Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form .  Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet .  As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form .  The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction .  The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.  

As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born.  Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .  

The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved .  Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .

Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility .  Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .

Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation.  Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.  

In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .

There were times in my life
Where I was satisfied with the world
Now it’s different
Because all it seems to give me is hurt

A void in my chest,
Filled with nothing but emptiness
The same sensation I feel when I’m asleep
Or when I try to rest

It’s hard feeling positive when this life’s against you
It seems all it wants to do is grind you up, best you
Bless you,
You’re probably far better off
Got the dreams and inspiration that keeps you going and you can’t stop

So don’t
Don’t ever lose your faith
Because when you do you start to question
Your position in the human race

What am I good for,
Am I just for entertainment?
If that’s so, then why the
Element of overwhelming sadness?

I’m not scared, in fact,
Far from it
But it’s just sometimes I struggle
To cope with this ****

I deal with it alone
Gunslinging my way through
Drawing pistols, shots firing
Not enough bullets and I’m *******

I tried pistol-whipping my problems
But I couldn’t
If you’re down on your defenses then
You probably shouldn’t

Call for backup and extra munition
Do it quick and do it soon
Because I left it far too late
And sometimes I feel like I’m doomed

I hate feeling so down
But it’s all I have, a shroud around
Someone who questionably doesn’t deserve
To feel a pain so hard, to be quite so hurt

To feel this **** mad, or to be this **** sad
Is the one consistent thing in life that I’ve ever had
It makes me stop at times, and question my existence
But if this happens to you, shrug it off, be strong in your persistence

Talking helps to solve things
It helps to make me feel pure
It makes me feel good then
Doesn’t last long, it’s no cure

I do try to make it work,
But negativity puts in twice the effort
I was never positive to begin with
So I get twice the hurt

Sadness I can deal with
Because I can make it fade
All I need is a good song
On a cloudy, rainy day

I sing along to sad tunes
And let myself cry it all out
Afterwards I feel a bit better
And my eyes are in drought

So I go outside and smack my bag
The punching bag I have
I like to picture hated faces
When I’m feeling mad

I frame them for my anger
Because they made me go deeply through
And I hate being mad, I’d rather be sad
Is it the same for you?

I called out for help, took half a year to get
But better late than never whenever I feel really upset
I just write a little rhyme, a crazy song a bit like this
It helps at times when I look back and strongly reminisce

Other times it makes it worse, some things you should forget
And when I look back on them I drown in my regret
Some things I should’ve said, others maybe not
But at least I’m not like my other friends who blaze it away with ***

****, where’d that come from?
A well deep down that holds all the **** in this world that I know is wrong?
Sometimes I think that maybe I’m floating at the top
But my psychologist doesn’t agree, whenever I say that she makes me stop

It’s only a voice called Nightmare, my persistent inner critic
Who criticizes my every move, likes to make me feel like ****
He feeds off it, an inner demon set to self-destruct
Telling me everything I do is wrong, that it’s not just the world that’s ******

And I listen, but why should I?
When he asks me to Google tying nooses so I can just ******* die
And it’s only because, sometimes I feel I want to
But don’t listen to these voices, don’t want this to happen to you

I wanna write a goodbye letter sometime, just to have it there
Because if there’s something that makes me scared it’s seeing a loved one’s tear
So if I’m not there, perhaps it’ll make me feel better
I get told I can’t die, but never say never

Humanity has mortality and a lack of morality
Perhaps we all crazy too, a little lack of sanity
But just know, no matter what happens it’s reality
And you should always see the best in whatever is happening

I know I can’t, or at least I can’t yet
Those things I mentioned before, that drown me in regret?
That’s a part of my world, a part of my experience
**** it, what I’m saying is this **** is our existence

I hate feeling so down
But it’s all I have, a shroud around
Someone who questionably doesn’t deserve
To feel a pain so hard, to be quite so hurt

To feel this **** mad, or to be this **** sad
Is the one consistent thing in life that I’ve ever had
It makes me stop at times, and question my existence
But if this happens to you, shrug it off, be strong in your persistence

I hate my Dad sometimes, he makes me really ******
He has PTSD, takes it out on me and gets away with it
I mean, my step mum moved out, she saw it happen clearly
Did anybody stop and take time to perhaps think of me?

