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"Wagons East (1994) - IMDb www.imdb.com/title/tt0111653/ Internet Movie Database Rating: 4.7/10 - ‎3,545 votes (stylized onscreen as ‘Wagons East’) is a 1994 western comedy film directed by Peter Markleand starring John Candy and Richard Lewis. The film marked one of Candy's last film appearances although it was not his last film release. His last film, Canadian Bacon which he had completed before “Wagons East,” had a delayed release in 1995. The film was notable for its leading actor Candy dying of a heart attack during the final days of the film's production. A stand-in and special effects were used to complete his remaining scenes and it released five months after his death."

And it’s Wagons East!
John Candy’s last mega-bomb,
Released 5 months postmortem.
Alas, even the sympathy vote stayed home,
Reject the we-owe-it-to-him-for
“Planes, Trains & Automobiles”(1987, IMDB).
The role, like money in the bank,
Earning diminishing returns,
Yielding interest but losing value over time.
The myth of INTEREST:
Das Capital, 2015.
The Prime is at 0%,
Yet, Inflation soars at, well,
At inflationary rates,
Digit-pounding inflation,
Higher food & shelter prices,
Masked ever so cleverly,
So deftly obscured by benevolent gasoline prices.

“Planes, Trains & Automobiles” (1987, IMDB)
Meet Del Griffith,
An obnoxious slob,
A complete schlemiel
(Also shle·miel (shlə-mēl′),
A serene shower curtain ring
Salesman and tour de force.
A film illustrative of everything
We love about farce,
(Merci beaucoup, Molière!)
And love about any
John Hughes/Steve Martin collaboration.

Needless to say,
I watched “Wagons East”
On TV the other day.
It was ten o’clock in the morning.
Will-o'-wisping in the ashtray,
Smoke from my first joint of the day.
The ashtray, a mosh pit carbonara--
Actually, an inverted exoskeleton dome--
One of dem big muthas,
I once free-dived for,
Offshore Mendocino Coast,
Back in the day,
Back when THE FRENCH LAUNDRY . . .
(The French Laundry: Thomas Keller Restaurant Group, www.thomaskeller.com. Chef Thomas Keller visited Yountville, California in the early 1990's on a quest for a space to fulfill a longtime culinary dream: to establish a destination for fine --314 Google reviews · Write a review 6640 Washington St, Yountville, CA 94533 (707) 944-2380. Daily Menus - ‎Make a Reservation - ‎Restaurant)
Back when THE FRENCH LAUNDRY
Paid beaucoup bucks for
Well-tenderized,
Sledge hammered slabs of illegal,
Black Market abalone.
Most assuredly, I digress.

So where else would I be?
My laptop was open & willing,
Legs spread, wet and waiting for
Whatever comes what may.
What came was a film
Earning pitch perfect
Dramatic chops for Candy.
We owe you, Del.
We owe you for this Anthem:
“You wanna hurt me? Go right ahead if it makes you feel any better. I'm an easy target. Yeah, you're right, I talk too much. I also listen too much. I could be a cold-hearted cynic like you . . . but I don't like to hurt people's feelings. Well, you think what you want about me; I'm not changing. I like . . . I like me. My wife likes me. My customers like me. Cause I'm the real article. What you see is what you get.”
But that was then,
This is now.
Wagons East:
A disastrous ****** bomb.
A vapid character jambalaya:
(1) A defrocked doctor
(2) A sagebrush *****.
(3) A queer book vendor.
(4) A Donner Party Survivor
Sounds can’t miss, right?
Or was it a classic Broadway/Hollywood sting?
Redux: “Spring Time for ******.”
N'est-ce pas?
Four *******
Heading east by wagon train;
Giving up on The West,
Heading east for Saint Louie,
Where freaks & geeks go undercover.
Down go their guards.
Camouflaging the chimera,
Transits the urban Wasteland,
Vast & nasty, as it were.

St. Louis, Missouri:
A much more tolerant
Hideout place.
THE WEST:
Just too much of
A hassle, I guess,
Too much for one’s
Flat-lined human mind,
Bored too shitless by
Buffalo turds to venture thought.
THE WEST:
Neorealismo italiano.
Complete Jolting-Joe reality,
A veritable wake-up call
Devouring any & all
Residual romantic fantasies . . .
THE WEST:
Struggle & Drudge,
Life lived west of the Mississippi.

Rangeland Romances #9 Go West For Your Man! Kindle (www.amazon.com) Books Literature & Fiction Amazon.com, Inc. Start reading Rangeland Romances #9 Go West For Your Man! Get the free Kindle Reading App or read on your Kindle in under a minute. Don't have a Kindle? www.amazon.com

That’s right: another advertisement,
Smack dab in the middle of
Of the ******* poem!
My invention, by the by,
Putting herein another plug for
A preferred memorial gravesite,
The Shrine To Me!
Situated in Scituate,
(Always wanted to say that.)
Scituate MA (www.scituatema.gov)
Knowing my kryptonite crypt,
My not-marble-nor-gilded
Princely-monument,
Had no chance to outlive
This fakakta rhyme scheme . . .
The Shrine To Me!
My final resting place:
My very tony, exclusive
Sub Zip Code?
The South Transept
Westminster Abbey
The so-called Poets’ Corner,
Of course!

Which brings me to my true purpose:
My true intentions for you this morning?
To publicize the strange Case of
CHARLES ROCKET:
(Go ahead, ******* Google him!)
“Charlie Rocket, found dead in a field near
His Connecticut home on October 7, 2005,
His throat had been cut.
He was 56 years old.
The state medical examiner
Later ruled the death a suicide.”
And if you believe the Coroner,
A Medicine Man &
Master of Self-Interest;
If you give that sharp-dealing,
Proverbial Connecticut Yankee his due,
Then you will probably also think
That millionaire Robert Durst
Didn’t **** Susan Berman,
Even as we see him
Getting away with ******.
Again.
Jasmine Flower Oct 2014
How can I ever tell you that
in the 21st century,
as innocent as you are,
you will be sexualized.

It started with
one peak under that skim cloth
that made you an icon
Halloween costumes
turned your baby face into
the mask of a "babe"

There are no more dogs
struggling to tear your short shorts
now only mutts scattering clubs
hands dangling onto your belt loops
as if they were in the middle of a hurricane

You, Coppertone Baby, didn't know any better
you were minding your own **** business
vacationing on the beach
when somebody had the audacity to snap a picture
of your ***.
Sweet little girl,
you are us.

You are society's expectations of innocent women
so easily willing to publicize our bodies
printed on billboards
sold in magazines
You put your hair up for vanity
but we tie our hair back to avoid
violent hands
You, Coppertone Baby
will never be known as Cheri,
just like today,
we are branded into the clothes made to hide our bodies
but couldn't do it enough
we are the voiceless

We are the shadows hiding behind anatomy
we are nip-slips
we are on the front cover
of ******* magazines
You grew up not expecting it
merely existing
only knowing the words,
"mommy and daddy."

Welcome, Coppertone Baby,
to the present, not so much a gift
where your first words are now,
"thank you"
the camera is constantly pointed
constantly asking you to sit pretty
you will learn to avoid beaches
and only buy the clothes
that suffocate your skin


I know you were meant to sell sunscreen
but how can I ever buy your product
if I can't even hardly
go outside.
Pierre Ray Mar 2012
Astonishingly! This poetry analogy is partially of a prodigy poet! It is of his endearment and endeavorment in our great Government that desecrated, medicated, sedated and segregated him. Doped! Desperately copping and hoping he made it! To add, no dad! An artistically rad-lad through the bad, the glad, the sad and mad. This destiny of a poet is also of apologies, felonies, formalities, legalities and theories.

Furthermore it’s of mournful and scornful-laughter! Capture and rapture, dreamingly and seemingly, chapter after chapter... Pondering and wondering is there a happily ever after? This destiny of a poet is heavenly,  randomly and religiously, tellingly of lots of many thoughts! Some adventuresome, awesome, burdensome, fearsome and gruesome! Some loathsome, lonesome and wholesome!

