The Roulette of Fanfare by Imaginative Glare (A Cooperation of Timeless Synquest)
Sunken fortitude is the bailiwick of interminable eupathy that sustenance embezzles by minutiae of orange spectral linearity of bypass becoming a torus of tragic reprieve in repcrevel fashions of hyjamb. Thus we float above the carcass of syrts of certitude by cadasters of nostalgic drawls of malingering strawberry staddle for the scutage of pinhoked disaster. We renege on committed opalescence because tranquil dangles of vinsky are waged by trenchcoats of bluster for vector arrays of galvanized decorum that swirks for elegant synectics by dredged grains of agrarian sanity by the pleckigger of lopsided islands of creativity that are the notarikons of aleatory finite but equidistant largesse of not just a jumboism but a jetsetting travesty of traversed time mastered by ignoble ingenuity. I limn with piracy as a freebooter cordslave plugged by demitoilet reminders of the flyndresque alloreck of tinjesk spectral ultimatums that are the stretchgraves of a retrospective infinity that is a bystander to catapulted cohesive coherence found only in piecemeal culinary seditions against the drip of a turncock of roosted clarification in muted hindsights of foresight itself. The pleonexia of abeyance is the riddle of enigmatic promulgation that flickers even with partial compartmentalized servitude to the burlesque the burrows of an ophidiodiarium scare away any jaunty sleek car from the boosterism of a farmed collision with disjointed surgery of nimble reticence that braves the seismotic macadamized plutocracy of drift without sedition in sedimentary clairvoyance with a pointed amphigory that is actually a starved clarity for ommateums without spelunked trudges that occur in dovetails for disguise by synectic optimum at the zenith of the hive synergy of singularity.  The justified jest of aleatory flexes of finitude is a shambolic gesture of the limber of divergent interpretation ingeminating the world by sapient degrees of psychometry of divergence in piecemeal asseveration of the hindsight of the festooned not tepid or butchered by the obvious to the glaring cineaste but rather a gloaming glint of refracted ingenuity roosted beyond any alienesque erratic happenstance that is itself a beatific fortuity for the geotechnics of human emergence into supersensible planes traversed in a stereodimensional covenant with a compacted compost of DIVERGENT IMAGINATION OF CADASTER rather than the regelation of the obvious. Timmynoggies of cartels are regnant because of the repugnance of loyalty to the fricative frigates of superlunary mention of ratiocination divorced from husbandry of hyjamb for giant leaps in rigged ambsace maledictions of unfair pleckigger of the wrikpond relumed by huffs of impotent flairs of flambeaus beyond ecdysiast stretchgraves of perilous paralysis for the supererogatory of the accursed destruction of stoichomety of solipsism tremulous by biocentric levity above fastened redoubled pederasty. We maraud the rabble of nostalgia of rhinoplasty of penumbras that live on rainshod territorialism beyond the jolkers of everlasting foofaraw livid by betrayal but erratic in glamour without crackjaw costermongers vitiating the vociferous because of incumbent thermodynamics that affixes the stagnant to the latticework of riddle by sturdy integral derived fliphavens of shibboleths of solitude. Education is a fliction of robust derangement of nowhere men taxed by the celerity of traversed traipses of memory beyond encaged bridewells for recanted alchemy to prerogatives of the roomy expansive facsimiles of departed stigmas of bossy clairvoyance for martian glimpses at sunken waste. The bernaggles of brittle titanium are abrasive when they are alloyed with the compost of material dynamics of capital without avenged prediction cemented in sunken graves taxing the nostalgia of histrinkage that is affixed to boschveldt traindeque for venial consanguinity to dikephobia. We elevate the endpoints of abridged turriform clockwork provincial shibboleths that are the proctor and protectorate of insular robbery of crowned trounces of gravity for the gravitas of sepulchral vanity learned from famigeration of filial tithes of duty. A dutiful sedition is countermanded by the pews of turnstiles that enamor the enamel of rollercoasters because of vague vagaries of bedazzled contrition for wanton ambition on psaphonic psychology and therefore sustain the vibronic thrombosis of nonlethal inseminations of clear aqueous transfixed filigrees of demented notions of cheerful apocrypha of liturgical pride beyond the dungeons of prejudiced inquisition. The jolkers of insolent archipelagos of spinsters that levitate by parsed peril of delaminated parsecs of glazed parturition is the orchestra of a nonlinear grove of invented abecedarian witwanton notice of maddened cattle of gluttony forestalled by the clairvoyance of otiose operations of redoubled countenance that consequently is septiferous by degrees of sanguine rapacity the qwartion of endeared endeavor to surpass the gentility of brooked temperatures frozen to sustain but not mainline the congeners of the elective agenda to bypass the thornbushes of conflagration without knavery or cutthroat embellishments of bedlam. And without the din of simplicity occluding the transcendent goal of humane synoecy of fustilugs of fumatoriums endangered but not inflammed by controversy we witness the insubordinate university of hibernation becoming a specter of grisly bromidrosis of lackluster forswinked fortitude because the majestic sinew of the overwrought is a refrained luxuriance of pity of facetious glebes ringed around orbital planes of synthetic abridgement that supposes the sultry is actually the swelter of calenture but taxed by sicarians of the grandeval it meets no fanfare among elective privilege. Amphigory is not categorized as dross by shipwreck but only by synechdocial docility of groomed barren arcades of storged complication leading to regeneration of a world leaden with the epicurean epithets of agerasia that burden the wardens of poached intermission without remission because the drapes of the greatest art are thus created by the complete transfiguration of the soul bolted to ethereal expansive heights that dwarf all pithy gnomes of the gardens of prospective desiccation of the petty gripes of the gavel of idiocy rather than the astounding artform of the newfangled tabanids to supererogatory oceans of creativity. The benchmarks of sublime illusions of supremacy are a hidebound taxidermy of the rookery of greenhorns to summit the testy secrecy of inane drawl that scrabbles the miniature embellishments of petty sportive lunacy as a figment of the feral nature of proclivity recumbent upon its own gladdened prickly renegades that align with a gallywow cacophony rather than a merely epicene convergence of attitude for equity above polity that is hardly polite. As a penitent hibernal rejoinder against the clerical critics of religiosity becoming conflated with artistic masterworks of oligomania I offer my rogation for atonement because the melismatic art I fashion leads to the vogue enchantment of the noosphere for the soteriological bedrock of fastened intellectual endeavor that traverses planes of an engorged soul without a gulf of conscience leaden by distracted discernment leading to a hypostasized apostasy from the religious scruples I rigorously uphold but that I vacillate away from because I want to entrench an irenic world for the francketor dash towards a superlative enrichment of mind above matter for the victorias of soul above the pettiness of the dim humdingers of the banal lifeless squabbles of martexts beyond the hospitable welcome of martians. For the naysayers that don’t understand the ironic irenic circularity of gainsay becoming rebarbative to this artistic flourish of supersensible equipoise with an approximated histrinkage lagged by temporal deficiency they should not abhor the talisman of an ergotall genius but rather marvel at the burlesque cineaste connotation of enamored youthful spirits becoming novel because they stride above the cascades of crestfallen apathy of plodding languor. This is a definitive new artform for the niche crowd so don’t dismiss it as gobbledygook because it serves the purpose to enchant creative spirits and test minds that might be more nimble than resourceless. Wearisome by demiurges of distraction the thorny imbroglio of industry is a whiplash of nativism belonging to the throb of pulsated penury that is neither valedictory nor penultimate but tertiary in oblong variegated menageries of perfidy for collapsed enormities of jumboism lost on inclement stoichiometry that is sejungible from crambazzles of findrouement that are squaloid enthralled raptures of humdingers of rippled hunks of parched nebbich pataphysics because the circuit of conditioned reward is a rebarbative tether to the catchpole exploitative erratum of harbingers of hungry happenstance rather than continual enchantment. The crumple of squaloid sebastomania a distant figment of adscititious schadenfreude of dilettantism of flonky smardagine streaks of whemmled anxieties unduly provoked by calamities of presstungular intorgurent toonardical deprived cartels of repcrevel pursuit with labial senses embedded in deft incondite inquiries against seismotic jostle over the rubble of scaffolded jengadangle above the rot of contranatant sleek suffrage for the chattel of elemental realism becoming a heroic temple for glory without the vetust errundle of dismal disco attuned only to the spurts rather than a startled commerstargal of alienation leads to a plumber’s irony of atomic humdingers of natural equipoise with litotes of scrawny rings of gollendary piracy. The valorous incondite bricolage of a ****** cineaste barnstorm inoculated from conflagrations of the flagitious reprisal of prevenance of ferial fastuous feats of furlongs of brittle certainty above the tentative glaze of aced pokerish promenades to summit the craggy because the salebrosity of the pitch is also the venue for the sphairistic tentpoles of a new tabernacle of spectacular ecstasy in obvious punitive damage to puritan pilgrimage to mechanized obelisks of sardanapalian betrayal of histories of seizure rather than naturism of erasure that is a totemic recall of strollows of lonesome tributaries to tribunes of steam rather than saunas of lickerish leverage because the gladiatorial is a zugzwang with the deliberate infernal shibboleths of the disinclined people dislodged by carnality that depose sicarians of science because of militarized enmity against the whangams of taghairm becoming the outmoded dupe of dopamine that is now serotinous rather than flanged with glaring hearsay. The serpentine winds of windlass sometimes are a conclave of convex itineration against the steady husbandry of docile domiciles of mannequin sedentary postures for posterized infamy rather than manufactured oneiromancy that is the staddle for every phony contraption of qwartion obviously specious but interrogated by the dubiety of perseverance of inclement curiosity. Yet again we sweep the soaring ligaments of rigid ramshackle bletonism that hawkshaws countermand by division of enumerated nadirs pivoted against the perpended weight of the prolonged zeniths of grit above substance that infatuates myopia but glares against mountebanks of apothecary leverage. We fight against the boxcar traindeque of sejungible traipses through stereodimensional rebuffs of known drogulus surpassing unknowable reticence of citadels that are owleries for the seedy cities they sprawl with incontinence for a drab raft of intertesselation rather than a refined quintessence of alchemy achieved by allotment by brackish nescience becoming a blinding ray of destitution engraved by petrified decalcified rudiments of realism. The somber timbre of delirifacient ruinous rumination malingers in humdrum salience as it scrawls the tragedians lament of distal eventful frets of declassified nomenclature that swoon with lugubrious harbingers of burglary the licentious dolts affixed to the brays of pauperized regions of future proximity too remote to paralyze the morale of any cantonment on record by litotes of profound remembrance of a backfire delope for cineaste conflation of marstion slore for educated