Yeah those wild hooligans, those mini hell raisers
What was their motive? to be trail blazers?
  
They're smoking squares, and sneaking out
Facing alota scares, but never cry a shout

They're simply cool, calm and destructive
Shoutin out obscenities, and being abruptive

Yeah the boys remain true, to themselves and their crew
Simply bein themselves, and  askin who are you?

the greatest lesson i learned concerning life was what Ezra Pound refuted... it came from Tao - and on that 86 bus heading to school i have learned it like an arithmetic rubric - my only lesson came from Tao, all my lessons came from Tao - from a Buddhist revision... the lesson? the only way to aid the world is to let the world forget you, and you in turn forgetting the world be. for that what speaks to the entombed heart, the heart of hearts when the mountain crumbles into rubble, and you're left picking your fancy until the diamond is found among seashells, before you the sea of time gnarling with gnashing of shattered teeth - shoo shoo shoo as if tiresome of the green-bottom flies who's spawn is readied overly... the *******... i can't call them anything respectable in African sensibility... the ******* at the back of the bus and the white harlots too... me in the middle sitting reading a book... Stendhal romanticised me, but Tao taught me reality... i know it wasn't the original Tibetan slit eye, it was Japanese... the only way to help the world is for the world to forget you and you forget the world... which i relearned reading Heidegger, who suggested i should be transparent in engaging with the world through concern (being there, or dasein), even a Heidegger apologetic in me turned into Ronin - Asiatic apathy is courtesy, European apathy is simply impoliteness - the latter has too many ****** expressions - i summarise my life with the anonymous Taoist monk who said these words... anti-celebrity culture, they burn like fire in my mind - they burn like fire in my mind - they are my mind - but i had to show him the European verbiage and the ferns of European thought to prove him right, and i did. Heidegger's concern became the ***** Berufung, soon the concern fizzled and was masked by wife and children - but better a Heidegger apology than a Christian one - what meditation can a crown of myrrh provide while being crucified? none! the Rastafarians keep singing about Babylon... the tree wise men came from that region... so the fourth magician... the four horsemen of the apocalypse? Melchior, Caspar, Balthazar, Jesus  it's still a profanity of the tetragrammaton - four horsemen, four canonical gospels... and that ***** that's Gematria - the undermining of all serious study - you can keep those Rabbis in the museum with Grecian  marbles to collect dust, as i mention Tolstoy and that passage from war & peace: pierre bezukhov - the freemason friend (chapter 13) - l'empereur Napoléon  (666) - l'empereur Alexandre - la nation russe - comte Pierre Bésouhoff - sub z for s (Chiral Gemini) - + de und le - le russe bésuhof = 671 - omitting e (incorrectly) - l'Russe Bésuhof - BINGO! - the orthographic gag - most Anglo never heard of such graphic, having never made auxiliary use of it - but i stick to the lesson in Tao - the world does not recognise me as acting in its fate, and will not remember me as even the hushed - i rather not remember it in whatever guise it might provide for me - the first lesson in Tao, is the last lesson in Tao - Stendhal might have taught me romanticism of the ideal heart of woman - but that one maxim of Tao taught me how to not hunger for women, as if i were the Paraclete - perhaps what Christianity wished for was a placebo of the Paraclete - given that so many already believed the other figure being extinguished in the wake of the 20th century - but in talk of religion, such is the limited vocabulary, and such the impossible task ahead, in that grand masquerade of identifying all with one, and one with all:
as an atom:
                                       omni
                          
                  omni           mono         omni

                                       omni                                  or

(around me everything, i must concentrate on myself)

                                                        ­      nihil

                                         nihil             omni          nihil

                                            ­                  nihil  

(around me nothing, therefore i must encompass it all)

