Septuagint prince scribing on scrivello detail
Emerges from the frogmarch grave of revenants sheepish about ghoulish masquerade
The tribes whittle puckered shibboleths and charismatic vengeance evades
The henpeck of roosters harmonizing sand into grassy knolls of carapace cathedral light
Walks beyond the whimsical despair the conniving conservatories of manufactured fright
Spurned by smokestack confusion above a plastered reconnaissance of abundant life flocking between small awakenings curtailed by fulgurant swelters of blistering white
The spectral dance assumes primordial shades to dampen the windowed elegance of betrayal complicit in the haze
Mojo’s rise and fall with moonshot decades flashing intimacy lived twice barking like a squelched gyrovague relishing the kantikoys of burlesque night
And yet among the bemused stars unbuttoned by the prolixity of the Russia ruse the smear indelible flaunts with decadence in the pleonasm of sluggish articles of flight
How long must the messianic age shelter the nebbich halls of crambazzled piety in science to an upbringing of oligochrome
How many dastardly wernaggles of the rusticated elitism flomp with desultory banquets reminiscent of boiling Rome
Incinerated in an ageless day revived only after a historic lapse of barbarity in the ferule exacted such immeasurable despair
That the prejudice of pride is forever shelved as redundant because the filigrees of geometry only permit curvature in flatness
Convex movements captured in still-framed pillories refract nothing but Blazing Saddles of a caricature full-bloom sun
Yet we marvel at storybook ghosts and the isangelous carapace of marauding instincts forever brave and encaged
Erratic by delivery but sciamachy knows no identifiable age
Scrawny fossarians dig entrenched charnels voraginous with skeletons of brackish regelation enthused by immemorial decay
Must we abridge a hearty ocean in a month’s sublime regaled design of trespasses of unsung heyday spaying its weakest defrocked knight
Armed to the Teeth we seek the terminus of apocalyptic capsules destined for gluttons braving annihilation in the vacuum of orbital planes plain only to the ken of the keenest sight
No we make no petitions in prayer for this Soft Parade of vigor verging on flair
We ransack littoral virtues in nexility bronzed with Stayin’ Alive shoes in remission of staircase blight
Beamish in beatitudes of milquetoast pregnancies of salted Matzah brimming in the yeasts of cesspool emergent from scarecrow metaphors flagrant hauteur gliding on air
Witness the spearhead of revolution in the metagnomy of oracular aubades to future brimstone caverns
Lurking like counterstrokes in revision blackguarded by the feisty prowl of outpaced labtebricole whipsaws of timber readied into foisted brown-brick comestion of elegant emerald errors
Dancing with galactic improvidence concealed by the rigor of lurched liars enthroned with prerogatives of stain-glass adumbration
We parcel up parsecs because clairvoyance among titans is a swank in need of 20/08 visions spectral in the clouds of all prominent registries of memory
Lost to faint delicacies of swift serpents outlasting gnats in the tabernacles of ribald ecbolic promontories on the verge of futile tomorrow pastimes spinsters flummox with slimmerback rigmarole flanged by whinks and escorted by the maskirovka of positive bears in absolute value alone
Yet Enola Gay found its destruction profitable to hominist lore enough to attenuate its evaporation of suffrage in the glint of pervasive remedies to stranded gore
Embanked on the sidelines of conquistador flaunts that a Titanic missive of classy regard found the damsel at the steerage slipping on zalkengur irony the anticlimax of lore
Traipsing fellowship of many a ring is a phony artifice for an ostentation that bellows so loudly when isolated perjury must not whimper but sing
The loudest plaudits afforded to a parallax incumbent white horse in the shadow of Dark Horse occultism a barbed flying wing of the West becoming the king of behest
Scurrilous are many jeers because their similes are baseline just as much as the storged conglomerate behind ensnared rapture looming with less ecstasy and blunt fear remains the kilmarge of simple foresight wrinkled behind the sum of many tears
We await our Creator’s Throne insuperable even with the blandishment of piecemeal craters that are superlative bolides of the weirdest attenuated into the spectrum of eldritch weird
Yet the riches of hobohemia found in “invisible lockets” worn by the travesty of jerseys measuring up to Roadhouse beer
The cartels of citadel cascades built on mountebank fortunes reaped from venal psephology collectively embody the unconscious gamut of javelin cloaks of sardonic sneer
Threnodies written long ago in the Hidden Tracks of sophistry welcome the intermissions of antiquity abridging the donnybrooks of charlatans bossed around by facetious gibes of manicured belletrist humid enough that evaporation itself of rarefied tabacosis has few if any peers
Yet the peerless sketch thrombosis in the oxygeusia of deceptive schadenfreude only to topple jengadangles that glabrous gravity muscles to barely if it all steer
In a vacant reality eager for surrealist bounty the sidereal question of moribund placards supplanted by vibrant living semaphores fixates upon figments of acatalepsy rather than ruddy enumerations of partition despite beloved chalky rudiments filibustering with courtesy rather than jeer
Amicable are ravenous betrayals for chieftains cloffined by warm sapwood integral to equated tantamount mountains festooning firmaments in quaffed delights rigid and keen
The most welcomed blasphemy fragrant with jejune originality celluloid enamors splenetic with sprees of perishable profanity lurking ever more obscene
Regaled in the modest jostle is the forsifamiliation of heterodyne dins of honest applause from the blackguarded periphery among which there are no visible beacons no visible stars
Scarred by diacope enumerated in prescient revelry the trollops of tune and attunement magnetize a riveting weld of seamless geometry that is permeable to ineffable lychgates both porous with prowess and ajar against a golfer’s remediable par
Wizened ghosts flirt with tucked bushes in the forlorn deserts jolted by oasis and flagrant with confection torn asunder by wide-eyed gallantry skipping stones on ataraxia from a distraught afar
That lake of goldmines is scattershot with limey limelight squandered on profligate wrikponds of propinquity but not prolixity in scores and bounties of exoticism in glaikery’s fugitive charm
In proximity there is usucaption but the usufruct of sustainable obelisks to liberty must have the forbearance to bear many witnessed eyes to the Right to Bear Arms
Skirmishes of benighted fracking obsolescence ragged with vitriol and poison-ivy nostalgia flaunt the bromides of algedonic flash over consequences that many disregard
Spiraling with vertiginous pain the scowl of obligation is both seamstress of emblazoned effronteries and the proper reflection of seasoned but not seasonable garb
This barbed quandary riddled with rapacious tendency mixed with myopic bonhomie devours a rickety cacophony of diminutive scopes of ******’s glare to prove each atomic indivisible atrocity a carbonated fulmination heavily barbed
This is all why the killjoys monopolize their gangster vices behind tinted windows and chockablock morality are uxorious bridewells for the bridgewater of garbology sketched by vanity in the outrecuidance of gallionic chasms of an absolute value of firebrand regard
No difference does it make if the recoil is whimpered by hordes of sheep in pretenses of authenticity or whether decapitated delopes emerge from visagist dacoitage snuffed like flavors orbiting self-injury by clockwork towers apace to outlast tertiary bribes for secondary bards
The atocia of freckles in recognition of frail pinnacles summited by daily alpine dilettantist dualisms of polarity are a gullywasher to cleanse and launder indelible regrets carved by aboriginal pottery to memorialize primordial penury
As the slick oleaginous tilts of wicked smart Northeasters swarm the hindsight of Southern Weather afflicted by tempests beleaguered first on recapitulations of Calvary and then deposited evidence upon bourgeoisie
Fumes of the modest flambeaus torching sunken apostasies of hungry spasms of the wind meeting the brusque celerity of the ribald waves rarely etch sublime hint in etch-a-sketch lapses of untimely mobility
Instead that perspicacity of conservatory silence bludgeons Lisbon in the fright before the fall of so many a Phoenix in a foreign land can bear the assaults of the heaved seas
Lambent upon a craggy regularity extinguished by sentinels of the tattered womb for a grimace of prestige by primipara seduction we find no justice of known and knowable terminal disease
Figurative in spoken wisps that predate evaporated concepts of precipitous time the triumph of exalted adoration belongs to hubris but vacant of the prideful decline of crime
To each outspoken verve witnessed on sublunary turf the absolution is nearer to fertility than the craggy soil is to dirt as blemished prowess is a furlough to the sensitive pink tucked manifold beneath each authentic skirt
Liberated by ophelimity but flexed by vicarious pomp in serenade only of hauteur for the hottest we slice and dice a cavern of temptations regardless of enumerated patterns of clearly lopsided dice
We think we live and die but You Only Live Twice in ******* to the oriental bolides of meteoric meteorology preeminent in governing plantations of rice
In jubilant proclamation, I graft from venereal skin a renewed girth of purpose that all enchanted fantasia is a birthright of pleasure more than a vapid drawl of purpose
Glitter bores the scintillation of a denuded naked glory of gore because intimacy is antecedent and consequent to immovable revolutionary procreation of service
To conclude this homily the apothecary in persiflage renounces the role of kilns in both poverty and pottery because his shaken dreams are yelps of a disgusted ornery camaraderie
Listless by oracular dreams of titanic parvenus immune to the sway of tentative croons of Suburban Muse because the grisly subversion of vetust honor that honors not verdict but version of ghastly spools of flimsy epitaphs and not the paragon surgeon is the downfall of a diatribe of petty men
Littering their taradiddles on owleries in overclocked jaundice drowning for purpose among hatcheries of the privvy roosters that own the consequence of audacious pens
Dodgy in interrogation, flummoxed with deracination, isolated by time for time’s recapitulation of surrender in katzenjammer vibes it is time for gossamer servant surfers to borrow nine and hang ten
But the noose of the wednongue nun specializes in puritanical Model Ts for DeLoreans trendsetting years ago because listless lethargy benights the glory that cineastes already won
Teeming on the brink of tomorrow is the progeny of hopeless yesteryear engraved on the iconoclasm of the weak after the next debacle because the Earth after Christ has already borne a Ton
Liturgies revised to reflect corsair trigonometry aimed forever at zephyrs of plight bathe in July 3rd infamy doctored by Generators and Generations before and beyond Walter White menacing the saber with imperious might
Flowered in the nuisance of death is the womb of the arena participant to infinite relapses of contention gladiatorial only when the shunamitism of shanachies sheds serpentine grit for the blench of ligonies of redoubled sight
Towering from the knave inferno of a tramontane elusive cordial imitation of captive citizens of attentive sites the illusion is the vanguard of centuries guarded gingerly by Canada Dry sprites
Rollicking in vehement magpiety attuned to machismo if marginally the sultry philander of naked ruse medicates the charmed Apache Indian on his brief encounters with limousine cruise
Stark in sunken destination glimpsing coal-fire recursive ironies the cloned subversion is a golden calf so effete because it never moos about instinctual muse relegated by twin terrors riddled with sparkplug truce
Limited by scopes enlarged by scales mired in funereal pyres to rigmarole sensationalism worthy of nativist coercion and pivoted lyres the riddle of terminus remains an acquiescent scoff, cough and quaff that never expires
It reaches planetary dread of vast distances regaled against gambits of the spread so the richest sourdough appeases the riper vipers of the nested bed
Recalcitrant with frugal uxorious creed the leader of esquivalience is the headless horseman of innumerable tractions but no mouth to feed
He digests the gallop of the gallant interregnum specious in caitiff ploys and the recessive allele of commiserations against the piety of apolaustic joy because rambunctious speed always attracts a resignation professed from the tailspin of a crass voyage of ludic greed
Tricksters boast of passionate lubrications of finessed bread recocted from useless toasts glowering with insipid pallor as heat and humidity reckon billows of hype congregated more in cisterns of apostasy for remark than a marksman headshot of a Head Hunter wed tightly to a pregnable visions of proactive Ghost
Recidivism and time have a vendetta against verdant drolleries coated by waxen plenilune accordions rampant with polyacoustic rhymes
The tridents of mercurial weather bent on the ineffable vacillations of whether are the brazen opponent of Sterling fatherhood of life’s only father the clockwork animation of a living patronage of eternal existence cobbled from immutable time
To the glory of the Father the sun shades its whimpers and the moon alights as the frontispiece of nocturnal revisions to the New York Times but the hues of rocketed ingenuity coax the ingratiated few to the laureates of genius reckoned with both designation and superlative artifacts of pristine design
Haunted by Green-Light Politics for Greener-Eyed Ladies masquerading in star-crossed tomes of existential dread of lollygagged playful mischief tucked in the coach as he leads his team with sophrosyne feel-good invictive treacle we witness the fumiducts of fortune blitzing Hail Mary contrition with earnest specialty in defense of offensive precision
Games won by the squirrel are outnumbered by the stars in the heavens flagrantly devoid of specialized electricity enough to encapsulate the ommateum of collectivized insights found only in the most evolved sequence of cell division
Incarcerated by the scrappy schlep of bad beats and bronzed chariots roiled by the momentum of angular spears we seek oracular transcendence that cements decades into the span of days that portend the deliverance of future years from past and present fears
Presiding as proctor in the redacted exoneration of crash-course pilots glowering with the effluvium of recensed perdition the heyday of one becomes the mayday of anarchy tested only by the alacrity of the summation of its beloved yet maligned cheers
Against a prosperity hard-won by earnest husbandry commandeered by gammerstang notoriety spawning the recrimination of star power into centupled peers negligent of zero-sum opinionation wagered by Country Club fraternities embedded in the taxonomy of wilted hackumber for hegiras minimized by outcry but cemented by Dear Johns’ twinged with sultry pleonexia in taxed tears