Some of dreams, schemes and many themes! Some deemed and seemed differently, discriminately, indecently or racially true, from some views. Some askew and blue! Some of clues, of Jews, of taboo, tattoos and voodoo! This destiny of a poet; stunningly who could’ve and would’ve thought once, twice or thrice of this price? Of the cheers and peers, the jeers, the leers,
the tears and weary years... Therefore I say, some artist’s

clever art may create, dictate, relate and translate similar-thriller craftsmanship with negative, positive or relative penmanship. However, typically some probably will publicly criticize as a travesty. Some will harmonize, some will publicize or socialize, some will disrespect as imperfect, some will neglect, some will respect as perfect! Hark! I remark; brethren, children and women keep and upkeep that

creative spark! For in the dark or as you embark. Literally, morality and reality is in my poetry and story. Expect excellent, brilliant, decadent, resilient talent and testaments! Basically on final note! I positively devote, quote and wrote these eccentrically optimistic, rhetoric and theoretic poetically lyrical rhyming notes. Finally and bluntly, do not negatively amend, bend, pretend or transcend this end. Amen...
Bharti Singh Jul 2014
I wrote something that I did not mean
When I write that, I feel it’s unseen

In real, I make someone else’s thought mine
Publicize it and leave others to opine

These actually are one liner’s lifted from popular text
I dissemble and exude that I take my life at best

I am the ideal of all humans in my words
For similar situation in real, I am truly reverse

My online life is most beautiful on earth
Whereas offline, I am rehashing in vain to cover up dearth

My posts are full of inspiration and energy
If you meet me in real I am full of lethargy

Why dupe to be a connoisseur and be a commonplace
At least quote the source, give true author some space

Be eclectic and original in expression
Write such that it’s never been done

*Bharti
Most of the times, I feel posts on social media avowing inspirational inclination and concerns on burning issues of the society are impressive but factitious. Urges us to form gentle opinions about the people posting these. However, in reality, its all borrowed knowledge which in reality may be far beyond application when comes to it. I did that a few times and ruminate why????? What's the harm in being original? Write to express not impress. So all are happy in virtual world; so am I after posting this....hahahaha...:)
louis rams Dec 2012
(footnote)

2100 years ago a band of Jews defeated the Greek army
And drove them off their land, reclaiming the holy temple
In Jerusalem and rededicating it to the service of god.
when they sought to light the temples menorah
They found only a single cruse of olive oil that
escaped contamination by the Greeks.
Miraculously the one day supply lasted eight days.
The sages instituted the festival of Chanukah
To publicize these miracles.
The Dreidel which is a four sided top with a
Hebrew letter on each side which means
“ a great miracle happened here”
was used later on in the years to give thanks to god
Without the enemy knowing that they were praying.
Chanukah, the Jewish festival of rededication, also known as the festival of lights, is an eight day festival beginning on the 25th day of the Jewish month of Kislev.
Chanukah is probably one of the best known Jewish holidays, not because of any great religious significance, but because of its proximity to Christmas. Many non-Jews (and even many assimilated Jews!) think of this holiday as the Jewish Christmas, adopting many of the Christmas customs, such as elaborate gift-giving and decoration. It is bitterly ironic that this holiday, which has its roots in a revolution against assimilation and suppression of Jewish religion, has become the most assimilated, secular holiday on our calendar.

Christmas and Chanukah are known world wide
But these two faiths do not collide.
They walk hand in hand
For they came out of the promised land.

You see : the son of god was born a Jew
The Romans felt this was taboo.
No other religion could exist
This was controlled by the Romans fist.

JESUS preached in synagogues throughout the lands
Something that the Romans did withstand.
His own people wanted his death
But little did they know
That with this- a new faith would grow.

The cross on which he died became a symbol
Of Christianity, and that’s the way
God meant it to be.

Chanukah is eight days of giving while  the Christian
Holiday is just one day ,but during these
holidays we all kneel and pray.

We give GOD thanks for all the beauties of the earth
And for family and friends, and it is something
That will never end.
As long as man holds a belief in their hearts
And faith,-then all will be overcome and
Let GODS will be done.

© L . RAMS
Cameron Alix Mar 2019
You, you are a
Thermodynamic
Buoyant
Force
******* like the
single-minded
Octopus
that takes and takes
Strong energy,
mild energy
Inhales the organically-grown
Petals
of all flowers, regardless
Good intentions.
that sure is nice
What humility,
Artificial
Plastic
Egotistical
Manufactured
Trademarked
Birthed  
Regurgitated
and
too thoughtfully acted by
You.
But I see it.
You have
not landed.
The world needs your
footprint but
it does not need your self-indulged
hunger.
Be humble.
Your success is not
marked if
You are not humble.
Keep your tentacles
in your depths and
Be
Poised
Poised you seem to be and success is your process but
Humility is my truth.
We float on
neighboring clouds of
public service
that have not the same hue.
Take a step back.
I see you mean
No harm
like a dinosaur with no arms
Good intentions.
Take a step back.
You desire to envelop others yet
You do so
so
mindlessly
I see it.
Let your brain rest from the throne.
the world does not serve you
It serves nothing
and no one as
We are all lucky.
You say that you’re lucky
For all
to hear
just to endear
And that is the problem
My dear, be poised.
Publicize your life for
documentation?
No
Take a step back.
We need your
love
compassion
independence
ambition
Real
not fake.
Transform this and
Good intentions.
The world is not yours
You walk on its leaf
and repeated, recycled
identities
Take a step back.
The world is not yours.


Cameron Bell, Copyright © 2019
This poem is conflicted, a mix of both misplaced judgment and overpowering values. Please let me know if you have any feedback! It also sounds powerful when read out loud. Trying to fine-tune my voice.
Molly Smithson May 2014
Dear Gwen Stefani Circa 2006,
The first music I chose to like that wasn’t
just my mom’s tuning of the radio was

Your solo CD, the first and best of two, which
I made sure to get on my twelfth birthday, after
I made sure to get my first kiss.

We were not rookie sixth graders anymore,
In soggy bathing suits teeming with pubescence,
So I publicized my plans to plant one on

Yeorgios Mavromatis, the new seventh grade boyfriend,
The first boy to buy me jewelry I would not like,
The first boy I used to make myself infamous.

Our hallway bottlenecked with twelve year olds,
Alone we sat on the bed, legs dangling above
The stained beige carpet. The kiss was damp and boring.

But the crowd that pressed at the door was an ******,
Surged voices told me my dad was walking up the stairs,
I arched around to throw the boyfriend in the closet,

My father caught me, and I wore the walk through them
Like your scarlet lipstick. The album of
My first kiss was not passion, but gossip.

I’ve seen you in red lipstick, bindis, and blue hair,
A pink wedding dress, and a Platinum Blonde Life.
I knew you were making art meant to publicize.

The songs and the clothes and the Harajuku Girls,
The boys and the clothes and the Children’s Theatre,
The day I made a scene was the day I knew.

Catholic guilt and couture gilt and creative goals
Took two West Coast girls, only twenty three years apart
And turned them into people you paid attention to.
Hooflip Mar 2013
They publicize Education with promise of security. Falsifying all your leizure and reward.
Yet,
While you drown your accounts with tallies and numeric rallies they develop the technology to summarize, tax, bill you with your debt and fill your mold in the position you strained and craved for.
Broken and stacked back rattling
You stand on a pile of panic and,
Manicly fade into the grave they plotted, and you dug.

Technology is our downfall.

We see the button and push it
Free of refrain.
Curious, instantaneous passionate trust in all the oncoming waves of silicone information.

The image is cast;,..
It attempts and so succeeds in including you in this performance
This, plastic
These fading lights.
Everything
              Burns
                     Out

So it seems our nation is fueled by a finite flash.
With the filaments finally finkled out, the bright idea gone,
The shepard is shot and the sheep are frenzied.

As the population grows great in numbers alone, the engine is fixed with rusted parts and the plan...
A long, smooth drive with the emergency brake cranked the whole way.
We'll see just how far mediocre runs,

We'll see...
https://soundcloud.com/thehumbleloud
egghead Jul 2018
the world relentlessly confuses
Tragedy with Art.

We commercialize anxiety
and weigh the profit margin after the cost of therapy.

So that we can play again
and repeat.

So that we can feel whole.
Understood.
Real.
On the backbone of another's suffering.

On the bloodied palms of a fist held too tight.

On the dry cheeks of a face ravaged by tears.

