This is not the end
I know that you probably already know that
But I feel the need to remind you
I know it *****
A lot
Hurts like one million knives digging into your skin all at once
Like the animals caged within your bones attempting to break free
Like stepping on metal nails with bare feet
Heartbreak ******* hurts
I am sorry that is does
I would tell you that it goes away but I would be lying
Your first broken heart
Will always be your first broken heart
But I can promise
Is does get better
I can promise
That your first is not your last
At one time it may have seemed like it should've been
Like it somehow just slipped through your grasp
I promise you
Your first
Is not your last
And it wasn't supposed to be
Believe me
There are so many other hearts you will encompass
So many bodies you have yet to learn
So many hands that have yet to touch you
The first might have felt like magic
I can promise you they are not
I can promise that
Moving on is the hardest part
You will feel gaps in the deepest parts of your soul
Know that you do not need someone new in order to fill them
Instead
You will heal from within
When you see him with someone else
Do not burn
Extinguish the fire with smiles and genuine happiness
For someone wise once said that happiness is the best revenge
And it is
That and
Looking hot as hell
Right now you may be going through hell
But it's just a path to the future
And the future holds so much more
I can promise you this
Look at it with wide eyes and open arms
Do not dwell on the one who broke your heart
I can promise that in the years to come
Many will fix it
And that the cracks maintained from those who dropped it
In the end
Will only make you
Stronger.

Today,
I promise,
I will finally write.

I'll write about the first time I tasted plums,
(Cool and wet and biting)

Or the soft euphoria of house parties and hookah smoke,
(Like cashmere and night in the blood- already heavy with *** and promise- while grinding out hallelujahs to bass and rhythm and cheap liquor)

Or the feeling of my father’s calloused palms when he took my tiny hands in his, my feet atop his own, and sang to me- riotously off key- the chorus of ‘My Girl’ in a tiny kitchen in Camden; Me laughing, hyena howling, and shouting ‘AGAIN! AGAIN!’ echoing until dizzied by the happy noise.

Today,
I promise,
I'll get it out.

I'll take pen to page, and tell you why I sometimes feel oddly bereft at the sight of a trail of some long departed snail or slug, iridescent in moonlight.

Or try to explain why the scent of lilacs remind me of my mother, that the taste of honeysuckle blooms and the feel of summer warm dirt in my hands makes me feel closer to her, and sometimes a taste of **** cherry pie will ease the gnawing ache of nostalgia and wanting of her more than any simple phone call ever could.

Or tell you how I feel scared and angry so much of the time, (Poor thing that I am- all brown skinned, fat and too loud- in the thin white crushing silence that hangs like a humid fog in streets and office buildings.)  How I feel so hunted in a world of poachers determined to use my teeth for piano keys, pluck my plumes for gaudy decoration, and consume me, a nameless  milk soaked calf, only to complain that all the bleeding I’m doing has soaked the plate and my tears have over salted the meat.

Today,
I promise,
I’ll make it plain.

I’ll be inspired by verses written on the thin onion skinned pages of a Bible my grandmother gave me,
find beauty in crushed glass sprinkled over cracked asphalt and potholes, and taste love – young and sweet – when biting into the soft, ripe flesh of a mango.

I’ll tell all my secrets to you, re-name you lover and villain, and share my most intimate spaces; crack open my rib cage and let you nestle in the pumping chambers of my heart, sustain you with the air of my lungs and food from my own soft belly; invite you with open arms and closed eyes inside of myself to read all the words I’ve scrawled in miles of veins and on sturdy spine.  


I promise,
It will be today.
And yes,

The dishes must be scrubbed, my winter coat needs a new button, and the cat must be fed.
These things will happen, like all things of daily realities: new socks and defrosting chicken and late student loan payments.    

But,

Today
I am searching for divinity in between the pages of moleskin note books and falling in love that tastes like honey and lavender and sweet raisin challah bread.
I am mapping out dance steps in hookah smoke and tiny kitchens.
I am lifting **** cherries and warm summer dirt in shaking palms as a ward against poachers searching for all the ivory and meat in me.
I am tracing holy verses across my grandmothers soft, thin skin; the scent of mangoes about the words; keeping her safe in soft spaces of my marrow.

Today,
I promise,
I will write.

You made me promise
that I wouldn't fall apart
when you were gone.
You made me promise
to eat when I needed to,
to draw like I always did,
and not to cry too much.

But the spiderweb cracks
only lead to shattering
far worse than a simple break.
I guess I broke my promise
because I can't breathe
without your scent in my lungs.

I know I promised to stay whole,
but this is one promise
that I cannot keep.

"The Struggle for Love"
"The Longing for Home"
So desperate to prove
That our hearts aren't alone

While death looms wherewith
To make dust of our flesh
We seek in a myth
Our souls to enmesh

With a hero of hope
A rescuing source
To widen our scope
And give pith to our course

An unshakable tie
An attachment at core
Which might silence the cry
That our hearts are at war

With a pure set of eyes
Full of fire and proficient
To dispel all the lies
That our souls aren't deficient

But it's not our mere lack
Which causes most dread
It's the earth-shattering fact
That our spirits are dead

Cut off from their Source
In a black alienation
Humanity's curse
For its rank ins'bordination

We just want our own way
And to write our own story
So we plunge on astray
To seek our own glory

To play artist or muse
Or idol or chief
Any self-styled ruse
To assuage us of grief

Any measure to show
A lasting signif'cance
So that someone would know
Our unique magnif'cence

For our beauty's been marred
And we crave a redemption
Of souls twisted and scarred
By fulfillment's exemption

But, alas, we will find
That search hard as we may
There's not one of our kind
Who can carry the tray

Upon which the weight
Of our souls has been laid
For who can e'er tolerate
Its gross debts unpaid?

Such suff'cating mass
Of defects and ills
Pressed 'gainst delicate glass
Of egos and wills

Still more ghastly to bear
Is devotion unbound
For with millstone to wear
Its master is drowned

'Neath a sea of foul yeast
And becomes the enslaved
To a hungering beast
To a worship depraved

For the heart is a tiger
And must have its fill
So it raises a man higher
With a kiss before the ****

Not intentionally, of course,
Does it slaughter its idol
But of hurricane force
Is this longing so vital

And as pedestal turns
So quickly to altar
Our wounded pride burns
When our gods and alms falter

And the fire of its rage
Turns upon its obsession
Tiger breaks out of cage
To reclaim self-possession

It bites and it tears
What it once so adored
And pride no longer cares
If it kills its false lord

But upon such demise
The soul screams in terror
For it's broken its prize
And can't take back its error

It begs and it pleads
To restore what's been lost
But at end knows it needs
To consider the cost

Of the damage untold
It has left in the wake
For hearts can't be controlled
With a gush or a shake

No, men's hearts are like bombs
Which so easily explode
Once the pin is removed
All past wrongs will re-load

So the prey becomes hunter
When the tiger attacks
For he does not want her
To see what he lacks

As he, too, had put
Her up in wrong place
But now steps his foot
Upon her shamed face

To now pulverize
As his own heart's been crushed
To blind out her eyes
And to see her lips hushed

For with words idly spoken
She'd stabbed at his soul
And had left his pride broken
By her judgments so cold

She had not meant to harm
Knew not e'en that he heard
But one cannot disarm
A thought put to word

Worse than not knowing this
She no longer knew him
And her once imagined bliss
Proved a nullified whim

Oh, what games and delusions
We play and we build
Upon empty illusions
And dreams unfulfilled

Yet strangely it's when
Our worst fears come true
We can finally transcend
All those old tales we grew

Out of ego and void
Out of sorrow and pain
When our nerves felt annoyed
And our hearts felt too vain

'Cause when ego is puffed
It is primed, too, to pop
And with pinprick is snuffed
Like a pest-blighted crop

So imagine much more
When a venom's injected
Right into its core
And its heart is rejected

But can you also not see
How it needs such a burst
To begin to get free
From its self-absorbed curse?

