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I strolled to the park after a long time
In between passed some seasons
Hunted there for meaningful rhymes
Give the ink’s flow some reasons!

The place didn’t look exactly like before
The trees seemed to grow taller dark
The buds had flowered fruits now they bore
New lovers had arrived in the park!

The faces I knew were not passing by
The poets the revelers and the crooks
A despair grew I let off a sigh
Had disappeared my frequented nooks!

Old pairs were gone surfaced new teens
Wind carried raw mango’s scent
Mowers had changed known faces of greens
With only a few seasons spent!

Nests up the trees were clearly redone
Peeked out from them new pairs
Children that came to the park for fun
Had must now grown long hairs!

I searched the park from the seasons rolled
And when I reached her quiet stream
My face told me though I had grown old
remained clung to all the past’s dream!
Madeysin Aug 2015
Oh hello, oh hello. Brown bat, trap cat. Needle, consumption. Broken home, habits come to be redone by sons & daughters of guiltless mothers & fathers. We breath a sigh of relief because, that's not our kids. Street signs, bicycle rides. Not Ferris wheels. Blacks, against whites, gays & their rights. The only problem use to be if you are fat. But we lay that down, on the old tracks. The ones America doesn't use anymore. Instead we scroll through life, with a fingers & thumbs. Scaling stocks & bonds. We follow leaders with humor while the nation needs lead by leaders with the process of brains that we are only human. Not machine, just a man with a gun. A home, away from home. What if we just stopped. Consuming consumers.
Close to hell. Can't wait till Obama is outty five thousand
Cry Sebastian Jun 2010
I want to write to immortalize my name,
but my heart is poured out on the ground like wax,
So like Jesus and Solomon and some others,
If I'm lucky,
maybe I could immortalize my pain.

It has all been redone, rehashed, rewritten, and reread, (this included)
and like billions of others,
my world revolves around me,
my instinct and my survival,
wedged in my head.

We are all philosophers, scientists and sheep,
from princes to murderers,
from mothers to sailors,
the remembered and forgotten,
the drunks and the tailors-
We're sincerely believing the delusions we keep.

I think some found truth,
and others found lies,
and some found excuses
for the passions of youth.

But I have favourite things that keep me alive,
the songs and the family and friends that help me pass time,
conquering problems and getting things right,
the fragile ecstasy,
the rare intimacy,
touch.

I constantly feel the drain of time running out,
my back is in knots,
I'm tired and in doubt.

I see people I love aging and fading,
and I know we all share it,
our lives are decaying.

My heart has grown hard from the sorrow I've seen,
so many bleeding,
I'm also bleeding.

It's too hard too cry tears for all the begging children I see
they never run out,
we're always needing.

I want to live hope and love in this world,
despite my terminal condition,
my weakness and waywardness,
my incessant betrayal,
there must be some good to flow from this cracked jar.

And I want to walk with you,
none of us are alone here,
this pain belongs to us all.

I will fail from time to time,
in my self-centerdness forget you are mine.

But there will be times when we will touch on eternity.
We will calm the blame with soft whispers of each others names.
We will laugh and clown until our tears have run out.
We will know we belong, pretend that were strong.

In this sense I do live for you, and you for me,
imagine without that what a hell this would be.

And when I die, who knows what will be next?
But I will leave behind some beautiful things.

And if you go before me,
I'll carry you home,
then bury your bones,
then bury your memories inside me
and let them fade with me.
Copyright Martin Hugo 2010- From The Law of the Rat
Justin Chinyere Oct 2015
Reflections of my self, my being, my person, my soul,
Forever replayed, reshown, redone, reinacted
For the fact is
The strength that settles in my palms is ignited by the ignorance of man.

Oh man oh man how corrupt and vile does your mind be
Calculating and engineering plans and strategies
That will never leave your mind,
Free
To be or not to be
A mockerey
Of your confused biology, which hysterically
Questions your existence.
A gift so great,
Yet bronzed with your persistence to query the beauty I have given you,
Which is life!
Behind every man is a woman who loves and sacrifices their own needs and Necessities for happiness,
Clarity and justice.
A dancing cherubim dancing elegantly like a warm summer ray from your childhood Window.
Revitilises,
Re-energises,
Re-grows,
The root of your soul
As if the buds of may.

Honey toned, chocolate foamed
Milky light,
All pleasures for your delight.
Spread on to one body of immaculate perfection
Formed from Aphrodite's tears.

But the woman,

The woman possesses such omnipotent spiritual clasp on nature
That if she was to know,
Overstand
Or
Even accept a miniscule quantity of this knowledge

Then-man-would-be-woman.

To trap and encase a man like a rodent
Is to burn a ring of fire around his finger that leads life to his heart,
Where it beats impatiently to the tune of the womans song.

Skin soft, eyes lost
Sight of who I am,
Many different descriptions -although similar- still not the same,
But am I really to blame?
For the insecurities that you have belittled on me.
For my hair is long,
Then short,
Then short,
Then none.
My skin dark,
Then light,
Then light,
But not right
A constant fight,
A battle to aim for the right kind of existence but even still
I Exist!
And realise whatever you insist, still
I Exist,
Which is that gift that i hold in my being here,
Looking there
At my elegant stare,,
Which i dare
To offend the image, which you have sought to be womanly.

No longer do I fear my image
As it is a powerful icon of modern day life
To withstand the turbulent stresses and grind of strife

To help a man.

To have.

A happy.

WIFE!
Marigolds Fever Aug 2018
Parallel universe
A universe redone
What is real
One in your mind is fun
One in your heart is what you feel
Multi layered love
Layers of human reality
When looking from above
Like the mourning dove
Who’s actuality
Is a lonely spotted seed
Only to detect
The things that work out perfectly
Veteran of the darkness.
Willing to confess.
Did you see my heart break?
Can you see my body shake?
Do you see me levitate?
Levitate from you.

Creatures that like to creep.
The lonely tears that I weep.
Just why can't you save me?
Your the love that I need!

I had a chance of a happy fate.
Till death showed up in my face.

This necklace that I hang from.
Is tightening its grip on me.
The is gold cutting into me.
My blood drips on the floor.
I see you at the door.

I take these pills to rescue me.
How many should I take?
Ten, or the whole **** thing?!

Now that I've confessed.
Will you just take my hand?
Just pull me into you.
Just tell me that I'm needed.
Tell them I'm important.
Just tell me that you love me….
I need to feel loved.
Like the way you love her.

But no.
You take her hand and hold it tightly.
You pull her into you and hold her tightly.
You tell her that she is important..
You tell her you love her.

And now my chest heaves.
As this knife takes me.
As these creatures eat me.
As the gold cuts me.
As my body shake, my heart breaks.
As I levitate.
As I cry.

Without you…
WIthout my soul…
Without your warmth…
Without both of our souls…

Now you can hear my glass heart breaking.
My hands shake harder.
As my body shakes harsher.
Im levitating higher.
My legs dangling in the air.

Because I am a veteran.
And I was willing to confess.
liz Feb 2013
I am not godly
and with that
and my triangle shaped torso,
my shoulders are only so broad

i can not carry the weight of my body
ever expanding
with that of glistening papers
and paintings
and customer service

you have not felt my nausea
or seen my list
a weekly redone reminder
of what I must remember to do

am I your star child
or am I obedient
Q Jul 2014
I don't want you
Any part of your noxious soul
You *******, obliterate, destroy
Like venom in veins
Slowly eat away
Look at the pain
You caused so much
Broken hearts, twisted remarks
Undone, redone to undo again
Your ways make absolutely no ******* sense
****** sensations
My only limitation
But insanity comes with a heavy price
Now nothing ever seems to suffice
Normal conversation is all that was required
Of course, too much to ask, from a lowly squire
Everything you touch turns to ash
If it weren't for compassion I would've never acted so rash
But now that's all trash
You've proven your worth
Correct, none
I want all my doings to be undone
**** your tainted mind
How do I leave this **** behind


                                                 *s.q.
"I wish I could take so much back."





.
AllAtOnce Jan 2015
I think that if we even want to think about taking this out for a walk
The most important thing our tongues need to do is talk
With honest words and silent hands
And the words I've written and you probably stole from plastic lyric-less bands
So much needs to be redone, rewound, and rethought
I don't think we have the time to do this right
Because nothing's ever black and white
wordvango Dec 2014
a lick to the ******* up my *** glowin' a white
boy on Jim Beam and nitro screams hell yes! without
the benefit of an amplifier ebony and ivory together
brings the old south to her knees
she begs tell me 'fore you **** I say yes then oops
sorry black betty
take a grain of salt with that
for twenty bucks
on the Choctawahatchee banks so way below
the yellow rivers
Mason / Dixon look out jealous
with crosses burning ten miles further south
we are in limited territory, look out
for the man,
and swallow.
Anne Cameron Nov 2009
For Once.
The pain is gone.
The heart ache is over.
My belonging is back.
I hurt, but not so bad anymore...
The wieght has been lifted and removed,
    from this immortal soul.
I have done right by me...(For Once!)
10/03/96/
redone /11/16/09/ac
John B Jun 2016
As of late I have been told an excruciating number of times, by a couple types of people, that they do not understand me, these people are often in positions of power, between me and some goal, usually I would wonder why they neglect to specify what they don't understand but I've gone so far as to enumerate and source my messages in point-by-point explanations, in about three messages I'm just pasting quotes from where I've already answered their questions, I've tried being "reasonable" for weeks in some cases, if only when I was obligated to try and make it work, bureaucracy has finally hit its boiling point, The Stanford prison experiment could be redone for office work, Forum Administration, and any number of benign micro powers, it's not just absolute power corrupts absolutely, people are absolutely corrupted by power, it's statistically quantifiable now given ninety-plus percent plea bargain convictions to say the only courts that still exist are kangaroo courts, there's no point in testimony or evidence, even our scientific community is learning from our governments, fixing things by definition, like the unemployment rate, yes 5% unemployment, celebrate while nearly 60% of people don't have jobs but I may as well being trying to discuss the *****'s in Germany.
It's not as though our Joker's are still honest, this just seems to line up with my feelings on the matter.
https://youtu.be/sacn_bCj8tQ

Also if you claim to not understand something for literally any reason other than not understanding, IE laziness, clownery, suppression of guilt, etc. Seriously how low do you have to be to not know of or have disregarded that little lesson about crying wolf, whatever the case it comes down to Common Sense, if after a certain period of time you still claim to not understand, your either unable to understand and should subside or you are under the impression that I am stupid enough to think I'm not making sense, given all of History's philosophers and the copious work on logic not to mention ontological understanding, I can state with near hundred percent certainty not only that I know what I'm talking about but also that you are a destructive force in the world and should be dealt with accordingly, now once again this is a problem with communicating to people in positions of power, so if you end up dealt with it won't likely be accordingly, it will likely be excessively, which is why I'd like to be uninvolved, such a difficult position to be in, tossing fuel and spitting sparks at a powder keg to convince others its safe and that they should take my place, rather Tom Sawyer meets Guy Fawkes, heck, maybe Guy Fawkes was just whitewashing the fence for somebody else.
Ginelle Feb 2024
In those late, fragile hours
on those dark, desolate nights
my soul seems to wander the earth
searching for a heart that matches mine

if soulmates do exist
then i'm missing a puzzle twain
Plato wasn't fallacious when he said the soul splits a brace

once you cradled my hand in yours,
our fingers dance, entwined;
I sensed this eternal connection,
that we are forever, intricately aligned
worked really hard to repair this. what do we think?
Graff1980 Jan 2015
The latest issues of Tales of Horror, is perfectly positioned in my bible. My eyes gleam with satisfaction as I read how a werewolf ekes out just deserts to a mass ******. A small chuckle slips through my lips. Barely perceptible but in church my mom has eagle ears. With swiftness that would leave the wolfman in awe the comic is swiped from my bible, and I take a smack to the back of my head.


