Quack! Quack! Quack!
Ok, where’s everybody?
I’ve been gliding round in this pond the last half
hour singing my Duck-thoven tunes:
Quack! Quack! Quack
Quack!Quack! Quack!
And so why’s everyone avoiding me
like I don’t know how to make conversation?
Quack? Quack?
The other day the duckling glided near
and asked if I’d share bits of the bread
thrown to me by
these pesky humans who can’t
read the Don’t-feed-the-ducks signs
and I swallowed the bread bits whole and said:
Quack! Quack! Quack!
And the silly duckling ran away crying! –
Hey how can I answer with food in my mouth?
Quack! Quack! Quack!
Your mum taught you to speak with food in your mouth?
Quack! Quack! Quack!
Have you got any brains in that quacking head of yours, duckling?

Really, no reason to avoid me…
I mean the other day they asked me what
I think about the environment and I said:
Quack! Quack! Quack!
and they all looked astonished
at the wisdom of my words.
So why avoid me now?
This cute **** duck glided quite close to me
and asked me what I thought about pre-marital ***
and I said: Quack! Quack! Quack!
and I flapped my wings and walked on water
and held my head high with the sweetest:
Quack! Quack! Quack!
and that silly female duck jumped to the overhanging branches
and refused to come down for all my quacking:
Quack! Quack! Quack!
Seriously, what’s this all about? –
You excite a ****** duck and then hide in the branches?
What’s this pond coming to!

The other day a silly fish swam close to me and asked
for directions round the pond and I said:
Quack! Quack! Quack!
And the fish said: Hey! I don’t understand Duck language.
Don’t you speak Finglish?

What the Duck! I said. Why don’t you learn Quacklish!
Quack!Quack!Quack!


So where’s everybody?
And really I don’t understand why
everyone’s avoiding me.
I mean really I can qua-ttle off the Entire History of the Pond
and the Holy Texts Revealed by Duck God to the Duck Prophets
and I can quack about anything and I can quack
about all the wines and grog
and I can teach the creatures how to change pond water into wine;
and I can quack about all the delicacies in the pond
and I can sing too, listen:
Quack! Quack! Quack!
And such a delightful voice and such original tunes too!
A graduate of Duck-kovsky Underwater Academy.
And so – hey! – where’s everybody?
Why do they avoid me like I’ve got the Swine Flu or something?
Hey, I’m just a pond duck who likes to Quack! Quack! Quack!
You got a problem with that, you quacks!

By: Cedric McClester

If it quacks
Like a duck
Acts like a duck
Why get stuck
It’s a duck
What the ****

Here’s what
The case is
Of course he’s a racist
He’s covered all bases
When it comes
To other faces

He spews hate
That he reitterates
At rallies
And debates
Where he anticipates
The reactions
That he rates

Chances are
None to slim
That we would ever
Vote for him
He’s a prisoner
Of his own whims

If it quacks
Like a duck
Acts like a duck
Why get stuck
It’s a duck
What the ****










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

I get accused of a lot of things at first glance

"You're simplistic, you're hiding something

You have no convictions, you don't think deeply"

Usually by those who I consider to be on intellectual crutches

If you're gonna come up to talk to me from a religious context

from a spiritual context

from a hierarchical, metaphysical, eat this **** popsicle mindset

Don't expect me to swallow

Don't expect me to talk

You won't like what I have to say

Because really you just want me to agree with you

If you want me to respect your framework

When you have nothing but the claims of quacks

and the feelings you gleaned from your last psychedelic trip

to back you up

While I have to sit back and listen to how I'm close minded

Close minded for wanting some real truth in this universe

unfiltered, raw, verifiable, and in my hand

and that anything other than that is a spray paint over

my true awakening

Then I guess I'll just have to be that *******

to die for these intellectual sins

The Eldest Son of Matt, hater of pretense

Hypocrite to the highest level

Build me up into a figure of idolatry

Just like you do with the rest of your ego cases

Priests, Gurus, Rabbis, Rockstars, Poet sensations

Tell me how wonderful it is to listen to them

Tell me how I should be more in touch with a tree

Tell me how I don't dream

When all my life is but that

Tell me how I'm not deep when you make no attempt to learn

Who I am, and where I have come from

Misinterpret my teachings, and claim me to feel

As if I was the newest son of god

When all I want is for people to get beyond blinders

and love each other, and to get beyond the metaphysical rat race

Tell me that I'm supposed to live and let live

While you jam your beliefs down my throat

and expect me to respect getting philosophically tea bagged

******* to the crucifix

and asking me to repent for my search for truth

And I will make sure that if anything were to happen,
It would do little to affect you.

It's not everyday
You find a goose that lays eggs
With speckled jewels and golden flakes

The world is full of incongruity
And there's no doubt about the certainty
That something bad may happen,
And we don't want that, do we?

So listen carefully.


The world is a giant carboniferous spicule
Hanging in a nest of hydroxic gas and particulae
Spinning within the gaps of a blackened dome
Of limitless space and out of control
There is no telling what way it will go
There is no prediction that has fortold
Any number of moments in this tumbling slumber
Between the darkest hell and the further horizon

I so deftly advise you with all certification
To please place your bets and fly by echolocation
Your eyes will mislead, your ears will displease
And there is no way we can refund divine warranties

This machinery
has a half life of quarks
And energies that vibrate into other orbits
Trajectories
Retaining the spin and informative piece
Of that golden goose let loose amongst the canopy
Of dark,
off into neverland, straight on
Till new morning,
Beyond the stars

So please good sir don't migrate away from me
I have so much to give and such pain I have seen

Those that fatten their goose with **** till it quacks,
Those ravenous souls who ate their gift for a snack,
And when life finally cuts them down to their last,
They will howl and yowl and pray that goose back.

This is a game,
Have a good little laugh
Don't waste your time or your money
On a daffy Aflack

Policy that keeps you policed to the earth,
No way to fly,
Stuck in the dirt.
That is no way to live in the dream,
That is no way to let death trickle in

So please, pretty please, make sure you have coverages
And a couple extra dollars in the pocket of those jeans
Wander freely, you great big atomic bomb, you.
Do catastrophic damages and I'll pay your dues.

Ride the road coast to coast,
Fly a bird 'round the world,
Take a truck till you're home,
Find a love you can trust.
Find a place where your egg
And your legs seek nowhere else
Lay down those roots,
It's Eden or bust.

Ripples riddle the mirror,
Below, faint shapes shift
Elegant forms float here and there,
Little legs thunder, leaving a gentle wake
in lieu of turmoil.

The air is thick, the sun falling,
Already lost behind billowing storm clouds
Etched chaotically on the horizon.
Invisible but for the ubiquitous light.

It is the dragonflies time,
A darting zip and an effortless flutter.
From surfacing **** to towering Reed,
Searching for something we can only pretend to know.