whatever the answer, i sought, and found mine,
it was in Tao, and nowhere else.*

there's never a talk of transparency
in politics - politics isn't
about transparency - it's about
the vaguest and the foggiest -
you all should know this by now -
but ado with George Orwell's double-think,
or simply doppelgläuben -
you believe to disbelieve - that's what the
doppelgläuben does - if religion be the ******
of the masses, then engaging the masses with
politics is engaging them with
hell-raisers - diluted alcohol from 40 to 15%.
no wonder they're ******-off being prescribed
status quo placebos;
politics was never about transparency, all those
near the pigsty troughs know the motto:
you scratch my back, i scratch yours.
the electorate think this applies to them
also true between their daily squabbles, but it doesn't.
doppelgläuben: you believe to disbelieve;
and of course we want objectivity, we want
cages after all... Darwinism is perfect for
an objective expression, which is why poetry
is sidelined as Loser St. -
we all want perfect abs and the opportunity to
sell yogurt rather than Mongolian Yurts
in swimwear shorts... but how long will this
Siberian talk of rationality serve the mammalian heart?
how long will objectivity given Darwinism seem
sensible to keep? are we at the butchers' or
reflecting on life? raw meat, maggoty meat, well done?
we all know that the majority of us are losers,
but drilling this in will never allow us to
speak objectively... well, it will... like in Munich,
an 18 year old lashing out from what he heard
his father being called: Scheiße Auslander -
this is the rational benefit of objectivity so keenly expressed
in argument - which is why so many people have
turned to poetry, but they don't yet see that
the ****** was worn for much too long -
and given democracy, they get lost in the whirlwind
of so many people feeling the same.
hence? Tao lesson no. 1 - aid the world by the world
forgetting you... and you in turn forgetting the world
so the world can be best aided, and you kept free
without minding the c.c.t.v.

dis- (negation of) -ease can take up so many forms of expression, the likely venture in a coffee shop with espressos variants and mocha coffee, or the lattes and something else.

which hardly means Paul McCartney dreaming
up *yesterday or Robert Stevenson with dr. jekyll and
mr.vhyde - when the weaknesses of yours
express themselves naturally - you accept them -
the only riches are bound to health -
all others care nothing - take away the able body
or the mind - and you take social realities -
i remember running wild with Peter and Ciarán -
slobbering off car parks on people's heads with spit,
surviving mugging, getting underwear-wedged on
park fences - deciding to smoke *** aged 21 for
the first time - listening to Limp Biscuit while
playing pool and donning Samuel L. Jackson Kangoo
hats john otto, take 'em to the matthew's bridge -
****'s sake, the who?! long gone. moths frantic right now -
we walked the mall, the bought artefacts before
digitalisation took over - and the book was lost
among toilet-paper heaps - 'cos when you need
a ****** to wipe his **** you need to write a book -
to feel seminal and human.
like the way Ilford high-street changed from Jew haven
into Bombaystan - that Ilford is mythical -
clever cue to suit a hardened worth of wearing tuxedo -
Maggie in the Sky filled with Piggy-stockpile Metaphors -
white boy rap - coo or undo clue - the same
**** precipitates into brown men in autumn
salivated together with oak drop leaves -
so hey ***, how's my solo? good or not good enough
to churn a mirror scene at a party?
'cos the cool kids "hang out", i guess **** of butter either.
as abandoned poetics had it: ensure it rhymes.
but it was me Peter and Ciarán on the weekend -
hell-raisers before i started smoking dope -
oh come on! i just turned 30 i'm allowed slang -
it's not unruly to rule the rubric with some sentiment
without wish for retirement -
ah man, that ****** in South Park - Ciarán just
hanging there in mid-air - got a g-string to boot -
i have to admit, the smart ones in England got out
of the education system aged 16 - the dumb-*****
made it to university - connectivity came in even if you
excelled - the smart ones got out aged 16 -
dumb ones like us with immigration a surrogate
family of ideas kept it up to university level and received
jiggly-squat of **** to get bothered in encouraging
attention to the idea of society - gave up, rebelled,
started singing X Ambassadors' song like Christmas carols -
readying ourselves for our parents to die,
watching our parents watching their parents die -
readying for the squat - as i once said:
i know a place where i can bottle clean Evian water -
you have to pass the centurion guards that might
kick you in the head if you try feeding them your
hand rather than a sugar-cube... but that's fresh water -
some *** left a ceramic tomb where the stream runs
free. or the maxim from high-school:
take a picture... it'll last longer;
it doesn't matter, aged 18 through to 21 i was sticking
******* into my mouth to imitate a Roman rite of
passage -
just when Eminem came out -
and wrestling was a beehive with Kane and the Undertaker
and StoneCold - cheeky chic wahwah on the turntables -
but **** me that ****** on the park fence
by a centimetre missing Ivan the Impale(r)'s tactic -
at this point can come like an e-mail,
that @ stamp can **** itself... i'm ready...
it's the cinema that no one bothers with -
there for the taking - spitting on a man's head
from a car-park uppermost level -
getting ****** for the first time with white lightning
cider. Pete? lost his teeth, got a mother of a beauty's
worth of **** last time i met him in a pub -
Ciarán became a nightclub door gorilla -
well, you know my story -
it's hardly the twinning of the Krays -
although that was on the cards -
last time the high-school people were together
we were at the Beckton bowling-alley
jumping into plastered fake walls head-diving
until i broke the wall with a cranium of an elephant's
worth of horizontal canon-ball gravity propeller;
mind you, Beckton stinks of **** in the high
season of the recycling harvest - A13 via Barking?
i'm not too sure - i never bothered to learn to drive -
i took the Chinese route - bus stop wankers? sure.
bicycle wankers? tell that to the Beijing horde -
shame i boxed Ciarán's kidneys in once before
we were lessened in B-tech queuing to enter class.