No? Just another waste of time?
A bad investment, a depression that took form and left its basement?
**** it all, I never helped anyone
That’s Nightmare for you, I listen to him when I write songs

He gives me inspiration in a way I guess I feed off him
But it can be difficult sometimes, to let him loose because he slips
Up and takes me down, ironically it’s why I’m writing now
To show you all that if you hear him, don’t listen to the sound

Of a desperate voice in desperate times, let him just die
Don’t even try to talk to him, give up let him cry
Don’t feel bad afterwards, it isn’t ******
It’s survival of the fittest  and he’ll eventually wanna hurt her

You got a special someone don’t you? He wants their soul
He will play any card to get a chance to devour them whole
So don’t stop, keep your dreams
And let those pesky Nightmares slip by unseen

I hate feeling so down
But it’s all I have, a shroud around
Someone who questionably doesn’t deserve
To feel a pain so hard, to be quite so hurt

To feel this **** mad, or to be this **** sad
Is the one consistent thing in life that I’ve ever had
It makes me stop at times, and question my existence
But if this happens to you, shrug it off, be strong in your persistence


It may make you stop at times, and question your existence
But if this should happen to you, move along, be strong in your persistence

*Where I can't

This is an ode to Adderall,

that wonderful mixture of

dextroamphetamine sulfate

dextroamphetamine saccharate

amphetamine

aspartate monohydrate

and amphetamine sulfate capsules

that all combine together

to form a prescribable pill

questionably similar to the Schedule II controlled substance street drug

commonly refered to as "Speed."


This is an ode to the children

who are bundles of energy caged in a classroom

incapable of concentrating

on the miniscule tasks given to them

by pedagogical authorities that

promise societal success and economic happiness

to those who complete their work on time

without a fuss or a doubt as to why they're

filling in bubbles on paper in the first place.

The confused children who watch

as others with calmer brains

fixate eyes on textbooks

rather than out the window.


This is an ode to Society

deeming these individuals as broken

choosing to wound then medicate

rather than proliferate.

That took their inquisitiveness

and locked it in a book with the label "DISORDER"

stating that you will never be anything

unless you think and feel the same way we do.

And much like a mad doctor

lobotomizing those whom he thinks insane

they synthesized a pill

to dampen a torrential brilliance

allowing them to place their sedated children

back in the box where they belonged.


This is an ode to the college students

chained by academic standards

expected to excel towards great things

if only they reach that ethereal diploma.

The students who crave the artificial focus

the increased capacity for concentration

with the broadened spectrum of perception

the sense of purpose in the tedium

the ungodly ability to think clearly

and perform the meaningless tasks they expect of us.

The students who go through illegal means

to purchase said drug

to swallow or snort

and dive back into the mountain of responsibility

with a new found sense of productivity and motivation.

An ode to the students

unable to find purpose in studenthood

the ones who find more virtue in watching the sunset

burn clouds into firework oblivion

before then blessing us with uncritical night.

An ode to the students

who discover more education

in climbing to the top of a mountain

and yelling a nonsense decree of passion

just to watch the echo

bounce from shore to shore

in cathartic reverberation.

The ones

for which our pill

is the only possible manner

of assigning purpose to purposeless assignments.

These are the ones

who must binge

cram for days before

the big exams

going whole nights without sleep

or food.

The ones slowly cracking under the increasing pressure of academia

spending more time questioning why they must complete their homework

instead of actually completing it.


This is an ode to my brothers and sisters

who stand in horror at the mold we must fit into

crafted by an unknown unshakable entity.

The ones who lost the appeal of cookie-cutter success

in exchange for a small understanding

of the way things really work.

The cogs that twisted off the machine

and now sit lotus-posed in the corner.

My fellow birds with broken wings

still expected to fly.

My fellow carpenters expected to build their estates

yet not given the proper tools to do so.

The ones of cursed cold clarities

perfectly capable of clutching

those fifteen minutes of dynasty

yet refrain from doing so due to

the immaculate futility of it all.


This is an ode to a drug induced rant

that no one will read

the one that I chose to write

instead of doing my **** homework in the library

like a compliant student.


This is an ode to the pressure-oriented procrastinators

that delay and yet again delay

their petty necessary obligations due to purposeless and exhausted motivation.

Swallowing substances to summon some sort of incentive

to fill in the bubbles

and cater to the Society they find so confusing

the ones who only under influence of synthesized chemicals

find reason to squeeze into that culturebox

that cascades down a bumpy man-made conveyor belt

branding a diploma onto your forehead

injecting an occupation into your veins

transforming your pupils to dollar bill signs

demanding you breed children

to do the same as you have

and you'll never be happy unless you do these things

right?