We hold onto this pain.
We publicize it.

Push it like crack in the streets.

people mistake our breaks in reality
For redemption.
Corrosive acid.
that you can hold in your hand.
louis rams Dec 2014
(footnote)

2100 years ago a band of Jews defeated the Greek army
And drove them off their land, reclaiming the holy temple
In Jerusalem and rededicating it to the service of god.
when they sought to light the temples menorah
They found only a single cruse of olive oil that
escaped contamination by the Greeks.
Miraculously the one day supply lasted eight days.
The sages instituted the festival of Chanukah
To publicize these miracles.
The Dreidel which is a four sided top with a
Hebrew letter on each side which means
“ a great miracle happened here”
was used later on in the years to give thanks to god
Without the enemy knowing that they were praying.
Chanukah, the Jewish festival of rededication, also known as the festival of lights, is an eight day festival beginning on the 25th day of the Jewish month of Kislev.
Chanukah is probably one of the best known Jewish holidays, not because of any great religious significance, but because of its proximity to Christmas. Many non-Jews (and even many assimilated Jews!) think of this holiday as the Jewish Christmas, adopting many of the Christmas customs, such as elaborate gift-giving and decoration. It is bitterly ironic that this holiday, which has its roots in a revolution against assimilation and suppression of Jewish religion, has become the most assimilated, secular holiday on our calendar.

Christmas and Chanukah are known world wide
But these two faiths do not collide.
They walk hand in hand
For they came out of the promised land.

You see: the son of god was born a Jew
The Romans felt this was taboo.
No other religion could exist
This was controlled by the Romans fist.

JESUS preached in synagogues throughout the lands
Something that the Romans did withstand.
His own people wanted his death
But little did they know
That with this- a new faith would grow.

The cross on which he died became a symbol
Of Christianity, and that’s the way
God meant it to be.

Chanukah is eight days of giving while the Christian
Holiday is just one day, but during these
holidays we all kneel and pray.

We give GOD thanks for all the beauties of the earth
And for family and friends, and it is something
That will never end.
As long as man holds a belief in their hearts
And faith, -then all will be overcome and
Let GODS will be done.

louis rams
Kate Browning Nov 2011
Enhance discreet insanity,
Step onto the balcony.
Vent through your lungs,
Leave your skin behind.

Everyone desires
A dancing fool. Publicize
The art of embarrassment.
Ears are simply an attachment.

Branding opinions mouths,
Shooting out tension through
Distinct fingertips. Let your
Hair wave naturally.

Only one knows what you are:
Bolts, metal exterior, flashing eyes.
Give up the truth and scream
Your mind. Fall for your own kind.
THE MARRIAGE DAY
Marriage  in human life
Brings a man a wife
And a woman a husband
Who make their lives grand

It adds honour to one’s personality
And brings clarity to our duty
It brings joy to the bride, groom
And to every body in the betrothal room

It is not to unite two bodies
But to ignite two souls
It may give the couple a son
Who shines as bright as the sun

It may give them a daughter
Who is as useful as water
And makes their lives better
Why don’t we celebrate it on twitter?

We may celebrate it in peculiar ways
In different countries
The rituals may be variant
But the bond should  be permanent

Marriage makes the two people one
And makes their life a fun
It makes the civilization run
Why don’t we publicize it as  much as we can?
JDK Feb 2014
I will spread my opinions like a plague,
which is exactly how they'll paint them.
By "them" I mean the proverbial "they."
The ones who will color me as paranoid and insane.

They'll say not to listen;
to disregard it all.
It's the nature of the games they play.
They push us to the edge,
Then publicize the fall.

Do not watch the news.
Ignore all commercials.
Pursue beauty and truth;
embrace the controversial.

"Any book worth banning is a book worth reading,"
so read them all with zest.
If you get the feeling that I'm preaching,
remember,
only you know what is best.
Analyze everything, especially yourself.
Brent Kincaid Jan 2016
Onward Christian soldiers
Off to ****** more.
With the cross of Jesus
Adding up the score.
**** as many as you can
In the name of Him
He, the guy who taught you love
Whose light is going dim.

Take the words that Jesus said
Twist them up your way.
Make the talk of prejudice
Throw the book away.
If someone is different
Make a joke of them.
Make up lies to publicize
In the name of Him.

Call the Christian soldiers
To put down the poor
If they dare to congregate
At the nation’s door.
Teach them only Christians
Get to share the loot.
And they have to be the right
Kind of church to boot.

Bless you Christian soldiers
God is on our side.
Fight against those other folks
Please keep back the tide.
Good people are like us;
Stand behind the cause.
Christian white and Protestant
Just like Jesus was.
steven Aug 2015
they massacred my
words, little infants,
reduced a family into the
most valuable survivors
to publicize, capitalize
upon, and, once seized,
demolish all tangible
ties to its siblings its
heritage its truth its
web of conversations
Dark n Beautiful Mar 2017
A cherry fencing: Croton hedges.
Pile wood and bricks made up the circumferences:
I have seen rooftops rusting after weeks of heavy rain
Shirtless cyclist speed passes the old brick house

Where no children seem to exist on the main road;
Where the lambs can be seen grazing on dry lawns,
As the sun ray reflects on your camera lens:
I promise to call you back later
before you drift deeper into a slumber.

Depression, confession and denial,
Reality never seems to exist in your world
There is no solution for chronic unhappiness:
only daily words of kindness to ease the madness

Love does not claim possession, but gives freedom.
Quote - Rabindranath Tagore


Did you deserve it, did you deserve to be treated this way
You should have marry the good daughter,
She would have eventually
Turn out to be the good wife:
I am in another town
Thinking of you day by day, hour by hour
Composing a poem while observing,
the good, the bad, and the ugly
Of what family does to each other mental impairment?

A family in harmony will prosper in everything
As the stories were told
Where the beauty used to grow now hatred follows
by the village carpenter putting bolts on the front door
To keep the enemy within: as it was broadcast in the recording:
“There wasn’t any bolts were on the front door Burt, you said”.
The law is that nothing should be done so on the property”

The rose petal crumbles back to the soil, as she said that he was
sick in his head: just like the dead locks on the carpenter head
The garden hose slowly rolled back in a circle. By the sound of her voice
The suffering was so obvious, the abuse was publicize

You drifted back in time: To a place where you felt happiness
You drifted back to me: back to lovely memories
Never mind our outlook on life leads to two different journeys
Broken hearts, and disappointments
We encounter so many injuries and they heal
But broken hearts never mend:

*The more I begin to suspect there is no such thing as unhappiness; there is only ungratefulness.”
Dark n Beautiful Oct 2017
A little not to Kiri Petro Sino*      

Some phantasms are like my lovers
Neither faithful nor trustworthy
My memories of them is slippery
Not kind, but phantasms
This left a bad taste in my mouth
Sad as it might seem:   I do not sympathize

Not all phantasms were my lovers
I think of them on bad days,
Some are losers, wearing the badge of shame
Not publicize, but hidden like a crouching tiger with it hidden sword:
They hid behind the skirt of their new loves:  griping,

They defeats and their regrets in life shows in their everyday life

Forgiveness is an act of self-love and respect.
- don Miguel Ruiz


My kind of forgiveness might be an emotion
Its turning that page of my life:
Without reading the Contents to the end smoothed me

Some of my phantasms are my everyday peers
  I think of them as lost poets without words
deep with their thoughts: individuals who are
afraid to express themselves to the fullest.
Zero Nine Jul 2017
This tributary
Happy accident
Shyness
Flagrance
Deeply inspected

This notorious
Dearth, designed my life
So why
Not write
Why not paint pictures?

The donor with the ink
The spread recipient
Left and stayed

The ink that he left fades
The fade that he left stains
She made the mistake of
Looking for love as an anchor

Two lovers' worth or lack alike
Fabricate their draft designs
I'm incomplete, a mess
Two lovers' worth or lack alike
Fabricate their draft designs
A complete mess

Best if I reverse design
and I publicize
notorious dearth as proper opulence
Palm Trees and Concrete Mix V3
M Apr 2013
To empathize and sympathize
Rather than criticize and publicize
Issues that cause fissures in his foundations
Keeping him upright and safe from tribulations
Is so much more rare.

