Sam! Hi!"

She instantly got my full attention
And I at once shown no pretention

She lives now in the corridors of my mind
You won't find a lady so gentle and kind

Now I miss her as I miss the air when I stop breathing
She lives in me, so God help me her seeing

Sam Burton (C)


Today is Friday, Oct. 10, the 289th day of 2014 with 82 to follow.

The moon is waxing. Morning stars are Jupiter, Uranus and Venus. Evening stars are Mars, Mercury, Neptune and Saturn.



Quotes for the day:



"Correction does much, but encouragement does more."



Johann Wolfgang von Goethe



"The first requisite for success is the ability to apply your physical and mental energies to one problem incessantly without growing weary."



Thomas A. Edison



POETRY

Israfel





Edgar Allan Poe



In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
"Whose heart-strings are a lute";
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy stars (so legends tell),
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.

Tottering above
In her highest noon,
The enamored moon
Blushes with love,
While, to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven,)
Pauses in Heaven.

And they say (the starry choir
And the other listening things)
That Israfeli's fire
Is owing to that lyre
By which he sits and sings -
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings.

But the skies that angel trod,
Where deep thoughts are a duty -
Where Love's a grown-up God -
Where the Houri glances are
Imbued with all the beauty
Which we worship in a star.

Therefore thou art not wrong,
Israfeli, who despisest
An unimpassioned song;
To thee the laurels belong,
Best bard, because the wisest!
Merrily live, and long!

The ecstasies above
With thy burning measures suit -
Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,
With the fervor of thy lute -
Well may the stars be mute!

Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
Is a world of sweets and sours;
Our flowers are merely - flowers,
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss
Is the sunshine of ours.

If I could dwell
Where Israfel
Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky.



BEAUTY AND HEALTH TIP

Strengthen your nails



Before you go to bed every night, use a nail-strengthening cream on your nails (and under, if they're long). This also keeps them hydrated, which is essential for healthy nails.



Trivia

Where did the name “Revlon: come from?



Nail polish distributors Charles Revson and his brother Joseph, along with nail polish supplier Charles Lachman, who contributed the "L" in the Revlon name, gave birth to the Revlon cosmetics company in 1932. Starting with just one nail product a nail enamel unlike any before it the three men pooled their paltry resources and developed a unique manufacturing process. Using pigments instead of dyes, Revlon was able to offer to women rich-looking, opaque nail enamel in a wide variety of shades never before available. In only six years, the company became a multimillion dollar organization, launching one of the most recognized cosmetics names in the world.



How many atoms are there in the universe?



Astronomers believe that the universe contains one atom for every 88 gallons of space.



How do animals influence the weather?



Living creatures create tiny weather systems called microclimates in their nests and burrows. For instance, bees fan their wings at the hive entrance during hot weather. This makes a cooling draft blow through the hive.

VOCABULARY



Splenetic

adjective



:


marked by bad temper, malevolence, or spite



Examples:



I know David was in a bad mood all day, but the splenetic tone of his reply to Brenda’s question was not necessary.



"If he were 10 or 15 years younger (or at least looked like he was), [Charlie] Sheen would be perfect as the splenetic, screed-spouting anti-hero of John Osborne’s 'Look Back in Anger.'" — From an article by Ben Brantley on the New York Times Arts Beat blog, May 26, 2011



Did you know?



In early Western physiology, a person's physical qualities and mental disposition were believed to be determined by the proportion of four ****** humors: blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile. The last of these was believed to be secreted by the spleen, causing feelings of disposition ranging from intense sadness (melancholia) to irascibility. This now-discredited association explains how the use of "splenetic" (deriving from the Late Latin "spleneticus" and the Latin "splen," meaning "spleen") came to mean both "bad-tempered" and "given to melancholy" as well as "of or relating to the spleen." In later years, the "melancholy" sense fell out of use, but the sense pertaining to ill humor or malevolence remains with us today.





Courtesy of Merriam-Webster, Inc.



JOKES



Female Comebacks



Man: Haven't I seen you someplace before?
Woman: Yes, that's why I don't go there anymore.

Man: Is this seat empty?
Woman: Yes, and this one will be if you sit down.

Man: Your place or mine?
Woman: Both. You go to yours, and I'll go to mine.

Man: So, what do you do for a living?
Woman: I'm a female impersonator.