Determined housewives, faces set,
Arms pumping and hips swaying
Their Anatidean waddle so fitting
Their quacks, a wall of stereo.

A lone rusted sign warns of gators,
but of signs, there is that one alone.
No rogue bubbles or beady eyes,
no ticking of swallowed clocks,
no suspicious splashes.
nothing.

My battery is now as low as the sun,
and my pen is as empty.
A not so subtle poke in the ribs
from a universe in protest of the
bad poetry being inked.

c'est la vie
or as we say in English
**** it

.
                                   D
                            u    u c    u
                           c      k D      c
                          k        u          k
        ­                 D       c   k       D
                          u      D   u      u
                           c       c  k       c
                            k       D        k
                             D      u      D
                               u     c     u
                                   c k  c
                                      k

Donald quacks. We better duck.
Tell the Cubans to mute that trumpet
While we, together, improve our luck
(or end up ruled by a Socialist Strumpet.)

The mallard was rebuked by Mitt;
adversaries began to bray.
The ducklings murmured: guy’s unfit
to be elected anyway...

Know it all in theory never practiced
Waddles and quacks
Assumptions under false pretenses
Opinions often criticize
Judgments without a clue
Senseless chatter
Assless pants
Years behind
Broken spirits
Wavering faith
What is proof?
Wasted life and selfish acts
Yeah, what do you know?

florence white or better known as mumma rose gets captured in ron’s psych ward



after losing her mate harold stone  in 2011, florence ‘mumma rose’ white started

to show the screws that she is a changed woman but she can’t resist, escaping from the secure

psychiatric unit and then started to search the web to find tasha andrews, so she can have

ella white, who is the chosen one, but this time mumma rose was determined to win, and

mumma rose decided to bring her commune to the web and she would trick everyone who

looks like they can help her into joining the computer generation, which was the name of her

new commune, and florence wanted to find tasha and ells, and she would do anything to get

help to find them.

ron was searching the web and wrote on google after having problems with the web and

‘what is wrong with the computer generation, and surprise surprise, he came across mumma rose’s

website, but it was secure, because florence didn’t want no irene roberts to stop her plan, but

ron was unsure about whether this was a lead, so he searched for any way of finding a date of when

this website was found, but he couldn’t find it, but ron forwarded the websie over to the police and

then ron was called in, with the police saying, where did you find this site and ron said, i was searching

for something i like and i then accidentally googled what is wrong with the computer generation and

this was on the top, and the police said, yeah well, this site was built in 2012 in the hope of capturing

tasha and ella once more, and it looks like she is off her medication as well.


ron left the police station and went to his usual place and there was one of mumma rose’s computer generation

buddy’s having a cup of coffee and a cake, and he said, my friend mumma rose wants me to bring ella white home to her

after that evil tasha andrews and irene roberts took her away from her, and ron said, listen, do you know where she lives

and mumma rose’s buddy said nothing, not even his name because he can’t see the evil in mumma rose but ron wanted

to trial a new medication on her because the one she was on wasn’t working and the man said, why the **** are you doctors

trying to shove good people on drugs, and she is a good person, you know who the real villain is.    it is that evil irene roberts and

tasha andrews, or she wants is to have her baby brought back to her.

ron said, she has manipulated so many people, and she is dangerous and the man said, ‘dangerous’  a wild dog can be dangerous

a tiger can be dangerous.  better still a knife reeling bandit is dangerous, but mumma rose is ever so gentle, and the computer generation

are protecting her from you quacks and cops.

ron sat there and took a photo of the guy with his phone and sent it to the police and then went to his HDU and the inmates were getting restless

and charlie chaplin said did you hear the news, they caught mumma rose, and she should be back in her psych ward soon and ron

said, when did this happen and before he can say anything else, mumma rose was walking into his HDU, and florence said, hi, my name is

florence white, and i was arrested for having a website, just imagination in this day and age, getting arrested for having a website.

ron asked mumma rose, you were a NSW lady, what brings you here, and mumma rose said, i had a sure plan to get my daughter back

from those evil so called family people irene roberts and tasha andrews, i was ready to pounce till i got a visit from the police, and ron asked her

did you have a lead, and mumma rose said yeah, there was this little 9 year old girl really got hooked on this website and i thought, ella, this is ella

i know it, she is my daughter who has been taken away by irene and tasha and i am ever so determined to reach out, and when the police came

i lost all hope of ever seeing her again, so are you happy mr ron cooper, and mumma rose added i am not taking any medication, because there is

nothing wrong with me, give tasha and irene medication and send them in here, and let me go, i have my new found friends to look after

and ron said, ‘NO’, you are staying here and while you have still got thoughts in harming that child, you will stay here as i prescribe largactil to you

with a dash of serenace and mumma rose walked away saying, i am not participating in any childish games until i get out of here, i will take your

wonder drug, to get me better so i can be with my daughter again and ron bought out the lunches and mumma rose had nothing and charlie said

eat this, it’s great and mumma rose said, if i wasn’t missing my daughter, i would punch you and patty roe went up to florence and said i am

george washington and florence said ‘SHUT UP’, and went over to the television yelling at every word said on the television, and that meant a

lot of yelling and ron tried to settle her down and brought her medication to her, and mumma rose said, my daughter is out there with evil

and ron bought out the sandwiches as well as the rest of the medications and mumma rose went up to charlie chaplin and grabbed him

and said to ron, i will **** him if you go home now, ron said, no you haven’t got any weapons so ron went home, but when ron went home,

mumma rose continued with her threat to **** someone and she killed george washington, saying go back to the USA in a coffin and the nursing

staff rang ron up and ron came straight away and went into mumma rose’s room and said, you ain’t going to see your daughter if you **** everyone

in here, ok and after yelling at florence ron went to his office and put a do not disturb sign on his door while mumma rose was pumped full of drugs/

She knows she’s in
the sepia photograph
but doesn’t remember why
or who the others are

or why she dressed
as she did back then
or why there was a dog there
at the front

she keeps the photograph
tucked between
the pages
of the black Bible

some clergy gave her
and a dark secret
she was forbidden to tell
and sometimes

that short woman
with the Mongolian features
steals it to gawk at
then she has to go get it back

sometimes violently
which brings the nurses running
with their rough hands
and strait jackets

or that skinny woman
who always stares
takes hold of it
and stares at it

pointing to the various faces
of the males and females
and at the dog
and smiles and wets herself

and then laughs loudly
which causes
the other inmates
to bellow or laugh

or cry or scream
bringing the nurses trotting
with their what’s going on?
or what’s all this then?

she holds the photograph
to her ***** when she can
or tries to remember
who they all are

staring back at her
including herself
and when the quacks
question her

about the photo
as to who is who
or why she has kept it
she doesn’t have a clue

and one said
she ought not to have it
as it disturbed her
but a nice nurse

(and there were some) said
o no doctor she needs that
there will be hell to pay
if she doesn’t have it

tucked between the pages
of the Good Book
she kisses herself some days
talks to one or two

of the others there
but who they were
or to whom she speaks
she doesn’t know

and on cold wintery days
she looks toward the sun
for a message
or a warming glow.