reprisal of desiccation. We spelunk in mimicry the dingy duplicity of double-takes in regelation that owe homage to the percolated hearsay of cartels that operate parsecs beyond our congeners of germane lustration in remission by deontology for soteriology alone but not vacated of the stilts of turnverein ragged mannequins of desolate remorse for the dearth of hived and hemmed hibernation in a fitful frenzy of revision above precision. We see abundant lactose intolerance as a sidereal lovelorn lament of sematic entrenchment without the scourge of roosted war against abrasive brawn exercised in flexible limbers of the novel filigrees of truth revelatory of consideration rather than impregnated with the perfidy of amaranthine static of regaled stagnation that flickers with the marinas of congregated leaps as a signature of the artistic license of byzantine traipses of contempered primacy in the soup kitchen of a lapse in sabotaged sobriety. Immune from displaced donnism is the resurgence of bonanza from checkered propinquities affixed to a finite placard of spacetime that owes to stretchgraves a profound depth of contrition that carmelized apocrypha lapse on lissome whilded dignotions of contrarian raillery of loose nihilism rather than anchor to the eremites of fact found in eclipsed culmination for momentous harps of the Jubal for new centuries inseminating the populated presence of spectral imagination with contorted melodies that spawn an ingenuous quest to swoon abiding heavens for celestial ears. It is conspicuous that artifacts for raiders elope with circuitous routes of heated sedimentary incubations with a comatose creativity that seeds the ferial junediggle with a supercalendar of confections that are intermittently apportioned in heydays of culture to the sad lament of the obvious rather than the obviated dare of audacity above conglomerations of spirited luxuriance in tasty memorial to a pinnacle above all other notions of sentinel apostasy. The greater atrocity of rogated ambitions against the gainsay of iconoduly of the rood and rude crucifixion of resurrected clarity found in the enamel of akashic answers to questions fashioned by kneaded cosmetology of delicate ***** cotqueans of limber above precedent and license beyond the finkly limp of lolloped saccharine blitzkreigs of the jalousies of the ajar vaticination of hurdled glaikeries of epicene impediment is that we ****** ink above the gesture of the quills of rocky abrasion found in limitrophes of yachted celebration because of rabid coherence above the wherefores of gadzookerie because the gladdest scaldabanco is the demented persiflage of collateral catastrophe beyond any humane degree of schadenfreude for persecution that backbites the anteric antlers of the jesters that mock the procession of liturgical secularism jeering at grapholagnia while lagging in imaginative spurts of lament for incalculable damage to the Pandora’s box of effluvia that meet stiff tabernacles of betrayal because of the Judaic foresight rather than as an alarmed Marxism scared of an agrarian interdependence of worlds cadged more prone to moral dogma exercised with latitude rather than unscrupulous brays of fisticuffs of shambolic shams of ruin. We glance at the perfidies of voyeurism with pertinacity and recalcitrant bellipotent bedlam that evokes the illicit grandeval whangams of quixotic whartonized arraigned estrangement from legalism to warp time to its own superlative turpitude that is reckless but contingent upon the consummation of destiny only to the extent of original witness rather than the decay of perpetuity wrought by the persiflage of envious militarized mandarisms of enmity aimed to derail the elevators of the noosphere from stratospheric emergence in now perspicuous clarity above the pother of the indelible sacrilege of the stygian polymathy of the astute enemies of the proper comstockery rather than the negligent butchers of an enantiodromia of oligarchies of lewdness that are severed appendages to Anti-Semitism and by extension a marginalized Islamophobia that demands by exigency the complete erasure of all attempts at sacrilege exercised in rampant dereliction of dutiful upkeep of the upright morality against the cadge of ulterior ploys of a broader hedonism that would only piggyback because of the license of ryesolagnus rather than because of a complete signatory endorsement of the liberated agenda of free thought conquered through the conquest of God but the ultimate conquistadors of time through sennet and even negligent rebec to memorialize the triumphant pantheon of growth rather than rankled regress into prolonged hatred ingeminated by atrocious tortfeasors that belong nowhere but the ashen heap of exorcised damnation. The perdition inherent to the system that craves chattel rather than sartorial versions of syncretic chatter is the malefaction of renegades bent on tornadic vulcanization to a demoralized wragapole of docility hitched to the vandalism of pilloried tarantisms of moral lapse leading the sheep into sheepish resignation over the accordion of Original Sin that annoys because the bridewells are brideless birds of the chavish of warbled uncertainty wicked because of snuffed tabacosis of mitigations of evil by the evildoers for the rejoinder against the Republic by rendering the **** a platonic ploy of karezza if only punctuated by solitary ******* reticulated by exsibilation that is contorted when you consider the ****** act a marvel rather than a condemnation of the vicarious involvement in normative ****** creations not of any higher artform but of an evolved theology that might perpend the issue of Christianized ******* that is videographic as a sanction worthy of charter and an impending simultaneous comstockery to protect the decency of the simultagnosia of a diverse and divisive mispronunciated time bent against its greatest heroes for the malice of schadenfreude built into the system of language itself by germane consideration to flagellate the wrong country for the  greatest wrongs known to the realm of religious observance. The pederasty of enclaves is the bailiwick of mutinies of selective mutism incurred by the vilified into compulsive shrieks of kallince as a ribbacle of protean ratiocination paralyzed by the coherent vulnerability incurred by the exchequer of polluted conditions of enslavement by the stretchgraves of the chavish of too many pulpits in the throng of a decisive jaundice against the victors of history because of the obsolescence of the historical fossils of outmoded jealousy. Now to the eupathy of all generations should we better conserve situations against the encroaching wesperm of the marstions of ulterior feminism grimacing at the pleckigger of manhood and decriminalizing the taboo against the enantiodromia of miscegenation to the folly of shepherds of idiotic ploys to rear the mediocre rebec of warbled intimations of cultural impotence that should proselytize both the oligogenics beyond ecbolic atrocity and the adoptive ****** of the anglosphere through its smart and dapper monopoly threatened by the commerstargal of retromorphosis exhibited by the demassification of culled syntalities into aboriginal epigenetic kennels of subservience to a piggybacked system where if you are among the attentive scrutiny of the audience that both perceives apperception metacognitively with francketor precision you are thereby inoculated from lean herbivores of cultish occultism metaphorically in the annealed agitprop for resourcelessness that never ends in the radioglare of revisionism because of the prevenance of the vergers who manage the Manciples rather than tend to the vainglory of the potagers around the hegemunes of an unwarranted and puritan celibacy of conceptual sterility in a world fashioned by engouements for sanguine hopes for a consanguinity that might portend into dynasty but lopsided in its contrite missives of scandal will never provide a valedictory rendition on politically checkered zugzwangs of ulterior scientism against the lettered freedom of bibliognosts to aggrieve against the gloaming vacuum of sartorial damages to Dagon among the populated metropolis of corporate servitude that will thus collapse out of rebarbative backlash for its diminutive economies of scope and pretenses of largesse of scaled down collectivism into a heap of corporate rubble rather than judicious bonanza. In every considered word in this Biblbical warning against the trekleador of the amazonian paradise against the travail of junediggles of obligation among the frenzied fretful tocsins of farcical utopianism meeting the inclement reprisal of sanctioned duplicity in frikmag beneath the truculence of mobilized alacrity to syndicalism endeared to capitalism rather than the converse logical apostrophes that are imponent overhangs of an already conquered feral sphere of nomadic imagination into a checkmate of a socially validated future clinched by foresight and the wragapole nature of the insensate docility of those prone to officious naturism before the attempted monolith of the mountebanks of the quixotic towers of panopticon that are a regelation of unchecked ambitions verging or diverging too valorously against themselves but also prone to a simultagnosia that berates the robust picaresque swandamos that curtail the curglaff of malcontent with the recoil of perseverance that reneges in tiresome defeat of a demilitarized population that should always be grisly rather than denatured by the overhang of the incumbent nudism of certain futures becoming to finicky in impetuous lurid specters of abhorrent exercises in chantage waged against sardanapalians in all countries regardless of merits or demerits. The redstrall of enlightenment is not otiose operatively in recursive backlash against nominalism which sweedles the weedledge of a new acquiescence timid enough to mangle a prosodemic wave of celibacy propitiated by the succedaneum of profligate vicarious lickerish ****** appetites that diminish that natural instinct into either barbarous experiments in lechery too inconvenient to apprise honestly but looming aghast at the moral tip-toes around the Original Sin that binds us to predatory lapse and retromorphosis rather than the maintenance of a mainlined trimpoline confidence in a normative wave of galvanized interface against the overpromiscuous provisions for the lackaday resentment of alienated millennialism relishing the sennet of nostalgia but bereft of the heave from moral slumbers of an invented celibacy intermediary to demassification but attenuated by the omphalism of astute gravitas in socially engineered balks at the emergence of singularity in personalized cacotopia becoming a metaphor for the broadsided shipwreck of an inured world pasteurized into acerbic jolkers of foofaraw rather than the real-life relish against still-framed ostentation that distorts the granular artifice of the natural into supernatural fixations with gaudy swarpollock indecently exposed. To the finkly flonky puritanism of the wiseacres of those who say sacerdotal duty cannot diverge from entelechies of secular insight I behold the marvel of timespun elegance as the marvel of God’s convergence for the happenstance of the serendipity of magnified time lived completely in the plenipotentiary pangs of evanescence that catapults subliminal meaning to memorialize this indelible seminal watershed in a clear visionary establishment of history. Most belong to oligomania but I relent in the completely sardonic intortions of aspects of sebastomania in complete equipoise with the clairvoyant clarity of centralized perspective but the dragomans will interpret that last phase with underminnow because it belies the granular intent of the fin de seicle advent of a new generation that is an homage to the hallowed Judaic theory of millennialism as the return of glorified entitlement yet tentative in its overhang but never malicious in its grapnel of the fewterers of amazing convergence of clairvoyance. The tangential rebuke of the absurd oxyholotron of paradoxical puritan superstition that assumes a fustilug generation will cement a farsighted clarity that subsumes generative prowess lingers with fixations on the figments of the apocryphal version of the truer version of revelations manifesting right before our eyes for neither the sinistral or the