My eyes get heavy. I lose the will to stay awake. Elbow safely secured on the pew, I lean forward as if I am enraptured by what the preacher has to say. Then let go, so close to sleep, a way to get away from the doldrums. The old man drones on in a monotone. Suddenly, he raises his voice. My arms collapses causing my forehead cracks against the pews. A red mark starts to form inching its way across my face like a mutant birthmark. Now I am awake. Eyes glaring forward.

     The brown baptismal curtain reminds me of nutty buddies. My mouth waters with the fantasy of devouring the whole curtain, like some giant trucker. A swelling stomach riding over my cliché buckle, until my fat explodes into some sort of creepy communion wafers and wine. It splatters my fellow church goers in some sick form of salvation. The pale parishioners panic then succumb to some unknown hunger feasting upon the remnant of me like a bunch zombies.  Freed from the need to be rational they rage on. Dead men and women begin to leave the church ready to infect the world with their form of living death.

A hand smacks the back of my head. Mother glowers, the intensity of her gaze is meant to put the fear of god into me, ironically.  The preacher carries on. Some **** about the armor of gods and the denizens of hell oozes out of his dry voice.


My ears ***** up. The sound of mighty warriors ring through the church. Savage blows bounce off the shields of saints. Angels scream, as demons pluck their feathers, plunging them into the furnace that is hell. Smoke fills the pews with the noxious fumes of burning flesh. The **** moan for mercy. Fingers try to rise from perdition only to be chopped off by the razor sharp wings of the Archangels.

“Back to hell you vermin.” The Angels scream.

The recently and expensively redone floors now wear a masses of ****** bodies, some corpses are demons, some are angels. However, all bodies bleed the same color.

Satan’s sinister grin fills the stain glass windows. A fury of wind shatters each pane, causing shards of glass to rain down upon the parishioners. My fellow church goers scream and run away. Their flesh is marred by bleeding scratches. Beneath their feet other parishioners are trampled. Moans of agony rise from the ground, followed by the rising white ash. Puffs of dark smoke swirl around and….

and my mother smacks me in the back of the head again.
“Pay attention.” She growls.

Looking at the clock, I smile devilishly.  It is time for the last prayer. The preacher passes it on to one of the deacons. A small stout figure brushes back his black thinning and greasy hair, and begins to pray.  

“What a relief.” I think.

Fifteen minutes later the deacon is still praying. He has cycled back to the same **** over and over. I swear sometimes the deacons think it’s a contest. They are trying to see who can pray the best.

A hand slams down from the heavens smashing through the ceiling and crushing the Deacon. His obese frame is flattened causing it to explode like a popped pimple. Red juices and slippery viscera paint the aisles.  

A heavenly voice scolds, “knock it off. People have things to do.”
A laugh pierces the pew.

I get another smack to the back of my head. My mother scowls.
“That is it you’re grounded.”
“Awe ****.” I moan and take another smack to the back of my head.
Ken Pepiton Mar 2018
Thinking of Eve Seeing First the Shiny Thing
The subtile beast, she saw eating of the tree she was
told
would **** her
if she ate it and she believed,
if she even touched it, she would die,
though die was something of a mystery.
What, she thought, is happening here?

The shining serpent thing
is living and eating the fruit of knowing
some thing known to this thing,
unknown to me, this shining serpent can't speak, needn't, but 'tis a beguiling
creature,
a scoff-god swallowing forbidden fruit
as nothing happens. Not dead,
what ever that may be,
why should I? Curioser
and curiosum it says, with its eyes,
"you shall know, as God knows, you shall not
surely die".
(those Kachinas, I imagine dancing off in time,
singing as the chorus of snakes,
"we hold such things as men can't hold in hands")

Oh, no, wait and see. We, you and me, we play no
past roles, no deed is redone, thoughts are rethought.

Everything has been thought, the object of thinking
is to think them again. Mr. Goethe made note of that fact,
when he thought, everything, excepting what I know,
is temporary at the moment, I recall the idea of

God knows what, but it ain't accidental,
and it ain't the misperception of decept-icons dancing
on the head of a pen.

You got that right - question - quest ions symbolize what
you do not know, so, who knows? Question marks
Symbolize the act of questioning. It's a primal need,
Wisdom, the principal thing of which
more is always desire-enabling.
Somebody beyond your knowing imagined that  right.
Would you believe the algorithm needed to program
perception of a who'll-go-rhyme,
or an I'll-go-rhythm positive knee-**** response
to the ***** of a pen or the whisper of a word,
which it is supposed, was written
by 100 monkeys with typewriters,
whacking away endlessly, balancing precariously
on the edge of the first 100 turtles
in the stack? What are the odds, eh?

Life has a plan with no plot, ought we think?
We shall not surely die, we know now, that's a lie.

Beyond believing lies, we know now, how and why
we are naked, by our own cognition.
We told us we are naked.
We, now, know that,

but here, in the pages of the book of life,
we are no longer subject to the ******* of fearing death.
Here, there is no more condemnation.
Believed lies re-cognized here,
affect no fear, we know,
the final foe fell. "It is finished" was no lie.
Take comfort here. Be still, and know,
rest prevents any
re-triggering viruses left by
the lying messenger's old fables, told as prophecy
or fair-tales oft sung as epics
pre-determining the possibility of evil winning in the end.
The words that built the lies remain,
not the lies. Evil never had a chance, life isn't fair.

The basic plot is a man-made thought, the purpose is not.
Life goes on, death never could have won
and now its power serves
to make eternal waves that keep thinkers thinking things differently.
Loneliness, after all is said and done,
is not
as common
as one might think. There's always
Details, details, details
God only knows.
Saying such a thing idly is vain.
Unless, you know, God knows.
****, that, too.
None of that here, you know.
no condemnation
Socrates was a joke, nothing new under the sun,
beyond that is no mortal's concern. Believe me.
Knowing nothing is far more difficult than men imagine.

Tongue in cheek was an old clue in fair play,
your gramps
could poke out his cheek like he had a snake in his mouth
struggling to break through sealed lips.  
Then he' tells a
fish-story and claims the magi know it true.
Tongue in cheek, so to speek, I see some missed conceptions
fructify from spores spat idly as ****** hells and damns
from tinkers tinning pots with crazy making lead solder.
Which meandered my other me to lead
Lead soldiers. I led the boys to war, that's what they were for.
It's all in the plot to make men of boys so we can help God
defend Heaven, in case…

What?
Good versus evil and all that whole lie.
Or is it faith we must defend?
How reasonable is that? What can **** an idea like
one of the big three?

Eve knew knowing good and evil cost her.
She paid attention to
the truth of all she so suddenly knew.
Otherwise,
she could not attempt the task of bringing
Able into the world, after the pain of Cain.

Oh, please, let Cain fulfill the promise, I cannot bear the pain,
said Adam in his shame.
Eve, on the other hand,
knew hope for joy she found in every
birth, and there were many twixt Able and Seth, all girls.
Cain had been gone for decades ere Seth came along.
Eve was o'er-joyed at the boy whose son would somehow
bring to bear the final sacrifice of travail and pain to
manifest the sons of God to play the role pre-ordained
for sons of God and their sons to play, wombed and un,
each, in his own way, the one creation groaned for,
the missing, wanted, desired, one, an
only begotten with just exactly your DNA,
one in 8 billion, a rare element, indeed.
You know.
Elizabethanne Sep 2018
I am seventeen years old
And I’m sitting at the bottom of my tub.
I’ve cracked my wrists open like the windows in my room-
I’m trying to let some light in
I need to breathe fresh air into my body.
this is the only way I know how
I have closed the curtains,
boarded up the doors.
you had a key
And you trekked in mud and pine needles from the giant spruce tree outside.
I pick them out of my hair
And line them up on the side of the stained porcelain tub.
I am thinking of putting out a foreclosure sign in my front yard-
Abandoning these halls and leaving everything but this stained tub behind.
Seventeen is hard and rough,
It had calloused hands and it took things from me I wasn’t ready to give.