So with the whipsaw of the individual between the collective funnel and the idiosyncratic insubordination that amplifies outcry galvanized throes of insemination built on cross-pollination is melliferous to a pretense of alchemy outstretched to sidereal wonder
Hardest to guess is intimacy clothed in Platonic virtues crumbling because puritanical pilgrimage is appraised as a joyous thunder for a abnegation from all potential blunders
To wager such a life is a depredation of the abundance that John breathes as a ceremonial birthright cast aside by latent regrets stampeding the realm of nosocomial reflections of the pallor of a lurid squander
So we are left to bemuse the decrepit bodewash of realism taken to such a virulent extreme it leaves few artifacts of nostalgia to croon about and ponder and fewer abstractions to yield to manicures of elegant troponder
Diminutive sinews in the intertesselations of heft profess a fidelity of notoriety carving life before and after death
Unsung by the beadledom of the usucaption of exotic tailored musician brutes upon my landlocked assault of chryselephantine usufruct I lampoon nescience as it lurks in murky graveyards of anoegenetic zombies covered in thick pigments of piggish soot
Yet this fuliginous bronteum of warped clarity transfixed by the ulterior wednongues of atrocious spans of provenance jilting providence makes betting interests of rivalry outcomes harder to win earnest roots
The trees of the gamboled skittish resignation of checkered blinks obscuring the curtailed discernment of bedizened slogans of future campaigns yet distasteful in ornery churning the bootstrapped tie their tethered laces to their acquired boots
Barnstorming through afflicted spandrels of abeyance shepherded by notions of public dereliction by imperium of centrobaric centripetal philters of concubine rhymes I surge beneath cordial flonky redhibition because of redshorts in estimable traction cemented by supernal design
Weak in luster my potent pollination for synergistic aplomb evades the fringe of corrugated affections mounted upon quixotic escapades of jockeyed statistics flourishing by reticence rather than frazzling the prolix emulation filibustering the mundane ignorance but garnering the harvest of the plevisable sequence from prime to prime indivisible by liberty alone or complicit with cadence sublime
Finishing the sermons of modern apostasy to a gallant cause my laments outnumber the muzzles belonging to the quorum of begrudged applause in the rawest spectacle of unheralded genius clawing insistently at the heart of electric gravity
The nuances of plausible nuisance bicker in emerald harlots of the tantamount nature of derelict frikmag to calculated prosodemic solidarity around insanity because the vein of the golden ore should see ivoride as nullification and inanity
We all stoop on counterfeit stencils of pretense hearkening a clairvoyant sun to droop for closer inspection but detective remonstrance is outmoded by dreary witless defections
Thus the drawl scrawled by the genius flonky in gadzookerie but gilded in rhapsodies of ineffable cadence fighting orthodoxy to a relegated draw sketches the outline of the special talents of lying claws
Because stipulated in the vast oversight that predicates reprisals of retches glazing in obtuse effronteries with eccedentesiast odontoloxia we witness the corrosion of race and gender into pontificating audits of nomadic treason in a fortress militarized by niche applause
Trickling from repcrevel faucets implicit degradation is a casual casualty of an abbreviated motive gestured in ponderous stupidity to distract abiding legislation into the giggled gaggle of tinsellated glitter
Fatuous by vacuums of gaudy prizes worthy only of token motions rather than locomotive strains of virulent and compassionate respect lapsed on vigors of vehement regret is a sing-song ridicule of a still-framed pillory erected as the obstacle that gouges the riddles of impediment and deprives the luxury of preferential emolument siphoned off to lurid jeers of mockery propaganda sizzling in the cauldrons of tilted marginalization
So we witness the faded declension of the hubris of fair-weather camaraderie as a flux dispersal of invidious buoyant bloviated streaks of temporal grit into inverted revelry never shared by the proper ubiquity of streams of personal recompense for plodding fragments of invasion
If I veer away from bickering cackles of denounced preeminence swiveled to face the shadows upon the great cavern of insuperable bounds of fickle human ignorance I deplore the vaunted toadies that shrink my shadow and diminish my viable conceptual and vibrant footprints
Few extinct creatures know the annihilation of petty fame quaffed on Whiskey Bars I never met because the insipid banal pleonasms of restructured irony grimace at my complexion as the scent of the game alerts the foibles of a champion begotten once before as a shark-tank prince
Livid is my grief in the aborning moral quandary of sunken priority overlapping with piebald skeumorphs of retches of blinkered allegiance faltering prior to the primary day of my true awakening because the completion of nesiote subterfuge  rusts on creaky hinges of noncommittal regressions of pointed but pointless deluge
I spar with the augury of irrelevance with a five-pointed star bequeathing rigid but plentiful provision to assist with more than a petty dime of tithe to a 20/20 flash of perfect prescience and hallowed vision
The eve of all destruction is the lollygag of subordinate squawks redacting convenient priorities on the slowpoke walks through teenage immaturity found in the infamous “talk” that the world is governed by evasion in supremacy rather than by the bywords of the perennial stocks in sublime stalks
This nation perishes with my visionary clarity because the bifocal constraints of delimited defenestration remands my custody beneath ****** upheaval documented by useless historians of deliberation in gaffe and ammunition for agitprop flickering away the aubades of praise for the stilted pretense of sclerotic values inflexible to authorship thus scuttled by crowdsourced dictatorship
How sad a spate that the welters of sciamachy hide behind the glaring shadow of immeasurable genius for an unwarranted earwig to steal the echoes of my thunder and poison the servitude of the minions to companionship to highlight aggrieved infamy over walloping feats of refrain found in an isolated rather than protracted celebrity
The guilt of the reproachable beams through the frikmag of tyrannical bouts of circular wernaggle as I carve spherical reckoning that outstretches in all viable directions so that “The Mailman” and the Male Man both succeed in historic insurrection
Flashy benumbed brutish ferules of ferocious dainty dances with an arbitrary cage highlighted among a voiceless heyday for an auditorium which perceives insanity more dangerous than inanity is a profane stipulation by wrinkled mediagenic hubris which scours planetary limitations for excuse to recourse and recourse to excuse
We find marvels in subtlety finicky on the apothegms of heterochrony divergent even further from syndication as the regimented nuances of abuse become plucky daredevils that cozen robust vital sapwood from anglers seizing by seizure the roundabout logic of the innumerable minority characterized forever obtuse
I writhe in delicate contortions of flexed directional bypass surmounting orthodromic velocities capering with the anenometers that spar against spangled enthusiasm only to become an anointed slave of the flagging moral resolve fulminating a huffed crusade with silentiums of false asylum for true achievement brusque against any resourceful tempest scurrying the hidebound illusion of pandemonium for scrappy shenanigans of vergers and emptied pews griping with the dearth of the day-to-day despite the known tomorrow
We cannot affix primary focus upon constellated wasms of puckered abstention borrowed from a maskirovka of secret hedonism wed to many vices among wives but deprived of sacrosanct remuneration for abiding expenses yet an atoll upon a continent decisive in its aborning revolution
Ribald wiseacres of a jovial dismay flanged on rectiserial exaggerations of sebastomania is a stranded frigate of a fugitive escapism wandering with nomadic insistence against cosseted blackguard of assertion without plenipotentiary verdicts against the suborned crater of overstated flimsy truculence in sardonic dissolution
In trespass of a reservation of recoiled tender of tutelage proctoring unseemly haggardly refuse to creak into noisome and noisy cacophony armed by centurions of merciless scorn that lackadaisical winter belies the meteoric riches of autumn mainour fungible with the retches of remorseful decay dangling retreat above entreaty for exasperated wednongues lacking curiosity or the backbite of counterfeit engastrimyths seeding an unknowing complicity to fallacy forked over by chiefs and chefs to an amounted dubiety reserves the armaments of glib sedition for inopportune blacklists by a whitewashed Listerine amenable to launder travestime into oversight rather than belabor banal graft upon the agelasts of a toilsome operose labor to trivialize Herculean monuments to creativity as backwater residence of restive plucky percurrent revivals of infamy as a primary thorn rather than a secondary abreaction
Sentinels swift to the expedited squalor intrepid in sclerotic simpers of renowned defalcation bludgeoned by the tridents of harmonized trauma healing the brayed complaint while regaining the quixotic statute of plevisable mobility belongs to the froward counterpunch to the flippant underminnow of savagery yet among noble personage a blip on furloughs rather than a singed diacope perishing in Wasting Light for denuded darkness to supplant the vacated stage of ironic upbringing bartered from a treasury of obsolete wasms of trivial shadows in the amounted lineage of time.
Elected by the purblind fudged cadge of intransigent solidarity behind unhinged proclamations of lewd lunacy the reset of wibble-wabble and conflagrations of trenchant visibility will cloud the cloudiest tempest with hurricane-force devastation by the healing stripes of the piebald idiosyncrasy of gerrymandered defamation failing where insular regeneration outlasts hamartia and blinkered foibles of girouettism to pillory the excess but not transmogrify the whittled progress of seminal generativity unbounded by harped lyres of discord for secret concords of select femicide
With outstretched hands I point to the tapestry of the Heavens as eternal folksy witness that to endear the temperance of time bullishly roaring on the laureates of prolific servitude to the malleable substance of capered argument the enigmatic punctuation outweighs the baragnosis of miscreant opportune glares at personal prospect for aggrieved sockdolagers of redstrall over the filigrees of innate geometry to cackle above the shouted gnash and the dissoluble squirms of blackened cremation of living memories into insipid fracking of sapwood caitiffs flowing on the motion of discredit rather than honor in valuable endeavor for future genuflection
Totems value me as much as they stalk grazed hinderbaggle of cosmetic devolution of ragged popcorn theatrics in the desuetude of normative ethics beneath the carcass of rotten dastardly cowardice brandishing an ulterior discretion beneath the level of the lowest stoop of any breed founded on loyalty verging into flagrant snipers of integrity for the integral unshakable paragon of broad illumination the guidepost for many spectral truths overshadowed by one miserly fool flummoxing with albatross without the overhang  of pluvious integrity shepherding his hauteur in zig-zagged wallops rather than buoyant serenades
Thus entrenched in juicy poignant barricades against virulent spawn of the katzenjammers of squawking femicide I spout the blossom, bequeath the gift, renounce the delusion and form a formidable bastion against depredated valleys blemished from sight by intolerable patches of darkened verdure hiding from commonwealth perception the pearl of ecumenical salvation swimming in the naked tongues of honest profession dancing with conventional demarcated demerits of Rimbaud ramshackle deracination as a humdrum belittled squander of a prop of craven filibuster rather than beavers outsmarting the delignated destruction of habitat because of outright distaste for plucky individuation above the squalor of relativism in minor octaves of gnashed betrayal rigged by hamsters rather than owned by the men trigger-happy with rat race motivation only to the servitude of degrees rather than plausible recovery embedded into the fabric of fickle society
Hidebound tomes fishing for destruction but grappling with the enormity of the plagued pitfall of ceramic skirmish with brittle conscience emerge with epincion rather than sulk in brooded hyperbole of convenient drapes of flocks postulating irrelevance clearly in the light of the truest day frolicking with gigantic swaddles of curated support etching masterpieces of traipse into the frescades of future calenture beyond the petty misestimation of hemitery politics
Thus the weapon serves two masters of row rather than regatta and the besieged rankles the testy predicament to a teased poetry riveted by years of rhapsody rather than moments of tomfoolery emergent victorious rather than dilapidated by what-could-have-been chary brinkmanship on the precipice of modern sacrilege
To instruct the herds of men to hoard and the wisdom of the wise to circulate that apothegm of reclamation owns superlative traction fundamental to whimsical festivity even forsaken on a churlish masquerade outmantled by frenetic activity famigerated by the true Richter Scale of public fanfaronade because justice is truth and only in germane truth beyond germ scares will decrepit scarecrows demolish their Fear Factor even when the gullible squirm for nexility on bounded continents rather than novantique frontiers
Conscription demarches for assembly beyond relegation and celebrity above frays of discordant rumination feasting advenient rather than cherishing internal and integral the virtuoso wrabble of residue generations churning wheels of acceleration rather than quibbling extinguished vitality as principal complaint exercised in negligent abodes of facetious barnacles to outlandish freckles in the majestic pulchritude of a Titanic salvation beyond and considering the curglaff of sunken resources pitted to my registry by slot-machine audiences incognizant of brittle whittled henpecks of adoring truth and perdurable verve
We sink and die by destructive tongues but abide and live by righteous exemplary prowess capable of scraping the towering canvass of the firmament and the retches of the deepest sea inhabited by any curiosity worthy of emolument
So in token liturgy I decry sidelong cursory squandered affronts that drive the Jehus madcap with fractious celerities of formal destitution rampant on flonky menace rather than modern hypertrophy
In The End, we see triumph in every nuance and bristling concord with every perspiration of ennobled effort truckling into serrated selachostomous and fractious bromides of wrecking-ball fashionistas fumigating cultural pederasty with subtle bailiwick but ragged travesties of taxidermy celluloid
Marvel in-between the serenade and grandstand and cull the turnverein of triumph from banished evasive rundles of the outlasted calculus to neuter the estranged and to estrange the atocia of vibrant surreal vibes no stranger to an alien hand in a desolate world.