This is an ode to those who reside in the shadows

of our broken social system

and conjure up great conversations

pertaining to everything and nothing

that are as wonderful and necessary

as the prints of your fingers

caressing down a comfortable torso

just before the sun rises

the untouchable indescribable realizations of life and love

that are completely irrelevant in their eyes

but are entirely necessary for our survival.


This is an ode to the overwhelming feeling of love

greatly exacerbated by a pharmaceutical delight

whereupon connections with other humans

become both incredibly appealing and oddly magnetic

for a few electric hours.

The oxygenating satisfaction felt

the instance just after the small talk architecture masks

fall to the floor

and right before we put them back on.


This is an ode to the minutes before the amphetamine crash

where the world still doesn't make sense

but we briefly don't mind

because a few fleeting moments of energy and purpose

in this otherwise detestable confine of reality

are all you can really ask for

as you complete the assignments

then step outside

to smoke yet another cigarette (they're absolutely wonderful on Adderall try it some time it'll **** you slowly but then again what won't?)

only to witness our Sun

breeding fire clouds in the east

illuminating the Western Abyss into purple-gold spectral oblivion

and in consequence therefore

between puffs of a necessary cigarette

you grin to yourself in quiet victory.


This is an ode to misaligned priorities

to those who when walking to everimportant final examinations

think not of the curriculum beaten into their skulls

but take careful measure to step on every crack on the sidewalk

who stare not towards the future

but to the beautiful reflection reflecting back from the broken mirrors

that are the weary days and weary ways

of this curious existence.

To those when stepping into the absurd spotlight of Society

unapologetically proclaim:


"Though I must play your game,

you will never win."

Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form .  Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet .  As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form .  The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction .  The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born.  Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .  
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved .  Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility .  Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation .  Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .  
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .

seven pages
of carefully picked words
arranged and placed
where they'll get the biggest bang for your buck
because
you never leave the house
without a goal

no, I wasn't astounded to
find that when you cut away the hair
that used to cover your ears
you were even more deaf, than before

your great you know
that charm, it shows
a smile and slicked
back hair style
and you make the rounds
safe and sound
behind the sunshine image
that you've questionably earned

but I made sure
to go light on the accessories tonight
and there is nothing to stop
the clairvoyance that fights its way to my mind

hidden behind my eyes
brown and smiling
long exiling thoughts of you
being like this

but you didnt hear a word i said
no point in discussing your retention
I'll ask although
I already know
have you ever not been
the center of attention

There were times in my life
Where I was satisfied with the world
Now it’s different
Because all it seems to give me is hurt

A void in my chest,
Filled with nothing but emptiness
The same sensation I feel when I’m asleep
Or when I try to rest

It’s hard feeling positive when this life’s against you
It seems all it wants to do is grind you up, best you, bless you,
You’re probably far better off
Got the dreams and inspiration that keep you going and you can’t stop

So don’t
Don’t ever lose your faith
Because when you do you start to question
Your position in the human race

What am I good for,
Am I just for entertainment?
If that’s so, then why the
Element of overwhelming sadness?

I’m not scared, in fact,
Far from it
But it’s just sometimes I struggle
To cope with this ****

I deal with it alone
Gunslinging my way through
Drawing pistols, shots firing
Not enough bullets and I’m *******

I tried pistol-whipping my problems
But I couldn’t
If you’re down on your defenses then
You probably shouldn’t

Call for backup and extra munition
Do it quick and do it soon
Because I left it far too late
And sometimes I feel like I’m doomed

I hate feeling so down
But it’s all I have, a shroud around
Someone who questionably doesn’t deserve
To feel a pain so hard, to be quite so hurt

To feel this **** mad, or to be this **** sad
Is the one consistent thing in life that I’ve ever had
It makes me stop at times, and question my existence
But if this happens to you, shrug it off, be strong in your persistence

Talking helps to solve things
It helps to make me feel pure
It makes me feel good then
Doesn’t last long, it’s no cure

I do try to make it work,
But negativity puts in twice the effort
I was never positive to begin with
So I get twice the hurt

Sadness I can deal with
Because I can make it fade
All I need is a good song
On a cloudy, rainy day

I sing along to sad tunes
And let myself cry it all out
Afterwards I feel a bit better
And my eyes are in drought

So I go outside and smack my bag
The punching bag I have
I like to picture hated faces
When I’m feeling mad

I frame them for my anger
Because they made me go deeply through
And I hate being mad, I’d rather be sad
Is it the same for you?