dexterous amplivagance of God’s universal message by the superorganism of messianic purpose belittled by the agents of humbled perdition not alone of martexts that are martles but also by the shepherded fears of the ignorant rather than the insipid because the will never be outmoded only enhanced by the acceleration of proliferative technologies that pave a macadamized future of prosperity rather than the tarnish of the miscreants of Tyre. I owe all providence to God because he fastened his scrutiny on my autodidactian romance clambered into restive ontocyclic peccadillo that points to Pinocchio more than to the truest compass of an omnified salvation of the piggybacked purpose of synergies of geotechnic mastery that elevates the cause of God and liberates us from the stings of dangerously vapid pauperization of the intellectual frontiers by dangled prevarications of desultory incontinence forestalled by avoidant developments in proper fewterers of ambition. By the axiomatic Brocards of time travel the unstated ignotism of deranged circuses of stupidity congregated around the swelter of dismissal is a barnacle to the mofussil fossilization of sentiment that remarks ironically about the petty indelible moments but not the entelechies of a unified front for liberated equity and considerate tender of diverse quorums that shepherd rather than intern the noosphere into the burgeoned resurgence of a humane endeavor for the everlasting enlightenment of an ameliorated humanity and beyond that. By the bailiwick exerted by the plenipotentiary omphalism still participant to the quorum I hereby declaratively implore the abrogation of pernicious grapholagnia as the peremptory sacrilege that needs exorcism for our times and yet delegated of stature I urge hortatory and imperative action for the expurgation of all tortfeasor illegally obtained ******* of unsolicited voyeurism to be completely regarded as the ultimatum of temerity against carnal restraint and banished from the human registry to uphold the strategic interests of the United States of America. I understand that there is not fricative monolith and never will I lean for that conquest but as a humbled member of the omphalism that constitutes the sacred endeavor of sociogenesis grounded on God with collegialism upheld that a geotechnically optimized species needs to refrain from lewd perfidies against commonplace justice to restrain the fumatorium of unwarranted envy from poisoning the pervious minds of people that congregate in defensive posture but not definitive gesture. I also beseech a portentous  settlement with  I relent from avarice but it is not a superposition of authority just a suggestive glance at requited justice but my grangull chavish of circumlocution naivety will meet the most deliberate Sardonic Sc(p)orn in these times of need. These next words are paused and already fathomed by the supernal recursion of the iterative metaphysics of recumbent retrospection hinged on hindsight to proclaim without any hints of attempted subterfuge of the clarity of a Democratic Republic that my words while forceful do not constitute a breech in public conduct even while vaulted with a minor rapacity I rebuke and atone for even when many others might find recourse to expiate my jalousies to the windowed world not of vindictiveness but out of the cursory and emphasis on cursory justice needed to vouchsafe my continued security and inoculation from the pothers of obviously shortsighted pleonexia which will obviously be fleered as a slight euthymia glazed on self-interest while tone-deaf to the checkered layers of entrapment by a confederate whiplash but a native grit never to enslave but to empower humanity. I am deeply lugubrious over the specter of the trembled quaky ground the penury of spiritual loss rejoinders against my candidacy for high esteem but not peremptory decisiveness in active service to yield to a supererogatory attempt for felicity to alight in my life not out of material greed but the gratuity of serviceable missions that play a dicey gamble with a frenzied manumission attempt that is essentially that a parsed manumission for eleutherian pragmatica to chide as naive but alarmed senectitude of the old order prevaricates with the din of postured hurdles of gladiatorial outrage that weans me away from the ataraxia for my fumbled stream brooking intolerance for years on the ballast of collective endeavor. Nevertheless, lets speak more on God’s providence because in this esteemed moment of watershed emergence of the fully engorged but rarely gluttonous soul I have found an equitable peace with supernal and superlative authority in God that grants stewardship and tutelage to the audience that will eventually through proper discrimination be delegated as higher than the ignorant bystanders of fleered snide disdain for the abnormous and bletcherous dimples of an otherwise circuitous dalliance with an unconventional path towards destiny rather than some windlass of opportunism for, if it were not for my unabetted genius and the provisions of divine appointment based on a kindly generous deference to preterition axiomatic in perceived time by the strictures of the convergent past and the divergent future, I would never find a role of partial authorship of a widely heralded tome I will one day publish to either the exsibilation of the antiquarians of hidebound irrefragable ontocyclic convictions or the cloveryield of an appreciative gratitude to the God I serve and I make no notions of any hostility towards any party of petty dismissal because I expect their recumbent recoil but I apologize for hubris and extenuate the follies of the refinery of character as I ascend into a figurative ennobled step into soulhood that exceeds my former dismal limits by such staggering orders of magnitude it magnifies the questions of ontology in sentience rather than beckons the alarmism of the swarpollock of tripwires that can easily withstand the tempests of scorn. The uproar of commotion of blood sanctified by the thirsty rain for the desiccated faucet of dramaturgy in reprisal for docimasy is the integral linchpin of the biocentric rebec reasting on the primitive hymns to festoon the curtains of defenestrated primitive relics of shady attempts at officious balks of the privatized empire of the alytarchs among the earwigs that simper the culled delicacy of sensible notions into the congeners of prioritization emphasized by quantulated concerns veiled by elaborative synquests that burrow the sulcate grooves of hidden hedonism for the chic magistrates of financial swoon or swayed vestiges of a forgotten calumny of betrayal by the coming-of-age sprouts of hedged dismal dismissal of a lugubrious prospect for an otherwise revitalized dressage of emoluments to glory that lurked in penumbras by rigged enumeration but found their prominence by the gravity of sensation-seeking frissons of alterations between benighted glory and the famish of artificial tethers to the yoke of caramel and chocolates as a dainty ploy of yearning persiflage also a dranger of camouflage for flagitious percolations of the invidious rumors of imposture and the groveling contempt of the known drogulus remiss in denial of its own requited date when the powers of miscarriage become ecbolic to their own lagging languor of lisps of linguistic ramparts of a revival of hypertrophy for hyperactive foibles in inclement weather. Ok beyond the absenteeism of the presence of perceived amphigory there is great heft in the nominal notion that dogma is mobilized in serviceable goods of merchandized mirrors of glazed remission of moral tender because of stoked curiosity unhinged from the pragmatica of duty. We need forbearance in empathy that loves the lovable rather than envies the deposed despotism of clever wiseacres veiled in delicate symmetry with conscience that is the quill of a wellspring deeper than any imaginary vagary can approximate because impossible events punctuate time with literacy rather than incontinence of drivel that is ambitious but ignoble by stately coherence. To the critics of the baragnosis of limited apperception my words are blatant amphigories but they only possess enough ken to fathom an average orbit of suboptimal outcomes rather than transdimensional chances at chess outnumbered by checkers by incidental design of clever ploys of rejoinder that is by design arcane for the arcadia of the pristine arcade of future possibilities  As I am purblind by psychorrhagy I am incompetent in my radiopresence because I am a departed spectral figment above fricative hisses and whorfian glares of mediocre rebec for primitive shibboleth above prized taurine anglophonic convictions that superimpose the dignified clarity of willpower above the dragnets of supersolid conflations of puffery. Ok I admit a lapse of transmission by the vesicles of numbered murders of henpecked owleries of the senectitude of sepulchral magnetism of slumber over awakened alacrity of mobilism fashioned in portentous flipcraves of additive immobility of fixed vectors seen through parvanimity that actually just swivel in circular retorts against themselves without the elaborative potential and the belabored traipse of the rabid taradiddles of sensationalism marauding as a defalcated burglary of emotion for useless psephology that predicates nothing but a slight budge in the autarky of structuralism which is never sclerotic but stammered by articulations of the overt when the covert aligns by an alien agenda that is subservient to magnified priorities of warped swirk of telescopic prevenance and hedged boschveldts of elemental and I stress the strain of the elemental for the drogulus of sensational proclamation by executive ****** but supererogatory minutiae of fascism cloaked by earwigs of repcrevel repute beyond memorialized reputation. We need to renege the southern pacts to the Argentine mandarism of reticular vitiations of cinematography waged against creative visionaries of free speech because of the succedaneum of furtive endeavors at optimization by compromised degrees of artistic licentiousness even that is never lewd about sacred roods but boorish in blockbuster rather than kempt in collectivist brunt of the timid bronteum of agitprop that lurks in the imminent future of cinema. America needs to retain the disclosed but still-frame inertia of catapulted declassification that ennobles the fliction but also the vilified distilled truths only the keen of acumen will sensibly identify so that the magnet of earwigs gravitates to the belabored analysis of astute congeners to relevant tributaries to the ocean of adventitious swarpollock in the procedural autopsy of the auditorium for neither a chattel nor a crystallized nurture against the matriotic insistence of decorum. Essentially the succubus of prosthetic protensive docimasy of imaginative logic predicated in visionary apperception of the unseen in immediacy is the longeur of reticent endeavors to pasteurize the oculus rifts of futurity to synergize with the entelechy of proactive somnambulism that sensitizes the profoundly capable but never bereaves the inept of direct interface with communicable dominion with fantasia that is an operative artifice of a beguiled lurch without purged retrograde immaterial delusion that endangers visceral momentum toward new directives of the outmantled zugzwang in elementary exercises of swaddled posterity free by irenic idolatry never orphaned by a widowed imagination. The swirk of hypostasized probabilities in an invented swipe at wide-eyed but star-crossed turnvereins for the imaginative leaps in the performative depend on the delicate swivels of declaration independent from culinary clarity of macroscian travesty rather than pinhokes of naufragues of maudlin laudable applause by the canned nurture of speculative intimation that sadly severs the curglaff of whispered intimacy over the confidence we have in artifice to teach the wragapole both matriotism and sensitive reninjasque poker without incurred damages beyond the clarified visionary potential of graphic protheses immediately perceptible to the acumen of judicious polymathy indoctrinated by the rigor of scientific grooms for melliferous parsecs of advanced minutiae of dark horses to nomadic license beyond ravenous **** palindromes of hushed vigor to the declared by scacchic deliberation