Don't tell me you believe
that vitamin C in an IV
will cure anything until you've been
crying by a dead child's
side and it's made you decide
at nine years old
that you will spend your life
finding a cure before any more
people you love lie hooked
up to food tubes
morphine titrating
venous dreams by their bedside.
Don't tell me those
expensive diets
or money making schemes mean
anything until you've
slept in hospital wards on floors
or sometimes an armchair
praying to a God you know
isn't there.
Don't tell me the answer is there to find,
that I just haven't tried—
I know I never let anyone die.

I seize in the day, I seize in the night

Convulsions plague me throughout my life

  The stiffness comes, And then it goes

But the worst is afterward, when I’ve discovered that my friends can turn into foes

The mere sight of it has scared them off

As a result they laugh, taunt and scoff

I seize in the day, I seize in the night

Medicines plague me throughout my life

The neurologist says “Let’s try this one”

Dilatin, Depakote, Tegretol, Topamax

They try my last nerve, Until finally I say

“Haven’t you tried enough on me, you quacks?!?”

I seize in the day ,I seize in the night

Must I wear a “dogtag” for all my life?

This little tag, on my necklace, it labels me

Can’t you see the medical symbol and on the other side in big bold letters “EPILEPSY”

It’s a ****** on the self-esteem

It’s a reminder that I belong to a different regime

One of a nature gone to extremes, If that is what I let it be

I seize in the day,  I seize in the night

I don’t give up, I say to my brain and my soul, “Fight, Fight, FIGHT!”

I’m frustrated and don’t give up
Although there are times when I want to, I don’t.

I’ve been a fighter from the day I was born

And in the heat of this battle of neurons and neurologists

My determination and perseverance were forged.

The more I seized, the more I fought

Through the trauma of it all, lessons were learned and taught

And the more I seized, the more I realized

  That Epilepsy was a lesson in Serenity.

This empty ***** bottle,
has been cuddled and swaddled and squandered.
In my ***** it seeps to every dame between,
a dad and not knowing her own preponderance.

I ****, I ****, by the ****** of my hilt,
of the sword of unrighteous, self help,
and filling their wombs with guilt.

I've never helped anyone all of my life.
Though they would tell you different mistruths,
of their positional view, so skewed by proof,
undo, that I sent them through.

It's  a fun house of lies and mirrors shaping figures,
of veneers, so botched that plastic surgeon quacks wouldn't own up to
the scars.

I ferment peoples living.
I turn drunk ****** into angels.
I mask charlatan as queens,
and poison my own gut with the fakes in my head.

Crops die.
Crust subdues verdance.
Chronos rhymes the days and night.
Course subjugation to penance.

But now I seethe my own head into my throat,
and end in ink wrote as prose.
Killing beauty. Art.
**** Art.

Today is.
Death.
Tomorrow's not life,
nor living,
breathing nor breath,
oxygen's just a molecule,
it causes no spark,
except in molecules charged,
with dividing and subdividing,
and rejoining and conjoining into something that can use it.

happy flights :)

It was the summer of love,
at least that's what they said.
There were guys with long
hair and beards and beads,

with wide trousers, and loud
shirts, and girls with long
hair, and dresses like nuns,
or short skirts, showing off

their not so good legs or thighs.
There was Hendricks, Beatles
and Stones and playing, music
loud, live. Julie was out for

the day; the hospital quacks,
giving her a day pass, no
shooting up, no pill popping.
She met Ben in Trafalgar

Square, tight skirt and top,
hair held in a ponytail, bright
eyed, big smile. He was
by the fountains having a

smoke, eyeing the girls,
listening to some long
haired guy strum a guitar,
his skinny girlfriend doing

a dance, her bony legs
looking breakable, ****
non existent. Been here
long? Julie said. No, just

a few moments, he lied,
not wanting to give her
reasons to moan or row.
She wanted to go for a beer.

So he took her to the bar
off Charing Cross Road
and ordered two cold beers
and lit up some smokes.

She spoke of some nurse
who almost lost her her pass,
all about some **** up, over  
drugs, she’d forgotten to take.

She said the quacks were ok
with it, the tall one is hot,
she said, shouldn’t mind him
poking around in my parlour.

He told her about the Charles
Lloyd jazz album he'd bought,
how he'd met him outside Dobell's,
got a sign copy of the new L.P.

She drained her drink and he
ordered another two, she took
one of  his smokes and lit up
and sat back, crossing her legs,

her black short skirt riding her
thighs, ******* in his eyes.
No place for ***, she said,
unless you know of a bed

and room going cheap for
an hour or so?  No luck,
he said, wishing he did,
remembering the fast shaft,

the quickie in the hospital
broom room, amidst brooms
and brushes and buckets
or boxes and all. She said

her parents rang, and they
argued, and she slammed
down the phone. They said
it was the summer of love,

but where they sat, boozing
and smoking, it fell pretty flat.

.and very much so:
the royal albert hall... is not where you'd go
to watch ballet...
      unless you were going to watch...
an enlarged centipede pretend to stampede
on a treadmill...

high-brow my ***...
         because iron maiden's phantom
of the opera... did... does... predate...
andrew webber's stab...
                 hard rock 'ammer...
       as in... a paul di'anno bitchboy
                 scant-gimpwhore fan... etc.
the castrato operatics... later...
n'ah...               but that's oh so much
an origins story...
                    and hardly the evolution...