Is this soliloquy fun?
Of good men, I'd like to meet just one,
Isn't snivelling fun?
There's a comedic part of this,
Inner whinese is a lovely chick,
How do oldies get proactive?
Soliloquy of an old woman,
To whom do you reach a hand?
You got the best of men,
I got the worst of men....
This is a soliloquy of one,
Isn't snivelling fun?

proactive can be poetry
can be passive listening

proactive can be prayer
can be a looking

proactive can be silent
can be silence

proactive can be soul
can be a furnace.

By: Cedric McClester

Ya see the actual fact is
At times it’s not attractive
When we’re called to be proactive
Cos the atmosphere’s refractive
As if an insurmountable force
Things have suddenly changed course
And the protagonist has no remorse

Like the bullets a shooter packs
Or a freight train off the tracks
A reactionary reacts
Only to established facts

Don’t cha find it kinda strange
That we still argue climate change
After all those hurricanes
You’d think by now we’d use our brains
We’ve been shaken yet not stirred
Sumthin’ had to have occurred
Though silence is preferred
It should make us say my word

Like the bullets a shooter packs
Or a freight train off the tracks
A reactionary reacts
Only to established facts

And the argument’s been made
By the price already paid
For the groundwork to be laid
So our planet can be saved

And by now I think its clear
Just check out the atmosphere
Global warming would appear
To be already here
So it shouldn’t take much more
For the doubter to be sure
That the ozone layer’s core
Is sumthin we can’t ignore

Like the bullets a shooter packs
Or a freight train off the tracks
A reactionary reacts
Only to established facts

Ya see the actual fact is
At times it’s not attractive
When we’re called to be proactive
Cos the atmosphere’s refractive
As if an insurmountable force
Things have suddenly changed course
And the protagonist has no remorse




(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester.  All rights reserved.