Infant hands
gripping thumbs.
Tired arms encircling adult neck.
Your first smile,
first laugh—
first tooth, step, and word, our
first shared glance.
Moments, landmarks of your life, the
joy of my own.

Infant eyes so full
of wonder,
even the meagre astounds.
Constellations,
planets and moons, asteroids
creeping through space,
world destroyers and raisers of new.
The universe, its
infinitely vast magnificence, at
molecular level iris comprised.
The pupil—centre ajar
serving soul's route,
a window into 'nother realm, the
place of spirit's hailing.
True self temporarily encased,
the pathway to which
in resides of corporeal existence
the pith of life.
Your eyes—as much wonder possessed
as perceive.

A wish;
you might stay young forever, each
day spent together, that
your innocence,
your heart, may
never know break's suffering.
That cheek, tear might never dampness vandalize.
Your life—unspoiled joy,
mere childish disappointment to claim,
might always remain.

A shelter from hate,
from hunger and strife.
The broadcasts of the world
that their weighty burden might never
find home upon tiny shoulder.
In my palm, Atlas' strength I possess,
to keep at bay
war—its further result.
Disaster.
Death,
thunder wind lightning,
the monster under your bed.
The fear of all things fear inciting,
a paladin whom you I serve.

But in that wish
I might deprive,
an incalculable love—life's
blessed comprise.
The force by which
a patriarch's drive—
the reason for being.
By selfish pinning of youth,
fulfilment you may never know

As much to protect you,
I do myself.
A fear of my own finale.
Residing forever in this happy dream.
Terror realized,
contrary to that my inevitable absence—that
I might never leave you, but
that you might never leave me.
My son, I love you, and
in time you will see.

My finger's on the fritz
On your door step, ding **** ditch
In that frame of mind during that time frame
Spewing gibberish
Sirens blare
Attention ****** with ulterior motives
Pick up the gauntlet
Surpass the bar raisers that got too big for their britches
Face the predicament with courage
Trot through the bible belt
Sort out the sugar coated *******
That right state of mind and the right time period
Attached at the hip
Tip top, ship shape
I see all the old tricks in the book
I smile and put it back on the shelf
I got a new one, don't look
For my eyes only, keeping this for myself
Withheld from the industrial fans, investors, blood ******* insects
At a loss for words
What you see is what you get
You get what you get and you don't get upset
But give what you get
So get going
With your selective hearing
And your selective memory
Do it for the down trodden
Don't settle for the consolation prize
Drum roll please
      -Tommy Johnson

This is not a poem, well maybe it is, but it isn’t a poem about streetlights and butterflies and metaphors about metaphors. It is about weak men and strong women and places where lost souls practice bravery.

I don’t know what she felt
I don’t dare claim to
But I know she cried, I know she fought, I know she broke in places she didn’t know she had, I know she scrubbed hard all the time praying her skin was the memory, I know she prayed, I know she prayed hard, I know it rained, both inside and outside.
But I don’t know what she felt.

I’m tired of excuses and stories about how men are built like tsunamis raised between rock and hard place leaving broken bodies in their wake. I betrothed the knife under my pillow to the souls of men like you, men like me.

Is there a crack in my spine, why can’t I understand that women are nothing but a sum of their body parts. Is it my fault for seeing them as everything we can’t be, from wishing well belly buttons where life comes from to men raisers and once in a while they beat us at our own games just to remind us that they can rustle at the top also but foundation is key. I’m tired of apologizing for men that cradle in the arms of a woman but still reach for her neck with their arms forgetting the reason he is off the ground.

