I just want to ask one question
Is the human race obeying the mathematical rule called BODMAS?
Just a refresher...  
Brackets, Orders, Division, Multiplication, Addition and Subtraction

We have created different brackets
where we enclose people like casket
He's black, she's white, they are rich,
those are poor, she's educated, he's religious, he's fat, she's slim... Brackets

People are treated differently
Based on the class that we've put them in
Some are raised to power like exponents
Others are trapped in like square roots...Orders

The segregation has only intensified our division
I don't fit in here, I belong over there
My group is stronger, those ones are losers... Division

Disunity and absence of love has caused
A multiplication of our problems
Threats, deportation, persecution
We don't like them, we'll bomb them
War, insurgency, terrorism, hate speech... Just problems Multiplication

Every second, our population is experiencing several additions
Our population keeps growing while
Our natural resources are being exploited
And depleting at a rate faster than our population growth
Our resources are experiencing severe subtractions

I just want to ask one more time...
Aren't we obeying BODMAS?

My thoughts shaking
I'm trying to find my composure
Swallow my tears along with the worlds fears

I see a face a 15 year old girl
Arms placed upon her lap laced
Brave and afraid of the unknown
Illiterate she held her own
Freedom was her new home

So many have fought and died, even today for its name

Still I have no clarity of freedom's meaning

Free to love?

Free to worship as we please?

Free from evil and hate?

Or is it equality?

To me it seems we are in desperate need of a refresher
To be reminded what it should be

To have FREEDOM

For the record, I suppose it should be stated I lost my soul in Vegas.
I would love to go back there and find it among those glittering lights and buffet tables of never-ending artful desserts.
It's funny that all I really remember are those pretty desserts and fried mashed potatoes.
I want those things back.

I'm like a raver with those lights.
I want to consume them.
I want to glow in my pores.
Not the cliched glow that wraps itself around the impregnated many,
but the glow that comes from sitting next to neon for too long.
That it could somehow stain you.
Rub off like fairy dust on skin.
That I could fly away due to its energy or wishful thinking.

Take me back to Vegas,
where they still hand that out for free by the boatload.
I need not gamble.
I need not glad-hand.
I would simply sit idly by the buzzing of pinks and blues and greens and reds.
And me and those cheap 1920's lights will have a moment,
a moment I can share with the cocktail waitress who asks me for the third time if I'm sure I don't need a little refresher drink.

We had a family meeting
And decided that our tree
Would no longer be a fake one
It would be as real, as real could be

I said that it's no problem
In fact I think it's fine
I truly miss the Christmas scent
Of wet and musty pine

I reminded them that last year
A new, lit up tree we'd bought
They passed off my weak arguement
With barely time or thought

So, with three weeks until Christmas
The search would now begin
For a tree, just full of needles
Not too bushy or too thin

I started with the want ads
Saw the lots with trees for sale
But, most were all on order
I begged, to no avail

My wife said, let's go cut one
In a woodlot, cut one down
I said we're in the heart of a big city
We have to go two hours out of town

I told them, I'm not going
Then my daughter, shed one tear
I don't know how she does it
But, she's got me wrapped....I fear

So we loaded up the family
Drove until we found the place
With so many others out there
There was no parking space

We parked out on the roadway
Half a mile from the gate
When we go there to start cutting
We were told....two hour wait

We'd brought an axe and hand saw
For when we found our perfect tree
Then, we were told...no...only chainsaws
Did I have one...nope...not me

I had to take a short refresher
On how to use their little saw
And of course, this being Christmas
It cost me fifty more

Finally, we started out
There were trees, of every kind
then the fellow said, that this years
Were in the back....way down the line

He said that this year, beavers
Had flooded out the lower plains
And the trees down here were stunted
And would have to start out once again

The ones that we could cut down
Were back a mile up the hill
I wasn't sure then if it was him
Or my family I should ****

I protested, but my daughter
You know. with the one tear leaking eye
Looked at me and smiled
And I said, that I would try

We hiked up to the woodlot,
There were trees of pine and fir
And a spotty faced young helper
Who asked "What kind do you want, sir?"