I called out for help, took half a year to get
But better late than never whenever I feel really upset
I just write a little rhyme, a crazy song a bit like this
It helps at times when I look back and strongly reminisce

Other times it makes it worse, some things you should forget
And when I look back on them I drown in my regret
Some things I should’ve said, others maybe not
But at least I’m not like my other friends who blaze it away with ***

****, where’d that come from?
A well deep down that holds all the **** in this world that I know is wrong?
Sometimes I think that maybe I’m floating at the top
But my psychologist doesn’t agree, whenever I say that she makes me stop

It’s only a voice called Nightmare, my persistent inner critic
Who criticizes my every move, likes to make me feel like ****
He feeds off it, an inner demon set to self-destruct
Telling me everything I do is wrong, that it’s not just the world that’s ******

And I listen, but why should I?
When he asks me to Google tying nooses so I can just ******* die
And it’s only because, sometimes I feel I want to
But don’t listen to these voices, don’t want this to happen to you

I wanna write a goodbye letter sometime, just to have it there
Because if there’s something that makes me scared it’s seeing a loved one’s tear
So if I’m not there, perhaps it’ll make me feel better
I get told I can’t die, but never say never

Humanity has mortality and a lack of morality
Perhaps we all crazy too, insufficient in sanity
But just know, no matter what happens to us all it’s still reality
And you should always see the best in whatever is happening

I know I can’t, or at least I can’t yet
Those things I mentioned before, that drown me in regret?
That’s a part of my world, a part of my experience
**** it, what I’m saying is this **** is our existence

I hate feeling so down
But it’s all I have, a shroud around
Someone who questionably doesn’t deserve
To feel a pain so hard, to be quite so hurt

To feel this **** mad, or to be this **** sad
Is the one consistent thing in life that I’ve ever had
It makes me stop at times, and question my existence
But if this happens to you, shrug it off, be strong in your persistence

I hate my Dad sometimes, he makes me really ******
He has PTSD, takes it out on me and gets away with it
I mean, my step mum moved out, she saw it happen clearly
Did anybody stop and take time to perhaps think of me?

No? Just another waste of time?
A bad investment, a depression that took form and left its basement?
**** it all, I never helped anyone
That’s Nightmare for you, I listen to him when I write songs

He gives me inspiration in a way I guess I feed off him
But it can be difficult sometimes, to let him loose because he slips
Up and takes me down, ironically it’s why I’m writing now
To show you all that if you hear him, don’t listen to the sound

Of a desperate voice in desperate times, let him just die
Don’t even try to talk to him, give up let him cry
Don’t feel bad afterwards, it isn’t ******
It’s survival of the fittest and he’ll eventually wanna hurt her

You got a special someone don’t you? He wants their soul
He will play any card to get a chance to devour them whole
So don’t stop, keep your dreams
And let those pesky Nightmares slip by unseen

I hate feeling so down
But it’s all I have, a shroud around
Someone who questionably doesn’t deserve
To feel a pain so hard, to be quite so hurt

To feel this **** mad, or to be this **** sad
Is the one consistent thing in life that I’ve ever had
It makes me stop at times, and question my existence
But if this happens to you, shrug it off, be strong in your persistence

It may make you stop at times, and question your existence
But if this should happen to you, move along, be strong in your persistence

Where I can't

It came like a sudden darkness, storming up and snuffing out the already fading light of dawn,
When I found myself floating, above the ground suspended on the backs of blue clouds that kissed the purple sky like a clinging lover
Chasing the movement of birds before my eyes I turned to stare down at the blackness beneath my toxic cloud of color, at the puke green sea covered in the orange foam of soda where what looked like the remnants of my breakfast that morning road the frothy waves.

Pink,
Pink
Pepto-Bismol stained whales attacked the early air blowing bubbles filled with what looked like Oreo cream screaming happily the music of contentment
A cry a loud mewling filled the acid induced happiness of the moment, yowling agonizingly, as if possessed by the spirit of pain itself.
Thumping, Screeching clash and the ***** of nails had me blinking away from my floating tea party within the sky and looking rather questionably to the hunky dream boat pouring me a fresh glass of tea,
His smile plastered by the very gods themselves didn't waver, and in my dreamlike stupor I thought nothing of it
But the terrified yowling, hissing, strange purr-mewl didn't stop.