Except now feels the matter
Of our soul's isolation
Fiercer still with the shatter
Of our pet consolation

So we wait and we wonder
If we've missed the true meaning
Of the frightening thunder
In our heart's constant screaming

Whether homesick or lost
Whether lonely or grieved
Locked in bleak Winter's frost
We find little reprieve

Yet we know we've been made
For the glory of Spring
Some card's still to be played
Some grand song still to sing

Inexpressible yearning
For some secret we know
But can't speak for the burning
Repercussions of woe

Not some mere melancholy
Nor nostalgic forlorn
Not the musings of folly
But a sense that we're torn

From primordial root
And from headwaters fresh
Yet much deeper to boot
From our spiritual breath

'Tis an ache not for wares,
Appreciation or fame
But a fight just for air
Against strangling shame

For we're naked, we know
And with all we devise
Our most flawed parts still show
To a pure set of eyes

Like we're walking around
With no covering intact
But thin hospital gown
With wide split up the back

So we hide our true face
Aim to be what we're not
Work our blots to erase
Lest our schemes should be caught

Be 't by friend or by foe
We dare not risk the pain
Of humiliation's blow
On top of our stain

But instead of relief
Anguish grows louder till
This life's loneliest grief
Paralyzes the will

And last hope all but dies
On doubt's bed of despair
While embittered heart cries
That its lot's too unfair

Yet on outside we play
Through our unconscious mind
Man's collective charade
That everything's fine

Like some pact we'd all sworn
To uphold and obey
To protect from the scorn
Of society's sway

If we run with the flow
'Stead of strive 'gainst the tide
We might make enough show
To salvage our pride

We forget that conceit
Is what caused all the mess
Through a serpent's deceit
And a couple's wrong guess

'Twas they first tasted shame
And then hid in a garden
Sewing fig leaves as claim
To secure their own pardon

Yet in horror they knew
They had squandered the Prize
And must flee from the view
Of a pure set of eyes

Now same state of awry
Runs through each of their seed
Inborn and borne by
Like the thorniest ****

Whose nettles pierce deep
And infect every part
While roots tangle and sweep
Through the mind and the heart

It mocks what we've lost
Torments every dim hope
To constrict and accost
Like a noose-tightening rope

Still, hope won't be decayed
Smold'ring fires yet burn
Sparking hints that we're made
For bright Eden's return

This redemption we crave
Is no phantom's false plea
But as crestfallen wave
Hides itself in the sea

It's been veiled in plain sight
Big as all of our stories
Deep as mankind's full plight
And as high as its glories

Cloaked in every ambition
That we have to get in
To some exclusive coalition
For its favors to win

Lurks a bleeding predilection
Frustrated from birth
A desire for election
To bestow on us worth

Lured by scent of a promise
To be chosen and known
Like the warmth of a mom's kiss
Given only to her own

We search tree after tree
For sweet intimacy's nectar
From a fruit that will be
Our secret connecter

To hope's nourishing breast
To life's honey from comb
To an undying rest
To a straight way toward home

One to wipe away tears
And allay deepest doubt
Which proceeds from worst fears
Of our being locked out

Of a garden again
Cast from pure tree of life
Dim remembrance of when
Mankind first entered strife

All our conflicts, comp'tition,
Confusion and blame
Find first cause in perdition
That's invaded our frame

Like the foulest disease
The most cankerous rot
Grown by monstrous degrees
Hatched by Lucifer's plot

This story's no ****'s attack
Nor archaic folklore
But the earth-shattering fact
That our hearts are at war

With a pure set of eyes
Full of fire and proficient
To dispel all the lies
That our souls aren't deficient

And it's not our mere lack
which causes most dread
But the earth-shattering fact
That our spirits are dead

Cut off from their Source
In a black alienation
Humanity's curse
For it's rank ins'bordination


And yet...


This is also the story
Of how those same eyes
The Possessor of Glory
Looked with love and heart cries

On the crown of creation
His reflection of Self
Made His own treasured nation
The heirs of His wealth

Now broken and lost
All banished from Garden
And He knew the full cost
To grant them His pardon

Had known long before
He had e'er even made
That first man of yore
Yet handcrafts anyway

For His love is so strong
And He wanted to share
His intimacy with a throng
His own children to bear

So with souls in convulsion
From their rebellious misdeed
Just before their expulsion
He promised a Seed

One untainted from sin
Who could take its great boulder
And the weight of His kin
Upon His own shoulder

A Hero of hope
A rescuing Source
To widen our scope
And give pith to our course

An unshakable tie
An attachment at core
Who would silence the cry
That our hearts are at war

With a pure set of eyes
Full of fire and proficient
To dispel all the lies
That our souls aren't deficient

For those eyes are His own
And He'd pay the full fee
By His body alone
To set our hearts free

He's hope's nourishing breast
He's life's honey from comb
He's our undying rest
He's our straight way toward home

He will wipe away tears
And allay deepest doubt
Which proceeds from worst fears
Of our being locked out

Of the Garden again
Cast from pure Tree of Life
Dim remembrance of when
Mankind first entered strife

But 'twas on another tree
That sweet intimacy's nectar
Was secured tight when He
Became sacred Connector

And the thorns of our curse
Were pressed onto His head
With not one there to nurse
As the Son of Man bled

Then the wrath for our sin
Was absorbed as He cried
And the foul curse was broken
When the Son of God died

But death couldn't keep Him long
Nor His glory dispose
And we found our lost song
When the King of kings rose!

The debt had been paid
He had finished the work
The tide 'gainst us was swayed
We weren't left in our lurk

And we've only to now
Just repent and believe
To open and allow
Our hearts to receive

Our Divine Fountainhead
Our covering complete
To sup from His bread
And to sit at His feet

To worship the One
For Whom we were made
By Whom we've been won
Whom forever we've craved

The One Who can bear
Our hearts' full devotion
The One Who won't tear
At our souls' raw emotion

The One Who will be
Sweet eternity's song
Who with lasting decree
Will...right...every...wrong

“If you could be anywhere in the world

At this exact moment,

Where would you choose to be?”

I choose the easternmost point

Of Acadia Maine at sunrise.

Cold, salty ocean spray in my face,

Warm thermos of cocoa in my hands

And the promise of a new day

Being made right before my very eyes.

What could be more reassuring?

What could be more solidifying?

To know that no matter

What happened in the days or weeks

Or months or years or decades

Before,

Today, right now, at this exact moment,

It is all behind you,

It is all in your past.

And that sunrise you’re watching

Over cresting crashing white topped waves

In the cool breeze of morning

With the scent of dirt and earth and trees

Carried on the wind that also brings

The call of the morning dove and thrush

And Phoebe-bird,

Is the promise you’ve been waiting for.

The promise that you’re gonna be okay

Because today, today is a new day.

When your high, keep it low.
I promise I will never ever let you go.
I will always got your back
                -s.g

I beheld you in the distance,
that sight, descending into an alluring dream,
A dream worth evanescing from reality,
demented yet true, I was falling head over heels,
a feeling to be beside oneself with happiness.

As tenacious reality strikes-in;
with us drifting into a mellow conversation,
the respect in your words,
innocence in your voice,
honesty in your approach,
the kindness of your heart,
all had a ring to it.
As inquisitive,
You’ll never fathom the way you retailored my life.

How I wished, if I could tell you,”you’re the one”,
if I could make you mine,
if I could have you by my side for eternity,
if I could make your dreams, our dreams,
if I could hold your hand and hearten,”It’s going to be alright”,
if I could cheer you from every corner &
intrude all the way to protect you.

Now that I have all of you by my side,
without a false premise of heaven,
a world without pain,
a relationship without ebb and flow,
I promise to give you my whole,
I promise to love you through foible,
I promise to never give up on us,
I promise to persevere against all odds,
I promise to always treasure you,
for you, is all that matters.