Man: Hey baby, what's your sign?
Woman: Do not enter.

Man: How do you like your eggs in the morning?
Woman: Unfertilized.

Man: If I could see you naked, I'd die happy.
Woman: If I saw you naked, I'd probably die laughing.

Man: Your body is like a temple.
Woman: Sorry, there are no services today.

Man: I would go to the end of the world for you.
Woman: But would you stay there?





Seminars for MEN




(Prepared and Presented by Females)

1. Combatting stupidity

2. You too can do housework

3. ***: Learn when to keep your mouth shut

4. How to fill an ice tray

5. We do not want ****** underthings for Christmas: give us money

6. Understanding the female response to your coming in drunk at 4am

7. Wonderful laundry techniques (formerly titled, "Don't wash my silks")

8. Parenting: It doesn't end with conception

9. Get a life; learn to cook

10. How not to act like a ******* when you're obviously wrong

11. Spelling: Even you can get it right

12. Understanding your financial incompetence

13. You: The weaker ***

14. Reasons to give flowers

15. How to stay awake in public

16. Why it is unacceptable to relieve yourself anywhere but the bathroom

17. Garbage: Getting it to the curb

! 18. You can fall asleep without it if you really try

19. The morning dilemma if IT is awake: Take a shower

20. I'll wear it if I **** well please

21. How to put the toilet lid down (formerly titled "No, it's not a bidet")

22. "The weekend" and "sports" are not synonyms

23. Give me a break: Why we know your excuses are bull

24. How to go shopping with your mate and not get lost

25. The remote control: Overcoming your dependency

26. Romanticism: Ideas other than ***

27. Helpful postural hints for couch potatoes

28. Mothers-in-law: They are people too

29. Male bonding: Leaving your friends at home

30. You too can be a designated driver

31. Seeing the true you (formerly titled, "You don't look like Mel Gibson when naked")

32. Changing your underwear: It really works

33. The attainable goal: removing "****" from your! vocabulary

34. Fluffing the blankets after flatula! ting is not necessary

35. Techniques for calling home before you leave work





The Bacon Tree



There are two guys who have been lost in the desert for weeks, and they're at death's door. As they stumble on, hoping for salvation in the form of an oasis or something similar, they suddenly spy, through the heat haze, a tree off in the distance.

As they get closer, they can see that the tree is draped with rasher upon rasher of bacon. There's smoked bacon, crispy bacon, life-giving juicy nearly-raw bacon, all sorts. "Oh my, Pepe" says the first bloke. "It's a bacon tree!!! We're saved!!!" "You're right!" says Pepe.

So Pepe goes on ahead and runs up to the tree salivating at the prospect of food. But as he gets to within five feet of the tree, there's the sound of machine gun fire, and he is shot down in a hail of bullets. His friend quickly drops down on the sand, and calls across to the dying Pepe.

"Pepe! Pepe! What on earth happened?"...

With his dying breath Pepe calls out...

"Ugh, run, run!... it's not a Bacon Tre! e...

Scroll Down...













...it's a Ham Bush"





HAVE A SUPER NICE FRIDAY and a GORGEOUS WEEKEND!

Your utter complacence is
Perpetually mitigated by your patience;
Yet, since we've met,
Your ubiquitous,
Splendidly liquidous,
Serendipitous humor,
Like a tumor,
Has beguiled me,
Defiled me,
Riled me.

Your delicious,
Surreptitious,
Obfuscation of superfluous condemnation is
Erroneous and felonious
A frantic and pedantic antic.

The flying didn't cease, nor did the gravity
but I stayed close to the ground
my mother had told me not to drift too far
but that one time I did
that one time, I,
I tried to stop, I really did
that day I saw the prodigy there was
that wasn't anymore
I saw sanctity gasping for breath
choking on its own emesis
it shouldn't have gotten so drunk on sin
an aura fighting to survive against pretention
hands holding on to a fading faith
slipping like a baby, yet, tripping and trying
my wings set ablaze by the heat of raging insanity

A memory that day was cast forever
A pithy precis comes charging to me

My eyes opened to what I assumed hell
an old man nominally clad in a tattered sheet
pressed a medicinal red cloth against my anguishing wounds
in a hut that barely stood up
hay dripped off its exiguity
drops of water leaked everywhere
but the 4 feet cot that I lay on
the gracing peacock feather near my feet
gave the only colour to my grey eyes

He shivered of his elderly age
that seemed younger than his wrinkles
poverty seemed to have worn him down
but not more than the wickedness around

"My child, are you feeling alright?"