To listen and disengage
From all else but whoever is speaking so he has the stage
Will help release him from the cage
Of hopelessness, loneliness, and ridicule;
Doing so shows you care.

To comfort and support and love
Will demolish all fears and rise above
What bogs him down so far into his heart and mind
That he feels he is lost, he can't find
His breath, choked by a lack of air.

To provide and subside
All of your own problems, to let them slide
Even if momentarily, for another human being;
In doing so, you are growing, learning and seeing
That love and compassion were meant to share.
(alternative title - Hew Seep What Chew Roe)

After drafting previous poem describing effort
to brainstorm (grossly analogous to draining
a swamp), expound, and incorporate avast ga
mutt of threads into fabric when literary in spur
ration most profuse (temporarily exempt from
anxiety, famished and fully rested, perhaps not
necessarily in those exact words nor alphabetized
order) post anorexia nervosa (minus bulemia),

this faux south paw aimed, and beastily strove
to be a two ****** ham handed, double barreled
eating machine way beyond where I could stow
mach, one more forced mouthful of food into
gullet forsaking comfort (at the expense of former
starvation), nonetheless robotically, obsessively,
mechanically knocked worst, imaginary transcept
posts, when unwittingly, ignominiously, and

defiantly disobeying crossing guard (steepled
finger hut arc). Intolerably excessive caloric intake
compensation sans zero sum game when meal time
rolled around. The deliberate refusal to eat (purpose
fully attempted to disappear) undermined requisite
nutriments. Upon supposed recovery from restraining
necessary sustenance, the deficit attrributable depriving
prepubescent body of necessary food attempted

to be counter acted via stuffing my measly under
sized physique way past stated satiation. Despite
feeling sick to the stomach (yet luckily no instances
of regurgitation occurred), a reflexive gorging ceased,
when every other person in the household, (or visiting
friends of parents nobody but this poor soul) remained
painfully pushing forkfuls or spoonfuls of this, that
or other ample menu item. This aha awakening asper

obsessive compulsive disorders prompted loosening
mental restraints, and avoid perfecting burst of
awareness until complete with the epistle. That com
ment mentioned because no intent arose to dash off
another writing assignment. A goal of one missive a
day (to keep...what? Ghosts of past away perchance),
I discipline with some degree of tolerance. Rather
than feel fixated and fanatical (indicative of refraining

from adequate eats, or forcing self to take an excessive
number of platefuls), I accept that maybe some deficit
of energy, a bout of minor unwellness, or fatique means

that obeisance to thee ****** temperament must
be accepted. That philosophy also applies to passions
of exercising and reading. Although a natural euphoria
usually experienced during and/or after the self crafted
routine (best attempted as an natural aide to assist sleep,
which utilization of two ten pound dumb bells alternating
every other late evening with jogging/marching in place.

If you wanna a good laugh, I could possibly rig up some
precarious getup to create a short youtube blog. Until that
time just envision a middle aged older mwm bee bopping
in with the rhythm of music (usually fm 102.9) – soft
decades old rock and roll tunes. Information gets triggered
as of this moment, whereby regular efforts to publicize
the life of one ordinary older chap fuctions therapeutically,
holisitically, cathartically plus an unknown reader may

invisibly share a bond (even if she/he stock key) pertaining
to quandary written in a fashion much more under
stand able than usually the case. Impossible to
categorize style, yet each screenful of purged
sentiments, a sifting how to express emotions, ideas,
thoughts, et cetera seems to settle, akin to a capped jar
of blended tiny pieces of matter, whereby specific gravity deter
mines how lightest to heaviest particles settle according
to unwritten precepts of chemistry and/or physics.
William Sep 2014
Contemplation of what is my reality ,
fascination within these four walls.
A mess ,mockery ,creation, desperation.
written across the four walls of my psyche ,
Push, Heave, Shove,
try all you like you wont get in.
Pressed against the wall
with all my capacity trying to create a door,
So someone, anyone can come in
i don't need saving
i need someone to publicize whats locked
all amongst these four walls.
ceilidh Nov 2015
please do not publicize my spiral:
my dying wish, the epitaph i've tattooed on my chest.
please be quiet. i do not want to be a cautionary tale- a naked body on the edge of a highway; caked blood and stilettos
i don't want a story
let me fade. please, let me fade.
something to be exhumed later,
renamed after someone i'll never meet.
i want found-in-the-forest-please-come-and-identify
remains. a shell, a corpse,
but not a body
not something that held a person.

i want to distance myself from myself.
Hello poetry
My secret friend that love to publicize me
To your friends like me.
In you I hide my tears in form of words
When I blink out a smile you inspire me to put it in words
And you freely licence me to paint them on your wall
For all the world to criticize, follow, like and love.

I say Hello to poetry
When my heart is tired of the silence,
I turn to you for some solace
And you are never tired of my beautiful noise
You pay so much attention to my quiet voice
Like you are listening with your ears and still busy reading my lips
Though I'm lost in your world you still give me the chance to always take the lead.
Indeed you are a garden of inspirations
You motivate me even in my lowest moment
You are such a blessing to my nature
Convincing  your friends to cherish my effortless work is one of my greatest achievement.

I say hello to the poets
Of Hello Poetry
We are more than stars
We are galaxies,
Our flawless ceremonies of words are more than real
They are the greatest fantasies.
What else can I say
when all the words that are yet to be said
Are all sparkling obvious
Truly, Poetry is more than a culture but a behaviour.
Tribute to hello Poetry.
Dharma Phillips May 2014
My scars are not ******* beautiful
The thought of someone carving into themselves just to feel something should not be romanticized The numbness that ran throw my veins and made my blood run cold is not something to publicize My body shame is not something that i take pride in.
Boasting about hurting yourself is so unethically wrong it makes my skin craw. Now spreading the word and making these problems known is appropriate. In fact it is necessary. So many young adults and teenagers go through this horrific battle alone. They think they're going absolutely insane but little do they know that there is someone a phone call away that can safe them from this treacherous addiction.
Key Feb 2017
Having these thoughts
Of why?
Why do I have to publicize myself as ****?
So a boy can sweep me off my feet?
So I can have thousands of followers,
Who tell me all the time I look beautiful
With all these
false lashes, fake weaves, cake on my face
Why is this beautiful to you?
And why am I shamed if I don't do it?
I'm sorry if I'm "old school",
But I'll happily prance around in your long t-shirts.
Make up free,
Wind kissing my scalp as my natural hair blows free,
Sun radiating off my skin,
Melanin issued by the Gods.
Thank the Gods I'm just me.
Carefree, eventually.
Until then I'm part one versus part two.
Adulterous besieging capstone damnation
exploitation foists groping, heaving
insidiously jerking
knowingly lunges
machinations notoriously nymphomaniacal
officiating ****** quests
rapaciously, sadistically
tenaciously, unstoppably
vasocongested wickedness
Xerses yawped zeolously.
********
All throughout history of  man/woman kind
ascendent civilizations extensively gouged,
impailed, kindled, murderous outrages
quashing sacred urges, women yearned.
*******
Versatile thematic refrain punctuating nubiles
maximized looting, pillaging, ******
visited upon females via decimating fountainhead
guarding brestworks of vestal virgins,
innocent youths (little boys and girls).
*******
Twenty first century **** Sapiens male population continue to applaud, covet, extol, gloat, invoke, kickstart, ****** outrages, quest savagely thee unbridled wedded yoke appropriating coquettishly enshrined gals imposing killing mandates okaying queasy sordid ugly wretchedness yanking aborhent behavior denigrating, fulminating, harrassing, jawdropping lewdness, nabbing prized rearends, twerking, violently whiplashing, yelling zingers.
*******
Now not a day elapses with instances women claim untoward advances, and/or forced coercion to satiate and temporarily slate the ****** thirst informing prononced picadilloes (philandering if married pompous head honcho demands appeasement of coitus, *******, indecent lowball outrageous ribald uncouth ******* animalistic, carnal, feral, gonadal, immoral, kleptomaniacally misogynistic, narcissistic, opportunistic, pathetically reprehensible, torturously undervaluing, validating virility within Yankee Doodle, haply lambasting, proudly touting, vaunted wayfair zest.
********
The above meandering stream of consciousness attempted to amplify, a recent spate of accusations figuratively slapped against a male *** mongers, who specifically rule roost, and blithely, demandingly, forcefully, hideously, impishly, killingly, malignantly, opprobriously, powerfully, repeatedly, terminally, vindictively, wantonly, yearningly acrimoniously belittle, demean flagrantly, harshly insinuate keeping mindful, not publicize rabid ****** unwanted villainous withering zeal!
twas the bright idea of zee missus aye air
and dedicate this poem
(yes tis correct, if you bare
lee remember this mister

did formerly she push duck clear
addressed said spouse
"my little buttock blaster" en dear
ment - for obvious reasons,

and before she begat two 'ere
rip press ably lovely daughters),
anyway thee wife I fear
to publicize contracted a benign
strain sans incurable glare
ring housecleaning malady