Long needled, or a short one
Douglas fir, or knotty pine
The choice, well it was endless
And the choice, well ...it was mine

The next thing that he asked me
How big should the tree be?
I looked a little flustered
And then he said to me

Once you cut it down ...you own it
Measure it, and cut it down
Make sure you get the right one
It's a long way back to town

My wife said, 8 or 9 feet
The kids, no help at all
They were both playing on their cellphones
And making plans for later at the mall

We chose to get a pine one
Eight feet high and just as wide
I didn't know exactly
How I'd get it home and back inside

Two minutes, and I'd cut it
We had a tree, and just my luck
They'd started out without me
I had to drag it to the truck

The boy said, they'd wrap and measure
Down front where I came in
I looked down down at my killing
Not too fat, and not too thin

Two hours later I arrived
All wet and soaked and peeved
But deep down, I'd made them happy
And this made me relieved

Once he wrapped it tightly
I was shocked at the tree's price
He said, two hundred forty
In fact he said it twice

30 bucks a foot for pine
That would be dead in two weeks
I was so mad when I paid him
That I could barely speak

I walked back to the truck alone
I left the family with the tree
I thought two times of driving off
Ok...in truth....It was three

They tied it down upon the roof
Said the rope, was free this year
I almost blew my top right then
I saw my daughter....and her tear

We drove it home in silence
Stopped once on the way
I had to spend twenty more dollars
For a tree stand, at the Bay

I dragged it in the living room
Cut it open, let it spread
It, didn't really fluff out much
I think our tree was dead

It took almost an hour
It lay there, dropping needles on the floor
I thought , yep, this is Christmas
Who could ask for any more?

The kids were gone already
When I put it in the stand
I had wired it, into the wall
This was not the way I planned

A simple family Christmas
With a tree is a pain
I've got a fake one in a box
I'll not do this again

There's bare spots at the bottom
It's unbalanced near the top
There's sap all through the hallway
I've got more, just tell me stop

The tree is now all covered
With decorations and with lights
I water it twice daily
So, it doesn't burn up in the night

Next Christmas when they tell me
We want another tree
I'll tell them, go ahead and get one
But, do it with out me!!!!

Slightly less depressing, I guess
that March arched differently,
I suppose. I met her with eyes closed,
no hoes, and overloaded with heavy snow.
She was caustic and firey,
smoke frequently enrolled in her nose;
she was never parched. She would
gather wood, but the pills peeled away
the spark and she never had the fury.

I was not in tune to see flowers bloom,
but I just escaped the want for a boom.
She made me focus on her though,
her eyes so low, her mouth so slow
with ice flows, her tongue rolled
but still my tired eyes glowed.

Is it weird I will refresh my email for hours waiting to hear from you.
But,
The moment you send me a message I lose all self control?

Dropped like 50 cents into your wallet for later, passing the time hitting the pay phone. You turn to the pier ancient and stone, fumbling through your coat pockets feeling for your cell phone.

You hate calling long-D, but right now it’s a necessity. You take your call along the ocean standing at the present, wondering where the waves went. An old city bell rings this somber lick through the air, touching upon the ears cuddling annoyed peoples leers. You walk past them letting the dial tone drum at your auditory nerve, letting the sounds penetrate your mind to observe.

You function down some steps, closer to the ocean break. Rubbing your hands together, waiting for the warmth to take. You feelings conduct your pace, a slow and steady race. Waiting for the rose to thorn, the sea swells against rocks where mist is born.

You stop and look out at the water, a storm is seeking land. And yet you look upon that storm with love—you give it your command. You jump onto a rail, the line between the firm and wet, and you balance upon that rail, brushed black by white turned Violette.

You spread your arms and smile, in denial of your dying love. And fall down toward the raging sea—Heaven sent from above. You smash the water with loosing gasps, and rapture all around. Of water swirling temporal doom your hearts first beat at ultrasound.

In drowning you’re alive, the struggle helps you survive. And as you give it all away, your heart beats further from decay. Your veins can take the pressure, your conduit charges—a refresher. You breathe in water, to wash your lungs from the inhaled bull, and as the salt washes away the lies, you finally open your eyes.