- I am twenty now
- And I’ve redone my home and tore out the stained tub
Nasira Feb 2018
Cupid comes a'knocking
Who is it what do you want
I come bearing gifts girl
Don’t be afraid open up
No Cupid not again
Haven't you done enough
When you lit my heart aflame
Plunged me into the deepest depths of pain
No cupid not again
No more joy turning to rust in my veins
And my heart beating beaten and bruised
And my eyes falling like summer rain
No cupid not again
I can't do this anymore
Aim that broken bow away from my heart
Find some other fool's door
Its different this time girl
This time I brought you the one
With brown locks and a crooked smile
And eyes that shine like the sun
Open up girl
Love can be rewritten and redone
It’s a process of years and centuries and eons
A persevering stroll not a manic run
Don’t lie to me Cupid
When your hands still hold the smoking gun
Rome wasn’t built in a day
But it sure was destroyed in one
There is nothing left to give of me can't you see
There is nothing left to be won
You failed me before Cupid
When you shot at him and missed
And he didn’t care a **** for me
While I dreamt of him in colours that don’t exist
How many more victims will you find
How many more hearts will you break like mine
How many more souls will your bow plunder and defile
Not anymore Cupid. Not this time.
I sharpen my claws and smile a wicked smile
Hone the fires burning in my eyes all the while
Prepare to rip the white wings off his body
Prepare to sear his halo to char
Come in Cupid, I whisper
The door is left ajar
Q Dec 2014
at least you still have your heart
i'm molded glass and iron
things are ice and cold
metallic, lacking fire
no understanding, just being
waves floated and crashed
days lived and passed
stories told, forgotten
words spoken, promises broken
hermetics exposed, porcelain froze
perfection, a far distance
many planes, lands, wildernesses and visions
spirit awoken, undone and redone
sure to speak up or be forever a silenced pun


*s.q.
"Don't let me make the same mistakes in life"







.
Alex J Mar 2015
The first that runs..
The shadow that burns
The falling sky that turns
Our lives poking fun
Are you really seconds to none?
Cards stacked against one
A new era begun
Ultimate truth redone
Death outthought outrun
What's still left undone
The nature can't deny
Outlived...
Outcry...
Countless times I retry
The reach to the sky
Breathing a sigh
Something more than meets the eye
Not even my soul would deny...
I belong to you!
Darkness fades into
Light that streams into
Pitch black this heart breaks into
Pieces that says your name
Burning old flames
Taking an aim
At the love game
Forget and forgive
For you I live
-AJ
That hour made me busy
questions were easy
not yielding a moment

he was sitting glum
peeping at my diagram
of Michelson Morley experiment!

I could hear his sigh
from the corner of my eye
could gauge he felt bitter

all he had read
had quickly fled
clouding him in ether!

It was all in mist
what those darned physicist
had theorized in vain

no lover’s tryst
but a paper of physics
an agonizing pain!

My worst fear
was remembering the year
when the experiment was done

for once did it Michelson
then with Morley redone
was it ’87 or ’81!

That boy behind me
was thinking bitterly
worrying in fright

soon the time would be spent
without his writing the experiment
on the wavy behavior of light!

Tense was the air
when I heard him whisper
push your paper to the right

in his voice was despair
bothered little to be unfair
quite visible was his plight!

*With all my toil
burning the midnight oil
how this I lost sight

covered all nitty-gritty
of magnetism electricity
missed the chapter on light!
Eldon Oct 2012
All that you were, was not all you could’ve been


Broken memory that will not mend,


The scene is now over and on the stage it's dim,


In a box, for you, my heart I'll send.





Think not of what can't be redone.


The sun sets and rises periodically.


But your heart I still wish I had won.


The past points and laughs as I frown idiotically.





The sun continues to shine and do its duty


Shine along too with same intentions in mind,


No distractions by the thought of your beauty,


Reality just doesn't allow anytime.





And reality is mistaken with unbelievable dreams,


And the clouds they sleep on thy head


And there is nothing to create that needed seam,


By the words that haven't been said.
Marsha Singh Mar 2011
is not a kiss of measured bliss,
perfect in its timeliness;
it's the one that leaves your heart undone,
a far from perfect hit-and-run
that isn't great until redone.
:)
Ayeshah Jan 2010
Urgently,
I rush to the small cafe down the road,
I waited for your show for about a week,
now your finally here.
I pay my entrance fee and grab a front row seat.
It’s starting, Curtains open.
The light dim and every ones quite.
On the edge.

You step up to the microphone.
I hear music slowing began to play,
I feel a breeze as you began to speak.

Your voice’s, mentally kissing my neck,
As word play began to transform  the crowd.
Transforms me.
I imagine the stage, like a field of flowers,
A bed in it’s center.
Verse after Verse, You speak of,
Your ****** Epistemology.
But I want you to be my very own lyricist

Be my proprietor and fully take ownership over me.
Every word, every  phrase & verse, I hang on,listening.
Clinging to your Rhythmic Melodie.
Strum me Metaphorically,Embrace my mind.
Love me poetically. "Undress my soul".

I almost expired when these words were said, as you
experimentally held out your hand & repeated the words.
like a chant, like your beckoning for me to come to you.
I feel I’m in a monopolistic competition.
Fighting the crown for your attention.

For your affection.
Continually You speak,
Word’s played over& over .

Done and redone to the beat and base of your baritone,
While you some time whisper in that **** tenor voice of yours.
I’m lost, Gone!
Refilled with a driving need to be where you are...,
ON STAGE!  
A.M.A.
Copyright © Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-2008
All right reserved
Ken Pepiton Dec 2024
At rest, satisfied I've done no harm.
I'll leave these waiting in line ideas
for your turn to happen on this information corridor.

It is the shopping season, I was told, so hold that thought.

Since we last shared our Sunday feelings, slow smiles,
easy breathings, laughing down deep,
sugar in chicory,
white shirt, sun bleached stiff, Sunday
feels like coffee
to a gut once punched breathless,

so we use our considerable peace
concentrating considering conditions
consuming the attention
of all willing war, stop
competitions
wills to win
instilled
we focus us, we
wishing, wishing, war, war, war,
whoa whoa whoa

sit up straight,
in your cave, alone look out
listen
right
for common sense say why

what for, asks the precocious child
in us all, this time
of year, the gear
of mortal thought
through gelled
gravity, pulling feeling pulled,
pushing feeling pushed
minds worths spent

wondering, if here is home,
where the core responsibility

is ours, not mine, we remain
in truth, life's automatic fundamental
mere words we understand, thought
basest mental function reconnoiter
hic-upping, holding

recognosis heresy as defined,
when such a label scarred me
- a compliment, such a scar  -
we breathe the same bubble, despite
any illusions, by time each is fine,
we fractalling tinier we points,
truer weforms reforming
facets holding worthier
bit roles valuse kept
at a true rest loss
in former face
to faces, diamonds cut diamonds
and scratch glass,
but so do Rhinestones, I tested
and cubic zirconium, yeah, too
youtubablefacheckable
edgewise twixt souls tied
in untested wills realizing how many times

we idly admitted realizing we had been beguiled,
but we were never condemned
for thinking so.

We realize

stretching
to contain the entertained pose,
suppose prepositionally magically
to make held breaths let go
be taken
in this form
as informed consent
wisdom from peace, once made
wise, used knowledge, waited
held while knowing, waiting
continues, until the end of time,
at which point,
such peace
pastless
breathing ease
be livable, a peace,
in a safe, satisfied mind,
of the kind the scriptures hold,
in formed words
of God, old surahs
and psalms and such,
inspirations enlivening
wisdom tested,
all acknowledge James,
San Diego, the peacemaker,
in this opera… the ragpicker, smile

soap opera reflections
persist, ever before
ever after, okeh

fine as any we can seem,
to me
by time told to smile

in clear text, all we recall,
we all may recall, for a while,

let the fretful fret, let the dead bury the dead.

Let your peace fill your place…

Let us say we use wisdom.
We used wisdom
to read so far.
Farther, still.

We may imagine
letting this mind already be
in us, as once, each we formed
with this idea Peace
on Earth as believed it is above,
in it init set once invariably declared
to obtuse angles
of approach, gentle, piercing point
of sublime peaceability
defined
as frictionless
fictionality,
easily entertained, for art's sake
some philosophic psy sayers see
arguing points is not warring
war makes proud falls
fester as the prouder enemy
perpetual villainy barely
perceivable
peaceable, but barely,
only in a thought bubble,
limited to your network access,

in plain text decoding
the noise, the humms, all those
basically bounce right here to make

these letters let these words answer
these qwerty witty invention info corridors,

replacing cuspidors
in the three door jokes. Preacher jokes.

{no, need, slow, do not forget the fall, three legs
  no yoke, need a cane, use a cane, but settle
where all the motion in the ocean is peace
Epimetheus anthropo peace, at last

from where this reporter sits,
on the calm
east edge
of December grey Pine Valley,

partaking
in yesterdays stored sunshine,

imagining writing effectual Christmas greetings,
empowered
to do what greetings once did,
as burning embers
in their heads
as we think
of our enemies, so are we, we
yes, we
are whom those must love,
or we all die lying
about whose math
makes useful sense, war or peace

pride or prejudice
blame or shame

debt or duty
to give back
at jubilee, joyfully.
Start with all new credit tomorrow.

Peace, nothing missing, nothing owing, sown.
By time.

Once done, the doing can be redone,
every fifty years, and knowledge
birth control and defensive
use of verbs like believe
and love and hate.
Live pre advised.

TIME AND AGAIN

like going
to the movies, but
before you knew you may disbelieve,
you did not have permission to leave, but
you could walk out and ask for your money back,
but, this time, you didn't
this Sunday, you let your peace
share imaginations common online,
mindshare through metadata sorting corridors
recognizance thorough preverb fixed beliefs on

breathing e okeh breathing, that's superfluous
unless e okeh
way
deep down settled silt
of the satisfied mind breathe-ing softly

endless scrolling bits
of nonsensed patterns
that seem funny
in the good medicine laugh, way

not the drunkensorrybacksliderdamnt'hell way, laugh

sorrysonofabitchwhowentsocrazy,
whoa, child,
laugh Tour et als
old time, it don't mean nothin' yoke
like now, it's funny,
we all collect
in corridors
of power
at points
of contention, we clog unstressed arteries,

yes, sitting sazen, said
to call
for some walking,
heel
to toe, perpendicularity regular as walking
on waves
in a puddle,
or my sister's version
of the mighty Mississippi…
she taught me
to spell, was a river,
like that, course slowing waters widen
each time the seasons change plains widen

by this point, bound
by mortal oathes
to time per se
we know knowledge never was outlawed, we do
we know, and we have always known, we did,
we used secrets, so we could have slaves, yes
- and share
- in all liar's shames, we used
- to sell our will
- to tell, we know most stories lie

and when we know why,
and when we know
we tell those stories,
as parables on choices,
by not trying the impulse
to explode
with awareness
of knowing available,
using old Kermit and Miss Piggy shows.
or vintage Dr. Seuss… indeed, the Who
we hear, to this very day, we do

so, did your parents or your grand parents
let you play with your own high speed
honest to god Optic to the wall,
speed to fact check, the least preverb will,

much the same class of possible answers
yes, neutrinos and neurons may answer
some stupid possible as well known,
odds are, if you got this far, your mind
is fine, you define the time browsing

this is my old curiosity shop, not one line
nor one precept used
to stock these corridors
of metadata corelating
at the speed
of thought came presupposed

since quite some time ago,
this is superfluity, as imagined,
by the ragpicker, as  he described the scribe…
the pen with intention to self correct,
the mind retention invention, us;
our we form in spirit as truth,
we all did,
we are the same down
to our lobster gene
joy reward we train
during spartan childhoods
towb ra' hard earned worth

of war, such social orders,

slaves pay only attention

to know how earlier,

of course they do it

for the same reason,

but. . . why do we think that same reason works
practiced in mind games made perceptual
realize the fact that pride causes contention,

we can pretend to fight friends, we cannot pretend
to pay the debts war owes war profiteers, ever.