Affrightened and confused by the terra incognita
I merely nodded in affirmation

My eyes looked around to discover a nurturing,
smiling face,
then to a corner with a *** of water
and food meagre for an infant
he took a morsel in a leaf
and presented to me what was left

"This is enough for me my dear,
do you mind finishing the rest,
it is a bit dry,
here, have it with some water instead
now eat well child,
you look like a stick for a girl your age."
then he smiled again,
and walked away
with nothing on his leaf, but the satisfaction of a whole on his face

I looked at the dry bread crumb
moistened by a drop of my tear
trying to force his bites through
I wasn't ready for the hope he shared
my throat was taking bath in ice
his altruism healed my bubble that was burst
this wasn't the insanity that burnt my wings
this was the one that stole a morsel of my love.

Black box breaking
Slowly breaking
Slowly
I saw the cracks
I saw them ripple down her back
I saw the freeze and thaw of nations
The renaissance and death and renaissance
I saw the wealth and worth of world powers
I saw them crumble
I was there
And I am here
I read it all and wrote it down
I saw it all and wrote it down
I kissed the survivors and wrote it down
I saw the earth in its entirety
I fell in love and vomited and fell in love
I saw her in her emptiness
I saw her sway in the winds
The winds grew cold and colder
She grew old and older
And so distraught
Mangled
Destroyed
Derailed
Demolished
Stripped of poise and polish
Stripped of it all
I saw her disintegrate
I saw her fall
Still I,
I still
I always standing
Watching still
Always seeing
Standing and seeing, I
Drinking tea
Calm, cool, collected, serenity

Now your turn
You see me
See me walking down the street
See my waist-long wavy hair
Blonde and sparkling in the sun
Lipstick smile
Hipbones and cheekbones chiseled and deadly
Long leg strut down the runway
Of center town sidewalks
The world is my oyster
See my backpack full of alphabetized books
Handwriting neat and perfect
Pen behind my ear I’m ready
For all of this
See me smoking cigarettes out my dorm room window
Listening to Mozart
And smiling fully when the strings jump in
See me on the park bench reading
Long Russian novels
I inhale the pages like heartbeats
In-hale
Ex-hale
In-hale
Ex-hale
Breaths and beats fully synchronized to the flipping of pages
And to the Metronome Mozart wrote me.

Don’t be deceived
I made my world and destroyed it and made my world
Independent to a fault
I made my living off stitching together broken bones
And melting old forgotten thrones
Sculptures that said I needed no one
No one could keep up anyway
I ran too fast
I ran all day
And kindof expected someone to care
But no one ever has
I was never worth the trouble
Pull me out from my own rubble
And kiss me if you can
No one knows my secret plan to live an embarrassing convention
All this glass is just pretention
I glued it together myself
I wrote my own pamphlet for self help
I pieced together my own face
I sculpted my own form and adorned it
I broke my own heart and mourned it
I arrived and left and arrived
And here I’ll stay
Black box breaking
Slowly breaking
Slowly
I saw the cracks
I saw them from the start
Death and renaissance and death
***** and love and *****

I do what I do because I love it/
Not to sound like something I am not/
I find new words because to me/
They are art//
I do not do it to impress/
I take photographs because I find things beautiful//
Not to make you think I'm creative/
I do not write for the glory/
But rather, the story I can imagine/
I do not do it for you//
I do what I do because I love it/
Like the child I'll never have/
My guardian angel/
The best friend I made up as a child//
I'm a mouthpiece for something I can't explain/
But I know it's not done for the praise/
It isn't done for anything/
Other than the fire-like passion/
And desire to make something matter//
I am not pretentious/
I am progressing///

The King’s trove, the Queen’s affection.

Or rather, her affectations.

Pretention is the worst kind of beast,

snarling in the corner and snatching out with snipe claws.

It wipes my nose with its shirttail, then pronounces my snot

something of wonder it has created.

It causes such an itch in my throat, ensuing a

gag that threatens to choke the flare within me.

Trust it, and you will be following those signs that declare

Ogres! and

Certain Death!

not far ahead.

You will reach under its nautical waves and

Duped! Done for!

Now say ‘hello’ to your watery hollow.