Dropped in the wonder years, sea of brine and You change gears.

well it seems I forgot how to rhyme
so it’s back to writing basic lines
though I cannot be confined
by simple words and bars
I got to use ideas to set the mind free
and understand this poetry is a piece of what’s inside of me
it’s not an outer shell or disguise
what others think doesn’t matter
what I think shouldn’t matter
rather
it’s what I feel that matter’s most
emotion is the soul of a poem
without it it’s just an empty dome
a skull without a mind
a painter who is blind
now my eyes have opened
and now i can see
that to write poetry
is more than just words and rhymes
it’s the revealing of the soul
the person deep inside

Five years ago
Upon this day
For “Training” I did go away
To London’s noisy buzzing heart
Then after I took in some Art
An hour’s stroll around the Tate
Came three o’clock and I’d not ate
So rang a friend who worked in town
“Fancy food?”
“Yes! - come on round”
“Place nearby at half past four”
At quarter past I’m at her door
So pasta, chat and many smiles
Nice to do once in a while.

So Five years pass
What comes my way?
Refresher training; exact same day
My friend had since set up alone
Another city, laptop, phone
If lunch seemed off, don’t pity me,
For strangely synchronicity
Means the venue’s somewhere new
This course has moved to her town too.
So I make the call hoping to see
If this five year anniversary
Can be repeated as before
She agrees, we’ll meet at four.
When course is done, I make my way
Not noticing it’s damp that day
Slip on the path, my arm goes numb
And “****** it!”; a broken thumb
So instead of chats and smiles and tea
I spend the time in “A & E”
Rang my friend , “I slipped on grass”
With stifled laugh, “You silly ****”

And the course that damaged me so gravely?
A specialist branch of “Health & Safety” :)

RD©2014

with each passing day, I understand less and less, for
who could ever claim to know it all, yet, the simplicity
of our base-ic basest instincts makes evil so easily attractive,
that now, I forgive almost nothing, anyone for the cruelty
inherent in on the surfacial skin of our normalcy, so easily,
revealed, and reveled in, wrecks me, and the poetry
sparks are not doused, but wick and ember shriveled

oh the irony, that foolish me should write of the
commandment to love just as the world displays
old levels of hate historically deep… .I am hated,
to many who would know me only as Jew,
and this refresher course in my brain, reminds me,
that love thy neighbor as thyself, can morph into a
generational opposite, that my former degree of comfort,
beliefs, was only skin deep…and Tolstoy was a naïf, a romantic,
a royal, who hoped for the best in each man, and that
cannot ne achieved for hate is so easy digestible, so sweet a treat
for humans, who desire no compass other than simple baseness
to know which direction to take….

————————————————————————————-
”There can be only one permanent revolution—a moral one; the regeneration of the inner man. How is this revolution to take place? Nobody knows how it will take place in humanity, but every man feels it clearly in himself. And yet in our world everybody thinks of changing humanity, and nobody thinks of changing himself."

Tolstoy

”To perform evil deeds a person must discover “a justification for his actions,” so that he can regard stealing, humiliating and killing as good. “Macbeth’s self-justifications were feeble,” and so conscience restrained him. He had no ideology, Solzhenitsyn observes, nothing like “anti-imperialism” or “decolonization” to allay pangs of guilt. Solzhenitsyn concludes: “Ideology—that is what gives evil-doing its long-sought justification and gives the evil-doer the necessary steadfastness and determination . . . so that he won’t hear reproaches and curses but receive praise and honors.”

**Solzhenitsyn

I have been shallow, I realize that now
Considering my impact on others first
Leaving the concerns of materialistic importance for myself.
In this double life I have been leading I have fooled myself
Trying to find reason to believe in others
I ignored that it is myself that needs believing in.

My critical eyes have become my enemy
Rendering me blind to obvious faults
Without knowing, I have trapped myself  deeper in their clutches
Focusing on disconnecting from my mind
Backfiring because I'm back in their world
Unintentionally, it's all I think about.