The sky no longer a pleasant purple faded to a nasty shade of plum conjuring two disembodied chillingly green slated eyes
Frantic with irrational fear I panicked falling off my blue cloud to plummet towards the angry green sea below
Falling, Falling ever faster staring up at the sinister glowing ambient green eyes, whilst hearing that terrifying screeching yowl, from the Cheshire maw
Slamming awake with the tingling sensation of a ghostly belly flop, I find myself still staring up at those eerie green eyes.

This time surrounded by a flowing mane of toffee fur and speckled with tan zigzagging stripes of inky black,
Buddy, with his demanding meow of attention, insistently pawing my forehead with the command of a gentle rub,
Plucking my wings, and crippling me with a cuteness that only he can have.

chronic insomnia keeps the shakes coming steady
blunts steady the coming shakes

this world can't handle the whole
portion myself into fractions

i need you because you give me someone to be
your hands around my neck give me room to breathe

this comfortable pain
this questionably sane
these schizophrenic musings
my amusing bipolar bruisings
these anxiety retches
my borderline sketches

Once I tore a piece from the back of the Sunday paper.
The piece told a story of an old lady who was being kicked out of her knitting class because she insisted on bringing her cat each time.
I didn't necessarily like the story, but I heard my father, upon glancing at the title ("One cat that won't have knits"), proclaim questionably "who is going to read this crap!?".
I decided then that I would read it. I kept the story in the back pocket of my worn jeans.
I felt bad for that lady- maybe she didn't have any friends at her knitting class?
But mostly, I felt bad because I knew that no one was going to read her story.

I probably won't have a story of my own in the paper any day, and If I did, I wouldn't want it to be about bringing my cat to knitting classes. But even if that is what it was about, I would want someone to read it. I'd want someone to gasp over it, or laugh, or rip it out and keep it in their faded blue jeans. I won't have an article, but I will have a story. I just don't want to have a story that a middle aged man, sitting in his dressing gown and slippers, drinking hot coffee would scoff over, and ask "who is going to read this!?".

This crazy conundrum has been conspicuously contrived quite cordially. Of course, one could concede this cordially contrived conundrum could carelessly conflate the countless quandaries causing quintessential quantities to question the conspicuously questionable conspiracy. Conversely, carelessly questioning conspicuously contrived conspiracies as cordially quantitative quandaries could create considerably confusing claims countering the critically acclaimed crazy conundrum so callously clarified as to continue to count as cordial. Consequently, with careless acquiescence, I must confess that the conceptually contrived conspiracy, so inconspicuously inconsistent, conflated considerably contrary quandaries quite questionably and continues to confuse the crazy quite cordially. To conclude, the crazed conspicuous conundrum confuses the cordially questionable quantities of conceptually countless claims clearly clarified as conflated quandaries continuously contradicting a considerable count of conspiracies.

11/2/16 11:59 p

As I sat upon the dock’s edge, idly skimming the questionably clean water with my toes, I closed my eyes and opened my ears to eavesdrop on the birds chattering across the fen.

Were they conspicuously cawing the sought after secrets of the universe in a foreign tongue, swapping stories of the skyway, boasting of their knowledge as they choked down half-drowned worms, brooding over the offensive punch line we call truth?

Or were they casually chirping how healthy the sun is for their plumage, teasing the hen for her aerial shortcomings, sharing seeds of sesame, and politely asking the woodpecker to stop his work, if only for a moment?

In my stasis of thought, a leech writhed to the water’s surface with intention, and rudely hooked onto my big toe without even asking first.

An old image,
Its me,

Hello,
Hello me,
From yesterdays the mind refuses to flee,

And oh just look at me,
My eyes,
Appearing cloudless and dazzled at once,
For what a gift did reflect within,

My one beloved,

Though,
They be Inert eyes,
Ever so alive, though lifeless,

For this be just an image of me,
A me unable to foresee,

Though able to stare, Questionably,

Hello me,
What happened to me?

What is reality?
Is it in the sky?
The whistling wind?
The whispering trees?
Or is it the voices that speak to me?
Ever so softly in the dead silence of the night
Dancing in the wind
Swaying to the silent music
Sweet voices sharing knowledge and helpful suggestions
Dreaming of a world where no harm is done
Wake up
With each passing second the soothing voices grow louder
Suggestions become questionably dangerous
Hinting on what they want to be done
What they want to finish
Walking backwards
Crooked head
Wide open eyes
Listening to the echoing silence waiting for the next word
Aggressive commands
Yelling and screaming
Bouncing off the cranium walls
Shrieking what they demand to be taken care of
Won't stop....