You won’t find God here, or even

an ounce of hope to take flight.

All that will be left is a bitter taste on your tongue and the sound of

“Why, oh why…”

An injection of self, a reflection of self
Orphic explosion, in this brain of mine
I touch the sky, my shaman-self lifted
To realize some kind, of undefined divine
My soul wants to soar, although some parts to plod
Among the grey citizens of order
Dull thumpers of the one, dull god

(And as I come to fear, the night, boredom
And my internal extremes, the hyper-brain
Says ‘enjoy this, though it ends in a crash
You were dead before, so live and fear not death’)

Somehow free of the hate that claims others
Oh those self-defined, self-refined prisons they create
Only to lament their loss and deny their place
In the ranks of bile, and spite and hate
Maybe to cloak themselves from the leviathan-machines
Which provides their plenty, as the global south screams
Their ****-eating hypocrisies, judgemental non-philosophies.
And I have landed among their pretention, problems hidden
Beneath the rug, the armoured iron carpet
That supports the weight of their bloated heads
And blood-drenched souls.

I stand on the gleaming rocks
and gaze out toward the pond.
I've been coming here for years now,
ever since I could throw
bread crusts to the mallards without
screaming and running away.

Across the lake are mansions
dripping with frosting and gumdrops,
but their pretention gets no heed.

I dream of inhabiting the island between us
that measures about six steps wide and just as far long.
There's a "no boating,
no fishing,
no swimming" sign to my left,
so I don't know how the dilapidated shack sits
between two steps and four, but I
want to sit there forever and
stare back at the people
who stand on the gleaming rocks
and stare out at me and
don't run away from the shrieking mallards
or the East Eggers on their gingerbread balconies
who rock back on their heels
and laugh at the show as birds
rip open their sandwiches
then turn to top off their schnappes.

I'd pay attention to that island, though.
I think it's made of breadcrumbs.

I don't own a boat,
fishing is useless,
and I'm too afraid to break the rules.
So I let the waves lap my feet
and convince myself that I'll come back
and do the deed at sundown,
even though I know I won't.

The time has come.
I must now say farewell.
But don't be glum!
You will see me again.

I'm going to make my name known
Across the ocean in a foreign land.
I'm going to experience the world
So as to soak up the wisdom of others.
And they will know me--

My name will ring like a battlecry.
My stories will entertain the passerby.
They will chant for me "Encore! Encore! Brava!"
They will throw themselves into the midst of the hoopla.
And when I've exhausted their reserves of attention,
I'll head home and be done with pretention.

For in all the traveling I'll do,
No one will know me like you.

And no matter how good
The fame makes me feel,
They will only know
My name as a battlecry,
My stories for the passerby,
How they chant "Brava",
And throw themselves into the hoopla.

But you will know
My favorite color is grey.
My hair is naturally straight.
My jam band is Train.
And most of all...
My real name.

Wait, why am I leaving?
To travel and meet Sting?
Why would I waste my days
Scouring the world for fame
When happiness is being known
By the One who loves you the most?

I think I'll retract my farewell,
That I might stay and with You dwell.

Aggravating, but without intention
Because
Insecurities are my mind's
Greatest invention.
Alluded to harshly
In regard to "pretention."
L**onely but loved, despite the contention.

Aggravating, but without intention
Because
Insecurities are my mind's
Greatest invention.
Alluded to harshly
In regard to "pretention."
L**onely but loved, despite the contention.

I wouldn't dare to look someone straight in the eyes for a moment before. Because they would see something, some place, some figments of memory stored in me.  A certain feeling, and if one would really look closely—someone’s face.

They would see how empty I was inside, and how convincingly full I am on the outside, and how I mastered the art of pretention.
They would see how I wanted for someone like them to want me.
They would see that beyond this lifeless, cold pair of eyes were a thousand rainbows of unchased dreams and a sky filled with unrealistic dreams. How I wanted to be wanted. And above all;
how I want to be found.

They would see the fears I have withheld through the years,
The emotions I have keep to tuck inside me whenever I am blinded that they are there

The sparks of sadness I hide
The truth I have made to abide

Most people would look away, and tried to unseen what they have seen, and smile awkwardly and move on with their lives. And when that moment of detachment happens, even if it were in a blink of an eye, everything would be gone. The magic, if there was any. The connection, if I have made any. Even the sense of being there would be gone. Even the coldness. Even the warmth.
And even me. I would be gone as well.