It's time to rethink my strategy
Take a refresher course on my mission.
Attempts to suspend the command unwanted have been countless,
And unknowingly, I have deserted control of the living, breathing, me.
I blindfolded myself, but still peered through the gaps
So I'm closing my eyes, and pray sleep stays for a while.

Keeping finger and thumb apart
That is the one connection we shall still share
But no longer will i try to believe in my two selves
No, I will start believing in the person
The being that my movements and choices will give effect and reward to.
Me, out here. Living and breathing.

The ghost of me will never cease to exist
She will float, and I will let her continue for a while.
Don't fret, my beloved enemy, I'll be back soon
A Wendy to this Peter Pan story
Returning with needle and thread to sew my old shadow to my feet.
But now, I'm flying, no, walking back home.
Farewell.

echo red hot chili peppers

countermeasure pleasure leisurely treasure

liquid tether zephyr never sever

like the weather adventure bell heather

however in low pressure encounter endeavor

have a refresher recover nether clever dresser

band together sea feather transfigure aesir aether

fondly remember your grandmother's house
as I share with you mine

a pantry, tall as a mountain when I was six.
a forbidden box of sugar cubes that was never really off limits
cookies, warm and soft. how does she always have them?
sitting in the rocking chair, toes miles away from the floors
strange stories you hope aren't true
ice cubes made of lemonade
an afternoon refresher
a sunday spent at home, at your grandma's house

always drawing and painting
playing in the yard
her cats in your lap, warm and fuzzy
she braids your hair with her wise, experienced hands
does she always smell like lavender?
gumdrops and hard candies
playing dominoes on the floor
there's nowhere else I'd rather be
than at home
at my grandma's house

(I)
Here on top of a windy mountain path,
you will pass by, and if I could, unspeaker
I would give you my coat.

(II)
Here, up so high, where the sky brushes cheeks
cold blades, mountain dew
falls, sprinkles on your shins,
celebrated by the cold refresher,
I will owe you, I will owe you the newest.

(III)**
Luminous danger dragon fly,
addle bright as your might, you've given me nostalgia,
Has it been that long? Wind might not tell you
it takes millions years to fill in that
one
shining
hiney.

I'm not the only one I'm guessing
Who needs a refresher in this lesson
Not to have it stuck in but out of my head

These thoughts I can't escape
From mornings dawn to daylights late
Can someone please teach me how to forget

The ghosts of memories past haunt me
Not sure of the reason they want me
I just hope they don't keep trying my heart to the bitter end

All I want at this point is some peace
Not the daily reminding of me
In the desperate need of the lesson in how to forget

As I try and tackle time all I find
Is this tangled mess inside of my mind
The thought would be gone by now if left unsaid

But more or less remains the same
As these mind games they never seem to change
I just wish someone could teach me how to forget

She took everything from me.
There was nothing left to identify.
She replaced all my insides with a darkness I can’t hide
And whenever it came down to my needs,
It was “What else have you done for me?”
My momma said
Love should be a treasure.
My momma said
Love should give you pleasure.
Well I guess I’m new to love.
How do I get lovin’ like that?

You say you’re what I’ve been missing.
You say you can get me feeling so high,
And we’ll never hit the ground, that this high won’t come down.
Gave a wink and blew some kisses at me,
Mmm just sweepin’ my feet.
My momma said
I just need a refresher.
Well maybe you
Could be my professor?
I’m sorry, I’m new to love,
I can’t take much more combat, no.
If you’re not new to love,
How can I get lovin’ like that?

How does one's thinking actually work. Should I explain, yes I will. You can call me Dr. Phil if you like, my friends do.

Thinking, we all know comes from the mind, yet reacts in different manners. There acts of movements, there thoughts of desire, reaction that some say it's not a thought, that *******. How long does it take for a thought to get to your heart, the biggest decision maker. I know, some of you are going to think that the heart has nothing to do with it. If you think your right your heartless.

Let me not get off the point.