(thus far no unpronounceable hair
raising name affixed
to non contagious nonetheless
accursed malady,
whereby to keep at bay,

scrubbing stubborn stains
from clothes, dishes,
and gamut of hibernating
Ursine horde (nee motley crue)
that come breathing alive
Nsync with beastie Bay
City Rollers Culture Club bing babes

upon first spring day
engrossed in this, that,
or some other sweeping floor foray
(analogously to Velveteen Rabbit)
shedding gray

winter coat when warmer temperatures arrive,
where humungous fur clumps would lay
comprising sudden empty raft
of shelf space minus a may
zing globules, oh...lemme get on track,

whence frenzied fever "cleaning bug" nee
major virus afflicting wife,
would necessitate impossible task
strapping former

feisty Norwegian farm gal
in straight jacket ivingsocial every
would be no game to play
boot tiring and cruel task of her life Yukon say
24/7 daily challenge,

which unpredictable timeframe
thine remaining lifetime sans wife oye vay
would frank lee zap
every last oomph of mine

if able twin door remaining with spouse
meanwhile 'til she obliviously
plucks persistent sprouting stranded follicle
tiller broad forehead resembles
a minuscule tarmac way.
We publicize that which means
So little
As to ignore
That which means
So much
The current day is May 1st, 2024. I believe I might have found Brianna. And she’s gone. . .

About eight years ago from this date, I would have my first encounter with this mysterious girl. With all of this having taken course over such a long amount of time, a lot of the details are blurry compared to how solidified they used to be to me. But, back to the first encounter, although encounter sounds more like a passive aggressive frightening experience, I’m not sure what other word I might use to describe it. Maybe it was a chance meeting or divine intervention, but encounter gets the meaning across a bit more fluently, as every time I would find this girl I would be in total shock, utter disarray, and my heart would beat so fast I’d feel as though a heart attack was right around the corner.

The first time I ever met her was through a dream. . .

I can’t remember what this particular dream was. I’m not exactly sure what happened in it, why I found it so profound, or how it even got me to begin thinking about this girl. All I know was that it got my attention and I began to pay attention to this idea, this one night miracle where I first met this mysterious woman.

The night I had that dream, I’m pretty sure I thought nothing of it. Who doesn’t have a dream every so often where they’ve met their true love, their other half, their once in a lifetime love of their life? I’ve always been a bit of a hopeless romantic and I’ve always known that this was one of my deeply ingrained character traits. From my first ever year in school in first grade, I had a very large crush on this girl, Ashley Amaya, and I remember wanting so badly to be her crush as well. I even remember a moment from school when I saw a spider crawling towards her and me while walking across a paved walkway to get to our next class, and I leapt towards it and crushed it, despite having a massive fear of the little demons at the time. But, I did it to impress her!

All that to say, the first dream wasn’t extraordinary, and instead it was just another more than usual somber morning when I woke up only to realize the beautiful woman I had just met was probably a mixture of something I ate and some tv show I’d probably seen the afternoon before. Time would go by, the memory of that first dream fading to the farthest recess of my mind with only a hint of any remote recognition still reminiscing in the deepest abyss of my head.

But, this is when what started out as a dream began to become a bit more substantial. This is when Brianna began to plague my mind.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I began to have recurring dreams of being in love with this mysterious woman. She began to become more familiar in a very inconvenient and unreliable way which was of course through the remembering of my dreams. In the beginning stages, I’d only ever catch glimpses of her face and the reset was usually a silhouette or a very rushed moment. The rushed moments were hard to describe but they were full of light, always this wonderful warm yellow light and though they were rushed, time also slowed down significantly in a perplexing way that I still can’t really understand to this day.

I’d see her dark brown hair flowing and filtering the light into these tiny and magnificent rays making a twinkling in what was usually a dark atmosphere. I’d catch the corner of her mouth turning ever so slightly into a warm beautiful smile as she looked away, something else in the vicinity stealing her attention for the moment. There were intense feelings of joy and tranquility and there was a warmth about the situation I could only hope to ever feel in the true cold and lightless world we all collectively call home. Something about her was so intensely special, and the fact that I even got to share a dream with her was the highest privilege I could’ve ever received.

As time would go on, I’d continue to have these dreams. She always stayed the same, with her long dark brownish red hair flowing ever so gracefully. It got to the point that when I would have these dreams, I would’ve preferred to not wake up, just so I could spend more time with her.

Over a year would go by. At this point in life I was still just in high school and still brand new to learning life in the real world compared to the sheltered view I used to have. I had just gotten a job at the local Home Depot as a cashier, literally a few weeks after I got my license since my parents were unwilling to pay for gas for me (as good parents should do!) I was still figuring out life with my friend groups and trying to balance the reality of starting to become more mature and take on more responsibilities while still trying to cling to my childhood of digging holes and bashing legos against the wall with my brothers! It was an odd time, which I guess many can easily familiarize themselves with the timeframe as we’ve all at one point been teenagers.

One of the biggest things in my life I remember being a bit troublesome though, was all my friends I had made and my groups of people I had become so entangled with. With going through these changes, I had some friends that were still absolute children at heart and some friends who were practically ready for college! I had loads of moments through those years where these friends I had grown up with would start to feel like strangers and I’d begin to not really feel as though I had a social place to call my own.

Work was a new outlet, and I actually used to love talking to people as a cashier, ringing up their items, and learning the social norm of small talk that would amount to nothing less than an afterthought. I made a lot of friends with people who were retired and with college kids who seemed to be the coolest bunch around, who knew how to live life and have fun doing it. It was such a variety of friends where I’d talk to Tina about her granddaughter or Jim about his retirement and stock options and then I’d go up to Isaiah and he’d tell me about all the dates he’d been on or all the party stories of him and his friends living life to the fullest. It was a pretty great time in my life though, because one thing especially it taught me was how to be social, though this process would still take years and years to fully develop until I was in my early 20’s to be fully confident in my ability to put it on and be charismatic if need be. The reason I mention so much about this job though, was there was still a deep  and unrecognized subconsciously aware desire in me to meet the one.

Home Depot of all places was the first time I saw her. In person. . .

I remember it was a day much like the rest of them. After having struck up some conversation with our customers and being a little groggy from waking up at the crack of dawn for the early shift, it was time for me to finally get some lunch. While taking my usually route from the front of the hardware store I stopped at my usual coworkers stations to say hi or make a passive joke as I strolled happily on my way.

I can’t exactly remember why, but I had the need to talk to one of my managers, and it was something I needed a response for by the end of the day, so I figured before I clocked out for lunch, I’d get that little task out of the way. But, on the way back to my manager’s office, which was this little 10 foot hallway with doors on either side, one leading to a bank of sorts, and the other side hosting two doorways to offices, I was stopped in my tracks. Right next to the old clock-in machine were two seats where you’d usually sit and wait if the manager’s doors were closed so you could catch them as they walked out. They were also the seats I had sat in when waiting to get an interview for this first job of mine, where I nervously and anxiously awaited the outcome so many years ago.

In one of those broken down, flat cushioned little seats was a girl so beautiful, I literally lost my breath at the sight of her. I knew immediately who she was. She was the girl from my dreams I had been having over the course of that past year or so. Recently through my dreams, I had learned a very crucial detail about her and that was that her name was Brianna, and there sitting right before me within a few steps walk was the girl.

I froze. I made eye contact. And I immediately turned around and walked away. How I wish beyond wishing I would’ve said hi now. . .