- that the phantom of the opera stands on
a skeleton of three songs...
revised...                morphing...

perhaps not, not that they are songs...
i'd have to sharpen my scalpel for
attempting the smithy deeds on words...

a skeleton of three themes...
       thus noted:

               "angel of music"
            "phantom of the opera"
    and... last but not least:
                     "masquerade"...

what a day... or what wasn't expected...
no one ever told me that:
a musical per se... differs so much from
a musical: for the stage...

by musical...
                 i'd be shaking to conjure up...
the screen musicals of a west side story...
etc. -

            and one can easily so tire of
this trap...

  and what of the internal jokes?
jokes at the expense of the opera...
              - poor fool, he makes me laugh
       - hannibal...
quite the jokes...
   having to draw the blood from
the mundane talk elevated to an operatic
context of song...

that a musical is... somehow...
when opera can be reduced to talk...
and can be thus reduced to:
the joker in a hand of poker...
   a whimsical little card...

the 25th anniversery of the phantom
at the royal opera house...
one can somehow forgive the electronic
attaches of the overture...
whether the electric guitar of the drum
machine...

   like one can forgive:
                 nirvana's unplugged...
at the end though...
   even andrew webber looks perplexed /
nervous... how did we get away with this?
i don't know:
the only style of genre that...
actually requires a stage and props...
and ample volume of space!
a theatre: since otherwise...
opera: pure technique...
                and prop minimalism...

and...

because can a musical: not require a stage?
does it indeed feed too many images
that need to be attired with quacks...
with feathers... with leather boots and chandeliers?!

now i'll toast! i'll toast to a new reason
to go down the alleys of ah bit tipsy:
itsy bitsy sniffing a bottle neck...
bloated from a champagne cork pop!

truly... if only the stage...
   that allowance to perform a performance
a need to perfect: always never:
the editor in charge...
   all those out-takes left to what life is
left behind the curtain...

     the musical of the movies of h'america...
whatever they might be...
to name but a few would be best...
           and if i didn't first see the phatom
on a television screen...
but in its natural environment:
with the volume of required air...
     i wouldn't have been able to choke
my tears...

and i have seen the theatre
and i have seen the opera
and the ballet...
                            i sometimes...
"sometimes": wearisome...
try to forget the maggot pit of phelgm,
sweat and ***** of a rock concert...
        of all the mediums...
         this jumbled up swedish table platter...
what a cocktail of a rollercoaster!

i could forever take off my garments
of jealousy: of which there's that pitiable
affair of a beard-envy...
                well...
                           well well...

how pristine: they even had a music-box!
in that crude relief of finding
"revisions" and alt. interpretations
of... perhaps it's only a matter of
two themes and that overture?

             and if it's song and dance...
       it's not a candy-smiles and tap-dancing buffet...
it's opera and ballet...
because... it's opera:
                 ha! empty these cupboards!
no one needs to attend an opera
like a foreign language movie:
with subtitles running on a FTSE100
reel above the stage...

                      the musical: is the reinvention
of the opera... a musical is an opera...
with mild added animation of theatre...
and there's a pinch of ballet!

          this will most certainly not translate
into me liking cats... or les misérables...
       this will do...
                   sing-along / sing-through?
and everyone is, suddenly... equipped with
a deciphering ear to translate the over-infuated
vowels of an operatic breath?!

- and very much so:
the royal albert hall... is not where you'd go
to watch ballet...
      unless you were going to watch...
an enlarged centipede pretend to stampede
on a treadmill...

- but if someone would tell you...
a musical... west side story? yes?
     i'm pretty sure it would be all about:
singin' in the rain... fair enough...
             but all for that popcorn entertainment...
and the tap-dancing...
and chewing-gum advert smiles...
and all that technicolour dabbling...
and all those heavily bothersome editing
processes... like... the plumbers
most associated with veins and arteries?
sorry: the romanians are picking the fruit
and veg for the next: x-factor star...
the next youtube vlogger breakthrough chart
topper...

blunt and ******* obvious...
      and how has english changed since Dickens?
i made a note of...
because i will not make notes
of what's already passed...
a direct etymological association with a loan,
word...
  not from dutch, german or french...

       SA-LU-BRI-OUS
            (healthy...)

                   PER-EM-PTO-RILY...
         (not being permitted a denial)

that 19th century victorian english that...
just had to loan words directly from
latin... this much of reading Dickens remains
in me... after having just experienced
a blitzkrieg of a musical: proper...

there are still the same old nooks 'n' crannies
for me to find shadows and moths
in...

    because: i am most certainly the one
about to cite: they took away my circuses!
and m'ah bread!
there's no football! well... no football?
goodness me! what are, what are...
the alternatives?!

         opera you can... disregard...
theatre if... movies are your...
ahem... sartre's curiosity with the keyhole...
voyeurism: to exist is to be seen...
but only through a keyhole...
                     which movies aren't, of course!
the editor comes in...
even in the golden age of cinema...
the panoramic view... resembled a stage...
and in the old movies you could
time... the editor taking charge...
and how long it would take for
the actors to forget their lines...

            not that that matters... given...
there's no stage... but the red carpet
of postures and toothpaste adverts...
and paparazzi *** epilepsy from the strobe
glitter ball of the leeches congregating!
not even vultures make such a spectacle!
i saw the same...
then the concrete was layered with enough
frost at night...
the crevices would become impregnated
with diamonds of ice...
every twist of the head would
agitate these sparkles toward imitation
of a flash!

there's a "musical": in the advent of the h'american
sense... and there's: a musical...

- and if you happen to hear a subtle joke
by evelyn waugh in the meantime:
at the better for you...
              what is an encyclopedic "ogling"
within the confines of scrutiny:
that man may forever be attired...
and the genitals just dangling like
champagne flutes without any,
any sort of, scrutiny of...
not having to play the Oedipus!

               here's a fork... here's a donkey...
here's a spoon... here's the Schleswig-Holstein
and its siege of Westerplatte!
here!
   the Schleswig-Holstein tenor of
                           the opera: Westerplatte...
oh joy: a "my" in a "history"...
and none of it an affair that might...
disturb the peaceful lives
of those lived: under the splendour
of a charles II and a handel firework's music
to have to somehow: "put out"!

clearly: i'll be dying from the ******
of all the collective forces of the universe
and gambling and... oopsies...
i am here... and it's not that sort of grey...
pistons assured!
- had i the face of beauty...
beside starring as a tadpole of potential...
a voice with a stage to make outlet with...

- what could ever become of this...
jigsaw puzzling overdue do...
                         the narrative in the classical sense:
hardly what, and what not:
this vector and the in-between
from some mythical (a) toward a journalism,
and weekend opinion pieces...
and all that insomnia riddled "journalism"
of the current year of crux denoted with
a (b)...

               all true: from darwin and the "big bang"...
and of course... time shrinking...
in between... beside carbon dating...
and let us not hear of things speak
for themselves: but ourselves!
untrue! hercules!
untrue! prometheus!
untrue untrue untrue!
but darwin and the ape: nod! gentlemen!
we have proof!
myth or no myth: but a journalistic integrity!
that's enough proof! for today and tomorrow!
and... what's not the fiction that's already
memory?

and what is... this imagination that's...
not a single street witnessed of Paris
in the circa of the year that was... 2004...
or 2006 or 2007...
                      
for the art... and this detail of science that
once upon a time shocked...
now... only comes... burdensome...
a ballet on ice... a shaking of hands with
a shadow... something beside this:
base revision of culture and civilization:
this bogus lopsided quest for:
re-inventing... nothing more... than a zoo!