   PSA: Poetic Service Announcement - written 05/01/2017
                                              
   Please feel free to share with established and future
   authors on FB.
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One of the toughest decisions, an author has to make, is the selection of a reliable publisher. With more than six months of personal experience, I have painfully learned that PBP (Published By Parables, headed by John Jeffries) is NOT one of them. For decades, I’ve listened to ministers tell me that “Mediocrity is not a hallmark of Christianity; it’s halfway between success and failure.”; and yet, the shoddy workmanship of transforming my manuscript into a usable PDF (that would produce the book) failed to even reach the level of mediocrity. I extend an apology to those, to whom a premature recommendation of PBP was given by me. Don’t repeat my mistake! Please. You’ll be grateful and thankful for heeding my warning.
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This company engages in deceptive practices and doesn’t operate with complete transparency. For example, it advertises that it will publish your book for free. While this is technically true, you will have to make an initial payment of $185; $35.00 for the copyright and the $150.00 for the ISBN-Barcode. In addition, John will subtlety lecture you, regarding why he won’t cover this expense and why you should.
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Before I began writing poetry seriously, I acquired 30 years of IT experience and 20 years of desktop publishing experience; so I understand conceptual ideas, the need for high standards and the importance of having a solid, but flexible framework. In addition, I was taught the criticality of working with a mindset of excellence- a topic taught by most ministers. One example is Titus 2:7-9, which states: In all things shewing thyself a pattern of good works: in doctrine shewing uncorruptness, gravity, sincerity, sound speech, that cannot be condemned; that he that is of the contrary part may be ashamed, having no evil thing to say of you.
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Computer templates, used in today’s bookmaking operations, are not meant to be static; rather they set an initial foundation from which work can begin. Given the style of my writing, PBP had agreed to modify the template being used, as to minimize the impact of my having to change my writing to accommodate the shortcomings of said template. I understood that this would possibly extend the timeframe to get my book constructed. I was okay with this and never rushed PBP in its efforts.
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With each iteration of manuscript changes, new random and unexpected problems began to appear; so I was blamed my project’s lack of progress, since the errors arose from PBP’s ongoing modification of my manuscript’s template. It’s unimportant to realize that ALL modifications to the template were made solely by PBP. PBP never reviewed an updated PDF before sending it to me; therefore, it became my responsibility to identify issues that resulted from the technical incompetence of PBP. So what if titles lost their boldface attribute, while the text of poems were inadvertently made boldface. So what if poems were displayed to the left of the left-hand margin, pages numbers were lost, or randomly displayed in boldface, or that page headers would be missing or cut in half- it was my fault for desiring a template customized to meet my personal need. So what if the page numbers were corrupted within my index of poems, from PBP inserting new pages into the beginning of my manuscript. So what if I was concerned that the index’s format was changed from the way I desired. Stuff happens and I need not concern myself over such details. Apparently I was delusional in thinking that I was responsible for the vision of my new book.
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And if that wasn’t enough fun, PBP would ignore some of my changes, such as inserting the occasional blank line, as well as making unauthorized modifications that included adding, replacing and deleting PBP graphics. One graphic I was fond of, PBP removed because its intended purpose is meant for “internal company use only”. Guess I’m just an unruly rebel for wanting to use it. Since he originally inserted it into my PDF, using it must have been initially okay. This incident is one of many that shows John’s lack of attention to detail.
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In addition, I was unreasonable for wanting my legal name displayed properly (so I can differentiate myself from the other “Joe Breunigs”; no offense guys!) That correction alone took John SIX MONTHS to address; my book’s title also created angst for PBP, since it contained an ellipsis. Twice I e-mailed instructions on how to insert one because he misplaced/lost the first correspondence. And so I was unreasonable once more, since his option of using three consecutive periods was deemed unacceptable by me. An ellipsis is my favorite punctuation mark; if he couldn’t handle my previous instructions, he could have COPIED IT DIRECTLY FROM MY MANUSCRIPT.
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John constantly complained about updating the template and the slow iterative process of making my book. At one point, John made the remark of how he had published two other titles during the timeframe my book was being worked on. As Christians, we get in trouble when we compare ourselves to others, since everyone’s journey is unique. So it’s clear that PBP’s intent was to manipulate me into feeling bad, regarding PBP’s lack of progress. Supposedly I was out of line for suggesting that he remember James 1:2-3, which teaches us: My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience. In discussions with PBP, I indicated that I have 15 complete and unpublished manuscripts of poetry. In addition, I stated that we would have the most hiccups during the creation of my first PBP, since we had no experience working together. Nor did PBP understand that this process of creating a personalized template for my work would save time during the construction of future titles- both for me and other poets. Should I apologize for forward thinking?
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Given the problems I was forced to face, doubt became evident in my selection of PBP; so I decided to ask more questions, to step up due diligence on my end; NONE of my follow-up questions were ANSWERED. I had the audacity to ask for a contract, how much I could expect to earn per copy sold, why PBP didn’t request my SSN and other questions of concern. I wanted to understand how to stop PBP from making unwanted changes or ignoring the ones I desired. One would like to think that a publisher would be appreciative of a proactive author, seeing that I have one title already. At one point, I had the false hope that my book could be completed by December 2016, but not in time for Christmas. Now we’re into May 2017.
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Nor was I ever allowed to see the prepared book cover- FOR MY BOOK! I was informed that I couldn’t be allowed to see it because the image MAY need to be re-sized. IMO, this is a ridiculous excuse. Since I never saw the cover, I was unable to either review it (for mistakes) or critique it. Supposedly the cover was made three months earlier; since I’ve not seen it, I must assume that PBP is not lying to me. And it was crazy of me to imagine using the graphic (OF MY BOOK) as a marketing tool to create excitement and interest in my latest title or possibly generate pre-order sales. When a publisher intentional decides to play games like this, does anyone else see this issue as a “Red Flag”?
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Caught between his impatience, unrepentant attitude and ability to be easily offended, John refused to apologize for his technical ineptitude and unwillingness to press forward; instead he chose to hide behind his spiritual authority (which I do not fall under); he essentially demanded that only I had the onus of forgiving him. After a weak and failed attempt to bully me into accepting substandard work, he later announced that he was quitting my project. In a phony letter of apology, John even implied that I needed to accept responsibility for the failure to get this book made, since I HAD CONTACTED PBP. In addition, he reiterated that PBP is a ministry; if that’s true, then why didn’t he demonstrate patience, perseverance and humility towards me or ensure quality of effort… as unto The Lord? Should PBP want to dispute my account, John should be reminded that I’ve retained a copy of various PDF iterations of my unmade book with the aforementioned issues.
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I took no pleasure in composing this PSA, but felt that it was my duty, to share my poor experience in dealing with a difficult publisher, to my writing communities. This notification could have been prevented, if John had repented, swallowed his pride and pushed forward to get my books made. Instead he chose to become an irrelevant part of my journey as an author, which is sad, since he acknowledged that I have a gift for writing poetry. IMHO, we the writing community, must be willing to stand up to publishers, since the responsibility (of the vision for our books) lies with us. We should be able to freely ask questions and have templates modified to suit the individuality of our books. Let your voice and concerns be heard. Please share this message with the writers you personally know. We should not be forced to accept shoddy work! John can be reached on FB at https://www.facebook.com/john.jeffries.33; the PBP website can be found by searching its full name. Please feel free to share this PSA on John’s page, so he understand the ramifications of his actions.
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'I've had my chances and I've been burned, but I wouldn't trade the pain for what I've learned'

too ****** true, listen you never can take away what you lost but you can take away a lesson learnt.

No-one is ever worth you makin yourself forget who you are and if they are, they are not the one. No wonder it never works if someone is controllin and manipulative and takes everything from you and worse still they blame you for it fallin apart and say things like 'i don't know who you are anymore' - well duh!!! ya think!

No wonder if they suffer some deep heartache and you just can't help make better, they can try to patch it up but if you can't actually dig it out and feel the pain and then try to heal it does that actually mean something - i'm not a fixer, i can't heal i aint frikkin jesus!!

No wonder they can't accept apologies because they think the world owes them somethin, and thats because they can't accept the world owes them nothin, you make your own choices, own decisions, own life. You make the choice to be happy, you make the choice to have a good day, you make the ****** choice!!!!

I am too tough and also too weak, i bend at rejection and balk at love, its a ying yang thing. I loose myself in relationships, fall far too easily for sweet words and a few kisses, but the *** is never good enough with the good people and the hugs just never quite reach all the way round, the actions speak louder than words!!

I have realised that life is funny old thing, but you know what i am proud of myself, i never give up until the last fight, i never walk away til there is nowhere left to walk. I am stronger than i realised and i am ready for a new life on my own and follow my path wherever it may take me

I love my son, he is the light of my life and i take it for granted sometimes until someone comes along and ***** him up, i mean two lesbian mums who don't get on, adopted from a druggie mum and then there's some girl(s) who take him and 'love' him like he is there's - no i don't think so....no i do not think so, you took his mums love and made it hurt, you made him see her cry, you made him ask questions he don't really understand and he misses you for no reason apart from the fact he thinks you are his best friend...he's 3 for gods sake

I am a passionate, proactive person, sometimes it don't come across right, i expect everyone to get it, i can write poetry from my heart and make my words come out right, but surely there are some people out there where this will make sense?

I am ready now, i am me, i am crazy, mad and up for life, i don't need no narcotics, i don't need no false hope or fake love. I want someone - not right now, but i want someone older, more emotional intelligent than a what i've had, and that can fight a good fight with me, tell me when to shut up because i go on...which i do, but you know what my voice is the strongest thing i have and i will fight with it till you have no more breathe to take, but then i will have no more breathe and you will have to catch me when i fall wherever i might be!!!

Loss only hurts when you realise where it comes from, this recent loss comes from believin in someone who couldn't believe in themselves, i don't care what they do, who they are with and what they say when i am gone because i believed no matter what she was worth more than what she gave herself....never lie to yourself x x

It’s nights like these;
when the sky feels raw-quiet
and the moon hangs so low-heavy
and pulpy, parchment yellow,
dripping and left to sun-stain and disintegrate
against dull ghost stories
and stinging to-do lists.
This is when I feel it- the fracturing.
You’re out of sight.
I’m out of mind.  

I crack the window,
blink loose stars out of focus
and send them shotgun galloping
across the flat-hum pulsing,
tin tinged and navy evening static.

The North Star needs new batteries.
He flickers and sways but won’t
extinguish. He is soft and solemn-
a lazing, dazing anchor whose fraying rope
weaves bowline knots
and hitching ties
into each inch of my drying hair.

Every strand of the night breathes itself into life.
The pieces are softening and shifting,
howling and crawling.
They become young men planning,
flexing at high tide and daring
each other further out with each set of waves.
They are posing, pretending to be
what they think the word ‘reckless’ means.

They are throwing their bodies into surf
and wailing.
They are crashing hard
and violent
against the shore.

They are shaking out golden limbs
and rubbing bloodshot eyes.
I watch bruises bloom and gashes erupt a flash
of crimson before salt water clean and stung.

They are flashing gleeful smiles
and throwing taunting screams across
whole seas while diving back,
quickly, elegantly,
into the same rough surf
that just spit them out.

Maybe they’re proactive,
maybe things hurts less when you
know where the hurt will come from.
Maybe the game isn’t to stay lovely
and bright and whole;
but to know pain’s possibilities so intimately
that when it comes time for you to break
you can do so without shattering
completely.

Nights like these;
sitting cross-legged with a blank
page open and an aching, reeling,
sickly-warm ribbon sprouting from my molars-
I get it.

Streamers wave proudly across
my body.
They grip and simmer,
they wind tightly around  
organs and bones who
gave up their hiding spots
and surrendered their secrets
the first time I let him come in.

The strings are bright and knot themselves tight.
They tether my windpipe,
weld each rib colorfully between sternum and spine.
They coil down and tie off;
thick, swaddled and bobbing, bowing
themselves regally around my coccyx.

Nights like these I have no armor.
Where is my skin?
I stir and rattle to even the slightest shift of Earth.
Exposed and quaking, I body-map bolts of light.
The light is tap dancing over lungs,
igniting blood and ricocheting through the summer camp,
arts and crafts hysteria fusing my anatomy.
It plunge pastels deep into the marrow of my bones.
The room is smoky, my gut splashes about, electrocuted.
I stop feeling tired.

The thing is- what I’m really trying to say,
is that I have no words right now.
There are no pretty lines caught in the twine of
my hip joints and no fiery prose laying
eggs in my spinal fluid.

There is no poem to write
about the fleshy, sour
smell of my own heart
roasting on a pyre or the hours it will take
to scrub off the charred bits of melting muscle
now staining the carpet.

This bitter heat creeping up my throat
and the sallow contraction of my
belly are not the prologue to a revolution-
my diagnosis is not a metaphor.

They are simply the tangy symptoms of the sadness
pinging around my insides and playing
peekaboo among the weeds of my broken body and sticky mind.
She will wait, biding time, for a properly rapt audience.
I whisper then whine that I’m too messy,
too slouchy, too emotionally ill-equipped to house a heart
maybe breaking,
definitely ripping, across-the-ballroom
slipping and wrecking-ball imploding.
Sadness smacks her lips and smirks.
No one rides for free.  

Nights like these I think
maybe I’ve wasted all my words;
my sentences and precious syntax and swooping rhetoric,
on lighter blows and mere heartaches.
I am a ragdoll limply stretching.
I am standing completely still, taking inventory.
I’m puzzled, though decidedly unthreatened,
by the glass-littered ground, my bleeding feet.
I mean look at the big picture:
I lit myself on fire.
I’m not worried about sunburn.