to usher in crass but crestfallen synectics. The future of God is secure in the fathomed furlongs of cubic citadels of pasteurized paradise found in corralled reluctance without remonstrance of poetic belletrist resounding with clangor rather than swerved nimble potions to avert future calamities in war by the expansive frontier of a civilized metropolis of the mobilized imagination hypostasizing newfangled naturism that is neither mofussil nor a fossilized relic of scrappy schlep. The nonchalance of parlance swims in arenaceous bunkers of drivel that congregate in the turnverein of futuristic opportunism found in the muzzled directives of orchestras of departed clarity no longer so insular in its bossy imperatives but clarified with hearsay and blushed blarney not the blench of widened divulgence of minatory malice that incurs the punitive curglaff of frenetic retchallops of winsome specters becoming opportune pragmatics of a semantic network of dirigisme that through sheer horsepower overcomes the sting of ubiquity or the hollowed headless vesicles of urbacity disenfranchised by degrees of impertinent pertinacity of deposed disclosure rudimentary in sedentary simplicity against matriotic duty to remain guarded by an ommateum that fathoms the abyss but never wages reckless adventurism. Prevenance is the key to absolution but staggered implements of dearth preempt the ecbolic corrigenda of castigation by hindered lurches of veiled errundle belonging to a central trimpoline interposition of fungible felicity for not only a regional fanfare but a global scale of competitive endeavor of cleverage beyond scopes but beneath scrutinized mutiny of embanked polymathy stranded by the redstrall of industrious slavering dogmatism to a servile ***** rather than the boomerang of pressure to asseverate limitless bounds of planned obsolescence to engorge but not intimidate checkered reticence in the sinew of the musculature of creative parlance above petty finicky demiurges of latitudes in amphibious annealed glorification. Temperatures gauged by the thrombosis of thermolysis in psychotaxis gouged by hucksters of taciturn bamboozles of teetotalism are neither scourge nor foe of the strategic advent of the fascination of prospective investment a boondoggle that offsets the bonfire of retorted whimpers of foudroyant ripples of wildfire perspicacity strung by the catchpole of ubiquity in the time-honed decorum of genteel upright raconteurs of volleyed neglect by strict mandate will uproariously profit in remission from knowledgeable exacerbation rather than tomfoolery by filial tithes to foreign wardens of conspicuous levitation above gimcracks by the syrts of percolated filigrees of belabored chantage exerted over the tide of perfidy in contained discernment will stall and extinguish the prideful jostle of profane blasphemy against tacit covenants of blackguarded justice served by platitude better than by insubordinate quivers that quake because bears bounce checkered checks rather than anoint the sigillum of protective vouchsafes of exchequers smartly dapper rather than dimpled in flagrant brays of castigation and thus secure employment of instrumental advent rather than desecrated conventicles of remission.
Now it is time to ventilate divine knowledge that transfiguration means a humane liberation rather than a sanctimony of tirade against dumose proliferations of fluminous imaginary tracts of the probable rather than the certain for the elevators of sanitized wealth to bequeath greater moral clarity found in the contrary submission of authoritative parents to shepherd guarded wealth in proper husbandry of calendrical affairs to optimize the work-life balance so the biocentric imperative for sustenance renounces the moral obesity of groundless backlash in austerity and endless cycles of remorse rather than a tender mollification of sentiments away from universal kumbayas and in favor more stridently of a system that withholds the agitprop of statist indoctrination of a mollycoddle ****** within individual mandates of variable agendas of countries beyond the borderline fluid dynamics of the foibles of moral venial folly but insensitive to the dynamism of the robust virility of a wayspayed world swaying by riddled wildfires of conflated puerile stages of ludic indoctrination to the rampant perfidy of exemplary incontinence waged by Hollywood upon unsuspecting victims of inconsiderate indoctrination that doesn’t vouchsafe the prerogatives of heteronormative values that should outshine not a parochial vehement hatred or a clorence of unconditional tolerance but a chided quarantine of variegated syntalities divorced from integration rather than fostered in communal depths of bound lettered ambition found in the allegorical power of Biblical wisdom expounded by the florilegium of the religious and secular canon.
To serve God rather than the perceived taradiddle of speculative mammon deprived of classifiable certainties but hunched proclivities we need to exhort a proper seesaw between restraint in vision and exuberance in creative license so that the pivot of the moralized world leads to an insistent trust of watchdogs that through trust revolve the gravity of morale upon the upswing of liberty rather than incidental follies of imaginative demiurges of partition but blinkered hubris in stately objectives to the demur of participant malingering naysayers and nyejays. The moral gravity of the situation requires us to rotate our hype from the fervor of panic into the resolve of fortitude that relishes family and filial duty rather than resents because of breedbate instinct the flickers of smoldering rebels that are tamed in their revelry when they follow the moral prerogative of disciplined ambition in creativity not insubordinating against insurmountable limits but reasonable adjustments to a scaffold of potential that is skyscraping more than before even if its too close to the ground for comfort and consolation. Relativism is the enemy of progress because envy seeds alienation and comparison should be eschewed because we need to burrow in compassionate embrace of the cherished loves rather than the exaggerated proximity of provincial fears becoming global juggernauts of mercy upon the merciful and I convoke a global prayer for the attenuation of the virus that spreads sadly too far for comfort today. I purge out of solidarity with suffering as the milquetoast in me identifies the disconcerted avenues of avetrols trying to find a way through the forest of rumination without gingerly superlative prerogatives outweighing the poise of balance in shields of honor rather than badges of shame. We must by moral imperative greet strangers in public places like parks rather than strangulate the percolation of affection because of regnant distractions because in this congenial way we will find a common fraternity with fellow man while soldiering on to find truth in God’s word in the proper temperature for genuflection because I admit foibles but I relent not in the chase to redintegrate myself spiritually to lead a charge without trespass of fundamental dignity over the whoppers of indignation some of us might feel because of the penury of divergence rather than the private penalty of convergence for an ulterior solidarity of purpose. I need to emerge into the humanity of compassion to showcase that virtuosity can exist without obsession over one individual because God beseeches a pantheon of observation rather than the gripes of an envied nuisance independent from normal human concerns that ripple with ecstasy because of normative human contrition over the leeway on vacillated opinions that might underwhelm those disposed by prizes of inurement. We should shelve these notions of a supersolid conscience because only in the humility of the profound simplicity of elemental postulates can we achieve complete synchrony with a syndicate that enthralls both divergent and convergent movements that partially offset on the side of convergence in some communes while otherwise countermanded in others in contrarian ways and the favor of the balance depends on the perspective of the flanged acculturation of the participant in a world that doesn’t need flayed excoriation as much as it deserves proper exercise of adoration of the admirable rather than the desecration of the abominable. I return with the greatest jubilation of a reninjasque jaunty streak that hearkens the sennet and maybe the leanings of the senate to the fanfare of adoration for life and gratitude bestowed by the stewardship of God and his divine purpose to inseminate my life with purposeful meaning and happy happenstance that is a stroke of glory. I muster the resolve to traipse in the solitude of my cavern the blessings of divinity bequeathed by the departed forefathers who never intended bossy insularity of dogma to be a stricture of rigors of iconoduly but rather a consecrated wit with the persiflage of conversant tones of labile and lissome gallantry just waiting to alight upon the affectionate dance with dalliance of a philandered hope for a purified love hopefully never profaned by the pangs of scandal (note the sardonic pun) because rejoice is the gift of Heaven upon this culmination of purpose above the dross of shipwreck elevated in folly but stranded in the throes of rumination enough to hedge the boursocrats and try to inoculate the world from further panicky divisions of hypemongers of simpered precaution becoming a financial pandemic that deserves pause and poise but should not protrude above the glistening promise of the eternal wellspring of the vineyards of salvation blooming because enhanced sapience converted the flock of shepherds to tend to those sheepish in deficiency to wield a newer curiosity to replace a saddened lament not by acquiescent abandon but by the solidarity of interfaces of love replacing cast-iron idolatries I too am guilty of for the cordslave generation of itinerant distractions that wager on modicums rather than appraise bonanzas. Safety is predicated on the idea that resources should never be glazed but always apportioned with optimism because if you examine history irrational panics have always and always rebounded because of exigent actions taken by governments to restore confidence in liquidity rather than snide dismal dismissals of economic projections based on bounded rigged betrayals of primarily a global panic that a profoundly promethean intellectual verve could capitalize on its heyday to gouge people against the insensate balkanization of the future by an alienation of formidable scarecrow of invented fatalism imploding upon itself to obviate its own existence by the insistence on free thought to domineer and tower over the doldrums of a vacant man that is now occupied by the largesse of humane endeavor for a messianic voyage that consummates time itself its own captain and is partially centripetal around the juncture of All Saints Day 2008 because of its seminal significance in ushering in a new era of liberation. This justification is a gnomic axiomatic herculean ****** that catapulted generativity in creative endeavor to coalesce around an Army of Me not because of the futilitarianism embedded in its flagrant flagitious mockery of traipsed lyricism borrowed from Bjork but rather showcases the flavork of the flavenickers of ribald coarse revolution that is no longer balderdash to Bald Eagles but the prized retribution of the inviolable scruples demolished by deracinated moral relativism balking at raltention because of persnickety and tyrannical transparency that prepossesses over the lifeless livid Potemkin  Village  of Astroturf complaint malingering in pederasty over its own depraved sinuous course of diverted restraint cemented by the scythes of Village People politics benumbed over militarized betrayals that incur and invoke the diablerist prose of anonymuncle desperado mavericks that sizzle in hibernaculum to depose the autarky of seasoned growth rather than unseasonable diatribes of vitriol poisoning the posture of gentility by decree rather than by deeds of homogenized pasteurization against Lactose Intolerant Leftism and dogged doggerel of pasty subversive paranoiac hederaceous envy spawning a vituperative summation of a beatific felicity. We need to convene upon better tranceception in this axiomatic gratuity of God