Once someone retracts from staring back at me, and so does I.
There is nothing more painful than the idea of someone to avoiding their visions away from yours.
It’s like avoiding their lives with yours.
Some people would say miracles doesn’t at all happen, but I believe they do, somehow.

And that’s when someone look back right at me and actually, stay.

The Jezebel
Screamth, Not I.
My ******* though dun
Nay, not I.

Forbidden from silence
Banned from breath
The words come spilling
Manned by wrath

My heart lies with you
Of the sorrow that’s within
Fate comes unwilling
Betraying our last wish

Thy spirit soars
Well past the hourglass
And you think I’m thankful
For what is beholden

But again, I say
Not I, not I
My hairs be wires
What belies compare

Beauty without beholder
Leaves room for the wilder

Dame, pretention knows no bounds
Hate hold thy ground

Your pretention pushes my patience
As you spit sounds of spite
And unnecessary nags of advice
That just no one want to witness
Let alone be unfortunate to listen to
Each time your mouth open my sole shivers
And I take another chunk out of my tongue
How unfortunate that we met
And worse still that you linger on
Counting down till we part pleases me
As for you does constantly condescending pleasant people
You relish moments to relive unrelated memories
And if moments not given you steal a snap of someone else’s
So take your stupid smug stories
And over-generous giving’s of patronizing help
Far far and then further away from me

These days, the sun sleeps against
a wistful twisting of violet blue.
Pretention? Brake pad. You
told me that
my cadence is lyrical,
so, which is it, Mister?

I know myself to hell.
The mistake I keep making
is letting another tell
me they know me
just as well.

I mean, maybe.
I mean, maybe.

-- though, the more often you say it,
I can't help but think that the odds
come up in your favor ever less.

I know myself to hell.
The mistake I keep making
is letting another tell
me they know me
just as well.

someone stepped on my neck
while I was asleep
and pushed
until my veins
to my brain
were nothing more than
pressed flowers between
chapters of some book
butchered

no blood in the pages
just oceans of emotion
and empty words
to be swallowed
swished around
tasted
spit out
and extracted to ultimate
pretention

I find myself trying to ger your attention
And I find it hilarious how you once said,
'You'll always have my attention, no matter the pretention'
Look how the tables have turned.
It's different to be on the side,
That one promised you'd never have to abide by.
Its even harder to accept.
That the love they left behind,
The one they said would never deminish
Not even through tough times.
Was a promise made, only by a window of opportunity.
Forcing you to stay.
So now I sit here no longer able to feel.
No longer trusted or judged
Because im starstruck,
By a false promise made.

Badly need someone to lean on
My knees are weak, so faint and down-and-out
My tears are falling, my pretention is over.

You *******
Aka D.H.
by Ryan P. Kinney

You have potential
You have talent
So much so that it ****** me off to see you self-justify your own apathy
To make excuses why you are afraid to face the world.
To hear you give another reason why you are superior to the world in which you cower from.

You are capable of all that I have achieved.
We are only temporally separated.

I see a weak and pathetic child
Terrified of the changing world around you.
And while you are hobbled in hiding from this brave new world
You fester pretention
And waste your abilities
Getting more disillusioned and bitter as the days pass.

The world is not what you want.
It is not what you perceive.
So you cry about it.
And then pout
Saying, “I’m too good for it anyways.”
What could be more childish?

You lash out at your friends.
Attack their ideas and dreams
Because you’re so insecure of your own.
You are an intellectual bully.
I welcome new ideas.
While you attack them.

I am sick of hearing about my ego
It’s huge. It’s raging and throbbing.
It’s not just a metaphor. It is my ****.
My ego appreciates the attention

But, like the child throwing a tantrum
That you claim I am
You got what you want
Here we are, paying attention to you
And reacting to your ego

So go ahead, criticize me from your ivory tower of decaying domestic and psychological material.
Trying to kick your own dirt into our minds.

And my house, Its achievement is just as admirable as my college degree.
It may be a thing, a material, but the knowledge I gained in building my temple of self-worship is just as valuable as that I earned in college.
It is a superficial material possession, but it’s also a symbol.
It represents my journey, with steps I have taken that you will never imagine in your life.
My house is an art project, not just a shrine to my obvious American consumerism

Yes, it is a thing.
But then, so are you.
And one is far more impressive than the other.
One has had more life in it that the other.