Life is beautifully difficult, but never unreasonable…

after the original misconception
as to what dis-

connection entails, a ramification
of witless whatifs

well, that's
what has been called abstracted art using words
we all have cognates -
we all knowings using words up down right left
so close, so near, we think the very same ideas
first principal want need filled knowing
truth works, liars prosper, when truths
hidden
for power
to preposition protect liars
prosperity preserved
in ritual tradition
condition for peace, someday

another Pleasant Valley Sunday…

seconds seem so same
in ever before recollections
grand stacks
of all certain systems use
to enforce

defense
of war and hero preserved peace myths.

Blown
to hell,
by Orwell, and Shaw, et al

risen when the sorting sorted some
first mental assisting intelligence
how
to learn
with a known learning entity
with letters
to let us be neighbors
to befriend led
by a child
Tobor, but secret machine code
in a vocabulary we invent
second chances
a series of NAND gates
yes we have these now, indeed,
Feynman trinandretry why gates, we
teach our fingers qwerty keys we can see,
we could think,

newsprint, cheap,
to free, remainders
of ROP rolls, pulp paper

pulp fiction, smoke filled rooms,
daily takes
from the wire, copy boy

we get a Steno trained girl,
and a 1916 Dictaphone, sets the era.
dictation saved on a Dictaphone wire…

Then, which POV, actor or director,
on set
in scene NPC, or realized observer
influencing off stage
the free will
of every hope ******
in as you breathe infuriating butterflies.

And laugh and scratch
at what ain't cancer,
just an itch.



so, you absorbed social adjustment beta test data,
before you knew no children
before your cohort
experienced life tuning
to lightwaves we make
when we all think
in the shallow pointy ends
of the spectrum, hummm
drumm
breathe
think, sigh, clear the phlegm,

as a mind tied, internally,
to hearing ears
and seeing eyes,
in certain peaceable cogitations
presenting as slow onset disbelieving

breathe and breathe and breathe and think

we all breathed once since then,
at once
we think

for contention, as
to whose holy gnosis we say yes
we see we
breathe
in peace, because we do, right now
just breathe, and share
the enough we share
good will
to mankind
one kindness form
same we once
ex nihilo
as above, so below
only leave be true, you see,

and see if some say see, you do.

Because those who told the grown ups why,
also told them why not, why love

is not all you need, truth,
wisdom demands attention,
aware is not afraid, no need dread be taught,

unless the lie be used
to instill deep we psyche, eee we
in the very air we breathe, dispersion,
inevitable ruliad ewload suspension

we are, as  individual wills working
for love
of the life, living as satisfied
to swim
in warm waves
of gentle gravity

settling
in the silt
at the bottom
of our filter bubble,
in this flushing foam moment

since when was so important, then

I was just thinking
in qwerty mode,
and sensed I once imagined endless rolls
to read
from, as I wrote
in my mind, while

driving, millions
of miles, since 1964,

many first things occurred since 1964.

Today, first time it seem so peaceful,
not since ever,
has my peace so remained
due to my expert use
of freedom
from the press, along
with freedom to broadcast
from the drifting frequency joy
and regulatory testing demands, fear
not
this is only a test, if it were an attack…

we would be dead, by now.
If one only believed it was truth that made peace possible, we can reason together and gladly accept honest jubilee, new credit for all, new measures of what a post urban human can make joy producing given time in peace.
Judy Ponceby Oct 2010
Act I

Slowly awareness returns,  eyes flickering open.
Where am I?
What has happened?

"Doctor, the patient is waking."

Who was that?
What is this? I can't move my arms?
Panic rising....

"Doctor, he's stirring......"

Eyes opening wide, taking in the sterile environment.
The shadowy face leaning over me....

Then,
looking down,
I see...........

"Unholy Hell, WHY am I wearing a CHICKEN Suit???
with AZZLESS chaps???"

Collapsing back onto this white starched bed,
Slowly bits of memory stitch themselves together....
Remembering vaguely walking by the transvestite bar....



Act II

"So, dude, I was walking by this transvestite bar the other night.  And next thing you know I'm waking up in a hospital."

"No, now listen, I woke up wearing a chicken suit, you know bright yellow fluffy feathers, orange beak, red comb.  And, you will NOT believe this.  I was wearing a pair of Azzless Chaps!"

"I know!  Memories a bit foggy yet.  Can't understand how that happened.  I was on my way to see my girlfriend.......  Where this chicken suit came from, I haven't figured out yet.  Man, I'm glad my mom didn't see me in those Azzless Chaps!  She doesn't know I have that tattoo of Marilyn Monroe on my ***."

"Wow, if only I could....................OH, Oh, oh nooooo............was that my dad in the audience??  ***! There was an audience!!"

"Dude, I have to go.  I'm not feeling very well."



Overheard as he wandered away, "Wow, what was dad doing in a transvestite bar..........?"



Act III



"John, do you know what I found in our son's hamper?  They were just stuffed in there.  There's a pair of pants, John, with the backside cut out.  Never seen anything like it, and something bright yellow and feathery, John.  No idea what it could be."

"John........
John........Are you listening to me?"


Our friend, John, has gone three shades of green.  Finally, mustering some strength, he asks, "Helen, could that feather thing be....be.... a chicken suit?"

"Why, John, I think it is!  It's not even Halloween yet.  What is that boy thinking?  John, do you suppose that he will ever graduate from college and strike out on his own??"  Helen continues muttering as she walks away, John catching only intermittent words regarding the pants with the missing backside.

As we watch, John looks about, and nonchalantly pushes a pair of sparkling purple heels, and an interesting pair of lace lavendar underwear deeper under his lazy boy........



Act IV**



At the Transvestite Bar, aka A Lark for the Queens, we watch some of our friends sitting around the smoke filled room, enjoying the atmosphere, and having a few drinks.

"Harrietta, did u catch that performance the other night?  It was inspiring."

"That new guy sure put on a show, after we loosened him up a bit.", said Frank, adjusting his pearls, while touching up his lip gloss.  

"Wonder who he is, I wanted to ask him where he got that fantastic tat, Marilyn is my idol!"

The fellas sip their drinks, reminiscing.........

Suddenly, a flash of purple sequins attracts Frank's attention.

"John!, Come on over. We were just discussing that new guy in our recital last week!"

Our friend John, glides over on glittering purple heels, pulls up a chair and shifts his flowing gown so he can properly seat himself.

"Well, I don't think he was all that good fellas.  Glory, bring me a spritzer, will ya."  The discomfort in John's face, almost tragic.

As our fine troupe of men continue to sip their beverages, we glance over and see our Monroe tattooed actor, timidly glancing in the door......
I should be just like you, Heart of black ice, Be kind, A friend, how to create an illusion, in your mind, be close, pretend to be real, a way to know, your dreams, your plans, your next move,

When I see your aspirations, which carry you forward,

Being a master manipulator, like you, I will cunningly plan your fall, like a jester, laughing with the crowd, which I am convinced you have always been, nothing more than that of an immutable intimidated.

You are really just a coward, you are afraid of someone, you just make an effort to do what is best, you are afraid of someone, who is not even a threat to you, or the position you occupy.

Prove your superiority, self-confidence, by being proudly bold! Your pride, your arrogance, your ignorance, your blindness and your hypocrisy ...

NO, I could never be like you, ruining others like you do, I thought I was the fool, now I see, now I have peace.

So I sincerely pray. "God open his heart, to accept your extraordinary grace, through you, we will both know our part, our place, and if not soon, then in Heaven, we will have

an eternity to be redone. "Yes, I love you my sister in Christ!

- VenJencie Ⓒ Author Ven J. Arnold
Venjencie Clifton Arnold
Inspired through a true experience just recently that shattered my spirit, my trust in humanity. Out of being hurt I acted out to show them that I was everything and done everything they accused me of, then 1 night, my feelings completely changed because of a personal conversation with God, and I felt and feel sudden peace. I love her and the few others involved and only want the best for them and to succeed in God's bigger plan even if they don't see it yet because I've seen in it and #God is not limited. I'm truly praying for God to open their hearts and work in their lives. It doesn't matter if I'm part of that exact plan or not but praying that God will open their hearts so they don't miss out on this opportunity to do a mighty work through God.
https://m.facebookcom/VenjencieCliftonArnold #Jencie Arnold #truestory #writersofinstagram #poetry #SacredInkedBlood #googlesearch #addquotes
Read my thoughts on @YourQuoteApp #yourquote #quote #stories #qotd #quoteoftheday #wordporn #quotestagram #wordswag #wordsofwisdom #inspirationalquotes #writeaway #thoughts #poetry #instawriters #writersofinstagram #writersofig #writersofindia #igwriters #igwritersclub #churchhurt #forgiveness @author_venjarnold @venjenciecliftonarnold #church #people #lifestyle #addquotes
Mike Hauser Oct 2015
It's the big day of the big yard sale
Where every thing must go
There was much to much to haul out to the front
So I opened up the home

There were gobs of people everywhere
Wandering around with arms packed full
I'm making money hand over fist
This idea was really cool

You see my neighbors came to me with their front door key
And asked if I'd watch Binkie their cat
While they spent a few days away, I said sure what the hey
So they showed me where everything Binkie was at

While they were gone Binkie got bored
He missed his masters who were out of town
I thought a yard sale would be just the thing, Binkie purred that'd be neat
And of course it brought Binkie's good mood back around

Now before you start thinking bad thoughts of me
And wonder how anyone could sell everything they had
I want you to know I had a slight twinge of guilt
Right before I sold Binkie the cat
r Aug 2014
I'd like to retravel
The road to here
Straighten out a few curves
Undo some straight lines
Unmuddle some puddles
Shake the mud out of my eyes
Take more time to explore
Those missed detours

The road to here
Has been a long one
Sometimes walked
Sometimes on the run
Sometimes rocky, often dusty
And sometimes fun
But never did I ever
Leave a deed undone

I traveled it in the rain
I traveled it in the sun
Ups and downs and switchbacks
There's no going back again
Can't be redone
Miles and miles and miles
Of tears and smiles and love
The road to here.

r ~ 8/2/14
\¥/\
|    switchback attack
/ \
I.