I know now that it has happened-
the hurt circulates my veins
and pumps me full of vehemence.
The act of breathing is ferocious,
I am a tangle of raw nerves.
This is the night I’m left with a heart shattered
in six hundred pieces on the floor and absolutely no poetry rising
from my pores to help glue it back together.

I said I get it.
I should have practiced.
I should have left my clothes on the sand and
ran toward the sea, naked and unembarrassed,
while diving head first into fierce undertows
and crashing with the boyish bodies of the night.

I should have experimented;
explored all the ways hurt could find me
while the beach was still mine to breathe out and yell for
without fear of being told 'no.'
But I didn’t. I kept my clothes on and my secrets to myself.

Tonight I’m a wreck and this isn’t a test.
I'm so far out, weighed down
by this boxy, heavy pain
ripening in my arms.
I'm panicky and paddling in any direction,
trying to keep my head above water
and praying the shore will appear and welcome me
once I get through this next set of waves,
through this next set of waves.

I think I'm always meant to be a writer; in the way where I always see things in third person.

I guess the past boys I used to like were, in a sense, too flashy for me. At first, I don't know what they lacked that I had to stop. I'm looking for something but they just didn't have it. Maybe I'll know when I meet the right person?

So now, I'd rather stick to just observing the boys around me--those of potential love interest or not, like I do with every other person. The most recent boy was such a main character in many people's stories; he has main character quality, albeit only from afar.

I conclude I'm looking for a person who's like me; not exactly a writer, but someone who balances. A reader, perhaps? Someone who sees things in a third person perspective as well; someone who can read people, understand the atmosphere and we can watch and scrutinize over anything and anyone.

I'm not saying that the boys in the past were incapable of being observant, but maybe they just don't care about these things, in the way that I do. And I don't really want to waste my time on a person who's like that.  When you observe a reader, they sort of observe you back.

So, back to my most recent--he's just a main character, lolling about in a plot, used to being watched, and not being proactive enough to be another writer or reader. It's ironic, because there are supposed to be two people in a love story. Two characters are needed but I don't want to be in that situation because I don't think I can be "main character" enough.

I'd rather find myself a reader to match me, a writer.

I've learned something about myself after liking a person. Now that I think of it, I guess I am looking for that thing that sets non-readers and readers apart. It's just really obvious, to me at least, when you know a person reads or not.

The superficial factor is, which I'm sure everyone sees, if a person "looks" like a reader. But you'll only truly know when you interact with them. The reader's thoughts are beyond their "looks" as a reader and goes farther than the minds of non-readers.

There's no rush in finding a relationship, I guess. I believe the readers will find the writers they will want to read, even if they don't know the writers' names at first. They'll come across our stories and they'll feel like being a part of it once they've read; not in the sense where they feel like the main character, but how they understand the writer's thoughts through the plots of the story.

You can see it in one's eyes and we writers have this in-depth instinct in sensing out different types of people: bad, good, weak, strong, non-readers, readers, etc. I suppose sometimes we don't want to admit these things because of easily misjudging people, but it's a fact that's silently agreed on by almost everyone.

I'm really dead set on on finding that quality which will make me love a person, a reader. And so far in the boys I've met, I never found it. But that's okay, because I always find little bits of myself, even if it's just a bit, every time I don't find what I'm looking for in them.

It turns out I'm looking for my other self in someone else. I'm looking for a reader who can read, know and understand me.

It's my new job today
But I'm not here I'm away
Lost in thoughts
Where I am always distraught

Off I go to start my day
I need to make a good impression, I say
Be focused and sharp, proactive and smart 
You can make a go of this, just play the part!

Life could be worse, people would say
No money, no job or a place to stay
Those are the most important things to some
But to me those things are immaterial 

Peace of mind and happiness is key
Nothing or noone is more important than these!

Some Youth Are SO RUDE ... !!!
Their Language Is ... Crude ... !!!
and Most Have A PROBLEM ...

The Problem Is ... YOU ...  !!!

If You Are Like Me ...
and Won't Take Abuse ...
From Kids Who Walk Streets ...
With A ... BAD Attitude ... !!!

My Name AIN'T ... " B.A." ... !!!
and It AIN'T ... " Mr. T " ... !!!

But ...
Test Me With RUDENESS ...
and Then You Will See ...
That I Can Get ... BRUTAL ...
Just Like The ... " A Team " ... !!!!!

BRUTAL With ... "Tactics" ...
WITHOUT Prophylactics ... !!! ...

That's ... Just A Line ...
To Take Your Mind CAPTIVE ... !!!

My Words Are ... PROACTIVE ... !!!
To STOP All This MADNESS ... !!!

Young Kids Doing BADNESS ...
DEFINES The Word ... Sadness ... !!!

Sadness For MANY ...
When Mum's On The TELLY ...
With Tears In Her Eyes ...
cos' Her Child DIDN'T Die ... !!!

Her Child Was A ... " Victim " ...
of Kids On ... A Mission ...
To Rob and Then **** Him ... !!!!

And ...

Leave His Blood ... SPILLING ... !!!!!

That Story's ... Instilling ...
A GOOD Way of Living ... !!!

Young People ...

STOP KILLING ... !!!!!

and Learn To Be WILLING ...
To Do MORE ... FORGIVING ... !!!

and STOP ...
All This ... PILLING ... !!!

and STOP Taking Life ...
cos' Life Is For LIVING ... !!!!!

Rudeness ... IN VIEW ...
Can ..................................................... Isolate ................... "You" ........................................ !!!

Cos' Very Few People ...
Like Youth Who Are RUDE ... !!!

These Words Are The TRUTH ... !!!

cos' Being ... "ALONE" ...
With ... NOWHERE To Move ... !!!

THIS Is Where RUDENESS ...
Is Bound To Get You ...

So ...
What Is The Point ... ?!?
and ... What Do You PROVE ... !?!

Forgive Me ... I SEE ...
Walking In ...
DEAD MENS' Shoes ... !!?!!

Just Watch An OLD Western ...
and See How They Do ...

There's ALWAYS A Gunman ...
FASTER Than ... YOU ... !!!!!

There's ALWAYS ... Somebody ...
Who's ... RUDER Than You ... !!!!!!!!

So .....
What Will You Do ... ?!?
When YOU Are ... "The Victim" ... !!!

........... Facing A Crew ............

Who NOW Are The Ones' ...
Pointing Fingers At YOU ... !!!!!!

That's One FINAL Thought ...  
On Which You Should ... CHEW ...

REMEMBER My Comment ...
About ... DEAD MENS' Shoes ... !!!!!

A Life of GOOD VIBES ...
IS The Way To LIVE LIFE ... !!!!!!

These Words Hold The ... " Clues " ...
To AVOID ............................ Dead Mens' Shoes ... !!!

THUS ...
THIS Is My View ...

Shoes Are For WALKING ... !!!
So That's What I DO ...
Try Doing It ... TOO ... !!! ...

Try Showing Some LOVE ...
To Those Who LOVE YOU ...

and REMEMBER These Words ...

There's ...
NO NEED To Be ....

...... " Rude " ......

I keep running, running, running
A young girl trying to find her place in the world
A grown woman trying to be respected for who she really is
I look back at the past and
Down on the present
And hope to God that the future gives me something to look up to
Family curses trink’ling trails of hate in my blood
Reminders of loved ones who were hurt by ones they loved once
Inspirations inspiring me to keep chasing my dreams but reality is …reality
I wake up and wonder what proactive thing I can do today
But reality is reality.
And reality smacks me down and says “nothing”
I’m not a pessimist but I bear a weight with the wield of the world as its stamp
Its not on my back but its on my sisters’ back. It not in my home but its in my brothers’ home
Reverberating in my mind the terrible wonders of the world
Feeling ignorant, not knowing how to help
I read the world news to find out what to do
And lo’and behold a “disabled puppy can only walk in circles”
WHAT?!
Darfur must be a myth and I guess AIDS isn’t “in” anymore
I keep thinking..wait till I’m established
Wait till I’m out of this rut
My life will be holy and pure and intelligent. giving and tithing and..happy and busy…and.. **** and rich?
Cause that’s how it should be right?
Confusing
Why cant I be a soul sistah with locs that likes to listen to rock and give spoken word wearing knit hats and demanding answers? Then go home and maybe watch some anime.
I’m conflicted
I’m disdainful
I’m selfish
I’m vehemently out to get what I want because my forefathers died trying to get it for me
And you know what? I’m gonna get it, because while all this crap goes on in my brain and in my heart , in my family and in the world. Its going to stay at my heels because I keep running, running, running

I knew a man once
who saved me from destruction
He had this crazy way about him
Within his presence you couldn't help
but feel alive

He was generous
and proactive
His salvation was achieved
through helping others

He had a savings account
in which he'd drop his change
and soon he'd accumulated
so many wonderful things

But none of these things could be found
in his home for they were nothing of material
many times in life he'd been broken down on
the side of the road

A feeling I believe we've all had a chance
to know
and he vowed from then and still today
if he witnessed this event he
wouldnt walk away

Through bankruptcy he kept this account
Refusing to help himself
and whom ever found themselves broken
down were surely lucky when he came around

Generousity for him was a necessity
Helping others was for his own benefit
because giving others hope
meant the world to him
No doubt thats money well spent

One is per se acidic
Other one is per force alkaline
Their life is neutralized
One is corrosive
Other is effervescent
Together is balanced
One is hydrogen
Other is oxygen
They quench their thirst
In 2:1 proportion  
One is proactive
Other is reactive
Both are co-active
One is productive
Other is seductive
Couple is reproductive
They build nucleus family
With atomic character
Explode or implode
Implore and explore
New order of life’s disorder
The duo’s duel disposition
Sports harmonious melody

By: Cedric McClester

Ya see the actual fact is
At times it’s not attractive
When we’re called to be proactive
Cos the atmosphere’s refractive
As if an insurmountable force
Things have suddenly changed course
And the protagonist has no remorse

Like the bullets a shooter packs
Or a freight train off the tracks
A reactionary reacts
Only to established facts

Don’t cha find it kinda strange
That we still argue climate change
After all those hurricanes
You’d think by now we’d use our brains
We’ve been shaken yet not stirred
Sumthin’ had to have occurred
Though silence is preferred
It should make us say my word

Like the bullets a shooter packs
Or a freight train off the tracks
A reactionary reacts
Only to established facts
And the argument’s been made
By the price already paid
For the groundwork to be laid
So our planet can be saved

So by now I think its clear
Just check out the atmosphere
Global warming would appear
To be already here
So it shouldn’t take much more
For the doubter to be sure
That the ozone layer’s core
Is sumthin we cannot ignore

Like the bullets a shooter packs
Or a freight train off the tracks
A reactionary reacts
Only to established facts

Ya see the actual fact is
At times it’s not attractive
When we’re called to be proactive
Cos the atmosphere’s refractive
As if an insurmountable force
Things have suddenly changed course
And the protagonist has no remorse




Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016.  All rights reserved.