Won't stop
WONT STOP
Won'tstopwon'tstopwon'tstop
Circling and over lapping they continue
Chaotic noise fills the overwhelming silence that is reality
Too far gone
Pathetic attempts to cease the faceless demons
Run
Hit
Scratch
Scream
One way out:





Do what we say...



Think what we think...



WE are your reality now.

**** makes you happy
**** makes everything okay
It solves all your problems

first the bench where someone left a good pair
of shoes under the bench: mountaineering shoes,
bulging tricep in lycra types... i waited as a few people
passed, some on foot some in cars, drinking a beer,
wondering if they'd spot casper the friendly ghost...
then it was this cow-patch-work
of a cat, one eyed, started playing with
me, started off while we stood still
in the middle of the street
and i kneeled... then i boxed him
down with cuddles and strokes,
exposed his weakness, so he bit me gently,
i thought of women and the way
they behave like cats... then i thought
of men and myself: ah ****, dogs...
i don't want to wear a leash - i'll walk
my own random route thank you...
when i get drunk ezra's experimentation
with the personae comes out in me,
it's me talking, with a twist of lemon zest...
so she's the one who puts a ring on the
ring-finger and a leash around the neck?
ah crap... you wouldn't believe it...
buck bukowski made an entrance in
season 6 of that television series my family,
although as a self-help guru...
god the oddities - quantum physics as
particular energy content of particular things...
which is hardly a stance to take
with universal energy of a questionably universal thing...
given that there's only one... the universe,
and in it - so many particularness s s s (solipsisms)...
in between i opened a bottle of sant miguel
with the jailed archimedes with a cigarette lighter,
sant miguel bottles are the best...
if i carried an actual bottle opener in my back
pocket i wouldn't have made the same impact
of a girl getting out of her car with cabbage and broccoli luggage,
i took a firm grip... thomp / pop...
then the shriek... she got a fright...
the executioner just scalped the bottle like a red indian,
don't worry, charles 1st is still talking to the parliamentarians,
although with a weird haircut of bleeding scalp...
so as i said, the joke...
use a cigarette lighter to open a bottle and get the pop...
open it with a bottle opener you get a tss...
so pop thomp v. tss... now i'm going to buy a drum-kit
for the joke...
she semi-detached would be her pinnacle and life-ordeal
if not simply life's ambition, i agree...
middle-class queen turned *****...
i get it... it's what makes me tick tock... tick tock...
life's too perfect to imitate your mother and marry
a dentist, have to get that teenage pregnancy out
of the way... like they say: it's downhill after that...
or up the hill with a horse climbing the hill backwards
to ease the threat of sweat and exhaustion...
so as i said... a cigarette lighter opening a beer bottle
clean with the kapsel remaining flat (
just so you could technically pour some water into
the bottle, put the cap back on and sell it as beer)
will never give you the bottle opening dent on the cap;
magic.

So cast your words out amongst the great cosmic sea
Amidst the Blue Marble's Aliens and fateful life tree
Optimistic Electrons etched in diamonds eternally
Free for judgment, from among our Earth  Fraternity

So when I finish this sentence with saying, "you complete me"
I"m mean, it kills me to see, you, and well, me, but really we
Should, we, grab some ice cream sometime, she says discreetly
To the Ice Cream man named Victor go the spoils, questionably?

So may I just say, that... to YOU it may concern
It really is what it isn't, and I do mind if I don't
From every situation is another chance to learn
So if you don't mind if you do, I still never won't

So please proceed to buy a test for pregnancy of thee mind
I've placed thoughts inside, but I can't be sure they're mine

Collected fragments of molecules crashing and sputtering about
An idea has now been planted, Let's just pray there is no drought

Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form .  Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to its progression because realistically nothing had happened yet .  As it continued it became according to its innate inflections as a functionally integrable form .  The questionably understandable nature of its conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction .  The enigmatic consciousness of its relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .

As the relative complexity of its interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born.  Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of its conjunction yet the totality of its ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .  

The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet its diversity exceeded its physical complexity , understanding evolved .  Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .

Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility .  Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .

Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation.  Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .  

In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .

Will you wander.......whi/le I
will wander..............shy - I'll
Save you a tree stump, but buy me a limb.
I swear I'm not bleeding, dad,
dismissed on a whim.