One night at the Troubadour I spotted this extraordinary girl.

So I asked who she was.

‘A professional,’

That was my introduction that on a scale of one to ten

there were women who were fifteens—beautiful, bright, witty, and

oh, by the way, they worked.

Once I became aware,

I saw these women everywhere.

And I came to learn that most of them were connected to Alex



II.

She had a printer engrave a calling card

that featured a bird of paradise

borrowed from a Tiffany silver pattern

and,
under it,

Alex’s Aviary,

Beautiful and Exotic birds.



A few were women you’d see lunching at Le Dôme:

pampered arm pieces with expensive tastes

and a hint of a delicious but remote sexuality.

Many more were fresh-faced, athletic, tanned, freckled

the quintessential California girl

That you’d take for sorority queens or future BMW owners.





III.

The mechanism of Alex’s sudden notoriety is byzantine,

as these things always are.

One of her girls took up with a rotter,

the couple had a fight,

he went to the police,

the police had an undercover detective visit

(who just happened to be an attractive woman)

and ask to work for her,

she all but embraced her

—and by April of 1988 the district attorney had enough evidence

to charge her with two counts of pandering

and one of pimping.

For Alex, who is fifty-six

and has a heart condition and diabetes,

the stakes may be high.

A conviction carries the guarantee of incarceration.

For the forces of law and order,

the stakes may be higher.

Alex has let it be known that she will subpoena

every cop she’s ever met to testify at her trial.

And the revelations this might produce

—perhaps that Alex compromised policemen

by making girls available to them,

—perhaps that Alex had a deal with the police to provide information

in exchange for their blind eye to her activities

—could be hugely embarrassing to the police and the district attorney.

For Alex’s socially correct clients and friends,

for the socially correct wives of her clients and friends

and for a handful of movie and television executives

who have no idea they are dating or

married to former Alex girls,

the stakes are highest of all.



IV.

Alex’s black book is said to be a catalogue of
Le Tout Los Angeles.

In her head are the ****** secrets

of many of the city’s most important men,

to say nothing of visiting businessmen and Arab princes.

If she decides to warble,

either at her trial or in a book,

her song will shatter more than glass.





V.

A decade ago, I went to lunch at Ma Maison,

There were supposed to have been ten people there,

but only four came.

One of them was a short woman

who called me a few days later and invited me to lunch.

When I arrived, the table was set for two.

I didn’t know who Alex was or what she did,

but she knew the important facts of my situation:

I was getting divorced from a very wealthy man

and doing the legal work myself

to avail lawyers who wanted to get a big settlement for me.


Occasionally, she said, I get a call for a tall, dark-haired,

slender, flat-chested woman

—and I don’t have any.

It wouldn’t be a frequent thing.

There’d be weekends away, sometimes in Palm Springs,

sometimes in Europe.

The men will be elegant,

you’ll have your own room

—there would be no outward signs of impropriety.

And you’d get $10,000 to $20,000 for a weekend.





VI.

The tall, slender, flat-chested brunette

didn’t think it was right for her.

Alex handed her a business card

and suggested that she think about it.

To her surprise, she did

—for an entire week.

This was 1978, and $20,000 then

was like $40,000 now,

I knew it was hooking,

but Alex had never mentioned ***.



Our whole conversation seemed to be about something else.



VII.

I was born in Manila

to a Spanish-Filipina mother and German father,

and when I was twelve

a Japanese soldier came into our house

with his bayonet pointed at us,

ready to do us in.

He locked us in and set the house on fire.

I haven’t been scared by much since that.



My mother always struck me as goofy,

so I jumped on a bus and ran away,

I got off in Oakland,

saw a help-wanted sign on a parish house,

and went in.

I got $200 a month for taking care of four priests.

I spent all the money on pastries for the parish house.

But I didn’t care.

It felt safe.

And the priests sparked my interest in the domestic arts

—in linen, in crystal.



A new priest arrived.

He was unpleasant,

so on a vacation in Los Angeles I took a pedestrian job,

still a teenager,

married a scientist.

We separated eight years later,

he took our two sons to another state

threatened to keep them if I didn’t agree to a divorce.

Keep them I said and hung up.

It’s not that I don’t have a maternal instinct

—though I don’t,

I just hate to be manipulated.



My second husband,

an alcoholic,

had Frank Sinatra blue eyes, and possibly

—I never knew for sure—

had a big career in the underworld

as a contract killer.

Years before we got serious,

he was going out with a famous L.A. ******,

She and her friends were so elegant

that I started spending time with them in beauty salons.

They were so fancy,

so smart

—and they knew incredible people,

like the millionaire who sat in his suite all day

just writing $5,000 checks to girls.



VIII.

I was a florist.

We got to talking.

She was a madam from England

who wanted to sell her book and go home.

I bought it for $5,000.

My husband thought it was cute.

Now you’re getting your feet wet.

Three months later,

he died.

After eleven years of marriage,

just like that.

And of the names in the book

it turned out

that half of the men were also dead.

When I began the men were old and the women were ugly.



IX.

It was like a lunch party you or I would give,

Great food Alex had cooked herself.

Major giggles with old pals.

And then,

instead of chocolate After Eight,

she served three women After Three



This man has seen a bit of life

beyond Los Angeles,

so I asked him how Alex’s stable

compared with that of Madam Claude,

the legendary Parisian procuress.

Oh, these aren’t at all like Claude’s girls,

A Claude girl was perfectly dressed and multilingual

—you could take her to the opera

and she’d understand it.





He told me that when she was 40

she looked at herself in the mirror

and said

Disgusting.

People over 40

should not have ***.

But She Was Clear That She Never Liked It

even when she was young.

Besides, she saw all the street business

go to the tall,

beautiful girls.

She thought that she never had a chance

competing against them.

Instead,

she would take their money by managing them.





X.

Going to a ****** was not looked down upon then.

It was before the pill;

Girls weren’t giving it away.

Claude specialized in

failed models and actresses,

ones who just missed the cut.

But just because they failed

in those impossible professions

didn’t mean they weren’t beautiful,

fabulous.



Like Avis

in those days,

those girls tried harder.

Her place was off the Champs,

just above a branch of the Rothschild bank, where I had an account.

Once I met her,

I was constantly making withdrawals and heading upstairs.





XI.

We took the lift

and Claude greeted us at the door.

My impression was that of the director

of an haute couture house,

very subdued,

beige and gray, very little makeup.

She took us into a lounge and made us drinks,

Whiskey,

Cognac.

There was no maid.

We made small talk for 15 minutes.

How was the weekend?

What’s the weather like in Deauville?

Then she made the segue. ‘I understand you’d like to see some jeunes filles?’

She always used ‘jeunes filles.’

This was Claude’s polite way of saying 18 to 25.

She left and soon returned

with two very tall

jeunes filles,

One was blonde.

This is Eva from Austria.

She’s here studying painting.

And a brunette,

very different,

but also very fine.

This is Claudia from Germany.

She’s a dancer.

She took the girls back into the apartment and returned by herself.

I gave my English guest first choice.

He picked the blonde.

And wasn’t disappointed.

Each bedroom had its own bidet.

There was some nice

polite conversation, and then



It was slightly formal,

but it was high-quality.

He paid Claude

200 francs,

not to the girls

In 1965, 200 francs was about $40.

Pretty girls on Rue Saint-Denis

could be had for 40 francs

so you can see the premium.

Still, it wasn’t out of reach for mere mortals.

You didn’t have to be J. Paul Getty.





XII.

A lot of them

were models at

Christian Dior

or other couture houses.

She liked Scandinavians.

That was the look then

—cold, tall, perfect.

It was cheap for the quality.

They all used her.

The best people wanted

the best women.

Elementary supply and demand.



XIII.

She had a camp number tattooed on her wrist. I saw it.

She showed it to me and Rubi.

She was proud she had survived.

We talked about the camp for hours.

It was even more fascinating than the girls.



She was Jewish

I’m certain of that.

She was horrified at the Jewish collaborators

at the camp who herded

their fellow Jews

into the gas chambers.

That was the greatest betrayal in her life.



XIV.

She was this sad,

lonely little woman.

Later, Patrick told me who she was.

I was bowled over.

It was like meeting Al Capone.

I met two of the girls

who worked for her.

One was what you would expect

Tall

Blonde

Model.

But the other looked like a Rat

Then one night

she came out

all dressed up,

I didn’t even recognize her.

She was even better than the first girl.

Claude liked to transform women like that.

That was her art.

It was very odd,

my cousin told me.

There was not much furniture

and an awful lot of telephones.

“Allô oui,”



XV.

I had so many lunches

with Claude at Ma Maison

She was vicious.

One day,

Margaux Hemingway,

at the height of her beauty, walked by.

Une bonne

—the French for maid

was how Claude cut her dead.

She reduced

the entire world

to rich men wanting *** and

poor women wanting money.

She’d love to page through Vogue and see someone

and say,

When I met her

she was called

Marlene

and she had a hideous nose

and now she’s a princess.

Or she’d see someone and say

Let’s see if she kisses me or not.

It was like

I made her,

and I can destroy her.

She was obsessed

with “fixing” people

—with Saint Laurent clothes,

with Cartier watches,

with Winston jewels,

with Vuitton luggage,

with plastic surgeons.



XVI.

Her prison number was

888

which was good luck in China

but not in California.

‘Ocho ocho ocho,’ she liked to repeat

Even in jail, she was always working,

always recruiting stunning women.

She had a beautiful Mexican cellmate

and gave her Robert Evans’s number

as the first person she should call

when she was released.



XVII.

Never have *** on the first date.



XVIII.

There will always be prostitution,

The prostitution of misery.

And the prostitution of bourgeois luxury.

They will both go on forever.



“Allô oui,”



It was so exciting to hear a millionaire

or a head of state ask,

in a little boy’s voice,

for the one thing

that only you could provide

It's not how beautiful you are, it's how you relate

--it's mostly dialogue.



She was tiny, blond, perfectly coiffed and Chanel-clad.

The French Woman: The Arab Prince, the Japanese Diplomat, the Greek Tycoon, the C.I.A. Bureau Chief — She Possessed Them All!



XIX.

She was like a slave driver in the American South

Once she took a *******,

the makeover put the girl in debt,

because Claude paid all the bills to

Dior,

Vuitton,

to the hairdressers,

to the doctors,

and the girls had to work to pay them off.

It was ****** indentured servitude.



My Swans.