hand slaps shoulder knee rhythmically that’s called hamming the bone sitting on a street curb singing making up lyrics i got a transitor sister loves cossack named jake he rides Cherokee chopper all he’s ever known is hate he’s going down underground where a man can be a man wrestle alligators live off the land ebb flow i don’t know racing chasing hair-pin turning at 150 miles per hour downshift to 3rd spread the word sweet sour naked flower touching skin deep within defies all sin with a grin speed speed speed all i need i’m getting off coming on you tawny scrawny bow-legged pigeon-toed knock-kneed Don Juan Ponce de Leon Aly Khan all wrapped up into one going to have ******* good time good time tonight i feel like an orphan mom and dad seem so far away tonight i feel like an orphan you make me feel this way hand slaps shoulder knee rhythmically hand bone hand bone

Odyseuss drifts job to job construction worker office assistant waiter whatever he does not understand how road to recognition works continues showing portfolio to art dealers but they react indifferently he does not know how to attain notice in art world begins to suspect there is no god watching over souls instead he imagines infinite force juggling light darkness creation destruction love hate Mom and Dad insist he can earn respectable income if only he will learn commodity futures like cousin Chris Mom says you can work down at the exchange and paint on the side a part of Odysseus wants desperately to please his parents he considers perhaps Mom is right for the time being maybe build up nest egg it seems like sensible plan he wonders why Dad and Mom never speak about money how to save manage they treat the subject as forbidden topic Odysseus has no idea what Dad or Mom earn or investment strategies Odysseus is about to make serious mistake the decision to get job working at commodity exchange needs deeper examination why is he giving in to his parents what attracts him to commodities trading is it Chris’s achievement and the money? does Odysseus honestly see himself as a winning trader or does it simply look like big party with lots of rich men pretty young girls is that where he wants to be why is he giving up on his dream to be a great artist does it seem too impossible to reach who makes him think that? is he going to give up on his true self? he halfheartedly follows his parent’s advice begins working as runner at Chicago Mercantile Exchange several friends including Calexpress disloyalty for entering straight world commodity markets are not exactly straight in 1978 clearing firms pay adequately hours are 8 AM to 2 PM over course of next 6 months Odysseus runs orders out to various trading pits cousin Chris rarely acknowledges Odysseus maybe Chris feels need to protect his image of success perhaps in front of his business associates Chris is embarrassed by Odysseus’s menial rank and goof-off attitude maybe Chris senses what a terrible mistake Odysseus has made