Thoughts come into your head, you have about 70,000 thoughts a day, give or take.  With these thoughts you think of your experience from the past. Things that made you feel good, bad, sad, pain, hurt, all the norm. Before you can ever decide what you have to do, you have to think about it. Some will say no, I will say ******* again. Example, you go tho the store with a friend, to the candy isle. You each get something different, you get what has pleasures you in the past from what you desire. Desire is something you want based on past experience or it could be from something you heard that stimulated your mind. With desire brings pleasure. Like *** maybe, haha.

I don't want to make this long:

Boolean Logic:
((((Information brings  thoughts)+ (( past feelings)+ (rationalize))
                     (Divide by heart = outcome))))

I know most everyone know this, but we sometimes need a refresher course in life. Especially when we start making mistakes, again.

I can rest assure that you had to use your mind and think about this one.

Thanks for following me as I follow you.
God Bless
David

I drive on highway 26,
            Old tires are discarded
Automobiles are coffins of what was.
             An old refresher still swings in a
Windowless void, welcome to dishevelled  highway 26....

You are like the air
You are never visible
But your presence is vital for my survival
Sure there are days when you can be a bit harsh and challenging
At times you push me to the limits
But on most days you're just such a soul refresher
On those hot and humid days you're like a source of positivity
Honestly...I don't know what i'd without you

Looking at the mirror, I don't see myself
Lately been wanting to be someone else
Lately been feeling like I'm not enough
Hoping that someone can see through my bluff
Hoping someone sees that my life has been rough
Hoping that people see I'm not that tough!

I've been fake so long, I don't know what's real
Trying to say a word but I can't break that seal
People keep depending on me, they see me as a light
Little do they know, I lose sanity every night
Little do they know, I'm starting to lose this fight
I'll keep smiling on, and pretend I'm not hurt by the pressure
I'll keep holding on, take a break man I need a refresher

I'll keep high, making sure that my poise never falters
I'll speak from my mind, making sure that my words never flutter

...who am I?

Do we distract or react
To or from a situation

When things become unclear
Control your mind and be sincere

Hold your emotions be real
Think things through
No ones out to get you

These are not poems
They are writings

Writings about real life
That you may already know

But a refresher course
Is always good to know

[war footing]

a parrot
sawed in half
by peace
or quiet

~

[ballerina]

dog whistle, nothing’s church-bell:

my mother, handcuffed

still worships
wasp

~

[mothers, acoustic]

we are maybe
inside
an Ohio
factory

childless and ready

for a refresher
on orphan
etiquette-

word is
there came
a cow
from the nothingness
that drank
nowhere’s
father

and sleep
is death’s
babysitter

~

[darker farms]

food
saved
from a house
fire

–

the cult following of nostalgic paranoids

–

a star, this deer

as it prays
for moth

~

[annihilatives]

the first murdered woman was not killed by her sister.

stop me
if you’ve not
heard

~
~

also, {name calling} is my newest self-published poetry collection

it is available on Lulu

book preview on site is book entire

free PDF is available. also, free hardy copy available for review.  both upon request.

poems, from it, are below:

~
~

[entries for listen]

mirror
to window
we’re moving
away

~

[entries for fixation]

the name of this scar
is
they couldn’t hide
the canoe

mom says there’s an oven
at the bottom of every lake

that I was born asleep
surrounded
by toe touchers

is art
world-building
for the geeks
of grief

have you crucified

starfish

~

[entries for children]

remember, it is dark and memory is god painting with the blood of those he would create

what a mismatch, i'm currently sitting on a wheeled chair
from the box / office room of the house...
it's much taller... the keyboard is sitting on my
bedside table: much shorter...
to what i'm used to... a comfortable leather chair
that's below the side table the keyboard is usually
placed on... i'm almost double hunched over...
perhaps i should think about sitting on the floor
in a Turkish akimbo... or kneeling...
my elbows are firmly rooted into my legs
as i try to get some balance... my legs are spread out
so they don't slide about on the wooden floor...
woke up late, had some things to discuss with
someone... i guess i sleep longer hours
when i know i have a peace of mind...
might have gone to bed at 4am... woke up at 12pm...

i didn't start doing **** well until... after 8pm...
proper... i.e. painting the ceiling all white...
with a flashlight...
how else would you paint white on white
during the winter months if not using a flashlight?
why? to see which areas are wet...
and which areas are dry...
the normal lightning was turned on...
sure... but it doesn't give you the required
perspective...