Yes, I have stuff.
And I do lord my stuff over you,
As an example of the actions I’ve put behind my words.
I’ve worked,
While you’ve failed your days away.

I am a child that really enjoys his toys.
You are one who really enjoys telling others what they should do with theirs.
Jealous that you have none of your own.
You covet what I have.
You want what I have, but lack the determination it takes to get it.

You try to belittle my accomplishments and possessions.
Because you have so little of your own.
Grow up.

Your air of undeserved pride?
You’ve accomplished little.
I’ve accomplished little,
But my little is in comparison to the totality of my drive and desire.
And your little is sadly,
Only quantitative.

I use abstracts and circular logic
Because all of our existence is built upon fallible logic,
Perceptions of imaginations.
Life is circular.
It all repeats and falls in on itself.
I am sorry that you cannot see that my logic is a recognition of the balance in chaos.
The repeatability of all existence.
This has all happened before.
It will happen again.
Enjoy it and reassemble the time worn constituents of thought and experience into a perception of newness for you.

And here I am lecturing again.
Because you have so much to learn.
I have so much to learn.
It is not I who is so obstinate to new ideas that I reject all others
Simply because I think I am better than them

I do not think I am above or below you.
We stand on even planes.
It is called Earth.
Perhaps you should come back down here.
Step off your cloud.
Which, as soon as you realize is imaginary,
You will tumble from.

Join us here
We have so much to teach you.
Knowledge for knowledge’s sake.
Art for art’s sake.
Without the labels.

Who’s really superior?
Certainly not me.
You unbelievable *******.
So self-absorbed

You underestimate the tricks I have taught you, but do not hesitate to use them for yourself.
You are complicit in the crime of intellectual thievery.
And those tricks I’ve taught you
Which you dismiss so haphazardly,
Are nothing less than the sum total of my experience
The result of bleeding for life
Treat this knowledge with the respect it deserves

If I’m so morally repugnant then why do you still associate with me.
Because you are just as selfish and self-serving as me.
You’re just a weaker, chronologically repressed troll version of me.
Ryan, without the *****.

You have so little to flex your ego with
Oh sure, you have the mouth, but it means little in the face of your inaction.
The weight of words can only be felt when thrown by some action.
Stop wasting your time being useless.

You did say something in all your accusations that rang true.
I do fear being forgotten.
One day. Maybe I will stop fearing time so much.
One day I will wake up and realize that while I was fighting time
I filled it.
I gave it value, each minute of it.
Until then,
Enjoy the ride
And quit *******.

What are you
Oh mere human
With your expiry date
And the bag of meat and chemicals
You call yourself

Once your there
Whining and crying
A ***** filthy babe
In your mother's arms
Weak
Then phooof
Just like that, you're gone

You think your life matters
What you say? What you think?
You think the afternoons mulling over the pretentious thoughts you call "philosophy" are worth it?
You think there's a God?
You think Love exists?
It's all a sick pretention
That's all

You are a member of the **** sapiens
You eat, you excrete
You fight, you bite
You gnash your teeth
You scowl, you growl
You punch, you mate
You are an animal

And the worst thing is, you know it
You know all this
Yet you try to forget
You spend whole days
Thinking about the tissue that covers you skeletal frame
Is it black? Is it white? Yellow? Acne?
The little threads of protein on your skull
You love them, you fear losing them
You'll **** to have them stay
And when they go away, you think
That God hates you
Pathetic

You compare your bag of flesh
To those of the others
And you grade them
Putting some bags over others
Thinking them better and some worse
Tangled in your own illusive web of pretentions...

You long for people to Love you
How can they? When they hate their own guts?
They try to **** themselves
Who they are
Then when that works out better than they hoped and they feel even more
Unfulfilled and frustrated
They **** themselves, physically

Live with integrity
Love yourself,even if you're an ugly sore for the eyes
Even if your breath stinks
And your bald head makes the Sun feel ashamed
Even if you can't find someone who would love you
Live like you want to
With the least amount of regrets
Unleash the "thing" within you
The "thing" that is innocent,calm,loving, serene and alien
Do this
Because life is short
And you'll die soon
And no one has come back from the afterlife and told us
If they have coffee there
So at least, sit quietly and enjoy
A nice cup of coffee now and then
While you still can...