Seeing that my manager was currently in the process of onboarding her as a new employee, I decided to take up my little question with my manager a bit later and I went to lunch. While walking into our break room, I ran into one of my new co-workers who I had become pretty good friends with. His name was Brad Brad.

At this point in time, I had more of an idea and more of a recognition of the fact that these recurring dreams of mine were something special, though I hardly let anyone know because of how embarrassing and odd it was. I mean, who would go around blindly telling people about some chick that they’d been dreaming of that they were totally in love with?? (Definitely not me eight years late. . . ) But with Brad Brad, I trusted him and had told him about the story a few days prior to running into her.

Not knowing her name and only having seen her face, I walked up to my friend and asked him about the new possible employee. He immediately knew who I was referring to her as he had seen her just a bit ago and apparently gotten to know her slightly! I asked him if her name was Brianna, being almost definitively sure that that was her name, and just wanting to check to see if I was either certifiably insane, or possibly blessed with this odder than life knowledge.

Brad immediately confirmed her name was Brianna and asked if I had spoken with her, and this immediately had me out of breath, terrified of how the girl from my dreams was truly true and realer than life. I don’t remember exactly how the rest of the conversation went down, though I can safely assume I was blabbering like a lunatic and telling him every single detail of every single dream I had had of her before. I walked out to get lunch knowing that I’d finally become acquainted with Brianna over time in the work atmosphere which was a relief to me, knowing how social I was at work while in comparison to how introverted and quiet I was at school. Life was looking to good to be true.

Brianna, didn’t get the job.

A few days would go by and my excitement to go to work was through the roof. Never before had I had so eagerly gotten in my car, driven to work, and immediately clocked in in hopes of seeing this new girl around the work place. A week would go by and my thoughts of her were still as excited as ever, but I began to realize that there was still training, a full on hiring process, and that it would most likely take time for things to get in motion. A few weeks would go by and then a month and an unsettling worry began to haunt me as I started to wonder if she didn’t actually get the job.

I started going around asking all of my fellow co-workers if they knew her or if they had any ideas of if we were hiring anyone new. I became obsessed with what we called the, “war board,” which was a schedule of all cashiers’ schedules for the day, what departments they would work in and so forth so on. But, I never saw Brianna’s name pop up, and I began to realize that I might have missed my one and only chance of getting to talk to Brianna.

As time progressed I finally decided it was time to talk to Brad about this new girl since he had been the only one I had talked to about her, and this is when the strangest thing ever happened. Brad had absolutely no idea who I was talking about. He could tell I was obsessed with the idea though and he saw how persistent I was that I had had the conversation with him before, and he even sympathetically lied to me about knowing her just to appease my insanity by saying,

“Ohhhh yeahhhhhhhhh! I remember who you’re talking about!”

I was crushed that the only person who knew her didn’t remember her and at the time I’m unsure of why I didn’t ask my manager to see if they knew who I was talking about. Maybe it was embarrassment or the thought of not being able to see other potential employee’s information that scared me. Either way, I wish I had asked more and been more determined in finding information on what had happened to Brianna.

Months and months on end would go by and the fascination with work would disappear as I got older. I’d check the war board on a pretty consistent basis always hoping that by some miracle, Brianna would show up to work for the day! And even though we eventually would go on to hire an incredible Brianna that I’d become such dear friends with, she wasn’t the same one.

I remember how I used to day dream about Brianna walking into the store and how I would recognize her and how we’d instantly fall in love. Especially on those hot hot Summer days when I was stuck in the garden department with nothing but my thoughts and a dream. As life began to progress though, I realized I didn’t want to only dream about Brianna. . . but I wanted to find her! What good was all my wallowing around if I didn’t make any active attempts to find her!

Thus began, the searching for Brianna. What might just be an everlasting one. . .

I began to take a reality check on this recurring girl who haunted my every thought and when wondering on how I would find a girl from my literal dreams, I thought maybe the first best place to look would be there! Literally in my dreams. I took on an idea I had borrowed from the movie Inception where first thing in the morning, if you try to remember your dreams you’d have a better chance of seeing more details.

Doing more research into this line of thought, I read about dream journals and how some people keep entries of their nightly subconscious activities in order to become better at what’s called lucid dreaming, where basically, you have full and utter control of the dream and realize that you’re in it while still sleeping. My dream journal over time would start to slowly fill and fill with some pretty crazy stories and hilarious dreams. Actually, I wonder if I still have it. If I can find it, I’ll drought down one of my entries here for you to read. . . whoever “you” might be.

I won’t lie when I say I found it in about one minute. It was sitting on my desk right next to me. Oddly enough, my first journal entry is far further in this story than I thought as it was written on October 9th, 2022 (thank God I wrote down dates!) Here goes my first entry.

10-09-22 (#1)

My first dream, I remember being at Home Depot, working while pushing carts. I was very sick and delusional and the atmosphere was rainy and dark. All I could feel was gloom and sadness. There was no one to help me which added to the exhaustion. A customer managed to break 3 carts in half and I had to try and fix them, but I couldn’t. The feeling of wanting to go home was very strong.

10-09-22 (#2)

This time I was in a small class with two other men. It was our first day and our professor was already making us write books worth of homework. But, she soon assigned us Minecraft assignments and the rest of the class was devoted to playing Minecraft. A mixture of falling while playing the game repeatedly occurred and was frightening, yet exhilarating and fun.

Though my timeline of the dream journal and me beginning to write it might be skewed in this story I’ve been telling, as you can see from October 9th’s dreams of the year 2022, it was in fact something I started to do. There were quite a few pages from this journal missing and I can’t recall if they were pages of old homework from school and the notebook was one I self-recycled or not. But, I thought I had started writing these way earlier in my life. Maybe one day, I’ll write up all of these dreams into some sort of official funny document, but as of right now, they’ll all stay in that book. It might honestly be for the better!

Either way, it’s obviously apparent that I became obsessed with this idea of Brianna and I began to play my life events in my head over and over again, and this might have been harmful to me later on, but at the early stages of these occurrences, I was very much into reading. Being the introvert that I was in school, and having no access to a smart device, I used to read so so so many books all the time! My best friend in high school wasn’t any other student really but the faculty and staff, specifically our school librarian Mrs. Hogue.

Every time I’d walk into that library which was probably like twice a week, she’d see me and know it was time for me to become obsessed with a new story or spend the next however many months of my life engrossed in a series. I absolutely loved Mrs. Hogue and while she was very strict with all the other obnoxious kids, she loved me too. We used to talk about life and such and the day I graduated, she was one of the people I made sure of to talk to her and wish her a goodbye to.

Anyways, this obsession with writing and reading of mine was one that really flourished during high school due to these circumstances. It feels rather odd writing now when I haven’t gone about it aside from formal essays and school work since specifically 2018.

2018 was the year that I decided to run with a lot of these creative concepts my mind had created over Brianna and turn them into an actual book with full on character development, a family for Brianna, a place to live and friendships and occupations of all sorts! This is why I mentioned just earlier that this might’ve been more harmful to me, because, sometimes I can’t remember with Brianna what’s memories and what’s a figment of my imagination developed by a creative and passionate former younger writer of myself.

Either way, at this point in my life you could tell I was so devoted to the idea of Brianna being a real person, and this one specific idea plagued me like no other.

The idea was that Brianna was also dreaming of me and that we could only communicate through our collective dreams.

This idea for a young hopeless romantic was intensely alluring and from this idea became the now published and only book of mine, “The Fracture of Reality.” In this book, there’s two main characters named Ian and Brianna. Ian oddly enough matches almost identically all my physical and intellectual traits, some of the only differences being him having a place of his own, a pretty successful job and a bit more muscle, almost as though he were a version of myself I hope to one day be.

Brianna, well, she was and is the Brianna that I know.

The premise of this book was, well how should I put it? Better yet, I’ll just plug in the summary from the back of the book I wrote many years ago!