Munting hiram na buhay,                             When will this rented
kelan pa yayaon?                                            lifetime pass?
Pina-walang kabuluhan                                Time has taken  
ang oras na lumipas.                                      the sense of things.
Panahon na sinaksi                                         I have witnessed
pawang di akin sarili.                                    what is not mine.

Kelan ang katapusan?                                    When will this end?
Sa oras ng pagtanggap                                   In accepting
ng tinig mo? Irog,                                            your voice? My dear,
ika'y aking kamatayan.                                   you are my death.

Ano ang pinangakong                                    Where is
payapa at galak,                                               peace and joy
kung puso'y sumisikap                                   if the heart still toils
sa inaasahang pangarap?                                towards it's endeavors?

Kelan mabubuksan                                          When will I unlock
ang pagkakataon ng pangakong                    the promise
ligaya mula sa kamay mo?                              from your hands?
Di pa sapat ang pagsunod?                             Is compliance not enough?

Asan na ang hinanap pangarap na ligaya,      Where is happiness
mula sa pawis, pagnanasa?                               sought with sweat and desire
Gawin ang lahat                                                  of risking all                
sa anumang konsekwnsya?                               no matter what?

Sino ako? Taong                                               Who am I? so presumptive
mapangahas sa sariling kalooban,                 of my own will,
ligaw sa ilang,                                                   lost in the wild,
lasing sa layaw,                                                  drunk for indulgence,
lulon sa kadiliman at kawalan.                        drowned into its depths.

ano ako sa Yo?                                                   what am i to You?
yapak.                                                      ­           footprints.
alabok.                                              ­                  dust.
pinag-duraang basura ng lansangan.            garbage spit in the street.

Ginawa mo aking kapalaran,                           You made me thus,
palayok at pinggan.                                           as a clay ***.
Sa yong kagustuhan                                          Transformed and used
tadhanang pupuntahan.                                    for what you forge.

Aking tanggap                                                    I accept
kawalan ng karapatan,                                      lost of rights,
pagsuko ng kalayaan,                                       surrendered freedom,
layag sa kagustuhan,                                         adrift from wants,

yaong kababaan.                                                and lowly.
Paglisan ng sarili, bihag                                    when i abandon myself, as Your
at lingkod mo,                                                      captive and servant
nawa'y malaya sa mundo.                                  may i be free of this world.

I promised myself I wouldn't think about you
I promised myself I could live without you
That's a promise I made, only to be
A promise I never intended to keep

I promised I wouldn't let you into my dreams
I promised if I did, I would ask you to leave
I found out last night that my promise is weak
Because it's a promise I couldn't keep

I promised myself I'd no longer love you
A promise I made that never came through
A promise long ago before I could see
That was a promise I never would keep

I can't keep you close if you are running away.
I can't heal if you are the one whose hurting me.
I can't hold on if you are letting this go.
I can't breath if you just leave.

I don't want this to end , but I am not willing to beg.
I don't want you , but I do so much.
It scares me and you know it does.

If you will stay I can't promise you sunshine.
But I do promise I will give you time .
To know me better , to understand me
I know I am not an easy person to be.
If you promise to stay and not walk away.
I promise to try each day
To make it better ,  to make US worth
To make you choose me ,
Even if I am not so perfect as I pretend to be
I promise to do whatever it takes..
But you have to promise me you will stay .

Stay for the nights I thought about you .
Stay for the days I hugged you .
Stay for the time when you thought I was made for you .
Please stay ,for me and you .

Its not going to be an easy journey
U know my flaws and I know yours.
But how can you ignore the thing that draws
You to me and me to you .
How will you ignore the smile you said I have that made you smile .
The funny faces you thought were adorable.
The little things that binds you to me .
The things you have to remember when you counting my flaws .
The things you have to remember while walking out of OUR.
The things you have to remember when you angry at me
The things that made you love me.