Day rolled out
I rolled over
many times
Then the strength
of day remembered
gently coaxing
Me to rise
filled muscles
and mind
To take more
proactive part.

Though Ethiopian
Orthodox patriarch
Unfortunately, as
I’m not race blind
Please excuse
My being
A tad pitiful and kind
To the political Judas
From my Ethnic side,
You see such
An act has become
A political fad
Even if
That sounds bad.
.
Mind you, at times
Devoid of reason
Oblivious to God
The pious mind
To a halt could grind.
Intoxicated with bigotry
Excuse me the hill
As a mountain
And also vise versa
If I find.
You see with vampires,
Who opened the door
For my current position,
For 3 decades I had dined.

Please forgive
My blind eyes to the
Whole truth till today,
Also skipping
The commandment
”You shall not lie!”
To my likes
A word of support
Tolerate me to say!
Is it not how the adage
Runs?
“While the sun shines
Make hay!”

About the genocide
In Mai Kadra—on par with
Auschwitz—
Why should I worry?
Because it was
My likes, shedding blood
Who likes, suffering
A defeat,
That opted to hack
The innocent
And to efface track
Victims to bury
Were in a hurry.

Also the blood flood
In other parts of
The country—Metekle,
Wellega— didn’t
Draw my attention
You see
Terrorizing the region
Was my likes’ objective,
While I was pretentiously
On Christian mission.
So condoning that
I have to commit
Crime by omission
Also I had
To indulge in
Crime by commission
Drawing a big attention
To possible complication
That attended ENDF’s
Law-enforcement operation.
Than the root cause
A question I’ve to pose
On the attendant ill
Beget by own debacle
For it allows vicious cycle.

Firing rockets
And proving unruly
Judas that hail from my race
Were to wipe out
Fellow neighbors,
From earth’s face
“Man is created in
God’s image! ”
Was shrouded by
Our rage.

All troubles
That, we see
Everywhere in
Ethiopia today, are
TPLF junta’s deed
Junta the fiend
That sowed
A hatred seed.
But, now exposed,
The culprits
My support
Terribly need
I must pat them
On the back indeed.
True to
WHO’s Director General
Abusing my position
Let me cry foul
So that TPLF remnants
Get a stalemate.
You see
An oasis in a desert
They terribly need
How could I
Fail that to heed?

In courting trouble
TPLF was proactive
Reactive were those
On the other side
But this I like
To systematically hide.
Conniving with
Insincere NGO workers
I could enjoy a media ride
To be the security
Council’s untruthful guide
And so called great nations
On the toe to sniff possible
Shortfalls from Ethiopia’s side
And ready to swim against
The truth tide,
Though this is
Dragged to light and
Known far and wide!
So to speak
They could encourage me
An asylum to seek
Honest traitors as they
Adore hand to pick.

Who said a patriarch
Could not be naughty?
Going out of
My religious duty
I will give
A kiss of life
To world-ever
Terrorist party.
.
History has it that
There were pops
Who blessed
Military arsenals like
Artillery and tank
If so, why not
I give a statement
Behind Synod’s back.

May God
Forgive my sin
For the heart of
The credulous
With my
Sanctimonious face
I could win!

Please excuse me
I’m not race-blind
And
Sanctimonious patriarch
One could ever find!
TPLF is a party
By the Ethiopian parliament
Unanimously dubbed
Terrorist and naughty
But
As blood is thicker than water
Supporting it is my duty.

Soldiers who spent
Almost their entire life
In garrison and barrack
Did suffer by my likes’ attack
Behind their back
Though their blood
Cries before God
Please excuse me
I have to favor
Mourning-Killers
From my abode!

I talked to a friend today for the first time since I've been back from Arizona. It was interesting. I tried to start off cool, calm, collected... all of those things you should be in public and with strangers-- but only in private among friends. Eventually he started asking the hard questions, as I knew he would. It's a simple formality that defuses so much stress for me. Listening to someone's problems is like making eye-contact with a homeless person. You still want to treat them like a human being, but you'll end up regretting it later.  



So he asked me how the relationship stands with my dad since summer. “Has it improved? Did you two talk?” “No, no.” I say. No, it hasn't improved at all. My father still feeds of his perpetual guilt as a muse and mentor in every sale he makes and AA meeting he attends. If you cut him open you'd find an empty bottle of Jameson. “That's alright,” I tell him. I don't chase him down anymore to have a heart to heart about the past, or his feelings, or his mistakes-- no, we're adults now. We use each other as a means to an end. This is the way males bond. Instead of getting angry at him when he's a ****, I just ignore his phone calls for five days until he's saturated in his guilt long enough to actually be proactive. When I call him back It's expected he'll send me money, even if it's unwarranted. It's so easy. I don't have to fight with him, and he gets to avoid looking at the loser in the mirror. Nobodies emotional needs are being met-- but, hey! At least we can spend the 100$ drinking long island ice tea at the layovers on the way back to my life away from hell. Thanks dad, really.  



“And how is your sister?” he asks. “Oh, she's loosing her mind,” I say. She asks me why I don't try harder for the family. She blames me for leaving and emotionally severing myself. “It's like you don't give a **** about anything but yourself,” she says. Well she really hit the nail on the head. I, apparently, am the patron saint of reassembling ravaged family units beyond repair and squaring the circle. I am fully aware of how angry she is that she can't do the same emotional distancing for herself. She wants so badly to grow out of that child that's still locked inside of herself begging for a functioning home. So there she is, Atlas, holding the weight of the world and I'm the one that put it on her shoulders. No one can advise her because we're all to blame, are her victimhood is a virulent strain infecting everyone but me.  



“And hows your mom?” he asks. “Oh, well she's just a silly goose, you know?” “Sillier than ever,” I say. Making her rounds to the ER quicker than she rebounded from deciding to leave her boyfriend and live off my sister in Seattle. “At least this time it's from the aftershocks of her attempted suicide and not the actual act of doing it, you know?” But there still runs the potentiality of getting that phone call-- “Hey, your mom's got a tube running into her heart.” It's a fun game of Russian Roulette we like to play in our family-- nobodies winning.  But she made the time to come to Flagstaff and spend some quality time with me for my birthday. Forked over a little bit of Xanex for me and my girlfriend, bought us *****, drank with us. “You know, what are moms for?” I say.  



I tell him, "My life is like a Modern Family episode directed by Quentin Tarantino."



It just makes a person a little rough around the edges, you know? And with insight comes a bit of cynicism. Like, yeah. I dissected and tore you apart yesterday-- but it's only because I love you. Your imperfections really make you shine. It's that feeling you get when you try to jam the wrong shape through one of those Fisher-Price toys-- it doesn't fit but you force it anyway.



But you're alright, you'll muddle through.

You get lost in your own mind sometimes
just trying to find yourself
locked inside of a prison where the bars
are made out of your fears
the guards are negative connotations
and the warden is your own inflated ego
You dare not go beyond the walls of self-doubt
without proactive reconnaissance
but you can’t help feeling that freedom lies
just beyond your insecurities

Born of an african decent
Grown up of color lucent
Dark though magnificent
A Lady of conducent minds

I dine with her
And time has come
For me to Spend some dime
A time well spent shall save my dime.

Without a Penny
I fail to impress Jenny
A smile that's canny is all I get
I pull out my money
and she smiles like a bunny.

I buy her a meal
to seal the deal
As if a gill she gets a thrill.
She shows she's dill and fails to eat
I pay the bill and eat the meal.

Complimentive talk I start to give  Repulsive as she starts to aggrieve
Coercive now she wants to leave
Proactive as i plead with her
Reactive after a hell of thrive
Alas i win with her I live.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good rumor as much as the next guy. Some of them are actually quite lovely and kind. Some of them have come from a really kind heart who gave one of the most amazing grains of truth. Sometimes rumors are the truth. It’s just that, most often, they are not. For shame.

Perhaps I have gone way too long being jaded by the idea that people really are generally good and that they would never want to hurt others. This may be the worst idea that I could make in my life, but I am choosing to believe that it is in fact one of the better ones. Maybe I want the world to be good.

See, you all go around, thinking that nothing good comes without a price to pay and neglect to mention that the same is true for bad things. You cannot do something bad without giving up something that would otherwise delight you. These two ideas have become fois, and, as foils, they cannot come without the other.

It has come to my attention that one can think anything which she wants. This is only the beginning of the wrongdoings. When one can think anything, what is to stop her from doing anything? There is no way to stop actions when you have so boldly fought for the right to think them up.

But she asked about my forearm. I did not want to answer. And she did not push me to say anything about it. As it always goes, I don’t know what she should have done instead, just that I did not like that, which she did do. It is so very complicated when someone wants to help. I don’t want it. But she does.

It is not as though there isn’t a lovely backstory. Believe me, there is a large book somewhere that I could call my backstory. It would chronicle my entire life’s doing, from the first time I was hurt to the first time I hurt someone else. It would say everything that I cannot.

When I was five, I broke my arm for the first time. I ran into my mom’s car. It was parked. I was trying to steer a bike. Turns out I couldn’t. Years later, in 3rd grade, I would finally stop being afraid and learn how to bike. Still didn’t like it. Years later, in 7th grade, I would find out that it was actually my elbow that I had broken.

Some girls who I thought were my friends picked on me for it. It may have been my first experience of getting picked on for being different. It did not matter one little bit, though. I had my friends. We were five. We all make mistakes. I just learned that not everyone can be trusted with anything.

At the age of six I was in kindergarten and there was a girl who did not like me very much, if at all. She picked on me. I was a skinny little thing back then. I have seen pictures. But that did not contribute to the picking on me. Nope. I was picked on because I really liked to eat salads. Salad. I was bullied because I liked salad.

And I was always very nice to her. I can attribute this to a lot of different things, but I think it was because I knew that fighting back wouldn’t accomplish anything. So, I ended up choosing to hang out with guys. There were more of them at the school, anyway. And so I learned that different people can be beneficial.

This girl who bullied me was never someone that I was mad at. I remember that she had a lot of animals at her house. I remember being so jealous because she had every type of pet imaginable and I only had a fish. I named my fish banana head. It was yellow. But this girl had so many pets.