Chicago suffers harsh winter in February Roman Polanski skips bail in California flees to France in April President Carter postpones production of neutron bomb which kills people with radiation leaving buildings intact in October Yankees win World Series defeating Dodgers in November Jim Jones leads mass-****** suicide killing 918 people in Jonestown Guyana in December in San Francisco Dianne Feinstein succeeds murdered Mayor George Moscone in Chicago John Wayne Gacy is arrested

darkness descends upon Odysseus his heart is not into commodity business more accurately he hates it he loathes battleship gray color of greed envy he resents prevailing overcast of misogyny he meets many pretty girls yet most of them are only interested in catching a trader it is rumored numerous high rolling traders hire young girls for sole purpose of morning ******* remainder of day girls are free to mingle run trivial errands commodity traders typically trash females it is primitive hierarchy Odysseus bounces from one clearing firm to another then moves to Chicago Options Exchange then Chicago Board of Trade on foyer wall just outside trading floor hangs bronze plaque commemorating all men who served in World War 2 Uncle Karl’s name is on that plaque Daddy Pat bought his son seat hoping to set him up after war Uncle Karl’s new wife wanted to break away from Chicago persuaded him to sell seat move to California Uncle Karl bought car wash outside Los Angeles with Daddy Pat’s support Mom and Dad encourage assure Odysseus commodities business is right choice they promise to buy him full seat on exchange if he continues to learn markets they feel certain he can be saved from his artistic notions the markets are soaring in profits cousin Chris is riding waves a number of Chris’s friends are sons of parents who belong to same clubs dine at same restaurants as Mom and Dad Odysseus is not alpha-male like Chris Odysseus is a dreamer painter poet writer explorer experimenter unlike Chris who has connections Odysseus starts out as runner then gets job holding deck for yuppie brokers in Treasury Dollar trading pit Odysseus holds buy orders between index and middle fingers sell orders in last 2 fingers arranged by time stamp price size in other hand holds nervous pencil he stands step below boss in circular pit in room size of football field full of raised pits everything is traded cattle hogs pork bellies all currencies gold numbers flash change instantaneously in columns on three high walls fourth wall is glass with seats behind for spectators thousands of people rush around delivering orders on telephones flashing hand signals shouting offers quantities every moment every day calls come in frantically from all around world space is organized chaos sometimes not so organized fortunes switch hands in nano-seconds it is global fiscal battleground rallies to up side or breaks to down side send room into hollering pushing shoving hysteria central banks financial institutions kingpin mobsters with political clout daring entrepreneurs old thieves suburban rich kids beautiful people pretty young females abound big guns **** in same air stand next to low-ranking runners everyone flirts sweats sneezes knows inside they are each expendable Odysseus is spellbound by sheer force magnitude he feels immaterial only grip is his success with girls it is not conscious talent he grins girls grin back Chris’s trader friends recognize Odysseus’s ability they push him to introduce girls to them it is way for Odysseus to level playing field he has no money or high opinion of himself he simply knows how to hook up with girls