But even if she was none of these. Even if she was built like a tsunami raised between rock and hard place. In his eyes her body will still always be a temple for his sins and sacrifices.

I am quiet in a line of on-lookers, big-thinkers, hell-raisers
I sing a song to a corner in the room
It winks and blinks along the beat as
Large shadows confidently raise their arms in triumph.

I am sitting still, a floating ocean depth silence
Watching waves crash and clatter miles overhead--
What fun they must be having out there in the world!
Where the blue is sometimes yellow or pink and
All one knows is not only the dark, deafening hush of
Blue--Where
The colors really taste like they advertise:
Savory sweet honey orange, supple plump green melon,
Ripe for the picking, these--

These are the pickers.
With their power-tool loudness, their "I can fix it!"
The red-runners, the green-makers.
Their lawns rolling out like gold ****** dresses
Reveling in their own chaste gold underskirts under a matching
Gold sun
The earth bowing her shoulders to make room

I am the crisp subtle crunch between bites
The shamed blouse of the *****
The sufficiently watered bud among a field of tall daisies
The pause in your breath
The silence of an empty house

The quiet lemon shavings left on
The quiet cutting board,
Bleeding rind by way of knife

The metaphor in a poem -- waiting in quiet verse
To rear its head to the reader

How many empty glass bottles can you shove into a bag
Before it all leaks out the bottom
I am the bottom
A soft reflection in the train-car window

I see you all.
I hear you.

I don't know quite yet if
I understand you
Rambling on in high buildings with your
***** reared high.
Whether love is just temporary obsession or
If one can make it to death without truly living.

But I do know, quite often, that there is meaning
In complete
Silence.

--
c

I watch cooking for joy
I love it
When vapours rise
The scintillating smell
Fills and arouses my nostrils
And my mundane mind
I like being blown away by this juggernaut of joy,aroma
Sensual satisfaction
I enjoy
The spurt of cumin
In rich oil
I love the
Dance of
Mustard crackling
How asafoetida
Sets the stage on fire
How curry leaves sound
Being sauteed
Only to come out
In an enchanting form
The fairies take centrestage
In this cooking dream
In vegetables
As they simmer
And get coated
With raisers of
Your taste buds
And assume
Magnified beauty
The *** turns into
A flurry of colours
You seem to get lost
As you gaze in wonder
Then the splash
Of tangy lemon
Juiced to Glory
Comes only
To leave you amazed
Fresh coriander
Basking in glory
Of it's green leaves
Makes it's debut
To leave you amazed
Your senses overflow
And in case you're
Not done
With this
Mesmerizing magnificence
The Majesty of food
Has more to offer
Your mouth starts watering
And you slurp it down
Enjoying every moment
Attaining some containment
In the form of good food!!

a model of hatred is better kept
outside your home.
little known
it is like a cancer
that can even spread
from those closest
when under false characters.
love and forgiveness.
are the answers best for
most questions.
drive and influence
are the best question raisers,
the questions everyone should answer
in their own silence.

Flourishes amidst freedom
once invisible (alice in) chains shucked
when soul no longer kept linkedin
to jane's addiction
with corporeal duty, entity, fealty...
while formerly shed body electric
gendered as former googly eyed hotmail
actually a prodigy, whose outlook
arouses suspicions regarding him
as person of pinterest living social
in a webbed, wide world of uncertainty

precariously perched atop pinnacle
pirouetting at light speed,
nevertheless defying the laws
of centrifugal and centripetal force
as spirit blithely ushers forth
along a straight line
of orthodox dogmatism, idealism
opportunism, and volunteerism
hemorrhaging, purging, and xing
staunch archconservative
punishing outdated edicts.

When after the final countdown
to the global apocalypse,
(according to Doomsday Clock
January two thousand twenty three  
ninety seconds to midnight)
one beatle browed, foo fighting nebbish
departs the land of the living
and joins rank and file
among the grateful dead,

he (more specifically
the physical and spiritual
embodiments incorporating him
will separate) at long last,
thence latter day sainted essence
can freely exit from the cares
and concerns of an uncertain tomorrow  
no longer plagued by earthly travails
particularly the necessity of money.