so little must have happened in the case
of english history...
this hannibal and the mountains...
but what curtain: the great wall of china:
built among the mountains...
ingenious: doubling-up?
  xerxes whipping the waves of the aegean...
the great wall of *****-chewing-wall'ah...
i dare become the new albino...
i dare... and i the next japanese porcelain
frailty...
               many thanks: for the <caugh caugh>...
hooray!

              oh my mother:
the cindarella of nations of europe...
         i seriously can't do much worse than
that cocktail and carboot sale of tchaikovsky's
1812 overture...
   it's an overture!
              
really? the phantom of the opera is because...
of the overture?
last time i heard... prokofiev's lieutenant kijé
(kij - stick... kije... sticks)...
romance... was all a rave! "rave"...
              a nibbling at a crescendo...
    but hardly: then again: a nomad chorus...
a reminiscence... a memory lost: yet foretold...

and if... the anonymous provider...
of the full extent of the carmina burana...
      what if?
        i play... this cliche... this... my most
democratic oath: for the bettering of the voice
that could allow the congregation of
the many! my democratic oath: my quasi:
civic duty... me joining the club of the most
sober bottom's-up! pick'ld-week!

                 such are the affairs... hardly a worthiness
of a frenchman of pander...
or of being so blessed by an island...
when being neighbour of europe...
and easily bound to be found because:
france never too interest in the robot antics
of the scandinavians or what
was ever to be assured by iceland!

thus came the crude: skeleton waiting
to be refined... a peter schteele interlude of:
fancying a giant to a tumble...
i will not satisfy myself with a biography
outside of the realm of immediacy...
how do people write a biography without
the peacock of whim and of what's readily
available? a biography with a past...
automated: futurism... n'est ce pas?

         - i escape for the transcendental relief in
beauty... my own lack...
therefore better neglected: rather than denied...
it's my own that Belzeebub should
****** with maggots and acne synonyms onto
my face...

          i escape for beauty... not... sorry...
pardon my fwench: a ******* conversation
of the paupering sociopathic sort of
a job trotter sordid kin'!
                  if only crocodiles could cry...
they'd be warm-blooded...
and i would be year after year
an oscar nominee for a toast
of best actor at the oscars!

          pity... pity and the subsequent
dumbdrum!
                no! i do not want to guillotine this
affair with the autobiographic as long
as i am drinking and not any champagne
in sight... or... schnapps...
              
i best be off... this is enough frivolity
of the heart for a day's worth!

Winter Birds

Slow circles
survival’s muttering flotilla
of buoyant quacks
that worry black water’s warmth
of 32 degrees
just short of the freeze
stirred
by tired paddling
Maybe a dozen—clockwise slow
till morning finds the one that slept
through snow’s hypnosis
in dawn’s quiet clench....

Bitter.

Tangy.

Chest poking,
distress...
anxiety.

An orange peeled.

A tomato congealed.

Acid rising,
distress...
anxiety.

laughter.

disaster.

911 on the line,
distress...
anxiety.

Please stay on
until we arrive.

strobing lights.

harrowing ride.

11 hours of machines
distress...
anxiety.

1 year to a MRI.

1 year to live or die?

A Canadian health care story
distress...
anxiety.

Take some of these pills,
and call us in 5 years,
distress...
anxiety.

Quacks.
Waddles.
Going south.


http://www.robross.ca

More potent than caffeine
  
      I am electricity
      I am twitches

and I will shoot out in all directions
my powerhouse is your stomach

Feel me
      in your
            fingertips
   static shock without contact

suddenly you are running

   racing

and will fidget as your brain
      fires sticky signals
   tiresome synapses

it repeats
for eleven years it has

take me to your quacks
   I’m done with my anxiety.

When I do see them flying ducks
Hear squarkes and ***** and quacks and such
I do think they ducks look great
But they'd look so much better on my plate
Roast potatoes piled high
With peas and cabbage on the side
That's the way they ducks should  be
In a rich dark gravy just for me

I’ve written enough small poetry
to start a nuclear war.
Do you want to die in traffic
behind the wheel of your car? Or in yr rodeer camp next fall.

Control eludes us. The hero
loses urinary control, the unified nation
loses missile control, lost my timepiece, lost my metronome,
now my music is ethereal as an archangel’s.

No owl hoots or duck quacks
or squirrels *******
or spiders spanning rampikes.
The floccinaucinihilipilification of nature.

No greater tragedy than a tipping
point that tests the hero’s gullibility, complicity,
self-control, comity, sense of humor
which is the only remedy not to hate those in authority.

Them guys with guns at the Michigan state house,
fat bearded tattooed ******* white bros.
Norsemen, Crusaders, Vikings, Britons.
For despair there is no forgiveness. Peace out.

Humor is the only remedy, or is ardor the best way forward.
We’ll see how things work out in the next generation.
The same diverse, spoiled, unpatriotic revolutionaries as at the nation’s
      beginning
trying to reverse the future, making phone calls to get out the vote in
      Georgia, hating the desert for having no water.

Nuclear mischief, mad Man’s most incandescent bloom
and the devil who exists to carry the load
when we misbehave and fight among ourselves.
I wake up to my skin boiling off my bones.

Events keep piling up,
the future depends on ourselves.
Conflict is inevitable and in this conflict power must be challenged by
      power
so err on the side of patience, perseverance and impermanence.

The thing is, the lesson is, I survived.
Never mind the rust or the abandonment
or the sabotage or the self sabotage,
or the wandering in the wilderness,
bars and hitchhiking in the night,
the wrong turns and the right turns unrecognized,
or the helpers and healers, the jacklegs,
quacks, shamen and priests.
Never mind the things that came undone,
and the constant rearranging of fate
or God’s insistence in letting me stew
in my own juices. Never mind
the arrows or thorns or innocent bystanders
content to watch me bleed, those who
see me as entertainment or suspect.
Never mind the constant need for maintenance,
the broken parts, the ones I could fix
and the ones I could not,
the depression, the fear, the fight,
the checkered past, a perfect target
for any who care to shoot.
Never mind all of it. The parts that recovered
and the parts that never will.
The blood shed! So much of it.
So many tears. So much lostness,
darkness and fire. The wars. The surety
that you were never made for the world you live in,
the anger
I felt, uncomfortable with it every time it rises, and
the anger
aimed at me, a thing more comfortable to you,
more familiar,
but no less weaponized,
Never mind all of it.

I survived.
I found love. I gave love.
Some things I did, mattered.
At times, there is joy.

Don’t tell me there is no God.
I know better.
I survived.