"four score and seven years ago" he poached
"Teach me," moaned glamorous I...
iridescent eyed ash-fall that's so fetch.
So fetch? Dumb.

Beauty before age in my mined mind
still digging, a fool's gold "jackpot"
- reeling on a questionably marked
'x' - the spot. Kicked in reality?
Said staunch defender?
Be-bop zue-dot, absolutely not.

Plop that snot - gentle tho,
yet a youth - the tru might round
come to repeat last night's too
too late sun-slide skyset.
If only I could, would I would?
My head-throb, desistant it breaks.

Salt and Honey occupy my time.

M Gordon Meier

Such intensive feelings
Met half way
Under one sky
Along one shore

Such pixelated grins
Met half way
Under glass screens
Along one call

For every minute spent in
Questionably unrequited waters
My lungs filled
My head went under
Until I was set in my ways
To swim to the surface
And let such expression loose
and be it such boundless expression

For all intents and purposes
I am insane with such promise
That is your presence
Rubber room bound
In a warm embrace
Of a straight jacket
Signed, yours truly

And so we meet upon mutual feeling
On a glass horizon
That we might not dare break
Lest we see how far
We might have to fall
For one and another
Together

I like this
Style you have
The hair
Perfectly sculpted to be
Falling just over your eyes
The pout
That one might call
‘Boyish and cute’
The punkish clothes
That look questionably good
On your suburban boy body
I like this
Style you have
But I do not love it
Because I cannot love someone
So different from me
So perfect compared
To me

Isn't it a lonely world?
Watching from the other side
My life is just passing me by

"You naughty girl,
Questionably feminine,
You know you are a freaking sin!"

Gouge my eyes and watch me scream
Another day
Won't wake up to my dreams
What can I say
When you wouldn't listen?

I don't have your permission

Look into the massive sky
Feeling so inferior
I cry on the interior

"You shameful guy,
Excuse of masculinity."
I'm never allowed to be me

Gouge my eyes and watch me scream
Another day
Won't wake up to my dreams
What can I say
When you wouldn't listen?

I don't have your permission

What can I say,
But dream another day?

Today, I sat in Spanish class. We watched a cheesy soap opera made by academics to help teach us the language. It was cringe-worthy, and I was often only half-listening, having watched the majority of the soap the semester before. But then the teacher paused the story, and I looked up.

Someone raised their hand, and the first thing they said was, "What does Lo Extrana mean?"

"I miss her."

There was some sort of heavy weight in that moment, one that sat on my chest and had me staring down at the questionably drawn squirrel on my paper. I miss her

Sometime lately I have gravely understood I have to slowly pull myself away from my parents. The pain they gave me, and the expectations they have of a person I never really was, is not worth the little joy they bring. They loved me as their daughter and legacy, not as Grace.

But the heavy weight was not for them, its an acceptable ache by now. The words in my head and the weight were only from the realization that without them, there was no her.

No more slobbery kisses or sneaking into my room to see if I'm ok. No more cuddles and begging for food and long walks while singing way too loud. No more defending her against my harsh father, or giving her treats when no one was looking. It only makes it worse the fact I know she misses me.

My mother tells me she sleeps in my room now, with her head on a blanket I left behind. Every time I leave she lays sad in the closet or a bed, giving me the eyes that beg me not to leave. When I come home she runs around and jumps on me and gets so excited I ignore everything for her. But I think she knows I'm miserable there, too. She seemed to want me to walk her every time I was starting to sink lower.

I feel harsh wanting my baby puppy more than my family, but when all the world turned on me she was the one who would try to lick my tears away. And it cuts me deep to think I left her behind in a home that yells at her a little much and give her the things she needs, but not the connection she wants.

Mom and I always joked that she was the mother, but I was the best friend of that beloved dog.

And now I've left her alone, and it breaks my heart. Yet there"s nothing I can really do.

Lo Extrana.

When will Humanity shed…
his blinders of ignorance?
Salvation can’t be found…
outside of Christ’s death
and glorious resurrection.
Can our inherit arrogance,

which is questionably based
on the accumulation of data
that’s carefully culled, be
worth a future without God?
Nothing we claim, stops Him
from being the Alpha & Omega.