To win recognition
The love of my peers
Their words-now my word
Their battles-now my battles
My friends, their enemies-now my enemies
In so doing I won
Fame, flattery ,friends, fans
Yet, I lost one
One most precious–My soul.

So now when I look
At that silver screen
That pitiless creature
A visage I see
One tired of fake expressions
And empty emotions
A barren world of crags and cracks
Hidden beneath pretention and paint

This visage is not of mine but one of theirs
And I am it's bearer

Now I see a child
Among giants it walks
A mortal among gods
A god among mortals
Fearless in its visage
It follows itself and none other
Its face is jubilant with a light
A light of innocent wisdom--
Of righteous anger
It is a fertile world, lovely
With colours of life

Its words-the soul's song.

Because you let words fall
Like syrup from your lips,
Damp with sweet pretention,
I fold between your whims,
And hints of gratitude.

The phrases, words, and sighs
Lapping on your tongue
Betray consideration.
Reciprocated greed
Is all we have in common.

These are things which keep me awake in the abstract, apparitions of people form shadows and incline towards petals that bough beyond brevity and pretention
Sure, I was your courage soul, stuck in the wind, stuck on the road, the journey had become terse

aren't we all simply collections
of our inflictions
and weakest actions

misguided directions
assuming perfection
trying what we can to
keep up pretention

i wish we remembered
breathing
to live with momentum

fearlessly
moving mountains
entering eden
with welcome

All our worldly concerns like “dress to impress”
Aren’t as compelling as one might
Suggest.
All of our tongues from which flavors burn
Cool for a moment if only to
Atest.
We love ourselves, but is there room
For anybody else?

We wonder and we wander, so conflicted, so
Consumed. Is there room?
Is there room for space beneath a blockade?
Is there room for a resource once we’ve failed to trade?
Is there room for a skylight? Is there room for a window?
Is there room for a fence? For a garden? A train?
Is there room for a crashing—even room for a plane?
For a little apprehension in discreetness, pretention refined?
For uncertainty to seize and sketch a new line?

Is there room for a golf course with no goals to score?
Is there room for a surplus? A healer? A sore?
Is there room for transitions, abrupt and alive?
Is there room for a smooth one to sweeten the hive?
Is there room for my words not to speak, but to be?
Is there room for an actress? A worker? A me?

(Is there room for me?
Could you please save room for me?)

Is there room for my cruelty, my ugliness, dreams?
Is there room for my whispers, my slyness, my screams?
Is there room for expressions that paint out my face?
Is there room for the wisdom of the ambigui—vague?

Is there room for a melting of gray?
And the paintings of landscapes
To blur, glisten, fade?

Is there room to be together? Is there room to be alone?
Is there room for distant travels or an inconsistent home?
Is there room to be a “know-it-all”? Is there room to be agnostic?
Is there room to be the dullest point? Is there room to cool the caustic?
Is there room to stand untainted? Is there room to take abuse?
Is there room to fake it ‘till you make it’? Is there room to praise misuse?

Is there room?

Is there room for spoken bits of hardships, easiness unsaid?
Is there room to catch a net of life? Is there room to render dead?
Is there room to illuminate the sinner
Or to cultivate the sister?
Is there room to watch time’s thickness grow?
Is there room to question, room to know?

Is there room?

And could we please
Move soon?

Heart as one, could we be honest with each other
Body as one, the body stops on free crusts of pizza
Soul as one, without pizazz telling us how to die with the triumphant
I ask you where do we add and make two?
Truth is a rudimentary thought, that lacks pretention, but, not imagination
Freedom gives us thorough doubts on war, but, brings peace to the children and rib-scares to adults
Adulation is panic in the livid dichotomy, do a little and there's entropy

I leave the crusts of the pizza, and that causes panic
Freedom of choice, kinda cheesy
Like all imaginative things, love is the flower let it grow

I was lonely and looking for the answers
in every stranger’s eyes as far as I could see.
I ended up compromising all that I believed.
Until the day I recognized, I wasn’t being me.
I wasn’t being me.

Now let me tell you I am who I am.
And who I am is good enough for me.
I am who I am without pretention.
Upon exam you’ll see that I’m totally free,
without reserve.
If I hit a nerve in you, I’m sorry.
But nothing’s going to stop me from being me.
I got to be me.