When I promise of forever,  it is true
And know that I only promised it to you

Sweet-lipped Psyche's pale white skin
All the men in Greece dragged in.
And the poor girl's dark brown eyes
Led Aphrodite her to despise.
For Psyche truly was a beauty,
Reputed as brighter than Aphrodite.
If Aphrodite was a dark red rose,
Of which we've written poetry and prose,
Psyche was a pure-white Aganisia
For which they wrote a deep-sea saga.
But she knew it was sore unwise
To find herself level with a Goddess' eyes.
The only proof needed for Psyche
Was the sad fate of the maiden Arachne,
Who challenged Athena to a weaving contest,
And though her tapestry was judged the best,
It was she that ended as the melancholy loser,
For Athena punished her with the life of a spider.
And so it was that Psyche knew
Aphrodite wold claim her life too.
So Aphrodite sent her son,
The lovely, winged, holy one,
Whose golden arrows fly at night
And relieve bored lovers of their plights.
She sent Eros to shoot his arrow
And pierce it through to Psyche's marrow,
Then set before her a crocodile,
The scaly terror of the Nile,
With which she'd fall in love straightway,
And then she'd come to rue the day.
For crocodiles have no love to give,
So it would eat her, and she'd cease to live.
On the sleeping Psyche Eros descended,
Long before the night had ended,
In whose dainty breast to shove
A golden arrow poisoned with love.
He prepared to bury it to the hilt,
But a drop of love on him was spilt,
At the moment he saw her eyes, dark brown,
Look to him and stare him down.
Then Eros went back to his mother
And told her he could not wed another
Who did not shine quite so brightly
As his sweet-lipped brown-eyed Psyche.
So spiteful Aphrodite cursed
Psyche through her red lips pursed,
That the girl would find no husband
Among God, animal, or man.
And Eros this so greatly angered
He could no more with arrows linger
At the foot of lovers' beds
To foster love in their young heads.
The entire world then ceased to love
Whether it walked on foot or hoof.
Whether it swam or flew on wing
It could not love nor gain others' loving.
When love no longer circulated,
Aphrodite it aggravated
To see her temple lying bare
And to feel the gray growing in her hair.
She told Eros he'd have what he desired
If only he would kindle love's fires.
So at the mountain, Psyche's family offered her
And she was borne away on the back of Zephyr
To Eros' golden gay abode
That he and his ghostly servants called home.
In the golden rooms she wandered by daylight,
But she lay with Eros in the dark when came night.
She knew not who her darling was,
But called her ignorance a test of trust.
Never to look upon him by day,
She continued in this way,
Until she longed to visit her family,
Which her husband granted her gladly.
But he held her, and he warned her
Not to let her sisters persuade her.
"They may try to tear you away
By telling you gruesome stories." he'd say.
Then, trippingly, from Olympus she jumped down
To walk the streets of her hometown.
She told her sisters her whole story
And they turned it into something gory.
"He could be a serpent," they'd say,
"Fattening you up for the day
When he can pop you in his mouth and eat you"
Unfortunately, she took their words as true.
"So, when he comes to you at night,
Just gaze on him by candlelight!
If he's a serpent, use this knife,
And you'll no longer be his wife.
But make sure not to spill the oil,
Or his waking will cause great turmoil!
We'll find out about that young buck!
Use the candle, the knife, don't spill, and good luck!"
She walked back to the palace at their behest,
Butterflies banging within her chest.
Could the faceless man with whom she'd spent her nights
Be revealed as a serpent by candlelight?
She did not have to wait for long
To prove her treacherous sisters wrong.
As she lay in the great soft bed,
The instructions tangled inside her head,
And lighting the candle, she almost fumbled,
But when she saw his face, she truly stumbled!
Eros' beauty knocked her senseless,
Leaving mortal Psyche defenseless,
And causing her to spill the oil, which smoldered
On Eros' godly golden shoulder.
He, awaking with a start
Was disappointed to his heart
That Psyche cold be so unfaithful
And make a decision so egregiously fatal.
Then, jumping from the casing, he flew
Out of Psyche's lustful view.
And she, for her part, suddenly found
That from the palace she'd been cast down
To a field of which she had no memory,
Or very dim, if she had any.
In despair, she began to flounder,
Then resigned herself to wander
Until she came to a temple edifice,
Which was, on Earth, Aphrodite's face,
And begged the unseen Goddess hear her out,
Trying her patience with childish whining shouts.
Aphrodite, trying only to divert,
Cast a basket of grains down to the dirt,
And told the weeping lovely malcontent
That if she sorted the grains 'fore day was spent,
She just may see her sweetheart once again.
All she had to do was sort the grain.
But Psyche, though her fingers were dainty and thin,
To separate the grains could not begin,
And sobbing, lay upon the stony floor
That was as cold as the Goddess had acted before.
The ants, which had been drawn to the golden grain,
Bore her load and relieved her of her pain.
In their famously sure and straight black line,
They each picked up a piece of grain so fine
That it might with ease pass through a needle,
And into order they the sweet grain wheedled.
Then at the very setting of the sun,
Aphrodite found the task was done,
And though she praised the poor girl outwardly,
Inside she felt the bloom of hate for Psyche.
So she set her down on one side of a stream,
Where on the other was a field of green,
In which lived Helios' golden sheep
From which she was to obtain some shining fleece.
Then Aphrodite left her there to play,
And flew to Mount Olympus far away.
But Flumen, God of Rivers, raised his head
To warn sweet Psyche from his riverbed
That the sheep were so fierce, if she but pulled one hair,
They'd all turn on her and eat her then and there.
It was better if she waited 'til midday
When the sheep lay down to sleep the heat away.
Then she could cross where the river rushes,
And pick the wool that had got caught in the bushes.
So Psyche followed Flumen's good advice,
And for Aphrodite's cruelty she paid no price.
Aphrodite's blood boiled when she saw
That Psyche had survived it after all.
Again, she tried to send her to her death
And charged her to collect water from a cleft
Which mortal humans could not enter,
And in which serpents would surely spend her.
But now it was an eagle came to her aid,
Who stormed inside and flew between the snakes,
Then picked a pouch of water in its beak,
And back out of the cleft to Psyche it sneaked.
Aphrodite, at her dastardly wit's end,
Devised a horrible place for her to Psyche send.
"Psyche, caring for my ailing son
Has drained each drop of beauty, every one,
From my former glory of a face.
Therefore, I command you to that place
Where Persephone dwells. Then you must beg
For some of her beauty, just a tiny dreg.
Then you may have my son, I give my promise,
As holding him from you has marred my face."
Then Psyche, with tears streaming from her eyes,
Decided the only way there was to die.
In what she had appointed her fatal hour,
She climbed up to the top of a high tower,
But her melancholy was so disturbingly great,
All the Universe moved to it abate,
So that the very tower she climbed upon,
Awoke and spoke to her as if a person.
"Psyche, there is a way to the Underworld alive,
So that you need not from my roofing dive."
And to the Underworld the tower gave her
A route and some directions just to save her,
Then it sternly warned her that not of meat,
Nor of anything but bread in Hades could she eat.
So she followed the Tower's path back down
And disappeared into the heaving ground.
And when she found herself before Persephone's throne
She asked to take a parcel of her beauty home,
Which the emotionless Queen of the Screaming ******
Without word placed in Psyche's quivering hand.
The hardest part of the impossible task being done,
Psyche headed back up toward the sun,
And, reasoning that she was to see her beloved before nightfall,
Decided to use some beauty from the parcel.
Inside she found not beauty, but a stifling sleep,
Which forever in its clutches would she keep
If Eros had not chancely happened by,
And wiped Persephone's sleep from Psyche's eye.
Then, carrying her on his back, he barged
Into the Hall of the Olympian Gods.
He bade them let him wed himself and Psyche
And disregard the protests of Aphrodite.
Then Jupiter, indeed, allowed it obligingly,
For he was a man who greatly enjoyed a party.
Ambrosia she was given so to seal
Her immortality and place her among the surreal.
Then after many years of love and laughter,
Psyche bore Hedone, their lovely daughter.
This is how the beauty of the Human Soul,
Triumphed over the beauty of lust and gold.
All this Eros and Psyche had to take.
All this they endured for their love's sake.
They demonstrate the purity of love,
That is admired by Gods above.
In the end, it is the pure Mariposa
Who is more deserving of ambrosia.

Your parted lips whispered, "Hello".
Our first day, do you remember?

Years and years, long ago.
Years and years, we're still together.

Pinky promise me, you'll never forget,
how I try my best to fight your monsters.

Pinky promise me, you'll never be upset.
Show the others that you are stronger.

One day, years and years later.
Do you recall?

I was a failure,
and I let you fall.

Pinky promise me, you'll forgive me.
This monster was too strong for me.

As your golden locks turned gray.
Today, here you lay.

As you took your last sigh.
Your parted lips whispered, "Goodbye."

Promise me you will not
Spend too much time talking
Forever busy diluting oxygen from atoms
So that you eventually forget
And I mean, truly forget,
How much you love the sound
Of another’s voice
Embrace the ache you feel not when you
Are lonely and miss someone to talk to
But when you are alone and have no one to listen to
Always remember how much
Every word you’ve ever heard has kept you company
And promise that even on this circular planet
When you stand up as tall as you can
And then when you can’t see the end of it
That you will look anyway
To find the people worth listening to
And even if you sometimes slump over the curve on this earth
And your stomach aches with the pressure of your arched body
Over this rounded mass of a planet
Remember that you can ease the pain by keeping your chin prompt up
And your eyes always forward
Place your face in my hands if you must
I’ll hold it steady so you can have a better view
Of this world and the people in it
And every now and then I’ll turn your head
So you can look in a different direction.
And if the thunders of this world are really just the growling
Of your stomach over top of it
Know you can feed that ache with the stories of others
And when they get hungry you can tell your own story
One free from the ignorance of not listening to others
That have taken the time too, to get a better world view
When you do speak keep in mind all that you’ve seen
Promise me to wait when you come back down to earth
And you have something true to say.
Promise that when you’re done saying it that
You will listen even better than before
Even if all they have to say back is I love you too.

Adam and Eve were in the cave.
Sadness had taken hold over their hearts.
They had just discovered Abel’s
Lifeless body.
The first ******.
And Adam and Eve knew who did it.
It was Cain.
And Eve had a word to say about it.
I told you to keep an eye on Cain
She shouted with all her might
The cave shook with her anger.
Sadness had turned to rage.
Yesterday they had two sons.
Now they had none.

Eve continued
Because once she started she could not be stopped
And Adam knew that.
Eve pointed at Adam
Cain looked at me with the same eye
That the serpent did when he told me to eat the fruit.
Something was in that boy
Or rather someone……
She stopped there.
Eve could not bear the thought.

Adam sat down in a daze.
He had tried to teach Cain
The word of God
But Cain’s mind was always elsewhere.
Cain liked to take care of the plants.
Like Adam did in the garden.
Adam thought they had bonded.
But Cain did not want to hear
About the Lord God of heaven
He said with a sneer
If God was so good why did he kick us
Out of the Garden
Adam had to stop talking
Because it was stirring up feelings
That Adam would rather not acknowledge

Abel was, different.
Adam then replied to Eve
Abel is with God now.
Abel.
So trusting.
Until the end
Tears formed in Adam’s eyes
And he said, We may not see him again
But God will.

Eve then walked around and picked up a rock
And smashed it to the ground.
She screamed, “And who is supposed to be the Promise now?”
The Promise,
The one that God said was coming to bruise the heel
Of the one that deceived them.
Adam said, He deceived Cain too.
Cain went to be with his God.
And Abel went to be with his God too.
The Promise will come.
Because God will provide.
It would be on everyone’s lips in the Bible.

Eve was comforted.
But tears still watered her face.
She missed Abel
All she knew that day was that it was the sacrifice
That Abel and Cain had to give to God.
And Abel came to her happy
Because God had accepted his sacrifice
Eve asked, What about Cain?
Silence impregnated the moment.
Eve now wishes she would have followed up.
Abel said he was going out to meet Cain
His brother.
Abel left.
And Eve would never see him again.