Sleepless nights I end up with sighs
Don’t know what’s in my own mind
A blank expression on my face
Watching The shadows and I trace

Mind as blank as paper sheets
Like the dim lights all over me
I watch the shadows questionably
Why does my heart pound intensely

i sit and shut my eyes
even for a moment
a blink or flutter
and i think i'm somewhere else
a lapse of time, a micro dream
i'm in a different place
i can't correctly describe it
but the way i feel is clear

its quiet, it isn't calming but its not threatening
its always dark and always a room of some sort
whether it be a bedroom or a classroom or my car
everything is still, dark, there's no temperature or wind
but i'm not numb either
and a door's always open, or a window
but everything is the same, a dark charcoal color with a tinge of blackened blue

it lasts for a micro of a micro second and i only can describe it because of how many times ive seen it

but then i become frightened because of how confused i feel
like there is something not quite right about the things which i see
then my brain wakes up and the light is seeps back in with a foreign sight before me
of a book, the wheel, a screen, a wall, or someone talking
and it all comes flooding back, at least some of it
but i still cant shake what happened and the panic that was felt
that brief moment where you belong nowhere and questionably may exist
because it feels so real in the moment as if ive teleported there

it doesnt help
not one bit

A road trip in late spring
With the street lights flying by
Over my worn out eyes
Lying lazily on the leather door
Forehead against the window
Racing raindrop
Time trials
The radio buzzes a melancholy voice
Low and long
The warmth of your hand on
Mine is all I can concentrate on
I know above the whirling lights
Stands Orion and Ursa Major
Who circle each other
Waiting for an opening
And we’re just driving right through the middle of the conflict
Acting like galaxies aren’t erupting into black holes
And the universe isn’t becoming smaller one star at a time
But even in the coldest part of space
There’d be your hand

You; accented by a melody of color like every time we explore the world around us
Underneath the purple sky with the streetlights turning everything orange like a Halloween night
Underneath a pink sunset where everything was gilded in golds and yellows
Even in pitch darkness with the distant electrical buzzing of the abandoned construction site
Where if any light did show it was through the glassless windows
Distantly they provided no guidance through the maze we were exploring
But still we made our way through
Dodging large holes floors up and climbing questionably safe ladders
We made our way to the roof and lit cigarettes to add our own small light to the firefly buildings in the distance
And that’s where I fell in love with you
You who aren’t my savior or my only hope in this world
But someone who I’ll carry the water for because I know you have the snacks
On whatever hike
On whatever journey
It’ll be us in the same pace
Side by side
And there’d be your hand

For all that ensues, I will heed

Drinking on individual circumstance
Apprehension swims
Manipulating his fluids

Liquid intentionality
Soaked in contamination
Justified with wounds

The wetness of iniquity
He is glossed in it

Questionably bitter.

     *

After ALL this,
I'm still drowning in his adoration

I'm treading his thawed spine,
until his fleshy affections have (also) started dripping

My body, slippery with him
Readily tasting the drips

Somehow, his dampness is so candied
I'm honeyed with each lick

He is very, very vivid to all that is me
He managed to preserve his fragrancy

Unquestionably sweet.

Today I have traveled across the city
I have met so many people
Among them I felt myself guilty
After seen a child with a poor couple.

They are all shelter-less and starving
Live by the side of dusty path
And feed by the food throwing
From several person with wrath.

After saw them I leaned to them
And talked to them questionably
What they said no word can't proclaim
Their poor condition unconditionally.

After I seen their deadly state
I thanked to the almighty and my fate
That what I got is lots or bit,
I will never let my soul to be greed.

Do you ever open your eyes and see something so dark?
Something so dark it's like you never opened them?
Then you turn your head and see the light, and look at it questionably, when your crying on the inside to be accepted and crying outside to be loved, and to have someone care, someone to hold you and say I love you even if it's not the love you want.
Have you wanted someone to wipe away your tears and say it's not time to cry yet, it's not time to worry.
When you try so hard to please and end up getting stepped on
I do. And I cry. And I hurt.
Does that make people notice?
No.
Do I have someone hold me as say I love you, even if it's not the love I want?
No.
I open my eyes at night and see darkness like I never actually opened my eyes. And. Sometimes. I. Don't. Notice. The. Light.
And then I float into a imaginable life, called a dream. Somewhere I can only go when I sleep.  Somewhere I can go to when I sleep because it's easier to sleep then face my life. Somewhere where I'm actually loved and accepted.
And Then I open my eyes, to that exact same darkness.
Did I ever open my eyes?
I didn't did I?
I guess I will try again another time. But that day I see that real warm light, is the day I start loving myself.
But that will take centuries. And waiting hurts. But in my life
All I do is wait.
{tbt}