It is funny, in a way. I know that years later it would be told to me that her home life wasn’t exactly perfect. Maybe I hadn’t known that much when I was that little, but I did know not to throw fire to extinguish fire. I think that I was so willing to find good that I did find it. I learned that everyone deserves to be cared about.

In third and fourth grade, there were these two girls. They were nice enough. I can’t exactly pinpoint why it was that they did not like me, but I have my suspicions. I was the fat girl at that point. And, to top it all off, I was in an advanced academics program. I was prone to all the bullying. Didn’t know it.

But this is not the point. The point is that they hurt me and wrote me a letter in my yearbook telling me that I should apologize to them. And so I did. I felt so terrible for having hurt them that I asked for forgiveness. I did get it. They were not without hearts. And so I learned that the loser must give in to demands.

To talk about the next few years is a crazy mess. But there was one time when I saw this guy cry. He was talking about how his sister was mean. I guess that this is a common thing with older siblings. He was this guy that everyone thought was rude and immature. But, from that day on, I had a soft spot for him.

Jump ahead a few years and he and I are in the same German class. He is there, talking with his friend. They begin by having a puzzle solving competition. These guys, who are brilliant, are racing to solve a puzzle. But they talk about the funny things they did in second grade. There was a stick one of them found.

They were the type of guys who had a lot going for them and perhaps I was the only one who saw that one guy who all others had found immature as being absolutely brilliant. He just didn’t try. People are so much more than the facade they lead you to believe. That’s how I learned to look before judging.

But I know that my appearance has always made me feel like the ugly duckling in the room. I have been waiting for so long to become a beautiful swan. A lovely, skinny, beautiful one. Once I was tricked into seeing a therapist about it. Had I known, I may have given it a shot. Thought it was a weight loss clinic.

In eighth grade this new girl came into school. She was from Florida. She was pretty and skinny and blonde, which should have gone without saying. She was everything that I could never be. And my group of friends came to the realization that she was better and picked her over me. Can’t blame them.

In middle school, my theatre teacher gave me roles that were absolutely gorgeous roles and told me I did wonderfully. I believed her. She allowed me to be a lead when there were better actors out there. I was made to think that I was someone with talent. So I tried from then on. I will always thank her for the confidence.

And then I entered high school. I discovered that it was only the same people who got cast. They all looked the same; petite, skinny, and gorgeous. Of course they would get the part. It was made for them. I was then lead to believe that I had no talent. I was swimming on dry land. I learned that people only want certain things.

Still I adored theatre. I decided that, since I would never be pretty enough to be an actress, that I should at least design. At least I could be a part of things that way. And so I took a summer arts class in which I learned the basics of makeup and applying it. It may have been the highlight of my summer.

But that was the summer that I realized that I would have to be proactive in changing my appearance. I did some things that I may not be exactly proud of, and certainly not enough so to mention, but they did happen. I cannot lie. It was seen as the only solution. I learned that mind over matter wields great truth.

Two years later and I would have designed once and been stripped of a crew head title as well. I had told her I would be gone that week. She said it would be perfectly okay. But then she changed her mind at the very end of it all. Some other girl wanted the points. But we all knew who was the first choice: me.

Then comes the piece de la resistance, you could call it. There was this girl who decided that I could show up to all of the rehearsals show week, stay until late at night, but then could not be there for the actual shows. She did apologize to me and I was only mad at myself. I confirmed that I really was not good enough.

So here I am, right now, at the point where tears have run dry and my thoughts are overtaken by daydreams. I have all these lovely times in which I am running away. off to a foreign land. And everything always works out in my favor there. I am allowed to love whomever I please. It is perfection.

Because now I am in love with a beautiful foreign girl. Her demeanor is lovely and when she smiles, she has the cutest dimples. I cannot help but smile and act like a fool whenever I am around her. Love is strange like that. But I am not allowed to love a woman. I have learned to not add another strike on my list.

I was never the daughter that my parents wanted. They tell me that this is not true, that they love me no matter what. But I know better than that. They will love me more if I am into science or math. My mom keeps on telling me to not stop math, because there is a way to creatively use it. What lies.

She just doesn’t think I can make it in the art world. Maybe I can’t. Oh, but what if I can? Don’t I owe it to myself to at least try? Oh, that’s right, she’s the one who fought for years to get me to become skinny and gorgeous. I understand the reasoning, but was it necessary? I am not enough for my own mother.

I have not become secluded because of one event. I have not shut myself out because of one person. It has been a series of thoughts. It has been a long time in the making. It has been a lot of decisions. I have not undertaken this change lightly, and neither have those around me. Poor them.

This is something that scares me, too. I used to be willing to face the world head-on, and now I don’t want to even think it exists. Who have I become? The product of a society, which teaches girls that they are worthless if they are not classically beautiful…
The product of biased marketing. That’s who I am.