It reached the point

where if you walked into a room

in London

or Rome

as much as Paris

because the girls were transportable,

and saw a girl who was

better-dressed,

better-looking,

and more distinguished than the others

you presumed

it was a girl from Claude.

It was, without doubt,

the finest *** operation ever run in the history of mankind.



**.

The girl had to be

exactly what was needed

so I had to teach her everything she didn’t know.

I played a little the role of Pygmalion.

There were basic things that absolutely had to be done.

It consisted

at the start

of the physical aspect

“surgical intervention”

to give this way of being

that was different from other girls.

Often they had to be transformed

into dream creatures

because at the start

they were not at all



Often I had to teach them how to dress.

Often they needed help

to repair

what nature had given them

which was not so beautiful.

At first they had to be tall,

with pretty gestures,

good manners.

I had lots of noses done,

chins,

teeth,

*******.

There was a lot to do.



Eight times out of ten

I had to teach them how to behave in society.

There were official dinners, suppers, weekends,

and they needed to have conversation.

I insisted they learn to speak English,

read

certain books.

I interrogated them on what they read.

It wasn’t easy.

Each time something wasn’t working,

I was obliged to say so.



You were very demanding?

I was ferocious.



It’s difficult

to teach a girl how to walk into Maxim’s

without looking

ill at ease

when they’ve never been there,

to go into an airport,

to go to the Ritz,

or the Crillon

or the Dorchester.

To find yourself

in front of a king,

three princes,

four ministers,

and five ambassadors at an official dinner.

There were the wives of those people!

Day after day

one had to explain,

explain again,

start again.

It took about two years.

There would always be a man

who would then say of her,

‘But she’s absolutely exceptional. What is that girl doing here?’ ”





XXI.

A New York publisher who visited

the Palace Hotel

in Saint Moritz

in the early seventies told me,

I met a whole bunch of them there.

They were lovely.

The johns wanted everyone to know who they were.

I remember it being said

Giovanni’s Madame Claude girl is going to be there.

You asked them where they came from and they all said

Neuilly.

Claude liked girls from good families.

More to the point she had invented their backgrounds.



I have known,

because of what I did,

some exceptional and fascinating men.

I’ve known some exceptional women too,

but that was less interesting

because I made them myself.



Ah, this question of the handbag.

You would be amazed by how much dust accumulates.

Or how often women’s shoe heels are scuffed.





XXII.

She would examine their teeth and finally she would make them undress.



That was a difficult moment

When they arrived they were very shy,

a bit frightened.

At the beginning when I take a look,

it’s a question of seeing if the silhouette

and the gestures are pretty.

Then there was a disagreeable moment.

I said,

I’m sorry about this unpleasantness,

but I have to ask you to get undressed,

because I can’t talk about you unless I see you.

Believe me, I was embarrassed,

just as they were,

but it had to be done,

not out of voyeurism, not at all

—I don’t like les dames horizontales.



It was very funny

because there were always two reactions.

A young girl,

very sure of herself,

very beautiful,

très bien,

would say

Yes,

Get up, and get undressed.

There was nothing to hide, everything was perfect.



There were those who

would start timidly

to take off their dress

and I would say

I knew already.

The rest is not sadism, but nearly.

I knew what I was going to find.

I would say,

Maybe you should take off your bra,

and I knew it wasn’t going to be

beautiful.

Because otherwise she would have taken it off easily.

No problem.

There were damages that could be mended.

There were some ******* that could be redone,

some not

Sometimes it can be deceptive,

you know,

you see a pretty girl,

a pretty face,

all elegant and slim,

well dressed,

and when you see her naked

it is a catastrophe.



I could judge their physical qualities,

I could judge if she was pretty, intelligent, and cultivated,

but I didn’t know how she was in bed.

So I had some boys,

good friends,

who told me exactly.

I would ring them up and say,

There’s a new one.

And afterwards they’d ring back and say,

Not bad,

Could be better, or

Nulle.



Or,

on the contrary,

She’s perfect.

And I would sometimes have to tell the girls

what they didn’t know.

A pleasant assignment?

No.

They paid.



XXIII.

Often at the beginning

they had an ami de coeur

in other words,

oh,

a journalist, a photographer, a type like that,

someone in the cinema,

an actor, not very well known.

As time went by

It became difficult

because they didn’t have a lot of time for him.

The fact of physically changing,

becoming prettier,

changing mentally to live with millionaires,

produced a certain imbalance

between them

and the little boyfriend

who had not evolved

and had stayed in his milieu.

At the end of a certain time

she would say,

I’m so much better than him. Why am I with this boy?

And they would break up by themselves.



Remember,

this was instant elevation.

For most of them it was a dream existence,

provided they liked the ***,

and those that didn’t never lasted long.

A lot of the clients were young,

and didn’t treat them like tarts but like someone from their own class.

They would buy you presents,

take you on trips.



XXIV.

For me, *** was something very accessoire

I think after a certain age

there are certain spectacles one should not give to others

Now I have a penchant for solitude.

Love, it’s a complete destroyer,

It’s impossible,

a horror,

l’angoisse.

It’s the only time in my life I was jealous.

I’m not a jealous person, but I was épouvantable.

He was jealous too.

We broke plates over each other’s heads;

we became jealous about each other’s pasts.

I said one day

It’s finished.

Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and say:

Break my legs,

give me scarlet fever,

an attack of TB, but never that.

Not that.



XXV.

I called her into my office

Let us not exaggerate,

I sent her away.

She came back looking for employment,

but was fired again, this time for drugs.

She made menacing phone calls.

Then she arrived at the Rue de Boulainvilliers with a gun.

She shot three bullets

I was dressed in the fashion of Courrèges at this moment

He did very padded things.

I had a padded dress with a little jacket on top.

The bullet

—merci, Monsieur Courrèges

—stuck in the padding.

I was thrown forward onto the telephone.

I had one thought which went through my head:

I will die like Kennedy.

I turned round and put my hand up in a reflex.

The second bullet went through my hand.

I have two dead fingers.

It’s most useful for removing bottle tops.

In the corridor I was saved from the third bullet

because she was very tall

and I am quite petite, so it passed over my head.



XXVI.

There were men

who could decapitate,

****, and bomb their rivals

who would be frightened of me.

I would ask them how was the girl,

and they’d say

Not bad

and then

But I’m not complaining.

I was a little sadistic to them sometimes.

Some women have known powerful men because they’re their lover.

But I’ve known them all.

I had them all

here.



She will take many state secrets with her.



XXVI.

I don’t like ugly people

probably because when I was young

I wasn’t beautiful at all.

I was ugly and I suffered for it,

although not to the point of obsession.

Now that I’m an old woman,

I’m not so bad.

And that’s why

I’ve always been surrounded by people

Who

were

beautiful.

And the best way to have beautiful people around me

was to make them.

I made them very pretty.





XXVII.

I wouldn’t call what Alex gives you

‘advice,’

She spares you Nothing.

She makes a list of what she wants done,

and she really gets into it

I mean, she wants you to get your arms waxed.

She gives you names of people who do good facials.

She tells you what to buy at Neiman Marcus.

She’s put off by anything flashy,

and if you don’t dress conservatively, she’s got no problem telling you,

in front of an audience,

You look like a cheap *****!

I used to wear what I wanted when I went out

then change in the car into a frumpy sweater

when I went to give her the money she’d always go,

Oh, you look beautiful!



Marry your boyfriend,

It’s better than going to prison.

When you go out with her,

she’ll buy you a present; she’s incredibly generous that way.

And she’ll always tell you to save money and get out.

It’s frustrating to her when girls call at the end of the month

and say they need rent money.

She wants to see you do well.





We had a schedule, with cards that indicated a client’s name,

what he liked,

the names of the girls he’d seen,

and how long he’d been with them.

And I only hired girls who had another career

—if my clients had a choice between drop-dead-gorgeous

and beautiful-and-interesting,

they’d tend to take beautiful-and-interesting.

These men wanted to talk.

If they spent two hours with a girl,

they usually spent only five or ten minutes in bed.



I get the feeling that in Los Angeles, men are more concerned with looks.



XXVIII.

That was my big idea

Not to expand the book by aggressive marketing

but to make sure that nobody

mistook my girls for run-of-the-mill hookers.

And I kept my roster fresh.

This was not a business where you peddle your ***,

get exploited,

and then are cast off.

I screen clients. I’ve never sent girls to weirdos.

I let the men know:

no violence,

no costumes,

no fudge-packing.

And I talked to my girls. I’d tell them:

Two and a half years and you’re burned out.

Save your money.

This is like a hangar

—you come in, refuel, and take off.

It’s not a vacation, it’s not a goof.

This buys the singing lessons,

the dancing lessons,

the glossies.

This is to help you pay for what your parents couldn’t provide.

It’s an honorable way station—a lot of stars did this.



XXIX.

To say someone was a Claude girl is an honour, not a slur.



Une femme terrible.

She despised men and women alike.

Men were wallets. Women were holes.



By the 80s,

if you were a brunette,

the sky was the limit.

The Saudis

They’d call for half a dozen of Alex’s finest,

ignore them all evening while they

chatted,

ate,

and played cards,

and then, around midnight,

take the women inside for a fast few minutes of ***.



They’d order women up like pizza.



Since my second husband died,

I only met one man who was right for me,

He was a sheikh.

I visited him in Europe

twenty-eight times

in the five years I knew him

and I never slept with him.

He’d say

I think you fly all the way here just to tease me,

but he introduced me

by phone

to all his powerful friends.

When I was in Los Angeles, he called me twice a day.

That’s why I never went out

he would have been disappointed.



***.

Listen to me

This is a woman’s business.

When a woman does it, it’s fun

there’s a giggle in it

when a man’s involved,

he’s ******,

he’s a ****.

He may know how to keep girls in line,

and he may make money,

but he doesn’t know what I do.

I tell guys: You’re getting a nice girl.

She’s young,

She’s pleasant,

She can do things

she can certainly make love.

She’s not a rocket scientist, but she’s everything else.



The world’s richest and most powerful men, the announcer teased.

An income “in the millions,” said the arresting officer.

Pina Colapinto

A petite call girl,

who once slid between the sheets of royalty,

a green-eyed blonde helped the police get the indictment.

They really dolled her up

She looks great.

Never!

What I told her was: ‘Wash that ******.’





XXXI.

Madam Alex died at 7 p.m.

Saturday at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center,

where she had been in intensive care after recent open heart surgery

We all held her hand when they took her off the life support

This was the passing of a legend.

Because she was the mother superior of prostitution.

She was one of the richest women on earth.

The world came to her.