Adam said, “Now we have to bury our son.”
I don’t even know what to call what happened.
This must be the death that God said
Would come to us when we left the Garden
Eve replied in tears, There has to be hope.
Adam said, The covenant is still there
Between us and our God
And even though one of our sons in the grave.
A son shall come to us
Who will be the Promise.
Eve looked happy
Because now there was hope.

Do you promise?
Do I have to promise?
Why can’t you just promise me?
Why can’t I promise you?

Compounding compromise after compromise
Plunge unto the same mold and lose our eyes
Lose our ability to realize
I drift to you because you aren’t me
You don’t complete me but you don’t deplete me

After-surge, recharge
Electricity in your touch
A culmination of all you’ve ever felt, been through

And I fall harder through the floorboards of my arrogance
When your fingers fuse with the heartstrings
Reminding me without words
You’re easy to move around and I swim through you

Converge and compromise
God, I think your fingers should melt me down
Oh, they make some of my favorite sounds
Fusing with the heartstrings
Reminding me without words
That feeling is you
Do you promise I can have it too?

Compounding compromise after compromise
We pour unto the same mold
And lose our eyes
We didn’t need them anyway
I’m not me, you’re not even you
Release myself into the wild and swallow you
All we can be, drowning on the same wave
Holding hands to stay in parallel motion
Amidst all the commotion
Without eyes I can say I wouldn’t want it any other way
Converge and compromise with you

There lies a desert void of life
There lies a desert void of water and void of food
There lies a desert void of all good things
In this desert lies death
In this desert lies air more dry than dead bones
And in this desert lies pain more than can be imagined

For I wander throughout said desert
Seemingly with my lonesome
With no one to turn
And with nowhere to go
So I sit on a rock and wait
Then a promise of water comes to me from Above

But when the driest of days come over the horizon
And the hottest of times comes to my face
I almost give up, leaving the promise
And then I feel like I have moved on from that promise
But I cannot leave what came from Above
Oh me of little faith!

So I wander seemingly alone in this desert
For days upon days, weeks upon weeks
For months upon months, even years upon years
Longing for even a drop of water to satisfy my thirsty soul
But here in the dry desert the water is unfound
For all of the water has evaporated into the dry desert air

But on the horizon I see what I’ve longed for
I see what looks to be a spring
Bringing water to the dry desert ground
To satisfy the thirst of this dead dry country
And as I approach this great gorge of water
I am killed with the realization that no water lies here

For I have been tricked
By the images in my head
And the physical needs of my body
I have been deceived
The green and lush never truly existed in this dead dry desert
Only this mysterious mirage in my misunderstood mind

So still I search across these dry dead lands
For the water that might bring life back to my tired soul
But time and time again
The mirages ****** my hope for satisfaction
But soon enough I know I will find the promise
And reach the flowing waters to satisfy my soul

One day, I find myself a well
A well that may be full of water
Water that may wet my thirsty tongue
But when I look into that deep well
I see a crack in its basic foundation
And no clean water lies in this broken cistern

So I drop my bucket into that deep broken well
Hoping for a mere drink of water
But in the bucket comes muddied, dirtied water  
And when I pour that water into my thirsty mouth
My thirst is not satisfied, it is only magnified
And I am more thirsty than I have been ever before

So I take another drink
But this broken cistern holds water that cannot satisfy
Water that may merely increase my thirst
That will only bring forth the day of my death
For my mouth is as dry as this desert sand
And I will die here in this dry desert of death

I am like dead dry bones in the valley of death
With no flesh or breath to give me life
But then when I find the water that gives life
Flesh will come about my bones
And He will breathe breath into my lungs
Then for the first time, I will have true life

I wander on never finding the water I require
But then I stand and look heavenward
And I hear my weary voice cry out “My bones are dried up!
All hope is lost, and I am cut off!”
So I stand in the dry dying desert
Alone with nothing and no one to hope in

Then His glorious voice responds; “I will raise you from your graves
I will put My Spirit in you, for I am the Lord your God
I am with you to the end of the ages
For My Son, your God reigns with me
And our Name is Immanuel
For I am with you."

And I fall to my knees
For there lies a cistern unbroken
I look deep into this well and see a promise unforsaken
For the well is filled with sweet satisfying water
And I drink never to thirst again
For He is the Living Water, and I am satisfied in Him

1969 Hartford art school is magnet for exceedingly intelligent over-sensitive under-achievers alluring freaks congenital creeps and anyone who cannot cut it in straight world it is about loners dreamers stoners clowns cliques of posers competing to dress draw act most outrageous weird wonderful classrooms clash in diversity of needs some students get it right off while others require so much individual attention one girl constantly raises her hand calls for everything to be repeated explained creativity is treated as trouble and compliance to instruction rewarded most of faculty are of opinion kids are not capable of making original artwork teachers discourage students from dream of becoming well-known until they are older more experienced only practiced skilled artists are competent to create ‘real art’ defined by how much struggle or multiple meanings weave through the work Odysseus wants to make magic boxes without knowing or being informed of Joseph Cornell one teacher tells him you think you’re going to invent some new color the world has never seen? you’re just some rowdy brat from the midwest with a lot of crazy ideas and no evidence of authenticity another teacher warns you’re nothing more than a bricoleur! Odysseus questions what’s a bricoleur teacher informs a rogue handyman who haphazardly constructs from whatever is immediately available Odysseus questions what’s wrong with that? teacher answers it’s low-class folk junk  possessing no real intellectual value independently he reads Marshall McLuhan’s “The Medium Is The Message” and “The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci” he memorizes introductory remark of Leonardo’s “i must do like one who comes last to the fair and can find no other way of providing for himself than by taking all the things already seen by others and not taken by reason of their lesser value” Odysseus dreams of becoming accomplished important artist like Robert Rauschenberg Jasper Johns Andy Warhol he dreams of being in eye of hurricane New York art scene he works for university newspaper and is nicknamed crashkiss the newspaper editor is leader in student movement and folk singer who croons “45 caliber man, you’re so much more than our 22, but there’s so many more of us than you” Odysseus grows mustache wears flower printed pants vintage 1940’s leather jacket g.i. surplus clothes he makes many friends his gift for hooking up with girls is uncanny he is long haired drug-crazed hippie enjoying popularity previously unknown to him rock bands play at art openings everyone flirts dances gets ****** lots of activism on campus New York Times dubs university of Hartford “Berkeley of the east coast” holding up ******* in peace sign is subversive in 1969 symbol of rebellion youth solidarity gesture against war hawks rednecks corporate America acknowledgment of potential beyond materialistic self-righteous values of status quo sign of what could be in universe filled with incredible possibilities he moves in with  painting student one year advanced named Todd Whitman Todd has curly blond hair sturdy build wire rimmed glasses impish smile gemini superb draftsman amazing artist Todd emulates Francisco de Goya and Albrecht Durer Todd’s talent overshadows Odysseus’s Todd’s dad is accomplished professor at distinguished college in Massachusetts to celebrate Odysseus’s arrival Todd cooks all day preparing spaghetti dinner when Odysseus arrives home tripping on acid without appetite Todd is disappointed Odysseus runs down to corner store buys large bottle of wine returns to house Todd is eating spaghetti alone they get drunk together then pierce each other’s ears with needles ice wine cork pierced ears are outlaw style of bad *** bikers like Hell’s Angels Todd says you are a real original Odys and funny too Odysseus asks funny, how? Todd answers you are one crazy ******* drop acid whenever you want smoke **** then go to class this is fun tonight Odys getting drunk and piercing our ears Odysseus says yup i’m having a good time too Todd and Odysseus become best friends Odysseus turns Todd on to Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” and “Ariel” then they both read Ted Hughes “Crow” illustrated with Leonard Baskin prints Todd turns Odysseus on to German Expressionist painting art movement of garish colors emotionally violent imagery from 1905-1925 later infuriating Third ***** who deemed the work “degenerate” Odysseus dives into works of Max Beckmann Otto Dix Conrad Felixmulller Barthel Gilles George Grosz Erich Heckel Ernst Ludwig Kirchner Felix Nussbaum Karl *******Rottluff Carl Hofer August Macke Max Peckstein Elfriede Lohse-Wachtler Egon Shiele list goes on in 1969 most parents don’t have money to buy their children cars most kids living off campus either ride bikes or hitchhike to school then back home on weekends often without a penny in their pockets Odysseus and Todd randomly select a highway and hitch rides to Putney Vermont Brattleboro Boston Cape Cod New York City or D.C. in search of adventure there is always trouble to be found curious girls to assist in Georgetown Odysseus sleeps with skinny girl with webbed toes who believes he is Jesus he tries to dissuade her but she is convinced