Nima splashed water from one
of the fountains in Trafalgar Square
over Baruch. Laughing she did
it again, but he side-stepped, like

one out of rain, hands wide as if
to bless. He'd met her a few moments
before; by Nelson's Column, she’d
written from her hospital bed, drug

taking recovering (so said), cold
turkey or whatever she'd scribed.
Finishing the ablutions, she walked
on, he followed, stepping beside

her, catching her in profile, taking
in her cropped hair, brown, washed
and washed. She talked of the nursing
staff, who talked of her behind her

back, some at least, she added, chat
of the *** cupboard we used, that
time you came, she said, laughing,
walking out of the Square, along by

the gallery, her voice too loud, he
thought, but sounded out by the
traffic passing. She was clothed in
a blue dress, too short, he thought,

seeing her thighs, sans stockings or
tights, sandaled feet. They went into
Leicester Square, she talking of one
of the quacks she'd seen, head case,

foreign, fancies himself, she added.
Baruch, spied the billboards, new
films, merchandise, drinks, cigarettes,
lowering his eyes, watching her sway

her hips and ****, hands swinging,
gesturing.  She stopped by a bench
and sat down, he did likewise, ears
catching her words, holding them in

his mind, something about them being
jealous of my sexuality she added,
giving Baruch the eye, maybe thinking
me a *****, a druggie slapper, she

said laughing, her hand rubbing against
the top of his, he sensing skin on skin,
remembering, the quickie in the side
room, cupboard size, just off the ward.

He talked of his boring job, the mind
numbing labours, the Coltrane jazz LP,
played on and on, he said, eyes closed.
She lay her head on his shoulder, he felt,

smelt the combination of expensive scent
and hospital smell (soaps or disinfectants),
felt her fingers rubbing his. She took out
a cigarette, offered him one, he took and

she lit up with red plastic lighter. Inhaled,
exhaled, inhaled, silence, her hand wrestled
with his, watching smoke rise, upwards,
twirling, in the hot summer spread skies.

captured in the psych ward

how to reform an evil hooligan



you see harry bernstine is a hooligan who is always mucking around

trying to kidnap people from their family units and send them down

deep in his dungeon below his house, and harry is best known to destroy

human lives, so much in fact, he was risking going to gaol, and pumped

full of drugs, so it wouldn’t happen very much into the future, the police say

that harry is a rotten hooligan, and isn’t mentally ill, and should be locked away

to rot in a prison cell, but ron wanted to reform harry in his HDU, and placed on medication

and he took this the board and the they argued that harry was a dangerous criminal

and the mentally ill, need protection from him, and besides which harry refuses to admit

he is mental, even if by saying he is mental, could reduce his sentence, ron said, there

is nothing wrong with admitting you have a mentally ill, there are a lot of famous people who have

a mental illness.and harry said, ‘good for them’, i am not mentally ill, i am a dangerous hooligan

who is taking revenge on the world, and if anyone like you, gets in my way, i will blow you down, to next week, ok

and ron laughed and said, ‘what from’ from in here, you must be joking and harry said, yeah, i will be nice

to everyone and take my medication, but the second you let me out, i will turn back into a hooligan again, ok

so, ron, stop your little do gooder attitude, it doesn’t work for me, and ron gave harry a shot of ****** to settle him

down and harry fell asleep and ron walked away worried that harry was just stringing them along and the nurses told

ron, to pay no attention to him, he is just a ,man with a lot of problems and ron said, we need to make sure we give him his medication

because i still think we can reform this guy.  ron gave out the dinners and harry hated his and yelled for 15 minutes and

then ron gave the evening medication including harry’s and clocked off, and retired to his couch and had leftovers

and fell asleep in from of the box.

the next morning, ron went to his usual cafe for breakfast and coffee, and when ron arrived at the HDU, he saw harry

was yelling at the nurses for 5 hours straight, saying, i can never be reformed, you see i am a hooligan who is taking

revenge on these mental health nurses and ron got a valiumj and harry said, don’t poison me with your lethal dose of nice pills

you see, i want to rob a few banks and kidnap many people especially children, yeah, i will have you quacks really concerned

because dudes, nobody helped my brother, you see my brother was shot in broad daylight, by some supposingly law abiding cop

and that nice pill, killed my brother, and it will **** me if your not careful, so stop trying to fix me up like your car, and leave me

the **** alone, ok, and ron couldn’t help trying to know more about his brother, and harry said, none of your business, so get out

of my face ya fucken dogooder and ron went back to his office to figure out a way to help harry, and  learn what illness he has got.

ron said, maybe harry has terretz syndrome, you see his good one minute and bad the other, but when ron was going to ask harry

about it, harry said, mate, it really is none of your business, and then said, mate, i told you i was a hooligan who doesn’t want to be reformed

and ron said, why don’t you want me to help, because we are treating you well here, as opposed to the prison where you are treated

like an animal, do you really want that, harry said, not if i don’t get caught.

ron said, mate, you have been caught, and it’s here being reformed to be a person, or gaol where you are treated like an animal, ok.

harry said, i told you my plan, i’ll be good and take my medication and eventually you let me out, so i can do it again, ok.

and ron said, yeah, and you will end up in here bypassing here and be placed in gaol, to be treated like an animal, would you

like that ands harry said, i got caught this time and you won’t5 get me the next time, i will be devious and cunning, and ron said

take your pick, but ya know if you keep talking like this, there will be no next time for you, because you will be confined to your room

for weeks and maybe years, ok, and this got harry angry, saying how then **** is that supposed to help me, ya fucken little **** and

ron said i was merely stating a fact putting it in black and whigte for you, and then walked away to get the lunches ready for the HDU,

and as he brought it out, charlie chaplin asked, how is our hardened criminal going and ron said, don’t worry about him and then harry

walked out and put his fist right up to charlie’s head and said, if you don’t watch out, i will do a HDU ******, oh blimie charlie and then harry said

i hated you in those silent movies anyway, and ron said to harry, that is enough, and harry asked why can’t they have sharp knives here

so he can **** charlie chaplin, and ron did the gullible man thing by dashing, harry, sharp knives are a no no in here.

then lunch was cleared away, ready for the afternoon activities to begin, and harry went back to his room, and asked ron he doesn’t want to

be interrupted till dinner, and ron said ok, but we have to check up on you, but if you are asleep, we won’t wake you.

then at 4 in the afternoon, harry woke up and started to yell and scream at the nurses because they didn’t give him an alcoholic beverage

and the nurses held him down, so ron can give him another shot of ****** to calm him down, but harry didn’t want to be calmed down, he wants

to **** the nurses, because they won’t help me, and then harry yelled out, it’s a fucken hospital for ***** sake, and ron said, life is a ***** isn’t it.

then after 1 hour of a great sleep, it was dinner, and harry walked out calmly to eat his dinner which he hated, but the ****** was still calming him to

stop his ability to yell, then harry relaxed after tea in the TV room, and when the ****** wore off, he started to yell and was dragged kicking and screaming

to his room, ron got the evening medications ready, and did his rounds, and when he came to harry’s room, harry was naked and said, you gave me

another nice pill so i can be nice at dinner, hey, ****, and that isn’t on. i will track you down, the second i get out of here and **** you right in front of your best mates

like i was being locked away from my best mates, ron slowly calmed him down and gave him his medication, and locked harry in, walked away told the nurses

to keep him under suicide watch, and clocked off, and bought a pizza hut pizza and went home to watch TV and fall asleep on the couch and thinking about ways to reform

harry from the evils that lay around him, it won’t be easy, i tell ya.