Blarnask-A feeble-minded joke that elicits cackles from dumb people
Rentgourge-To be surrounded by people that manipulate you especially for harms sake
Ritonique- The audiovisual sabotage of clarity by mind-numbing subliminal technology
Rallendork-Someone persecuted because of political gamesmanship before an election
Regnongell-A normative fear that is provocative of regress instituted by cultural conformity to debauched ideas arising from pedigree
Blaskerg- henpeck affectionately at some desire whether personal or relational
Whink- a covert attempt at seeding chaos that benefits one tribe more than the others
Allonker- an idea that is hoisted as popular only because of mediagenic creation which is in fact highly inflated but still has efficacy of determent or enlistment to a flagging cause
Warspark-to provoke lewd riots to engineer hatred
Dralley- a disreputable person that earns a pass by moral docimasy because his or her life is opaque
Wramplizer- someone who outstretches their moral virtue as a badge of honor only to be greeted by exsibilation because of prejudice that works counter to that moral pedigree
Flabbernounce-to gabble an entreaty that is otiose because it defies pragmatic logic too much
Rettonkle- to impose manipulative conditions as stipulated by froward formant demands to impose clarity over confusion even when a pretense such as this is not tolerated by many
Ellambore- the sacrilege of sacrificing a useful person or strategy to relinquish any appearance of ignoble intent when something becomes poisoned by association alone.
Lickerstein- a contrarian genius isolated because of knowledge of controversies dismantled by the witticisms of concealment
Revalsion- a temptress of opinionated people to conceal their true mettle in order to seem weak or manageable to manipulate their superiors into more justifiable treatment (Suppression of vocal intellect to gain job stature)
Qurathe- the inarticulate rejection of a creed, person or ideology based on prima facie observation or cursory observation
Wraster-To wrangle with timberlask disasters with poise rather than cowardice as in sensation-seeking that is dangerous but yields great rewards
Elkoove- The dormant nature of peaceful animals who like the attention of human companions but simultaneous feel alien to us and thereby withdrawn
Tinjowl- a rapid seed of malcontent that develops when heresiarchs exert too much sway over the commonplace blockbuster and ingeminate evil traits as exemplary paragons to be followed without slippage
Slaverners- slaves blind to their own reflection or free of conscience about commiting heinous violent crimes because they never consider the consequences beforehand or even afterwards
Wreffalaxity- a state where intermediary representatives incur little damage for overseeing federalese they didn’t write because the opaque nature of the government absolves them from any malefaction and thereby leads to lenient public opinions even about incumbents
Tregounce- bartering with the margins of stupidity forever estranged by the periphery of consideration to belittle them with patronage which reinforces redominage and stultifies societal change as dangerous to keep the status quo at bay by spotlighting irrelevant issues of strife to diminish the whittled down spearhead of invective
Delanvey- a cartoonish complicit foofaraw in a bipartisan government designed to reduce the fortunes of the deliberate action of self-sabotage to help the component gain leverage over the vote to a greater degree
Wrapkilt- the exultation of shibboleth as an aswallone gamesmanship that is diminutive to other religions, creeds and races because the specious believe of differing birthrights grants power to that fringe
Slimpontune- the tendency worldwide for people to neglect musical lyrics in popular music because time shelters its own destiny by being reserved only for the attentive ear of masonic subservience to the grand plot and a state of the universe to preclude the popularity of mention of future events to a standstill while invoking antecedent properties that pivot off of the reverse phenomena.
Waretreen- manufacture even in destruction negligent of environmental conservation
Yettle- a match between the mettle of character and the expectancy of outcomes outsized to fit between the lines of history and destiny
Groterk-The gross termination of kinship through estrangement that relies on technological paralysis to diminish the common sphere of the nuclear family
Wallcreak- a prodrome that a prophylactic system against any maleficence is riddled with visible elements of skullduggery reprehensible for those who watch even with guarded banausic purpose
Jopeyainge- a prolific adversary armed with persiflage that is also your friend because he entertains a crowd with raconteur wit
Flowder- the vicious cycle of cartel violence that depends on a high velocity of money at a high risk premium which endangers civil society
Drampover- The histrionic recursive irony that the most maudlin members of society are the most susceptible to popular verdicts rather than maintaining a core anonymity which eventually culminates in a foofaraw society where the aberration is celebrated as the exemplar rather than the disreputable outlier
Affloresce-To grow in fame in a manner that upholds integrity to God but not necessarily the Law that lead
Witchbloke- someone who bloviates about the grimgoire and the taghairm because of an unsteady superstition in the specious dark arts that is mocked at because his rudimentary allegiance the invisible is both pagan and turgid
Escorrhagy- The phenomena of transplanting primal conditions upon civilized people and expecting them to thrive without experience at the casualty of the people exposed but not indemnified from consequences
Cavelletto- a swift fleet of mobilized military personnel that are discharged from normal bounds of duty to exact vengeance in vigilante justice and practice roguery because they get away with it
Treeflow- the endless recursive cycle of harvesting the Earth for financial gain in an unsustainable way that favors the freebooters rather than otherwise.
Nockerslug- an invidious cyberattack aimed at one person who resembles a dignitary or whoever has credentials intermediary to that luminary
Griddorean- that mapping of spacetime which prizes current conditions above future conditions and appraises the behavior of minor particles above all else.
Imporchurge- the compound celebrity backing behind an ideology or position on the political spectrum which might be fractionated but identifiable on the spectrum of considerations as inhabiting a coherent sphere adjacent to other spheres
Yoppyhead- a profoundly sensitive person that gets overlooked by society who is fickle in decision-making that usually isn’t very astute and therefore prone to the ravages of instinct bulldozing ambition
Profingerine- The march to the oblivion of the ineluctable truth that the tittup of the sardanapalian crowd or any other group of perdition and seditious simultaneously will lollop the final destiny upon the intermediary stages of arrayed tolerance for encroaching evil
Retorminity- the capacity of one entity to enhance the size of his impact on the carbon footprint by exigent action or the weight of the shadow of titans
Filagersion- The overall footprint exercised by a person of authority of subsidiary authority that has the capacity to magnetizes and motivate a captive audience to commit proactive deeds
Versamily- the natural good fortune that comes from pancratic mastery of affairs
Scrongifical- Very precise at ****** emulation with high emotional mastery of deliberate aplomb in taxing situations
Anomalesque- A rare pedigree that shows no marginal weaknesses in the overall constitution of character that refines brittle people into magistrates
Wrask- to risk rashness to prove the lucidity of the stranglehold of contemplation above the retches that sour with hackumber to the resilience of comparsion
Tilkongue- The overall barometer of acting flexibility combined with photogenic appeal that buoys the actor into a suitable situation of leverage and finesse over the industry.
Elangownage- The ability clothes have to make people appear more photogenic or less photogenic depending on the color, size and makeup of the costume
Slimpergerence- The availability of a person to attend to responsibility hinging upon his motivation to catapult above the esoteric fray the resorted asylum of the propriety of long-lived generativity and reninjuble characteristics that ensure livid vitality to invigorate audiences rather than bore them
Stiltanimity- The oversolemn decorum of those whose entire professions depend on sacerdotal appearances that strangulates vibrant creativity because of the imperative humility required by people like the Pope to be restrained in festivity and slightly too moderate on moral extravagance
Succorrhea- The earnest entreaty of enslaved or understated figures to rise to prominence enough to earn the respectful discharge of their submission to earn an honest keepsake of mobility beyond derangement
Kanyeance- the free-spirited rodomontade of success flexed to a pinnacle of pride above the frazzled delusions that sink ships but flexible in posture to pander to crowds about controversy without recoiling into normative statures because of a belief in integrity above dramaturgy
Swiftmanger- the betrayal of cantabanks from stages of exaltation to the faltering complicity of investment in schemes that are dishonorable that betray vicarious friendships because of vested interests in profligacy above the serenade of virtuosity
Alpononetial- the swift gainsay of a nimble creative ****** to mobilize people in growing numbers that cause the snowball effect especially when applied to religious affairs that don’t rely on grounded grandstands but more on moral integrity
Quincetownage- The petty leverage of epithets to derail an upstart man from his true ambitions because of embedded  envy that catalyzes an uproarious distraction of hatred rather than an embalming love that lasts forever
Recuddle- to invent a farsighted song to embrace a farsighted destiny directed with affection to both establish the pedigree of the songwriter and establish the dignity of self-reference in magnified acclaim
Overblow- the ability to scintillate with magnified attention that suits a higher audience than the demotic temperament allows to amporge with titans rather than sulk in brooded pettifoggery common to politicians
Wambreach- the disclosure whether partial or full to allegiance to an unpopular ideology because of deep-seated convictions that run a countercurrent to the oleaginous rhetoric of demassified convenience and a stake in radical deformation of integral virtues
Flickow- to audition for a role in a company or a stature in society when you are swimming with tough competition and yet still maintain an advantage as the biggest fish in a pond with many big fish
Flamber- to exude the preened plumage of excellency that showcases a pancratic regard to amaze talented bastions with emulations of hortoriginality already catapulted into center stage but lacking the grit of officialism of compromise necessary to cadge the motatory majority of mouchards
Reechowl- the facetious lies of the majoritarian sculpture of the human psyche that deserve glowering recompense because they belittle human virtues and stake everything on attenuated virtuosity of a stalemate compromise to uphold the hackneyed lowest common denominator to a stage earned by pedigree that verges on laziness because of treacle
Thunderlust- the peremptory catalyst to pedigree that touts ****** conquest as a badge of honor that is overweening in its ability to proselytize people to the notions of ****** profligacy seen as a virtue rather than a hamartia based on the pedigree and pulchritude of the dating scene you captured
Flampy- weak in acting ability despite high honors of success/ Acharismatic because of a soberminded serious disposition that is rarely rattled but even more rarely ebullient
Krageon- the ability to harness the motivations of the enraged into prolific proactive action that actually becomes a contagion in society rather than a slimmerback of vocal dissent not gravitated towards any outcome but the ludic ventilation of the disarmed rampages of free spirit
Kraginkle- the ability to harness rage to lead to violent reprisals that are characterized primarily by bellicose demonstration that leads nowhere and inefficently stewards society to a compromised position of succor rather than a self-motivated bootstrap into grandeur
Flamdagger- the comparison of one person’s photogenic appeal to another done purely in jest so that a rectiserial organization of prestige can be predicated on pulchritude that depends on the overal physiognomy but specializes in ****** carves that provide the lineaments for the handsome and the winsome celebrity of acclaim
Grombang- a short-lived burst of ****** charisma that is so charming and winsome it achieves great efficacy in sustaining short-term appearances of mystery that galvanize ****** appeal
Grombangor- someone who is naturally rambunctious and skilled at flirtation that has a chance with the vast majority of women because he combines a flair of charm with good looks propped up by intellectual sufficiency to match the wiseacres of elitism needed to clamber to rundles of prestige in dating
Eskalatron- the ability of economies of scale to combine with economies of scope to minimize the liabilities of debt leverage and optimize the public prospectus of rampant forerunners to prosperity
Weednangy- a tolerance for Marijuana smoking if done only occasionally and done with modesty of dosage rather than the plunge into succedaneum of narquiddity
Swampbloat- the rigmarole that enhances government control and centralization based on federalese impenetrable to outrage because of crafty diversions that eventually trample on the principles of Democratic Republic
Fizzgragger- someone who swims in an ocean of attention but manicured for subsidiary roles that are the rites of passage to someone deserving a promotion but begrudged because of impediments to the compromises of nominalism and capitalism
Flavormasque- exuding so much charm that people forget your stature and invest in your upstart vibrant character despite the disdain of the naysayers among an oppositive crowd with enough leverage to traindeque the sluggish into acquiescence of appeal
Pandemble- a complicit arrangement where the praise of one luminary results in the luminary being praised to be amenable to issues of discord and overlook travesties in their fiduciary obligation to create a recursive cycle of allegiance embedded in character even when there might be mismatches in ideology in some respects
Axiolative- the conceptual ability to turn axioms into monuments of  creative triumph that supersede crudity with elegance while in the process inseminating the fluminous streams of those with wit and ingenuity to follow your example to create evolved axioms siphoned through the lavaderos of slimmerback
Repugnasket- a pornographic film or picture that deserves comstockery because it perverts the sanctity of the youth to have proper opinions about *** rather than outmoded debaucheries that fetch the niche appeal of ******* but contaminate the world with lewd excess
Wrabble- the highest spiritual praise earned by a combination of moral fervor, prophetic insight, mutual harmony and a conclave of the elect praising moral valence with adoration of vicarious charms leading to power and friendship
Renegasconade- the arrogance of people that believe in the nulliverse scoffing at the opinions of even lettered religious men because the thanatism of death scares them more than the sanctity of life preserved sustains their lacking moral virtue
Fringorge- the gulfs of opinion that separate people with radical axioms from people with normative virtues that has the capacity to appeal speciously to the epicurean manicures of some pedigree but has an overall bumptious affect on vast majorities of people bolted to a different model of inspiration
Magnihemption- forgiving righteous people who are sensation-seeking because they obey all the other tenets of religious law that are worthy of praise and using kind castigation rather than strong deplorable invective to mold people slowly away from overindulgence or verboten indulgence
Skillamination- the pancratic summit that evaluates all skills owned by a person or a group of people and then quantulates the degree of their roundedness to implement action rather than lull into acquiescent debasement
Scravengeance- the fulmination of envy to turn people against each other because of a lacking talent that provokes insecurity that transmutes into vile dishonesty and slander that results from inferiority complexes that seek to dismantle the edifice of the successful because of a regress of the weak
Nazemotor- the improper direction of propaganda to lead to persecution based on superficial dissonances between racial groups that runs contrary to the gallop of egalitarian motions that sustain the brunt of moral support
Marxallenger- a radical ideology of communism in the eventual culmination of affairs that hides with maskirovka its evil idolatry because it is indifferent to religious scruples of contention.
Earnshomp- a wasteful extravagance of temporary wealth to earn temporary pedigree among the audience of  bachelors and bachelorettes to maintain an unsustainable lifestyle
Preenjury- a diminished reputation earned by a mismatch between effort and completion leading to dismal appropriations of convenience.
Anvilpsychompism- The cartoonish caricature of primeval psychology maladusted to modern thrusts of cultural temperament to put the weight of burdens on the wrong lineaments leading to a dismissive verdict of decisive weight in diagnosis
Flawgraggle- The obsession with the faults of people rather than a celebration of their virtues based on a snide disdain for their political affiliation and nothing else
Ebosculate- to foment confusion incidentally in an attempt to swoon persnickety audiences with emulations of belletrist that alienate societies rather than redintegrate them

This is for amir sofi

Because it took me a total of 30 seconds after he walked on stage to think
"where is he from"
because i'm probably still pronouncing his name wrong
Because he is a brown boy in a mistakenly white america
Amir i am sorry
I share a well known thought process when it comes to you
i think
"I wonder where his family lives"
"I wonder if they are all together"
"I wonder how he got here"
"I wonder what he believes in"
"I wonder if he is a citizen"
As if it is any of my ******* business whether or not you pay taxes
I am 17 years old, I don't really care about taxes
and i don't think they should determine your amount of freedom
So why is it when you walk on stage my biggest concern is your citizenship to this country.
Amir there is something we need to understand
I will not stand here to wallow in self pity about how i am not progressive enough
I will not let you stand there and listen to a poem about my underdeveloped thought process
We need to be proactive lets make a plan
how about we
Paint everybody brown We can assemble a street team, some very enthusiastic people with paint brushes who want to change the world
Oh Oh how about we assassinate the president that always seems to get a point across. wait, that would be counter productive
this president is a step for us
Oh i got it! petition to make every american constantly where a blindfold
you can't judge skin you can't see
petition to paint the white house purple!
Thats it!  Here me out!
You're a brown boy in a country managed by a black man in a white house.
This doesn't sound very balanced, people are being represented but you are not all people amir
I just think the place where our countries biggest decisions are made should be a color not designated to a certain race.
And i kinda like the color purple
Alright that's step one
Whats next?
More paint?
Making all of the skittles in the package one color so people don't have a chance to pick their favorites.
I heard you amir
to many people of color spend their lives painting things white
don't change your last name for me i will adapt
we will all adapt
you to the long and challenging process of acceptance from southern man
and us to the to changing our hearts to embracing every color
Thank you Amir for your patience
I am so sorry about your calluses
thank you for what you have become amir
I appreciate you amir