Toby Mantis is visiting New York City artist at Hartford art school he looks like huskier handsomer version of Ringo Starr and women dig him he builds stretchers and stretches canvases for Warhol lives in huge loft in Soho on Broadway and Bleeker invites Odysseus to come down on weekends hang out Toby takes him to Max’s Kansas City Warhol’s Electric Circus they wander all night into morning there are printing companies longshoremen gays in Chelsea Italians in West Village hippies playing guitars protesting the war in Washington Square all kinds of hollering crazies passing out fliers pins in Union Square Toby is hard drinker Odysseus has trouble keeping up  he pukes his guts out number of times Odysseus is *** head not drinker he explores 42nd Street stumbles across strange exotic place named Peep Show World upstairs is large with many **** cubicles creepy dudes hanging around downstairs is astonishing there are many clusters of booths with live **** girls inside girls shout out hey boys come on now pick me come on boys there are hundreds of girls from all over the world in every conceivable size shape race he enters dark stall  puts fifty cents in coin box window screen lifts inside each cluster are 6 to 10 girls either parading or glued to a window for $1 he is allowed to caress kiss their ******* for $2 he is permitted to probe their ****** or *** for $10 girl reaches hand into darkened stall jerks him off tall slender British girl thrills him the most she says let me have another go at your dickey Odysseus spends all his money ******* 5 times departing he notices men from every walk of life passing through wall street stockbrokers executives rednecks mobsters frat boys tourists fat old bald guys smoking thick smelly cigars Toby Mantis has good-looking girlfriend named Lorraine with long brown hair Toby Lorraine and Odysseus sit around kitchen table Odysseus doodles with pencil on paper Toby spreads open Lorraine’s thighs exposing her ****** to Odysseus Lorraine blushes yet permits Toby to finger her Odysseus thinks she has the most beautiful ****** he has ever seen bulging pelvic bone brown distinctive bush symmetric lips Toby and Lorraine watch in amusement as Odysseus gazes intently Tony mischievously remarks you like looking at that ***** don’t you? Odysseus stares silently begins pencil drawing Lorraine’s ****** his eyes darting back and forth following day Lorraine seduces Odysseus while Toby is away walks out **** from shower she is few years older her body lean with high ******* she directs his hands mouth while she talks with someone on telephone it is strange yet quite exciting Odysseus is in awe of New York City every culture in the world intermingling democracy functioning in an uncontrollable managed breath millions of people in motion stories unraveling on every street 24 hour spectacle with no limits every conceivable variety of humanity ******* in same air Odysseus is bedazzled yet intimidated

Odysseus spends summer of 1970 at art colony in Cummington Massachusetts it is magical time extraordinary place many talented eccentric characters all kinds of happenings stage plays poetry readings community meals volleyball after dinner volleyball games are hilarious fun he lives alone in isolated studio amidst wild raspberries in woods shares toilet with field mouse no shower he reads Jerzy Kosinski’s “Painted Bird” then “Being There” then “Steps” attractive long haired girl named Pam visits community for weekend meets Odysseus they talk realize they were in first grade together at Harper amazing coincidence automatic ground for “we need to have *** because neither of us has seen each other since first grade” she inquires where do you sleep? Todd hitches up from Hartford to satisfy curiosity everyone sleeps around good-looking blue-eyed poet named Shannon Banks from South Boston tells Odysseus his ******* is not big enough for kind of ******* she wants but she will **** him off that’s fine with him 32 year old poet named Ellen Morrissey from Massachusetts reassures him ******* is fine Ellen is beginning to find her way out from suffocating marriage she has little daughter named Nina Ellen admires Odysseus’s free spirit sees both his possibilities and naïveté she realizes he has crippling family baggage he has no idea he is carrying thing about trauma is as it is occurring victim shrugs laughs to repel shock yet years later pain horror sink in turned-on with new ideas he returns to Hartford art school classes are fun yet confusing he strives to be best drawer most innovative competition sidetracks him Odysseus uses power drill to carve pumpkin on Halloween teachers warn him to stick to fundamentals too much creativity is suspect Todd and he are invited to holiday party Odysseus shows up with Ellen Morrissey driving in her father’s station wagon 2 exceptionally pretty girls flirt with him he is live wire they sneak upstairs he fingers both at same time while they laugh to each other one of the girls Laura invites him outside to do more he follows they walk through falling snow until they find hidden area near some trees Laura lies down lifts her skirt she spreads her legs dense ***** mound he is about to explore her there when Laura looks up sees figure with flashlight following their tracks in snow she warns it’s Bill my husband run for your life! Odysseus runs around long way back inside party grabs a beer pretending he has been there next to Ellen all night few minutes later he sees Laura and Bill return through front door Bill has dark mustache angry eyes Odysseus tells Ellen it is late maybe they should leave soon suddenly Bill walks up to him with beer in hand cracks bottle over his head glass and beer splatter Odysseus jumps up runs out to station wagon Ellen hurriedly follows snow coming down hard car is wedged among many guest vehicles he starts engine locks doors maneuvers vehicle back and forth trying to inch way out of spot Bill appears from party walks to his van disappears from out of darkness swirling snow Bill comes at them wielding large crowbar smashes car’s headlights taillights side mirrors windshield covered in broken glass Ellen ducks on floor beneath glove compartment sobs cries he’s going to **** us! we’re going to die! Odysseus steers station wagon free floors gas pedal drives on back country roads through furious snowstorm in dark of night no lights Odysseus contorts crouches forward in order to see through hole in shattered windshield Ellen sees headlights behind them coming up fast it is Bill in van Bill banging their bumper follows them all the way back to Hartford to Odysseus’s place they run inside call police Bill sits parked van outside across street as police arrive half hour later Bill pulls away next day Odysseus and Ellen drive to Boston to explain to Ellen’s dad what has happened to his station wagon Odysseus stays with Ellen in Brookline for several nights another holiday party she wants to take him along to meet her friends her social circles are older he thinks to challenge their values be outrageous paints face Ellen is horrified cries you can’t possibly do this to me these are my close friends what will they think? he defiantly answers my face is a mask who cares what i look like? man woman creature what does it matter? if your friends really want to know me they’ll need to look beyond the make-up tonight i am your sluttish girlfriend! sometimes Odysseus can be a thoughtless fool