She thinks of him
as she lies in bed,
thinks of his last visit,
that time he brought her

cigarettes and chocs
and the tubby nurse said
it's not good for you all
these things , and Nima

had said is *** good for me?
the tubby nurse said
everything in its place,
and Nima had said show

me the place. She ought to
be up and dressed but
she can't be ****** or so
it seems in her mind, so it

seems if she can't have
her fix and can't go out
until the quacks say so.
Benedict has said he will

come like he came that
day for the first time and
she was so unaware that
he'd get there, but he did,

turned up and the nurse said,
you've got a visitor, she
thought her parents had
decided to come after all,

but it was Benedict standing
in the doorway holding
cigarettes and a wide smile.
She looks at a nurse passing by,

thinks of being up and out,
seeing Benedict in London,
but no, the quacks say not
until we've fixed the fix craving

as if...and that time he and
she had had a quickie in that
side room and smiles and lies
with eyes closed dreaming of

that time, supping on it in colour
and all like a small picture show,
and she watches it move on and go.

You were my white rabbit
to follow, take me away

I was an Angel called Alice that
thought you a thing of beauty

All you saw down the rabbit hole
was dust & dirt, darkness,

I saw Angels sadly singing,
locked up, little pills at bedtime

but was reassured the way the world shone
when I said your name

I was convinced
you were waiting for me there

so I asked someone
the way to the fireworks

in Rabbit town, they
weren't sure if there

were going to be any
' No fireworks, on Bonfire night?'

so I followed the talking lamp lights
all the way to the dim, dank river

where a homeless man,
whom I thought to be a messenger

asked me for a coin
& pointed me to a pub

where Rabbits
were gathered drinking

old porter or stout
' There are no fireworks tonight'

they said & asked me
for my passport

''An Angel?
& down here? Ha ha!"

'' I bet she's never
been ******!"

" Look, please,
I'm just trying to find someone''

I said, not a little upset
'' Yeah, well, who?''

so I told them about you
& they laughed & laughed

'' Us rabbits don't love Angels
He doesn't love you''

'' I think he is a man'' I said
'' That's even worse : lost cause'', they scoffed

as I made my way out
of the Rabbit pub

someone brushed past me
'' Psst, psst, he lives up North''

so I made my way
to the rabbit train station

sat down briefly
on a wall to rest

just then a police car
with some rabbits turned up

'' Angel, you must be cold
what are you doing out here''

'' Yes, get in the car" they said
I tried to explain as best as I was allowed

that I was on my way to meet you
but they packed me away into the car

& before I knew it, drove me there too
Now I'm just another Angel

locked up, drugged & singing sadly
' mental health' the problem, apparently

& each day they tell me
that you don't love me

that's what they do,
the rabbit quacks

but when I get out
I'm going to find you

I'm an Angel,
& Angels always have faith.

a aee mr leonard thomas, tried to be like all his friends and foes, sometimes it’s positive

and sometimes it’s negative, you see he tried to be like his brother after he was shaken

for a piece of his lunch, and being like his brother really worked for him, and then he wanted

to do things, so he tried to be like his mummy and daddy, but all his school mates laughed at him

and didn’t want to be a friend to him, and this made leonard mad, and tried to be like like the

lunch bully, to shake up a few school kids, but not for lunch, he wanted these kids to suffer,

so he attempted to kidnap them, saying heh heh heh heh, and then he made his new mate

patrick, who showed him that all that was wrong, and pat showed leonard to PARTY, and because

of all the teasing in the past, leonard tried to be like patrick, to make himself feel better

and went around teasing all the men, and the people at the mall said, no your not like patrick, buddy, we are

and after people said that, leonard just wanted to fit in, so he ran up the road yelling saying i am still

cool, and your too shy, i am still cool, and your too shy, i am still cool, and your too shy, cool kids do what

i do yeah, only yeah mate yeah kids, do what you do, mate, but then more people teased him, and because

he tried to be like patrick, he has patrick in his head, teasing him his way, to stop leonard from getting teased

by hooligans, and leonard was tired of these voices and quickly he had to be like his dad and start to cook

for the mentally ill people at the local mental health drop in centre, he also went on camps and bowled trying to

be like sam marshall on home and away in the 1990s, and yes, he was a good bowler, but he was losing hyp side

as patrick said, i am not mucking with crazy leonard, but leonard had a lot of mates, so patricks voice wasn’t bad

and he cooked, washed up and did vacuuming and put the garbage out, and picked a few vegetables from the

garden, like what his mother showed him, and then all that trying to be other people, started to give him crazy person

voices, and one crazy voice, because at the bbq for the footy, leonard tried to be an old happy volunteer, you see

leonard tried to be like all these people, because, leonard is a lazy *******, and joining groups and trying to

be like other people, stopped leonard from being big fat and lazy, but it also gave him nasty voices which leonard can’t stand

and then leonard killed an animal trying to save it the wrong way, and rushed to the psych ward, put on risperidal, which

brought back his lazy community work, actually leonard was being yelled at by everybody, left right and centre

and he was also told, that to be like the in crowd, you have to have confidence in himself and a proper purpose in life,

you see leonard, has problems with people teasing him, all the people he ever tried to in his past was pushing leonard

down, to be lazy, leonard started to look up in a weird way, and he stopped taking risperidal and started taking seroquel

which gave him energy to run, and yes he tried to be the six million dollar man, to run up the road pretending to have bionics

and went into a job cleaning houses for the needy, for a few years, and then started to help out at ACTEW, leonard doesn’t

regret taking these jobs, mainly because it brought upon a superannuation payment, and cleared patrick’s voice of

take leopard’s pension, he can work, and leonard after all the helping he does in his life, he said, well give me superannuation

but it would be nice if fucken Tony Abbott would give me $2000 for that volunteer helping, but leonard doesn’t expect that

cause, he is a very nice person, and then he lost his paid job, after the seroquel made him hyped up enough to pump

words on the computer and go down and steal money from the hawker IGA, and drop a few dollars on the ground, so

the poor people can pick it up, and then leonard will go and throw everything over the balcony saying, i am cleaning

away my **** in him, leonard lost his 2 gnomes, but hopefully a poor man near him has them, it was leopards way

to help the poor, but it caused more harm than good for leonard, so off to the psych ward again, he met a girl who

was stabbing leonard with a plastic fork, and a bikie who ripped the TV out of the wall, jesus christ, the devil, god