**** VALSPAR! complete and utter...
überscheiße!
what the hell was i painting with?
balsamic vinegar... a mixture of ***** and milk?!
splattering everywhere...
usually decorative paint is reminiscent of
custard... it doesn't stink...
this stuff was splattering everywhere...
i ended up cleaning dots of drool almost every
second stroke...
oddly enough i had some left-over VALSPAR
in the shed... someone should do a quality control
on this company... their older product is perfect
for ceiling decorative painting...

well... ****** of a light in the ceiling...
i rarely turn it on... if i lose something...
the crackling was creaking...
it was found to happen...
****! the ceiling light blew out the fuse...
down i go... to switch the fuse box on...
seems like i don't need a flashlight
to spot the wet paint anymore..
when i turned my bedside lamp:
in a cloche... apparently dry paint casts a shadow...
wet paint... doesn't: wet paint absorbs the light...
but old, dry, paint... even if it's white on white?
as clear as day...

it took me about an hour and a half to "horde" out
my possessions from the bedroom to the box / office
room... as i was taking the books out,
piling them on the floor, memorising how they were
ordered... no, not alphabetically,
my own idiosyncratic system, i won't go into the details...
but i asked myself: why do i own so many books?!
come to think of it, what's the point
of owning so many books one has already read?

i already have a project in mind...
i'll take a ruler... measure each line... measure each
paragraph, measure each page,
then multiply each page by the number of pages...
i want to know what the "metaphysics"
looks like... of reading a... 1000+ page stunner...
when compared to... walking a marathon...
or cycling for 40 miles..
after all.. Heidegger's Sein und Zeit (on and off)
took me about 2 years to complete:
an amalgamation of reading and thinking...
then years later: putting dasein into practice...
the right sort of dasein...
stewarding a football match...
it takes time... oh ****... the wine i started making
almost 2 months ago...
i checked up on it...
looking good... a nice rosé:
a pink resembling something akin to
embarrassment...

so many books... it almost feels like a Roman Polanski
film: the Ninth Gate... i don't care
about the personal tribulations...
i appreciate the work... a film for any bibliophile out
there... Kevin Spacey to boot...
come on... who can't side with Lester Burnham?
a much more invested role than that portrayed
by Michael Douglas in Falling Down...

i own so many books that... to be frank?
my local Romford library ought to be shamed...
ashamed... they own trivial stuff:
i, on the other hand: own the juice...
****'s sake... i own books from the 19th century!
funny side-note...
the older the books are... even though they might
have hard-covers... they become lighter
than... fresher print... perhaps the ink dries out...
the paper dries out...
or... perhaps the knowledge contained in them
weighs more...

two pristine examples...

1. desiderii erasmi
      roterodami
    colloquia familiaria
   et encomium moriae
LIPSIAE
sumtibus et typis car. tauchnitii
  1829

it has become such a fragile piece of work...
why? the binding has gone to ****
since i wanted to read it... in Latin...
i did likewise with a 19th century first cheap edition
of Dickens' the Pickwick papers...
the binding gave way.... because i was reading it...
i had to buy a cheap paperback edition
to: not finish reading it...
last time i heard: you can't reread the Pickwick Papers...
great... i don't reread books...
if some critique suggests that rereading is impossible...
finishing the first Dickens novel serialisation
should be a problem... also circa the 1800s...

2. the beauties of Sterne
(and some accounts of his life)
London: printed for J. Walker... 1811...
W. Wilson, printer,  st. john's sq., London...