“Dreams and reality are relatively similar terms. Dreams describe and amplify events that occur in reality whereas reality can capture what little glimpses of the dreams remain. But, it never occurred to me that the two could blur together. Only when it was too late did I start to realize that reality was fracturing…”

Although this summary doesn’t really expound on what the book was about, only now do I find it so profound that I established this saying, this line of thought while I was still younger. I’ll write to you now that the basic premise of the story was a bit of a thriller! Ian begins to have these dreams where he meets and speaks to this mysterious tranquil and beautiful girl. He starts to fall in love with her as he slowly begins to realize that she is in fact real and having dreams of him also. But, with his dreams comes the slow beginning of his down fall where his dreams start to predict horrific events that will occur relatively soon. Along with the dreams comes the mental breaking down of his sanity with a deadly progression exponentially on it’s way to happen far too soon. Through the connecting of his dreams, he needs to find Brianna who he hopes when finding her, will stop the terrifying decline of his conscious nature.

In the end, and [insert spoiler warning here hehe], Ian finally meets up with Brianna only to have one of his dreams predict a horrible event of him and her being hunted by some men that Brianna had gotten in bad with during her youthfully naïve years. The story ends with Brianna and Ian in a cottage after Ian in real life has been shot. The story ends with Ian being unsure as to whether or not his dream reality is real life, or if his reality with the pain of the bullet in him is the truth. Brianna tells him that it doesn’t matter, and tries to convince him that the current peaceful reality that they’re currently in? That that moment and that present feeling is real, and that’s what really truly matters.

Look at me, doing a synopsis of my own books six years later! Writing this book and creating my dream journal and doing research was really the first phase of my obsession with Brianna. The older I’d get though, the more it’d become real to me. I’m unsure as to whether the past eight years of my life has made this idea so authentically real to me, but now I see this all as fact rather than speculation and a possible decline in my sanity that I used to be subconsciously aware of.

More years would progress in my life and would lead to the graduation of my high school and the starting up of college at my community college. There, I’d me one of my best friends which will most likely be my best friend for life KJ, but it was also a time of maturing and shying away from the ideas of Brianna as much. Rather than focusing on the idea of her, instead I got so busy with work at Home Depot, balancing friendships at community college, and still trying to socialize with my family that I hardly thought of her.

But, circumstances would change and even though I went a while without thinking about her, she was always there. When I began my first semester at Columbia State and accidentally sat next to this absolutely beautiful girl named, you guessed it, “Brianna,” I thought that she was her! Only to find out like literally two days into the semesters that she was married, whoops! But I still became friends with her and weird stuff like that would occur every so often, but at this point in time, life was changing so rapidly and my mind was always so distracted that Brianna began to fade.

I’d still have my occasional dreams and when those hit, it’d be more difficult than it used to be. The feeling of wanting to stay in those dreams was so strong and so hard to swallow when I woke up and realized it’d only been in my head.

With school starting though, my priorities changed a lot in life! My job was the least of my concerns at Home Depot and I’d more often than not skip all of my shifts as it always drained me of all my energy having to socialize with a bunch of people I didn’t care for or care about. All the small talk became irritating and whenever I was there, I guess I had come to associate that little hardware store with the idea of loss and gloom. I mean, if my dream journal didn’t speak enough for itself, I think it’s because I missed out on my one and only chance to actually talk to Brianna.

My new priorities were to make as many friends as possible and to turn this new page in life and that’s exactly what I did! I was incredibly social and went out of my way to introduce myself to total strangers just to try and escape the old Mike and pursue a new version of him.

It wouldn’t take long for Brianna to come back to me though.

Nobody that tells you how quickly life goes by can truly explain the depths of what that means and you sort of need to experience it yourself, and with the pandemic of Covid-19 happening around 2020, those two years at community school and the two years at MTSU would go by like a wisp of air. Like a breath, **** the time went by. Sure there was quite a bit of stuff that happened throughout that time, like me beginning to fall in love with creating content through YouTube about Minecraft, getting internships and freelance work for my degree as a Graphic Designer where I won competitions and published my art in many places and had the opportunities to be in a crazy high end internship.

But the amount of time, was just literally gone. I was too busy. Brianna became an afterthought.

That is, until fairly recently. To drop some dates for you, I created my first official youtube channel on September 18th, 2019 and published my first video four years ago a day after I made the channel. At first, my channel of Minecraft specific content was created both to prove to my brothers that I could create content as incredible as the youtubers we watched, but it was also just in hopes of turning it into an actual career since it was something I genuinely was okay at. Having had architecture for for years in high school Minecraft felt like a more creative and liberating way to express those abilities and live them out in an actual environment I had created. But also, Minecraft was an excuse for me to turn off my mind.

Covid and the pandemic was sort of the greatest thing to ever happen to me, because it gave me so much time to think and play this wonderful game. I know I mentioned above how I didn’t think about Brianna that much, and that part is true, but when I had those dry moments of playing Minecraft and grinding out some simple tasks of literally just breaking and placing blocks, my mind would wander to her. I used to choose the most essentially mind numbing tasks of mining for hours upon hours which only consisted of holding down a button and occasionally moving your character around to mine some more. But though the task was completely and utterly boring, my mind was active as ever thinking and wondering about Brianna.

Finding these quiet moments in life were far and few between, but I began to cherish them. All the moments from day dreaming while mowing the lawn and sweating to death in the 100 degree sun, to sitting in my car after a long first four hours at Home Depot while staring at a semi-vacant parking lot, to even just the long walks across my enormous campus at MTSU or the long walk from parking spots I chose purposefully to be super far away from my campus at Columbia State. These moments while rare, gave me a chance to keep Brianna at least in the back light of all the real life moments I was constantly distracted and thrown around with.

But, going back to Minecraft when I got into youtube, this changed everything.

I went from having at least some spare moments to having literally no moments at all. The only time I would rest was when I had experienced such bad burn out from trying to do everything everywhere all at once, and between that and the occasional sleep I would get, my mind had no time to think. I still can easily get into that workaholic mind set sometimes and it’s a dangerous one to be in, but I’ve gotten better as I’ve figured out why I believe I fell into that mindset in the first place.

The reason was to escape Brianna’s grasp.

As I went through school hanging out with friends and making new one’s internationally through the development of an ever expanding youtube channel, I had just about no time for anything. The only time I had to stop and think was my 10 minute drive to get food and even in those moments, I had no time to think, because I was too busy driving trying not to get killed by crazy drivers.

Three years of school went by before I finally said that enough was enough. With school being as difficult as it was, I decided to “retire” from my newfound love of youtube because in all honesty, it was driving me mad. My retirement video from Minecraft came out on December 5th, 2022. I stepped away from the never ending grind and set out to enjoy life and the little moments that life offered.

The only problem with this was that my mind began to ponder Brianna once again.

At this time in my life, after retiring I was actually working for a famous youtuber named PrestonPlayz. It was a random freelance job and for the past year or so I had been jumping from freelance to freelance work with little regards to cost and payments real life had always waiting around the corner for me.

This would make me end up ultimately getting a job back at Home Depot for a few months to pay off debts I had incurred from being financially stupid and buying stuff I didn’t really need. But, between all the financial problems and weird life situations I had so much more time to think about Brianna. The dreams of her still occurred every so often but the frequency at which they had started to occur was less and less. Maybe this was all due to me reaching a new level of maturity, but I’m still not entirely sure what caused it. Maybe it was the distraction of a busy workaholic life or the hopes to find someone, really anyone that was a girl that would love me that I could love back.

But, like I said my mind began to think about her more and more. I began to see her in my thoughts like I had years ago previously and it almost felt like I was back sliding into some weird territory I had just grown oblivious to with the amount of time that had passed. Either way, that was my life. A jumbled mess of thoughts and ideas all scattered in a brain far too busy to stop and breathe coming to the new age of silence and habit.

With my mind able to breathe, I thought of her again. . . and then I saw her again. . .

I can’t remember the exact day or time of year, but on one of these days of my “retirement” I was driving home after having just gotten some taco bell. (I was obsessed with the place back then) Driving up my street, I saw a girl with long dark curly hair and bright pink clothes, what might have even been pajama pants on her, walking up my street! I didn’t think much of it until I looked into my sider mirror and saw her face and saw that it was the one and only, Brianna.

Brianna was walking up my street right next to my house. In person. Alive and breathing.

I panicked and jumped out of my car with my taco bell nearly crashing to the ground as I roared into park in my driveway with my car. With bare feet, since I used to drive with no shoes when I went to fast food place, I dove onto an aggregate driveway and started running down it, knowing that there was no way on earth I was missing my chance to finally talk to her. I had nothing but time that day, and I was overly excited to finally introduce myself in person

But when I turned around, Brianna was gone. She’d simply vanished into thin air? I still don’t know how or why, but she was gone. . . possibly gone forever. . .