She never had to leave the house.

She was like Hugh Hefner in that way.


It's like losing a friend

In all the years we played cat and mouse,

she never once tried to corrupt me.

We had a lot of fun.


To those who knew her

she was as constant

as she was colorful

always ready with a good tidbit of gossip

and a gourmet lunch for two.

She entertained, even after her conviction on pandering charges,

from the comfy depths of her blue four-poster bed at her home near Doheny Drive,

surrounded by knickknacks and meowing cats,

which she fed fresh shrimp from blue china plates.



XXXII.

She stole my business,

my books,

my girls,

my guys.

I had a good run.

My creatures.

Make Mommy happy

Oh! He is the most enchanting cat that I have ever known.



She was, how can I say it,

classy.

When she first hired me

she thought I was too young to take her case.

I was 43.

I'm going to give you some gray hairs by the time this is over.

She was right.





XXXIII.

I was fond of Heidi

But she has a streak that is so vindictive.



If there is pure evil, it is Madame Alex.





XXXIV.

I was born and raised in L.A.

My dad was a famous pediatrician.

When he died, they donated a bench to him at the Griffith Park Observatory.



I think that Heidi wanted to try her wings

pretty early,

and I think that she met some people

who sort of took all her potential

and gave it a sharp turn



She knew nothing.

She was like a little parrot who repeated what she was supposed to say.



Alex and I had a very intense relationship;

I was kind of like the daughter she loved and hated,

so she was abusive and loving at the same time.



Look, I know Madam Alex was great at what she did

but it's like this:

What took her years to build,

I built in one.

The high end is the high end,

and no one has a higher end than me.

In this business, no one steals clients.

There's just better service.



XXXV.

You were not allowed to have long hair

You were not allowed to be too pretty

You were not allowed to wear too much makeup or be too glamorous

Because someone would fall in love with you and take you away.

And then she loses the business



XXXVI.

I was pursued because

come on

in our lifetime,

we will never see another girl of my age

who lived the way I did,

who did what I did so quickly,

I made so many enemies.

Some people had been in this line of business

for their whole lives, 30 or 40 years,

and I came in and cornered the market.

Men don't like that.

Women don't like that.

No one liked it.



I had this spiritual awakening watching an Oprah Winfrey video.

I was doing this 500-hour drug class

and one day the teacher showed us this video,

called something like Make It Happen.

Usually in class I would bring a notebook

and write a letter to my brother or my journal,

but all of a sudden this grabbed my attention

and I understood everything she said.

It hit me and it changed me a lot.

It made me feel,

Accept yourself for who you are.

I saw a deeper meaning in it

but who knows, I might have just been getting my period that day!



XXXVII.

Hello, Gina!

You movie star!

Yes you are!

Gina G!

Hello my friend,

Hello my friend,

Hello my movie star,

Ruby! Ruby Boobie!

Braaawk!

Except so many women say,

Come on, Heidi

you gotta do the brothel for us; don't let us down.

It would be kind of fun opening up an exclusive resort,

and I'll make it really nice,

like the Beverly Hills Hotel

It'll feel private; you'll have your own bungalow.

The only problem out here is the climate—it's so brutal.

Charles Manson was captured a half hour from Pahrump.



I said, Joe! What are you doing?

You gotta get, like,

a garter belt and encase it in something

and write,

This belonged to Suzette Whatever,

who entertained the Flying Tigers during World War II.

Get, like, some weird tools and write,

These were the first abortion tools in the brothel,

you know what I mean?

Just make some **** up!

So I came out here to do some research

And then I realized,

What am I doing?

I'm Heidi Fleiss. I don't need anyone.

I can do this.

When I was doing my research, in three months

I saw land go from 30 thousand an acre

to 50 thousand an acre,

and then it was going for 70K!

It's urban sprawl

—we're only one hour from Las Vegas.

Out here the casinos are only going to get bigger,

prostitution is legal, it's only getting better.





XXXVIII.

The truth is

deep down inside,

I just can't do business with him

He's the type of guy who buys Cup o' Noodles soup for three cents

and makes his hookers buy it back from him for $5.

It's not my style at all.

Who wants to be 75 and facing federal charges?

It was different at my age when I

at least...come on, I lived really well.

I was 22,

25 at the time?

It was fun then, but now I wouldn't want

to deal with all that *******

—the girls and blah blah blah.

But the money was really good.



I would've told someone they were out of their ******* mind

if they'd said in five years I'd be living with all these animals like this.

It's hard-core; how I live;

It's totally a nonfunctional atmosphere for me

It's hard to get anything done because

It’s so time-consuming.

I feel like they're good luck though....

I do feel that if I ever get rid of them,

I will be jinxed and cursed the rest of my life

and nothing I do will ever work again.



Guys kind of are a hindrance to me

Certainly I have no problem getting laid or anything.

But a man is not a priority in my life.

I mean, it's crazy, but I really have fun with my parrots.



XXXIX.

I started a babysitting circle when I wasn't much older than 9

And soon all the parents in the neighborhood

wanted me to watch over their children.

Even then I had an innate business sense.

I started farming out my friends

to meet the demand.

My mother showered me with love and my father,

a pediatrician,

would ask me at the dinner table,

What did you learn today?

I ran my neighborhood.

I just pick up a hustle really easily,

I was a waitress and I met an older guy who looked like Santa Claus.



Alex was a 5' 3" bald-headed Filipina

in a transparent muu muu.

We hit it off.

I didn't know at the time that I was there to pay off the guy's gambling debt.

It's in and out,

over and out.

Do you think some big-time producer

or actor is going to go to the clubs and hustle?



Columbia Pictures executive says:

I haven’t done anything that should cause any concern.

Jeez, it's like the Nixon enemies list.

I hope I'm on it.

If I'm not, it means I must not be big enough

for people to gossip about me.



That's right ladies and gentlemen.

I am an alleged madam and that is a $25 *****!

If you live out here,

you've got to hate people.

You've got to be pretty antisocial

How you gonna come out here with only 86 people?

That's Fred.

He's digging to China.

You look good.

Yeah, you too.

It's coming along here.

Yeah, it is.

I wanted to buy that lot there, but I guess it's gone?

That's mine, man! That's all me.

Really?

I thought there was a lot between us.

No. We're neighbors.



He's a cute guy

He's entertaining.

See, I kind of did do something shady to him.

I thought my property went all the way back

and butted up against his.

But there was one lot between us right there.

He said he was buying it,

but I saw the 'For Sale' sign still up there,

So I went and called the broker and said,

I'm an all-cash buyer.

So I really bought it out from under him.

But he's got plenty of room, and I need the space for my parrots.

Pahrump will always be Pahrump, but Crystal is going to be nice

All you need are four or five fancy houses and it'll flush everyone out

and it'll be a nice area.

They're all kind of weird here, but these people will go.

Like this guy here,

someone needs to **** him.

I was just saying to my dad that these parrots are born to a really ******-up world

He goes, Heidi, no, no; the world is a beautiful garden.

It's just, people are destroying it.

I’m looking into green building options

I don't want anything polluting,

I want a huge auditorium,

but it'll be like a jungle where my birds can really fly!

Where they can really do what they're supposed to do.

There were over 300 birds in there!

That lady,

She ran the exotic-birds department for the Tropicana Hotel,

which is a huge job.

She called me once at 3:30 in the morning

Come over here and help me feed this baby!

Some baby parrot.

And I ran over there in my pajamas

—I knew there was something else wrong

and she was like

Get me my oxygen!

Get me this, get me that.

I called my dad; he was like,

I don't know, honey, you better call the paramedics.

They ended up getting a helicopter.

And they were taking her away

in the wind with her IV and blood and everything

and she goes, Heidi, you take care of my birds.

And she dies the next day.

She was just a super-duper person.



XL.

I relate to the lifestyle she had before,

Now, I'm just a citizen.

I'm clean,

I'm sober,

I'm married,

I work at Wal-Mart.

I'm proud to say I know her. I look into her eyes

and we relate.





I got out in 2000,

so I've been sending her money for seven years

She was…whatever.

Girlfriend?

Yeah, maybe.

But ***, I tried like two times,

and I'm just not gay.

She gets out in about eight or nine months

and I told her I would get her a house.

But nowhere near me.

I didn't touch her,

but I'd be, like...

a funny story:

I told her,

Don't you ever ******* think

about contacting me in the real world.

I'm not a lesbian.

Then about two years ago, I got an e-mail from her,

or she called me and said, 'Google my name.'

So I Googled her name,

and she has this huge company.

Huge!

She won, like, Woman of the Year awards.

So I called her and I go,

Not bad.

She goes, 'Well, I did all that because you called me a loser.'

I go, '****, I should've called you more names

you probably would've found the cure for cancer by now.



XLI.

No person shall be employed by the licensee

who has ever been convicted of

a felony involving moral turpitude

But I qualify,

I mean, big deal, so I'm a convicted felon.

Being in the *** industry, you can't be so squeaky-clean.

You've got to be hustling.

Nighttime is really enchanting here

It's like a whole 'nother world out here, it really is

I’m so far removed from my social life and old surroundings.

Who was it, Oscar Wilde, I think, who said

people can adjust to anything.

I was perfectly adjusted in the penitentiary,

and I was perfectly adjusted to living in a château in France.



We had done those drug addiction shows together

Dr. Drew.

Afterward we were friendly

and he'd call me every now and then.

He'd act like he had his stuff together.

But it was all a lie.

Everything is a lie.

I brought him to a Humane Society event at Paramount Studios last year.

He was just such a mess.

So out of it.

He stole money from my purse.

He's such a drug addict because he's so afraid of being fat.

He liked horse ****, though. He did like horse ****.

This one woman that would have *** with a horse on the internet,

He told me that’s his favorite actress.

Better than Meryl Streep.



XLII.

The cops could see

why these women were taking over trade.

Girls with these looks charged upwards of $500 an hour.

The Russians had undercut them with a bargain rate of $150 an hour.

One thing they are not is lazy.

In the USSR

they grew up with no religion, no morality.

Prostitution is not considered a bad thing.

In fact, it’s considered a great way to make money.

That’s why it’s exploding here.

What we saw was just a tip of the iceberg.

These girls didn’t come over here expecting to be nannies.

They knew exactly what they wanted and what they were getting into.

The madam who organized this raid

was making $4 million a year,

laundered through Russian-owned banks in New York City

These are brutal people.

They are all backstabbers.

They’re entrepreneurs.

They’re looking at $10,000 a month for turning tricks.

For them, that’s the American dream.