1979 January Steelers defeat Cowboys at Super Bowl Brenda Ann Spencer kills 2 faculty wounds 8 students responds to incident “i don't like Mondays” in February Khomeini seizes power in Iran in March Voyager space-probe photographs Jupiter’s rings a nuclear power plant accident occurs at Three Mile Island Pennsylvania in May Margaret Thatcher is elected Prime Minister in England in Chicago American Airlines flight 191 crashes killing 273 people in November Iran hostage crisis begins 90 hostages 53 of whom are American in December Soviet Union invades Afghanistan 1980 in November Ronald Reagan defeats Jimmy Carter one year since Iran hostage crisis began

he meets good-looking younger girl named Monica on subway heading home from work he has seen her running orders on trading floor she is tall slender with long dark brown hair in ponytail pointed nose wide mouth innocent face she confides her estranged father is famous Chicago mobster Odysseus recognizes his name they talk about how much they dislike markets arrant disparity of wealth between traders and themselves Odysseus says i hate feeling of being so disposable worthless Monica replies yeah me too he tells her if i was a girl i’d ******* myself to several handsome generous traders Monica acknowledges that’s an interesting idea but who? how? which traders? do you know? he answers yeah i know exactly who and how Monica says if you’re serious i’m in i have a girlfriend named Larissa who might also be interested i’ll call Larissa tonight following day Monica approaches Odysseus at work agrees to meet at his place after markets close that afternoon Monica and Larissa show up eager to learn more about Odysseus’s scheme Larissa is petite built like a gymnast giggly light brown hair younger than Monica he lays it all out for them cousin Chris and his buddies the money ******* both girls are quite lovely he suggests they rehearse with him he will coach them on situations settings techniques girls consent for 4 weeks every afternoon they meet at Odysseus’s place get naked play out different scenarios he shows girls how to pose demure at first then display themselves skillfully fingers delicately pulling open ***** spreading wide apart buns working hidden muscles he directs each to take up numerous positions tasks techniques then has them switch places he teaches them timing starting slow gradually building up rhythms stirring into passionate frenzy having two mouths four hands creates novel sets of possibilities one girl attends his front while other excites his rear he positions them side-by-side so he can penetrate any of all four holes he stacks them one on top of the other many other variations after reaching ****** several times making sure to reciprocally satisfy their eager needs Odysseus dismisses girls until following day finally after month of practice Monica and Larissa feel confident proficient primed Odysseus arranges for girls to meet with 2 traders through Chris most traders have nicknames Twist who is hosting event is notoriously wild insatiable on opening night Odysseus behaves like concerned father Larissa and Monica each bring several dresses and pairs of shoes Odysseus helps them choose suggests Monica ease up on make-up he styles Larissa’s hair instructs Monica to call him when they arrive again when they leave he requests they return directly to his place Monica wears hair pulled back in French twist pearl earrings sleek little black dress black stiletto heels she stands several inches above Odysseus Larissa wears braided pigtails pink low-scooped leotard brown plaid wool kilt just above knees brown suede cowboy boots he kisses each on lips then pats their butts warns them to be careful mindful Monica winks Larissa giggles more than an hour passes as Odysseus sits wondering why he has not heard from girls suddenly reality hits he does not want to be commodities trader and certainly not a **** this is not how he wants to be known or remembered Odysseus wants to be a painter and writer Monica and Larissa are good sweet girls whom he has misguided he calls Twist’s place Twist answers Odysseus asks to speak with Monica when she comes to phone he questions are you all right Monica answers yes we’re fine we’re having a fantastic time why are you calling what’s wrong he explains you were suppose to call me when you arrived i began to worry i think maybe this whole arrangement is a bad idea i want you to call it off and come back home i don’t want either of you to become prostitutes i love you both and don’t want to be associated with dishonoring you Monica says it’s a little late to call it off but we’ll see you when we’re done kissy kiss bye Odys another hour passes then another he frets wondering what they are doing after 4 hours as he is about to call Twist’s house again doorbell rings Monica and Larissa both giggling beaming Odysseus can spot they have a coke buzz Monica announces you should be proud of us Odys we got each of them off 2 times we left them stone-numb and tapped out the girls open their purses each slaps 5 hundred dollar bills unto table Monica says this is your cut Odys we both got a thousand for ourselves he replies i can’t touch that money we need to sit down and talk Monica demands no talking Odys take off your clothes he insists i’m serious Monica i’m never going to send you out again Larissa claims there’s no turning back for me i had too much fun Monica  pleads come on Odys we’ll be good we promise now take off your clothes Twist and his buddy never attended to our needs i’m ***** as hell Larissa where’s that little bottle of dust Twisty handed you

Chicago Monday night December 8 1980 Cal and Odysseus sit at North End they're on 4th round feeling buzz the place is lively adorned with holiday decorations Cal says you’ve changed Odysseus questions what do you mean? how? Cal says the commodity markets and your cousin and his friends they’ve changed you when was the last time you painted Odys? are you dealing coke Odysseus looks Cal in the eyes answers they’re so ******* rich Cal you can’t believe it one drives a black Corvette Stingray another a ******* Delorean anything they want they buy girls cars clothes condos boats yeah i’m dealing coke to Chris’s friends it’s my only leverage remember the Columbian dude Armando we met at tittie bar? i score from him and keep it clean Chris’s buddies pay up for the quality i don’t remember my last painting maybe the black painting i never finished after breaking up with Reiko Lee a girl falls off bar stool crashing to floor at other end of bar Cal says Odys, you better play it careful you’re messing with the devil got any blow on you suddenly bar grows quiet someone turns up TV volume they watch overhead as news anchorman speaks slow solemn camera pans splattered puddle of blood pieces of broken glass on steps to Dakota Building Cal looks to Odysseus John Lennon has been murdered Cal waits for Odysseus to say something tear rolls down cheek Cal glances away stares down at floor they drink in silence

2010 one last remark about Mom she’s never had faith or trust in me she always doubts redirects me when i was little she continuously blamed me accusing me of being sick needing a psychiatrist at age 20 my parents committed me for disciplinary reasons to the Institute of Living a psychiatric hospital in Hartford Connecticut in a locked ward for 4 months Mom and Dad discouraged my aspirations to succeed as a painter/writer arguing the impracticality of my decision they thumbs downed Bayli even today she undermines my efforts to love protect her she scolds me for asking permission from my cousin Chris to allow his son Maynard to fly down here and help me pack then drive up to Chicago so i might get to know Maynard on a road trip she instructs hire professional packers for a $100. they’ll be glad to help you pack Mom has always stood in the way of my choices decisions



1975 Chicago in his parent’s kitchen Mom offers the cannolis are fresh from Kanella’s Bakery or try the chocolate fudge cake it’s absolutely delicious Odysseus replies are you trying to fatten me up or **** me with sweets Mom flirtatiously teases i’ve always been about your ruination Odys