Laura Rousseau Shane files for divorce from Bill she is exceptionally lovely models at art school she is of French descent her figure possessing exotic traits she stands like ballerina with thick pointed ******* copious ***** hair Odysseus is infatuated she frequently dances pursues him Laura says i had the opportunity to meet Bob Dylan once amazed Odysseus questions what did you do? she replies what could i possibly have in common with Bob Dylan? Laura teases Odysseus about being a preppy then lustfully gropes him grabs holds his ***** they devote many hours to ****** intimacy during ******* she routinely reaches her hand from under her buns grasps his testicles squeezing as he pumps he likes that Laura is quite eccentric fetishes over Odysseus she even thrills to pick zits on his back he is not sure if it is truly a desire of hers proof of earthiness or simply expression of mothering Laura has two daughters by Bill Odysseus is in over his head Laura tells Odysseus myth of Medea smitten with love for Jason Jason needs Medea’s help to find Golden Fleece Medea agrees with promise of marriage murders her brother arranges ****** of king who has deprived Jason his inheritance couple is forced into exile Medea bears Jason 2 sons then Jason falls in love with King Creon’s daughter deserts Medea is furious she makes shawl for King Creon’s daughter to wear at her wedding to Jason  shawl turns to flames killing bride Medea murders her own sons by Jason Odysseus goes along with story for a while but Laura wants husband Odysseus is merely scruffy boy with roving eyes Laura becomes galled by Odysseus leaves him for one of his roommates whom she marries then several years later divorces there is scene when Laura tells Odysseus she is dropping him for his roommate he is standing in living room of her house space is painted deep renaissance burgundy there are framed photographs on walls in one photo he is hugging Laura and her daughters under big oak tree in room Laura’s friend Bettina other girl he fingered first night he met Laura at party is watching with arms crossed he drops to floor curls body sobs i miss you so much Laura turns to Bettina remarks look at him men are such big babies he’s pitiful Bettina nods

following summer he works installing displays at G. Fox Department Store besides one woman gay men staff display department for as long as he can remember homosexuals have always been attracted to him this misconception is probably how he got job his tenor voice suggesting not entirely mature man instead more like tentative young boy this ambiguous manifestation sometimes also evidences gestures thoroughly misleading after sidestepping several ****** advances one of his co-workers bewilderingly remarks you really are straight manager staff are fussy chirpy catty group consequently certain he is not gay they discriminate against him stick him with break down clean up slop jobs at outdoor weekend rock concert in Constitution Plaza he meets 2 younger blond girls who consent to go back to his place mess around both girls are quite dazzling yet one is somewhat physically undeveloped they undress and model for Odysseus radio plays Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly With His Song” both girls move to rhythm sing along he thinks to orchestrate direct decides instead to let them lead lies on bed while curvaceous girl rides his ******* slender girl sits on his face they switch all 3 alternate giggle laughter each girl reaches ****** on his stiffness later both assist with hands mouths his ****** is so intense it leaves him paralyzed for a moment

in fall he is cast as Claudius in production of Hamlet Odysseus rehearses diligently on nights o

"listen
beloved i dreamed
i thought you would have deceived
me and became a star in the kingdom
of heaven" - ee cummings


listen
love, I am
looking for things to promise you.
(i promise) I have noticed the lines next to your eyes
I promise I am a foreign country
i'm not trying to be
I promise sometimes I look in the mirror and I see a child
and I am right.
Build me a castle
made of cigarette butts and litchi fruit
and (i will) wear my crown of white hot ash
and i will burn my Hebrew name into your palms like
some catholic wednesday
like some stolen bicycle
like your sidelit kindness in the cold.
(go home)
and i will write you a song
sweet enough to
wash the taste
out of your mouth.

The ******* of embezzled glory staunchly defend their counterfeit stature by defalcating the public trust of industrious societies governed internally by compunction and sabotaged externally by the tempests of acerbic fate met with inclement aleatory convergence. To supply a society with ingenuity without being complaisant or officious with unctuous pleas to the overlords we must fashion a new vogue that taps the bustle of giants and aggrandizes the margins to oversee their own creative destinies with scaffolded arrangements of titanic promise and justifiable fluidity to conquer the blinkered dogmatism of a dissolute chastity to inveterate apocryphal tenets of factitious but unmerited perspectives. Democracy crumbles when the convenience of sensationalism supplants the resolve of those that fossick hidden wealth and promulgate validity instead of undergirding pomp with precarious prevarications of duplicitous omission guarded gingerly by the gatekeepers of a ****** sanity that whitewashes the discussion with invented hobgoblins and purblind catharsis. To defeat simplicity and enshrine byzantine elegance as the paragon for voguish commentary rather than abide by a bowdlerized decorum for appeasing simpletons with divisive balkanization through identity politics we can overcome the impediments to human progress that are engineered to persist because of the inertia of the listless and the stubbornness of doctrinaire politicization and invent vivacity and festivity anew. We need to divorce ourselves from pedestrian quibbles of hero-worship that endanger the vitality of the common discourse because of fastidious pedantic disempowerment that ravages us with debased dreams by underscoring nuisances and tolerable nightmares that emasculate the virulence of the liberated individual and subvert his ambitions to contend with a picaresque world of limitless promise and self-motivated internal wealth.
      The bane of modernity is how chary the world becomes because of fractured histories intersecting with controversial destinies and the antidote to that poisonous self-defeating self-censorship is the audacity of brazen challenges to expurgation through assiduous resourcefulness and delicate diplomacy in wrangling controversies with outspoken courage rather than whispered resentment. Temerity waged in inclement circumstance is justified and curiosity stoked by lambent flames of fulgurant individualism should be fortified to the extent necessary to conquer the feckless spoilsports of unctuous puritanism and institutional obedience. The quacksalvers that blather about inconsequence strand the imagination in a desiccated desert that is ostracized from the palettes of the artistic whim to wield efflorescence rather than squander life in pursuit of perfunctory lucre or tenuous solidarity around banal idealism promised by social justice warriors that forget the biggest war being waged on humanity is on the ingenuity of the common discourse and the liberty to opine about real issues rather than saccharine conventions of emasculation through linguistic imprisonment and epicurean slavery to fashimites who relish the buzzword but never the enlightened audience that scoffs at feeble attempts at cultural commentary like Childish Gambino’s “This is America” music video. This particular artifact is a demonstration of how childishly fickle the plebeian mentality really is, stitching together a bricolage of violence to engineer controversy and serenading it with the most banal music imaginable and exhorting people to herald it as a high artform while inundating the world with unimaginative comic book movies and Star Wars rip-offs because of the lucrative business of formulaic replication. “This is America” should be regarded as a parody of itself because of how hackneyed its design is and how cacophonous it sounds and mocks its audience with lowbrow tactics of adding tinsel to trash and marketing it as the glory of tatterdemalions rather than the refinement of true cinematic achievements that have been relegated because Warhol’s Campbells-Soup-consumerism trumps true belletrist in the public view.
        Cultural watersheds punctuate our history with salient achievements in experimentation, but the formulaic profiteering of buzzword sensationalism and yellow journalism and the ostentatious glorification of promiscuous boasting and fancy cars tantalize the mice to continue playing slot machines rather than penning a novel or doing something promethean. The world scoffs at Trump but ignores the bigger institutional caveats that endanger us much more than a pragmatic albeit unconventional pontificator who is complicit in constructing a false narrative to enslave mindless people to fret about eminence rather than delight themselves in the consequential nuances of established refinement that used to serenade the world with flourish and spectacle. The world kowtows to the crusade against flavor-of-the-week enemies of the liberal-conservative syncretism because it has been conditioned to believe that synthesis is the only logical solution for the polarized worldviews of churlish people that become parvenus not on their merits but on their marketable pitfalls and their public foibles. Peccadillos are more important to people than virtues and this makes society morally bankrupt if we loiter around Astroturf causes that have been infiltrated by corporatism and venal debauchery and acquiesce as disempowered gossip hounds that hunt in packs to find jest in aberration rather than achievement in self-created narratives that defy the stupid purblind boorishness of the mainstream media and its haughty liberalism or the persnickety condemnation of priggish conservative moralities that had an expiration date 50 years ago. Who the **** cares about transgender-touting-gender-fluidity quidnuncs and the snooty obsession with lurid personal endeavors of reputable people that made minor ****** transgressions in a world policed by wide-eyed feminazis that seek to ransack men of their vital virulence to spotlight their unjustifiable oppression. Women are oppressed but the carnal nature of their calumniation and their vindictive powers of persuasion are deployed with such vehement vigilance and such distaste for the majority that the world relegates itself to quibbles of celebrities rather than substantive issues. There is a systemic feminization of society occurring that seeks to demarcate despotic uxorious pleasantries as an incarceration of vocal dissent against supercilious women and their tamed men that slavishly grovel in repudiation of anything prickly.  Men historically have oppressed women but the solution to this quandary isn’t a reverse discrimination where the minority concern is spotlighted as a majoritarian issue that overshadows the disproportionate nature of our society where nominal accreditation is afforded in a non-meritocratic way to absolve people of their carnality and demote the vigorous defense of human liberty as secondary to compromise solutions that appease more people than they offend but simultaneously result in suboptimal conditions that reward arbitrarily coachable people while jettisoning anyone witty enough to be capable of insubordination of a hedonistic epicurean world obsessed with appearance and ravaged by the decadence of formulaic profiteering at the expense of originality and true promethean art that is herculean enough to defy hackneyed tropes and siphon the best elements from a piecemeal world variegated with complexity but stifled by fomented hatred.
The solutions to these problems is to create a watchdog group of artistic critics who become eminent and ubiquitously heard enough to offer creative consultation to the artistic endeavors that we consume and the music that is curated for fastidious ears that crave euphonic originality rather than the banality of easily dovetailed bass-heavy cookie-cutter garbage and the gaudy tactics of talentless rappers whose swagger derives from  the intersection of opportunism and the divestiture of an industry that rewards gloated supercilious epicureanism and meretricious marketability. Am I the only one jaded by second-rate superhero movies that infest the cinemas that borrow from Michael Bay while thrusting pulse-pounding but narratively bankrupt movies down the throats of consumers that might prize the cinematic originality of the heyday of filmmaking? Is it always high art to invent controversy that is witless or half-witted just because it will create buzz? Shouldn’t we condemn the laziness of society in acquiescing to the penury of the modern cultural narrative which belabors the dead horses of racism and sexism ad nauseum? Shouldn’t we fight the war of against inequity through legislation rather than hibernating about scandalous eminence and testy malfeasance?
          Liberty should be championed above all else and we are turning our backs on the future unless we muster the resolve to diminish the sway of the common narrative and aim our spotlight at consequential endeavors rather than the tropes of prosaic and pedestrian bastardization of art and culture. We need to fight artistic laziness which has ravaged our culture and castigate the tactics of wannabee celebrities that use lurid tactics to attract an audience by bedizening themselves with Pyrrhic ostentations and rampant fakery to create more melodrama in a world that needs to be less histrionic. YouTube celebrities swarm us as they get high on ******* and lean-- at our expense-- and vandalize property and convincing nine-year-old’s like Lil Tay to flex her money like it is infinitely renewable in a finite world where all our attention is wasted on artless artifice of less talented people that know how to engineer a ruckus by strutting themselves beyond all decency and selling out to a corporatist nightmare of enslaved convenience. We need to be more vocal about the dissolution of artistic merit and the formulaic repetition of successful formulas that jade us and make us yawn about another retread of a previously successful idea that is milked to the point of cruelty.                                                         ­                       
       Let’s change the narrative and focus on creating true art rather than reacting to the meretricious tinsel of the vogue consensus which is so impotent in its ability to rivet audiences because it has become so notoriously lazy. Fight laziness in art, dismiss your news feeds, be resourceful, seek true happiness rather than find yourself hoodwinked and duped by the idea that Trump is the most important issue or getting caught in thought loops and brooding about sexism and inequality. Let us strive to be egalitarian but within limits that would also appease hominists rather than just the hypertrophy of the leftist narrative that seeks to cage us with the doublespeak of complaisant conformity.  Reject the unctuous charlatans that pretend priggishness when their banausic purpose is barbaric but beguiling to be a lullaby for laggards. We need to fight for the future of civilization rather than hobnob with convenience and loiter around decrying false perpetrators rather than systemic injustices that could otherwise be rectified if enough people fought for it. We can invent a future that is a great festivity serenaded by cultivated artistic refinement and forget about the trifles that divide us. United in ambition and fueled by ingenuity we can defeat artistic laziness and be resourceful with how we decide what is newsworthy. Spurred by the argosy of proactive motivation we can change the world in a substantial way by deciphering the subtext that governs the world. The subtext is everything!