and even elvis, leonard said he was greame thorne and george washington, copped a ****** serve by stupid quacks

and leonard was out right before XMAS, but not to his jiob, but then leonard, thought of reading his stories on youtube

and playing the local brumbies night live and the raiders show, both teams ******, but it was still fun doing the shows

leonard started doing art, really enough to rid all the stupidity from his brain, and started to perform in a play and poetry

slams, and sang a cool blokes version of the 12 days of christmas, it went down well for leonard, and got in a few

weird little fights, when he started to toast his successes with champagne, it’s the only time he drinks alcohol, and

then leonard started drinking coke, it’s good for his creative stuff, like gives him energy in a way, but the coke gave

leonard all of his times trying to be like other people, leonard says, must drink little bits, despite going to the mall

for many celebrational drinks of coke for his stuff on youtube, and leonard wants each and every voice, to fly up

out of his head, he will do great tapestries, but leonard, really needs odd voices to keep up his fun stuff, leonard

has to realise that the people he tried to be like ain’t his fucken stupid little daddy

quickly leonard be like me, before people say that your shy,

LEONARD IS BASED ON ME, OKEY DOKEY DUDES

captured in the psych ward

how to reform an evil hooligan



you see harry bernstine is a hooligan who is always mucking around

trying to kidnap people from their family units and send them down

deep in his dungeon below his house, and harry is best known to destroy

human lives, so much in fact, he was risking going to gaol, and pumped

full of drugs, so it wouldn’t happen very much into the future, the police say

that harry is a rotten hooligan, and isn’t mentally ill, and should be locked away

to rot in a prison cell, but ron wanted to reform harry in his HDU, and placed on medication

and he took this the board and the they argued that harry was a dangerous criminal

and the mentally ill, need protection from him, and besides which harry refuses to admit

he is mental, even if by saying he is mental, could reduce his sentence, ron said, there

is nothing wrong with admitting you have a mentally ill, there are a lot of famous people who have

a mental illness.and harry said, ‘good for them’, i am not mentally ill, i am a dangerous hooligan

who is taking revenge on the world, and if anyone like you, gets in my way, i will blow you down, to next week, ok

and ron laughed and said, ‘what from’ from in here, you must be joking and harry said, yeah, i will be nice

to everyone and take my medication, but the second you let me out, i will turn back into a hooligan again, ok

so, ron, stop your little do gooder attitude, it doesn’t work for me, and ron gave harry a shot of ****** to settle him

down and harry fell asleep and ron walked away worried that harry was just stringing them along and the nurses told

ron, to pay no attention to him, he is just a ,man with a lot of problems and ron said, we need to make sure we give him his medication

because i still think we can reform this guy.  ron gave out the dinners and harry hated his and yelled for 15 minutes and

then ron gave the evening medication including harry’s and clocked off, and retired to his couch and had leftovers

and fell asleep in from of the box.

the next morning, ron went to his usual cafe for breakfast and coffee, and when ron arrived at the HDU, he saw harry

was yelling at the nurses for 5 hours straight, saying, i can never be reformed, you see i am a hooligan who is taking

revenge on these mental health nurses and ron got a valiumj and harry said, don’t poison me with your lethal dose of nice pills

you see, i want to rob a few banks and kidnap many people especially children, yeah, i will have you quacks really concerned

because dudes, nobody helped my brother, you see my brother was shot in broad daylight, by some supposingly law abiding cop

and that nice pill, killed my brother, and it will **** me if your not careful, so stop trying to fix me up like your car, and leave me

the **** alone, ok, and ron couldn’t help trying to know more about his brother, and harry said, none of your business, so get out

of my face ya fucken dogooder and ron went back to his office to figure out a way to help harry, and  learn what illness he has got.

ron said, maybe harry has terretz syndrome, you see his good one minute and bad the other, but when ron was going to ask harry

about it, harry said, mate, it really is none of your business, and then said, mate, i told you i was a hooligan who doesn’t want to be reformed

and ron said, why don’t you want me to help, because we are treating you well here, as opposed to the prison where you are treated

like an animal, do you really want that, harry said, not if i don’t get caught.

ron said, mate, you have been caught, and it’s here being reformed to be a person, or gaol where you are treated like an animal, ok.

harry said, i told you my plan, i’ll be good and take my medication and eventually you let me out, so i can do it again, ok.

and ron said, yeah, and you will end up in here bypassing here and be placed in gaol, to be treated like an animal, would you

like that ands harry said, i got caught this time and you won’t5 get me the next time, i will be devious and cunning, and ron said

take your pick, but ya know if you keep talking like this, there will be no next time for you, because you will be confined to your room

for weeks and maybe years, ok, and this got harry angry, saying how then **** is that supposed to help me, ya fucken little **** and

ron said i was merely stating a fact putting it in black and whigte for you, and then walked away to get the lunches ready for the HDU,

and as he brought it out, charlie chaplin asked, how is our hardened criminal going and ron said, don’t worry about him and then harry

walked out and put his fist right up to charlie’s head and said, if you don’t watch out, i will do a HDU ******, oh blimie charlie and then harry said

i hated you in those silent movies anyway, and ron said to harry, that is enough, and harry asked why can’t they have sharp knives here

so he can **** charlie chaplin, and ron did the gullible man thing by dashing, harry, sharp knives are a no no in here.

then lunch was cleared away, ready for the afternoon activities to begin, and harry went back to his room, and asked ron he doesn’t want to

be interrupted till dinner, and ron said ok, but we have to check up on you, but if you are asleep, we won’t wake you.

then at 4 in the afternoon, harry woke up and started to yell and scream at the nurses because they didn’t give him an alcoholic beverage

and the nurses held him down, so ron can give him another shot of ****** to calm him down, but harry didn’t want to be calmed down, he wants

to **** the nurses, because they won’t help me, and then harry yelled out, it’s a fucken hospital for ***** sake, and ron said, life is a ***** isn’t it.

then after 1 hour of a great sleep, it was dinner, and harry walked out calmly to eat his dinner which he hated, but the ****** was still calming him to

stop his ability to yell, then harry relaxed after tea in the TV room, and when the ****** wore off, he started to yell and was dragged kicking and screaming

to his room, ron got the evening medications ready, and did his rounds, and when he came to harry’s room, harry was naked and said, you gave me

another nice pill so i can be nice at dinner, hey, ****, and that isn’t on. i will track you down, the second i get out of here and **** you right in front of your best mates

like i was being locked away from my best mates, ron slowly calmed him down and gave him his medication, and locked harry in, walked away told the nurses

to keep him under suicide watch, and clocked off, and bought a pizza hut pizza and went home to watch TV and fall asleep on the couch and thinking about ways to reform

harry from the evils that lay around him, it won’t be easy, i tell ya.