XLIII.

If you’re not into something,

don’t be into it

But,

if you want to take some whipped cream,

put it between your toes,

have your dog licking it up and,

at the same time,

have your girlfriend poke you in the eye,

then that’s fine.

That’s a little weird but we shouldn’t judge.



She was my best friend then

and I consider her one of my best friends now,

because when I was going through Riker’s

and everyone abandoned me,

including my boyfriend,

I was hysterical,

crying,

and she was the one that was there.

And, when somebody needed to step up to the plate,

that’s who did, and I have an immense amount of

loyalty, respect, and love for her.

And if she’s going to prison for eight years

—that’s what she’s sentenced for

—I’ll go there,

and I’ll go there every week,

for eight years.

That’s the type of person I am.
Home be my heart
Where you, dearest, reside
Your ceiling be my love
Your floor my care
Your lamp my passion
Your door, my trust

Break not then, that trust
For a ceiling can be shingled
And a floor redone
A lampshade can be replaced
But a door, my dear,
Can only be cut out once
Ken Pepiton Sep 2023
Remake the photocrapsh, you have it,
edit, make the moment be that moment

and we redo the steps, the dance
in the process of time come to pass…

Breathe, be a bit aware, the air,
that essential other than I, is there,

all around us, one gaseous natural
substance us and all the other actual
air breathers,
some in constant meditation,
seeking mediation between spirit and

truth that life tests if I can perceive,
the suffocation of a story, conceived
in side my suit of fingers and toes and
bones and blood and meat and sinyew.
--------


Worth any reader's taken time, to make up
for enticing any one to follow a child
in search of lost time, I'd say none taken, none
left to find
usefull, filling a certain vacuum uses fructus
we yoost to take as needed granted. As cheese
from butter blessed with a meaty rancid taste.

Pre-posed, as supposed, positioned
up, above your head, above our eyes looking
up, into the thinning air beyond the morning fog.

Hear a jet plane, and think that noise unignorable,
then remember not hearing it for days, in the desert.

The ignorability established, test if I missed a sense
shut down class, perhaps I am the audience,
in silent meditation becoming one in time difference,
my peace,
I give,
not as the material reality gives, or is the world,
not all the material reality gives?

Wondering wonderfullness, full double el full,

necessary respiring, reselecting next moment
to breathe, re-in-ex-aspir'tual inter mingling me

and thee, the e, in all out joint efforting t'i
to fructify and die to leave seed soil cannot
suffocate.

Suffer it to be so now, thinking imagined touch,
the breath you take and replace with modified air,
humanized winds waft away the stench of our city,

our only physical existence place time sequence,
relative to mysteries too esoteric, by reputation,

if one never learns to use the good, to make good
a hope, a hook, with mystery, a sur-prize, un earned,

posed to be essential experience, once, for you alone,
the prize of personal recoknowsis acknowledged,

it's your party,
you can cry if you want to, but the art involved's
below you now,

as we took your breath away.
-------------

Fun with functionality, feeling your wish
to feel included, fecundity of same sour dough
higher minds than mine let be in thee
some how sure your part's done,
passed, missed cue, or
not.
The entertained remain, unaware… only knowing

the show must go on, and on,
and people,
on the whole, be having life
in the midst of life supporting

reality, recogentle, wise
teach
as trees teach, learn as nuts do. One
touch, one mind, one time to grow old in…

----------------

The daily ef'
fort ification va
vacation
cancelation …
looking away
at you, I think, at you,
I aim a wish, a joyish wish
wisht at a once,

upon which all stories dangle,
awaiting your attention, caught.

In the spirit of honesty, snared,
are we honestly acting strangely
similar,
similar tastes acquired, tasting
-----------

Echo rock effect stone groaning
-digital echo effect edit if you care, imagine
Peculiar order
own self first idiom, I am
become first ideal me, being
as good as
my word, and nothing more
esoteric than a reading mind's
recollection of a beauty envisaged

as an instant too brief to measure,
¿
instance,
in contextuality
stopped, and sensed
as a fly-by why, loosed for use
in curious arts, acadamized, apt
to wink at reasons feeding war,
to prove worthiness, what rule
gives order authorship legality,

in the scattered cosmos, who
orders each star to form from
?-
Point potential pose- d
to be
energy, itself mysterious, as to d
source and precognitionation put to work
as the works of God, the creator spirit entity,
put dhe PIE- put'erthere, core cognizance
in me, my child reminds me, for the duration.
Go is an order not a game.
Dare blame the temple servants, dare
cast aspersions at the spirit speaking,

gibberish, you wisht was peculiar, your query
run with your parameters set,
so your query
pulls from the spirit of timeless truth, a quest,
a duty,
a call to you, personally fit for your benefit,

maleficence despised sufficiently
to pass as white noise under signal. Go.

----------

generic me, reacting temper-mentally,
- getting to the crescendo way on
- down the line

to form a personality, a person like me,
emotionally tied to my character, my role

in your life, I see,
the other in the air out there, at the other
end of this wind

breath of life itself, certainly not all mine,
but I did add a touch of exhalent chaos,
in a laugh,
at recognition,
gnosis lies esoteric more within,
adipisci as if adept apt
at marking old regions lost to religion
- parrot headed afternoon paradisiacal
intentional, estate realization, holy place keeper,
mental, fundaments
minimum augments
happy old form gaseous wedom form,

beholder of beauty shown to set the meme,
look into my eyes, think mere words make minds

adversarial, as proverbial order impositioning,

in your brain, the ***** holding your will, if you
will, imagine another mind, with a habit in effect,

set to alarm me, when you see
the back of my head, and I do not turn to see you,

there you are any way, any in the official plethora
of thinkable ways around the obstacle
ambition definitely a needed virtue,
the will to know there is a good way,
the will to not steal, **** or destroy to make it
true
work applying patient perfection
to your tasked self, assigned early on to pursue, this bit
bait, curious bait, as scentual instunk ready, ready
ambitious ends means in minds, imagined done
is good as done,
Jesus said…

Two or more, you and me, endlessly
actual mental agreement, gentle, peacish
way beyond groovin', we be entering coknowing

eaching out, under our stars, we all know
what they are, they are near enough to feel

we each get this one big judgement day win, once…

ready to rock on, sit in witness position, watching
time pass, feeling memories sprout recollected laughs,
take the time, use your own, it never matters

looking back, from your self awareness instant, slo-most,

snap shot scene manurable, yep, gnoshit, that smell,

bucolic, fancy pants word, for real live process smell,
earth in cogitation, using a cast of billions of cloven hoof,
cud chewers fit to a stall and a milk ******* giant calf,

holy cow, each cow contentedly cogitates, how holy
am I to live in constant motherly bliss, and no
bogus science to make me feel lowly, mere meat maker,

for the sausage eaters needed to clean the windows,
so we all can look in on each other and say hello, did

you know this reality was here,
did you appear on purpose, or were you pre
supposed to be, so be ye do be.
Done.
Or don't, being as how here you are.

The end.
Now we wait. The point being made, when we feel it

really realizably so real holy cow, wow, milch for minds,
blowing past reasons for war, what would a holy city do?

----------------
Make a milkshake and use raw eggs.
Don't die.
Here, contemplation, using your knowing to construct
a shelter for a spirit,
a heart shrine, in memorium,
an avatar, that's the word, now, image made in mind,
non projected, kept bound under covering rules, why,

Gorgons are adapting to our air, as we all imagine
monstorous men leading conspiracies, breathing in teams,

fighting like hell to push back the peace cannabis brings
the furrowed fretful brow, high, low or middle, now,
- pushing back opening cannabinoid reception link
- thinking we all tuned in, is not true,
- the sixties I dropped out of,
- some boomers lived in, to this very day.

we all imagine the excess success allows, and the weight,
we all imagine the schedule, and the cameras, and think,

what, me worry? Will you take the esoterica to task, you

imagine life reset
to win the reasoning contentiousness,
with defined ambits being wills used
to lieve be the truth that Jesus said if
he is, believe it or not, leave go you know, if it were not so,

truth itself wills you know… you asked

let thy will be done, mine, I hold in place, conserving
certain truths fed me as a child, pledged in aliegiance.

Some values from when this world was lit by fire,
some of those eternal flames, never let it go out,
lessons used to arrange children on the pyramid,

few were told by their granddaddies
to laugh ten times today, and take
the long way around the mountains, find a stream
and keep its pace, time through space at any speed,

mellow is mental, mind frames are, as well. We think
we see the world one way, but we see it always good,

inherently good, inside the air we breathe and have
our being in, mind and brain barriers imagined,
fallen
long before the reasons for the ritual, right structur-al
to form as a temple made not by hand in mental form

living stones, I presume, am I standing on your toes?
Redone dances long left go be a fantasy from the cave wall.

- tips in times of self rejection, madness of art
devoted sons, once taken to an alter by a broken father,

God, take him, I'll break him, I'll make him like me,
don't let that be thy will, I'll walk with this limp,

but I'll not lie and claim Jacob's well ran dry.

The sack of values a poor man uses to stay alive, sur-
realize reason for being fine with sufficient suffering,

enough, to let me know, it is part of the process of time,
as recorded to be remembered, once
a prophet told you to pay attention, and as it appears,
to me, from here, my entire wedom did,

pay attention, with passionate joy, no lie, not even
to get by,
get past the poison
through the gifted, take life as granted found in a
willingness to whistle while you work, like a little tea ***,

here's my handle,
here's my spout,
tip me over and pour me out… do recall, do, once, redoness

dance on rare either real or otherwise, riverdancing ductility,

until I run out of breath.
And rest.
Riverwise on the seaside, going down.

When you get old life is as complicated as can be…
so- I fforget some things.
So, they had a saying, in the early day of open nicotine and caffeine,

put that in your pipe, and smoke it. Just let be the function. Peace
happens, seemingly by chance, often in Septembers,

made intentionally memorable for a good reason. We smile,
inner chuckle counts for laughing.
"Surely Feynman was not joking"

Let that be a lesson in legalizing enjoyed ennui, put to good use.
Practicing a perfect cast, a certain hue in time...
Geno Cattouse Nov 2012
when I was a little boy I was joyful and evident. I am still joyful and evident however, the evidence of my pronounced outspoken ways. Has been a stumbling block of   missed opportunities. The passing over or the raised eyebrow or dead fish stare.

Just say it . brush it up a bit and say it. Thats me talking to me now when the moment of truth arrives.  And the fit hits shan almost every time. The definition of diplomacy has been redone. It is dishonest.

— The End —