you told me
“I promise I won’t ever hurt you”
we were laying in my bed
I looked at you
in your deep brown eyes
and convinced myself you wouldn’t
now I’m laying in the same place
as my brown eyes fill with tears
convincing myself that my heart might never heal
all because of one broken promise

How are you?
I don't know...
                                                     Are you okay?
I don't know...
                             please, i'm worried
                             say something?

i'll break my own heart
i promise i'll let you go
if you want to leave
i'll break my own heart
i promise i'll let you go

I don’t feel like myself
                    
            Who do you feel like?
I keep letting you down                        
           You know best
I never wanted to let you down
                                                 what you understand
                                                 what you don't.
                                                          ­                  You have to choose
                                                 what you want to do about it.
I don’t know......

                                           Leave anxiety aside
                                 what do you want to do with your life?
what sort of person will you be?


i'll break my own heart
i promise i'll let you go
if you want to leave
i'll break my own heart
i promise i'll let you go

                                          i think you hate yourself
                         i understand, i hate myself too
                                   but you have to stop hating yourself. 
                           you spend so much energy on it it's absurd

I'm worried that you'd take such ******* seriously and get hurt…


Why?

self pity and self hatred are pointless.

You have a yearning you can't deny

                                  No matter how much you want to

Please don't forget me
Please don't....
Please don't forget me....

I don't hope for anything
But I hope you get your dreams

"Please, daddy!"
You were walking so fast.
Too fast for my little feet to keep up.
Was it that easy for you to leave me?

You heard my tear-filled screams, but you never stopped.
You just kept going.
Farther and farther away, not even trying to get one last look at me.
I punched, pulled, and pushed trying to make you stop.
You didn’t.
You just kept going.
Leaving me behind.
"Please don’t leave me!"

Pain.
I remember it too well.
The heart throbbing pain.
We watched as you left.
Me and mommy.
My eyes were wet.
Hers were dry, cold.
As if she knew this would happen.

I looked into mommy's eyes.
Her brown eyes tangled with lies.
Lying to me for you.
How long do I have to wait for you before you realize that what you did was a mistake? What was the reason you stayed away for so long?
Was it all the stupid crap you did in the past or is it because you don’t want me anymore?

Since you left, I dreamed of your return.
The day you would wrap me in your arms and whisper in my ear,
"I'm sorry for what I did. I promise I will never leave you again,
my little Cookie Monster."
Then I wake up, hoping to see you.
Praying that it wasn’t all a dream.
But reality soon caught up, and the dream quickly died.

I remember all the tears I had rushing down my face
as I saw you leave me and mommy behind, to never return.
I'm so incomplete without you, I need my daddy back in my life.
You deceived me, you said you would always be there.
You pinky promised.
You broke your promise.
How can I trust you again?

Do you still think of me as your "cookie monster" or
a daughter you never loved, a daughter you could leave behind without a single goodbye in the blink of an eye? I wish you were here to watch me grow up but we both know that will never happen.

"I miss you so much! Won’t you please come back to me, daddy?
I just need to see your face one last time."
Am I that disappointing I need to work to make you love me?

“Hey, daddy even if you don’t love me I will always love you no matter what happens.”
I bet you didn't even think about how I would feel when you left.
No, you only thought of yourself like you always do.

You missed all my birthdays, first dates, father-daughter dances,
and you may even miss my wedding, not that you even care.
Did you know that I would wait for the postman to bring the mail and check to see if there was a letter for me? But there never was.
I eventually stopped going, knowing nothing was there for me.  

"Well, daddy looks like you really didn't care about me buts it's in the past. Now I have a family who loves me, stays with me, and likes for who I am.
I don't need you anymore.”

Daddy, I still need you. Please, come back.