This experience drove my efforts to find her to another level of passion as I began to research through many google forums and sites and social media platforms praying to God that I’d be able to find her. It didn’t matter if I had to cross the entire ocean to get to her, I was going to find Brianna, no matter what.

I started to revisit old ground and went to the Home Depot I had worked at, asking the new manager there if he could search records and being able to find her that way. I found old coworkers I used to work with and asked around trying to find any trail or any lead and couldn’t find a single thing. I even managed to find Brad Brad’s Instagram and messaged him only for him to have literally no idea what I was talking about, go figure.

With nothing working and having literally no idea on what else I could do, I began to passionately work on a project called, “The Bri of My Dreams.” What this basically was was an ARG or alternate reality game which was a puzzle game I setup for my prior youtube community to solve and have fun with. But, it was more than that. It was the telling of the story of Brianna in a way that I could hopefully publicize and gain some popularity on so that maybe instead of me finding Brianna, she’d be able to rather find me! So, I started working on it behind the scenes unbeknownst to anyone in my community that I was going to use this new found passion project to hopefully find her, but also to bring me back to youtube content creation.

To this day, I’m still not sure why I wanted to go back to youtube. Well I know some underlying reasons, that being tied loosely to Brianna, but now many months later still being at it, I’m unsure as to the real reason why I still create stuff on there.

Either way, after creating an entire animated short film with a script and what I consider to be one of my greatest projects of all time, “The Bri of My Dreams” project was finalized and ready to publish. I put it out there hoping that it was only a matter of time before I finally heard from her.

Hardly anyone noticed I’d returned to youtube, let alone my project failing horribly as only close friends I knew even attempted the puzzles.

My final efforts produced literally no results, and well, this brings me to about right now, this moment that I’m actually writing this all down on May 1st 2024 at 4:21 p.m CDT. For the past few hours I’ve written down all of this while listening to The Caretaker album on youtube, a depressing soundtrack meant to represent the stages of alzheimer's.

This morning while sitting around doing nothing really, I looked up Brianna one last time, despite me telling myself I would be done with her after my ARG project. I found a girl, about the same age as me that matched the name and the description. Her father’s name was funnily enough the same as my own, Michael.

What I found about her and her father were obituary statements.

I’m unsure if it’s okay or morally right to even think that might’ve been her, but something I noticed when doing research about Brianna in my earlier days. . . For some odd reason there’s a lot of young beautiful Briannas who unfortunately die in their early 20’s. It’s an odd and horrifying fact I’ve come to know over the past few years through my odder than odd research.

But, this case I found today? Well the exact date this Brianna died on correlated almost exactly when my dreams stopped of her.

I don’t dream of Brianna anymore. I haven’t for years. . .

I think the reason I’m writing this, is my own way of finally saying goodbye. Wherever she is, I hope she’s okay. I hope she’s well. But as for me, life continues to go on and it’s finally time after these past eight years to finally say. . .

Goodbye Brianna. I’ll miss you. . .
Past psychological development
describes zigzagging mama's yoyo
casually, aye publicize, (asper
mein kampf) personal woe

unpleasant memories indelibly
etched, jagged, scar outlined like ticktacktoe
solitary games invariable resultant
draw between every “x” and each "o"

metaphorical of course for this poetic,
formerly non opportunistic
generic Joe Schmoe,
hoof hound cathartic airing emotionally

rocky terrain, whereby floe
tips of icebergs with poetry I tool
examining, excavating, extracting, et cetera ***
ping to discover ring visa vis,

why this ordinary fella did not want to grow
up, when on the throes of puberty lugging
"FAKE" nostalgic memories in tow
markedly heavy impossible to shrug

Atlas off (as if yoked with an albatross) also
weighted with Taj Mahal size fountainhead
gushing with emotional phlegm like no
buddies business shockingly deadly toxic

sputum nearly killed me, the only bro
their too hoo (owl right) untwisted sisters
one older, the other younger dough
ting on this then suicidal, impassive, and

ambivalent depressively sullen self burrow
wing boy within my own wormhole unresponsive
to overtures of sincere love - self castrated
particularly social maturation grew

ming this present day subdued chap
still smarting from ravages of anorexia
nervosa, particularly wrought hardy brew
of schizoid personality disorder self

deprivation excruciating frame of mind
as I mercilessly flayed and never grew
to experience ordinary relationships,
hence though married with grown daughters,

nonetheless...pay penance forever rue
man hating price hermetically
sealed wharf from humans,... thus you
cannot reach me, - now adieu!
The following constitutes a rather
twisted as a pretzel SUBTITLE:

I dash with my jiggling ***** in an attempt to escape...
being overrun by teddy bears and beanie babies
while carrying out heavy duty spring cleaning.

Twas the bright idea of zee missus aye air
and dedicate this poem
(yes tis correct, if you bare
lee remember this mister
did formerly she push lee duck clear
addressed said spouse
"my little buttock blaster” endear
ring - for obvious reasons,
and before she begat two 'ere
rip press ably lovely daughters),

anyway thee wife I fear
to publicize contracted a benign
strain sans incurable glare
ring housecleaning malady;
thus far no unpronounceable hair
raising name affixed
to non contagious condition, nevertheless
accursed malady,
whereby to keep her
from auctioning me on eBay,
I squarely hide in root cellar.

She frenziedly scrubbing stubborn stains
from clothes, dishes,
and gamut of hibernating
Oryctolagus cuniculus domesticus
horde (nee motley crue)
entrapping scampering dust bunnies
that come breathing alive
nsync with beastie boy
city rollers culture clubbing babes
upon first spring day
engrossed in this, that,

or some other sweeping floor foray
(analogously to Velveteen Rabbit)
shedding fifty shades of gray
winter coat when warmer temperatures arrive,
where humongous fur clumps would lay
comprising sudden empty raft
of shelf space minus a may
zing globules, oh...lemme get on track,
whence frenzied fever
"cleaning bug" nee
major virus afflicting wife,  

would necessitate impossible task
strapping former feisty Norwegian farm gal
in straight jacket livingsocial every
would be no game to play
24/7 daily challenge devious skullduggery
Smokey and the Bandits
an imp posse sub bill
outlaw gang, who lived
like Aristo curr Rats along the quay,    
which unpredictable timeframe

boot tiring and cruel task
of her life Yukon say
thine remaining lifetime,
that's my wife oye vey
would frank lee zapping
every last oomph of mine
if able twin door remaining with spouse
meanwhile 'till she obviously
plucks persistent sprouting stranded follicle
tiller broad forehead resembles
a minuscule tarmac way.

Though far fetched, not impossible
for me and Joe Six
Pack to become one and the same
since a concerned counterpart
contributes to the mix
cuz, she waves a scolding gold finger
dying with craven craving for sweet licks
to grace tastebuds longing
to savor and dissolve sucrose
in any one of the natural
or synthesized combinations
in an effort whose memory
of a washboard tummy
doth hunger for youth afflicts

recent embarkation since maintaining a diet
of exercise no more pesky heeding "yo dude"  
(you look like a lady),
the inner fitness maven against
temptation of high caloric junk food
and nightly snack king
on a flexible fitness routine,
this lxiv aged body electric feels good
these myopic eyes and
well-calibrated hands measure less dense hood-

winking *****, that if I feigned being
a "bared naked lady" -
asper this chest lewd
city in reference to "man *****"
that seemed to materialize overnight
now appear to decrease as well
that unwanted "love handle,
this chap more inclined
tubby in a greater mood
to parade around

this non-crowded house shirtless
AND definitely NOT in public,
BUT no weigh Jose
would this generic guy go completely ****
cuz being self-consciousness of my physique
might prompt outsiders
to consider me a *****
and even during closed bedroom door
****** exploits deter me tibia rude
fellow (with average go daddy long legs)

and my dangling dipstick smallish
(concluding biology *******)
a chap worthy tube he more endowed,
though gratitude proffered
to same divine cosmic consciousness
but as the year's pile up appreciation
of functional faculties alter matts' at tee 'tude
accepting physical characteristics
more or less static
*** ping believe mass elf ya wood.

— The End —