Within heliocentric/ Copernican theory
broached sixteenth century promotion
sans scientific paradigm
dogmatically hefty, kinetically lofty,
and poetically thoroughly,
xyz beliefs misalign
wherein mechanistic Ptolemaic,
static venerated yin yang benign
choreography describing elementary forces
governing heavens inviting jinxed, kooky,
loopy measures necessitating

normalization, pacification, rectification,
transformation, validation
to guarantee spatial objects remain in line
which notions trotted out
a cosmic deal with invisible ink
omnipresent, omniscient omnipotent
benevolent creator linkedin
synonymously affixed terrestrial
firmament (planet Earth) nsync
with bedrock as Fred Flintstone
beatified, certified, deified,

edified, fortified, glorified Gibraltar
until undisputed supposedly
figuratively hermetically sealed
fostered religious (church) fathers
to do more than blink
when inquisitive minds (undaunted
though invoked as heretical martyrs)
blaspheming solidly entrenched
blind faith no more functioning with charm
mingly quaint association
with amulets, churinga,
exquisite fetishisms guiding humanity

innumerable journeys kickstarting
legendary modus operandi initially harm
less lee sounding out,
what manifested into a schismatic alarm
regarding millennial questions
undermining liturgical moorings
strong lance heaving arm
irrevocably toppled geocentric mindset,
nonetheless this oblate spheroid dance
sing with the stars redoubled
devout hangers-on fixed

with barnacle cleaving
devotion stalwart stance
populace behooved
(as would be expected),
when Doubting Thomas'
(Paine) revolutionary screeds
threatened (prior to unending)
universal schema just by chance
and despite proclamations pronunciations,
and provocations roiling status quo
hashtagged as evil rants

eventually zealous warfare between
growing heliocentric individuals  
with sacrilegiously blatantly deranged
fiendishly gnarly heathens –
perhaps the Renaissance own
groovy, nutty, and trippy Timothy Leary
the dawn of a quantifiable, explainable theory
(minus all those concentric
embedded orbital paths)
diktat preachers eventually became weary
to challenge recalcitrant

(purported hell raisers
****, I would have fit right in
as a rebel rouser)
whereby agents provocateurs
spout vestigial claim
to Gaea remaining front
and center of galaxy
on par clubbing with Mother Mary.

His words that written is soothing.
Some very amusing with the ability to heal.
So let God touch your heart.

If they expose your guilt.
Get not upset for there's a message he's trying to give.
If his love shines more upon you.
Accept it as a blessing level upon you.
Just let God touch your heart.

When others places you into a prison state of mind.
Break through those walls trying to hold you back.
If others just think they right when they completely wrong.
Stay calm and let God touch your heart(with his spirit).

Some people born to do Satan work.
Yes, even in every church.(Hell raisers)
But remember your strength that is within you.
And let God touch your heart.

As i grab another cup of coffee , i throw the newspaper into the disposal and continue about my day. Once I've arrived in my office i open the blinds letting the sun shine onto my desk. * Placing my coffee perfectly on to the coaster, i sit down in my chair and begin to search the internet. Checking my emails, (although I'm on vacation), i come upon 10 of the latest, mostly about renewing my Netflix account and some coupons for my local grocery store, i view one that reaches my attention.
       * "Who is the killer of Woods-bury? Want to help? Contact 1-800-7363 for further info." I chuckle at the sight of that website. Some dweeb really thinks he's going to catch the killer. Although, the cops are bad at their job, so maybe a civilian can do it. Just maybe.
   *       So i click on the link. It leads me to an exponential website where i have to enter my details to create an account. After doing so i'm taken to this page of online videos and users who are actively chatting about serial killers and clues that lead up to the most recent.
     *      I join into a convo within the one that sent me the request via email, and agree that i too am searching for the killer.

* 'I saw that email about serial killers of Woods-bury and i'd like to help'
'Really, have any thoughts?'
'None at the moment , I just wanna help.'
"* Great you've came to the right place, we already have a lead and any insight is a massive help!*'
  *       Way too easy for them to eat out  palm of my hands. I mean who could ever imagine me, a well known decorated veteran, served in the military as a Marine for the past 20 years. I appeared in local schools on Veterans Day, (so cliche i know), as well as helping in the community and fund raisers. I even donated to homeless. *
     *     But of course, that is all a part of my identity, my one of a few masks, if you will. You see , i know you're reading this but i have yet to question if you follow my mind and actions as they take place. So, in this introduction, perhaps if you may, I would like to formally introduce myself.
         Now of course i may be dead when this gets published, or perhaps they would have finally captured me, nonetheles