3. the rubaiyat of omar khayyam..
   printed by chiswick press ltd.
  new soughgate, N11... 1944...

i have some cheap *** edition of a Rumi collection...
now... that's Islam... that's the sort of humanity
i admire... transcendental, clenching for the universal quest...
together, or not at all...

like with the current advent of superhero movies...
comic books translated into the medium
of movies...
i could do with just one, simply based on the soundtrack...
Unbreakable... that's it... i'm done...
well... with one exception...
X-Men Apocalypse...
hearing a ****** accent being lent...
it's kind of refreshing to not hear...
EVIL GENUIS RUSSIAN
or... FOREVER **** GERMAN /
RESURRECTED WEIMAR TRANSGENDER ******
ADDICT PUFFED-RICE...

my own private library would put the local library to shame!
out from the supposed night of socialism...
within the confines of capitalism....
ah... a private affair... private ownership...
but now that i've emptied the room
from my gems, these books... some newspaper pages
i use like i wouldn't use toilet paper...
because i like to keep my bed-sheets clean...
it's so... empty... the room is really readied for
showcasing the property for a sale...
weird... it's almost like i wasn't even there...

oh, by the way... X-Men Apocalypse...
last time i heard... Julian Tuwim was a Jew...
but he spoke perfecto ******...
perhaps knew some Judeo-German Yiddish slang...
too bad for the Hebs that integrated too much:
too little... the Holocaust is minded within the context
of a re-established Jewish-State...
no... they were living in Paul's Land...
they were Polacks first, Jews: second...
i'm going to rob these refresher... revisionist pseudo-historians
of their weight of argument...
****** citizenry.... poets, engineers...

first comes first, second... comes second...
**** me... what wild thoughts... when simply panting & decorating...
tomorrow when i finish the walls in green...
second time, green... i tried crimson "tide" several times...
a welcoming colour on the walls...
once the night comes... but not during
the day...
i tried white... thinking... what could go wrong....
cream: white room... almost everything...
i woke up each morning... exhausted!

this now emptied room, with all the books, the vinyl records,
the paintings hanging on the walls... "missing"
(just moved to the box room):
i like to appreciate the space i will leave behind,
i like to appreciate the then, the when, some variation
of now of a when: of my mortality...
i might be drinking, i might be drunk...
but... this spectacle is sobering... ha!
i don't require a lineage prestige... ooh dear gwandpa...
blah blah to explain RE-AH-LI-TY for me...

clenched teeth... some things are just looking at
you...
as a man... working my way around inanimate objects
was a compensation for...
the inanimate earth, supposedly...
but the animation of clouds!

- the first paycheck i get.... i'm ******* off to a brothel
period....
and while painting the walls of my bedroom
green, like the colour of my iris ...
i'll think of "you"...
and i'll count the number of books in
my private collection, and...
i'll bemoan the state of the public library's choice
of literature... i suppose i''ll giggle a while...

i now see, my absence in this world, prophetically
ascribed to Yeats..
the centre cannot hold..
vanity conquers pride...
should i return... my lesson was not learned?
i've devolved from PRIDE...
but acquired.... like the rest of "them":
submission to vanity!

you wanted an equal among equals...
where did that leave you?
i will not be part of your choir!
you should have kept me sleeping...
don't burden the light
with too many cognitive shadows!
as much as i adore the plethora of dis-inhibitions
of doubt presented by man

i will watch... regardless of your tirades...
dearest... man-quasi-woman /
woman-pseudo-man... deity...

i'm tired of writing, therefore..
such a a day is closele approaching;
these people are not my project...
you supposedly left them...
hanging on a crucifix...
     i will leave them: in the night...
guiding their shadows....
to... i hope... a reclamation of their
own bodies... do you even want
to concern yourself with a repeasted
care for them?
personally? i wouldn't...
leave them to their own devices...
if you supposedly gave them free-will..
let them express it...
however good, or however bad...
let these children have their freedom!

there was only one proof worth being given:
once, is enough... i inquired after you...
don't allow yourself to rekindle your with
the same caring you showcased the first time...
filthy, firsty... thirsty..

yes, i will paint the walls, somewhat green....
enough's enough...
i knelt for much too long....
i'm willingly becoking ...
tired... the world can leave traces
of a roman empire..
easy excess ****.... easy access ****....
a sort of Orwellian: oh well...
a sort of oops...
      a best sort of:
a time (i) ought to forget.