2001 Tucson Mom comes for visit at Thanksgiving in her early 80s walking proud yet painfully on displaced hips she is an inspiration to Odysseus her eyes are clouded with cataracts yet she sees life as an eternal optimist since 1920 the world has changed so drastically yet Mom has learned to accept many things she previously did not tolerate she lives prudently on modest fixed income her fingers are arthritically deformed but she was once a great beauty many men desired her Odysseus asks if it was difficult for Mom to lose the power of her physical desirability he noticed her good looks waning in her 50s she answers she sensed her  attraction going in her 70s she still possesses regal qualities and is quite socially charming she chatters a flurry of familiar names events that keep her busy she travels around by herself Mom’s spirit endures but in reality she drifts further away with each passing season she is delicate and has difficulty remembering she echoes a distant past in the early evening of Thanksgiving Day they sit at table of elegant yet rather staid dining room of Mom’s choosing at Arizona Inn she says it reminds her of the way things used to be she wears tasteful black linen slacks black pumps thin silk knitted black turtleneck with string of pearls gold earrings her blonde hair coiffured in same fluffy sprayed style it has been for 50 years in his heart he knows a part of her wishes her son was more like Tom Steinberg who was a senior when Odysseus was a freshman at River Woods Academy The Steinbergs and Mom are still friendly Tom is a successful investment banker with a wife and child living in Winnetka Mom nervously touches the pearl strand around her neck she says you know Mort Rock’s wife Phyllis died i was such a good friend to her at her funeral they read how she said i was her best friend she left me 10 lousy thousand dollars in her will she’s worth millions it’s eating me up inside i needed that money desperately i can’t stop thinking about it 10 lousy thousand dollars went immediately to pay off loans i’m going to sell my jewelry i don’t know what i can get in the spring i’ll put the apartment up for sale or try to get a reverse mortgage from the bank i never told you kids before i’m not in good shape Odysseus comments i feel terrible i wish so much i could help maybe Phyllis Rock suspected you and her husband maybe all those years you were her best friend she read it as guilt and obligation Mom you need to be more truthful Mom cuts in i never had *** with Mort Rock that man drove me crazy he was nuts for me Mom orders the traditional turkey dinner Odysseus orders the Macadamia nut encrusted Hawaiian fish the waiter brings price fixed appetizers little circles of toasted bread with lightly browned melted cheese tiny triangular cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches roasted watercress nuts wrapped in bacon and little hot dogs pierced with fluffy ended toothpicks Mom begins to gobble as she remarks to Odysseus  why do you want to wear your hair like that? you look like you escaped from the camps Odysseus asks what camps are you referring to Mom? she replies the Concentration Camps! you’re a good-looking man and you still have a full head of hair why do you want to shave it off i don’t understand i think you should move back to Chicago Tucson has done nothing to offer look at you you’re all alone you don’t have any friends come home and be your old self again he answers my old self you don’t get it do you Mom do you remember my commodity trading debacle or my 40th birthday or you and aunt Rita’s ceaseless corrections Mom smugly retorts what do you mean your 40th birthday don’t you get smart with me you should be ashamed of yourself why must you keep bringing up the past you need to let go of the past you go into such details details i don’t remember what does it matter now it’s history we only wanted what we thought was best for you you never listened you were only interested in yourself plenty of other kids get beaten and come through just fine you don’t know what it’s like to be a parent it tears me up inside you talk like you had nothing to do with it i can’t take this abuse from you anymore her misshapen fingers hands begin trembling as her voice emotes you think i don’t realize we made mistakes with you you think we were such monsters i wasn’t a good mother i was a lousy ***** is that what you think answer me what are you a bump on a log Odysseus sits stiff in chair his voice shrinks he just sits there his legs shake under table Mom says your father was quick-tempered we were under so much financial pressure maybe we did send you away too soon if i had to do it again i’d do it differently what does it matter now it’s 50 years ago forget the past what do you want from me what can i do he listens silently wondering if Mom seeks some kind of redemption can her conceit permit it he knows he is ******* her he does not mean to be uncomfortable with his muteness Mom continues you were a difficult child remember all the trouble you caused look at you you’re still a difficult man he questions Mom can you hear yourself you think i’m difficult she answers you think we were such terrible parents you grew up in a house of violence his thumb and forefinger nervously touch his chin as he replies no you were good parents i was a problem child different from you you afforded me a beautiful home and brilliant education i wanted to investigate life and learn and grow you didn’t know what to do with a child like that as much as she tries Mom never has been a comfort for Odysseus or he for her he inadvertently stirs her to worry or snap and she in turn unthinkingly disturbs him nevertheless they love each other the waiter brings out salads Mom ordered iceberg lettuce with thousand island dressing Odysseus chose the spinach salad he takes several bites Mom remarks use your salad fork not your dinner fork you know better than that suddenly it occurs to him Mom is more fragile than he he thinks to himself silently Mom i realize your life is closing in on you your mind drifts and you need to fake and cover-up more than ever do you want me to come home and take care of you i will take care of you then he remembers how miserable they were together during his throat cancer recovery in her 3 bedroom Lake Shore Drive condominium immersed in contemplation he pushes the fork through spinach leafs Mom says sit up in the chair and put a smile on your face she self-consciously peeks around the room having lost his appetite Odysseus looks down at napkin on his lap glances at half-eaten salad bowl he gazes up at Mom the waiter arrives making a pained smile he clears the salads then serves the entrees after the waiter departs Mom speaks Odys look at me when i’m talking to you i think about a lot of things i should have done after the fact sometimes even years later Max and i made a lot of incorrect choices when it came to you he cuts in Mom you don’t have to say anymore i love you always have loved you and know you love me too Mom says you know how much i appreciate your paintings you’ve made my life richer i‘ve always been supportive of you in fact i’m your biggest fan right Odys right? thank you Mom i’m grateful Mom says i’ve spoken with psychiatrists and they all tell me the same answer tell your son to forget it why must you dwell in the past what did we do so dreadfully wrong i don’t understand you’re a hard case i wish i could get through to you i hope you can find it in your heart to forgive us you’ll sleep better he questions you know about my insomnia restless sleep nightmares Mom says i can imagine Odysseus’s eyes begin to water Mom i love you i wouldn’t be who i am without you Mom says don’t get so emotional you sound weak take it from me you must be strong in life learn discipline and willpower i love you too son Odysseus wonders if maybe he agitates Mom because he is a constant liability lacking fiscal self-reliance deep down Mom is a giggling gossiping playful girl spoiled by her father she never wanted to grow up and be burdened with the tasks of parenthood what woman of rare beauty and charm would want to give up her privilege and freedom for some kid especially a *******-up kid maybe deep down Mom resents Odysseus he stares down at the Macadamia nut encrusted Hawaiian fish and silently prays he will be released from his life all his stupid sins regrets self-pity self-hatred his vain inconsequential existence



i move organize empty shelves cabinets drawers closets edit wrap tape pack wonder if moving back to Chicago is one more mistake heaped on top of a 1000 mistakes a 1,000,000 mistakes is going home to help Mom my biggest mistake ever i simply know i must try to protect my Mom

When I was 5
My biggest fear was fire
And my biggest worry was if I had to go inside too early
The outside was an endless ground for games of all sorts
From war to hide and seek
We would play until the sun set
And the streetlights shined bright
My friends lived within seconds
We'd knock on one another's door multiple times
Until we could all come out and play

When I was 10
My biggest fear was a person
Tormenting me, screaming
and striking me until I'd break
I still feared fire but not because of dying
Simply because i knew it might not **** me
My biggest worry was having to wake up
Having to live another day in that house
Such a beautiful outside
The perfect hand-crafted family home
But that shell only hid horrific events within the fractured walls
I had no friends to save my sanity
Rotting from the inside out
A loving, child's heart demented and torn
Tattered and choked until every ounce of trust and happiness leaked out
I tried to go outside again but nature could only help me for so long
Before I returned to the nightmare that was my reality

When I was 15
I feared being alone
My hell had no ending
And my biggest worry was someone noticing the scars
traced along my body
It wouldn't matter if I cut too deep
If blood poured out and pooled beneath me
Both pain and death would solve the problem accordingly
I stayed inside
What was left of my imagination focused on either dying
Or on running far far away
My brain drowned in empty hopelessness
I gave up on the world and lost faith in everything
My savior appeared but not even she could **** the demons plaguing my mind

At 18 I left home
My biggest fear was returning again
My biggest worry was not ever being ok
Because I may had left the origin of evil
But it did not change what was in my head
The demons followed me everywhere
Stalking and striking at any hour
Draining me of hope and energy
Then I met my first love
A beautiful girl with gorgeous sapphire eyes
But she hid a dark soul beneath the beauty and I soon learned the dangers of loving your demons
At first she understood me,
Helped me through my addiction to the knife
But as quickly as she came, she changed into someone I feared
Because I knew I could never leave her
She possessed my heart so tightly within her poisonous grasp
Ripping it clear out of my chest
I feared I would ruin something again and end up alone
And one day she decided that I was no longer enough
That my entire being could not suffice to satisfy her sadistic needs
She drowned my heart for 6 months,
Shattering it completely 2 times
Before deciding to leave
But that love was built on *** and deceit
And though she claimed to love me
The searing pain coursing through my entire body
Was finally enough for me to see that
she did not know how to love

Now that I'm almost 20
My biggest fear is hurting my friends and family
Because I still never know when I could snap
My biggest worries are not making enough
Money for my life
Time for my friends
And love for my family
The universe has sent me a precious gift
Someone who knows love enough to share it with me
And though I'm still broken
Her beautiful heart helps mend my broken soul
With love and understanding
We have conquered over 7 months together
But I know she could still leave
This time the twisted beginning began from me
I broke her heart before I knew she gave it to me
And I know deep down she still resents me
But I deserve it
And she's worth it

Most days I know not who I am
Society labels me a 'girl'
But inside I know that's not me
I'm nothing,
A gender less, label less freak
And **** it hurts so bad
When they misgender me
Though I'm still too afraid to correct them
It's as though they twist a knife through my organs
Whenever they say 'she'
Who knew three letters
Could bring so much pain to me
Though I put the blade away, I turned to flames
Burning the nicotine into my lungs
Still begging not to wake up
Still thinking of death every day
Sometimes locking it out
And others inviting it in willingly
I guess Adulthood really hasn't changed a thing
I work until I can't stand it
But still cannot sleep
The depression burns more intense some days
But unlike everyone else in my life
*It never truly leaves

With hesitation do I dedicate to the half-empty,
but there's a vision of a girl I can't quite shake:
up to her Achilles tendons in rambunctious folds
of rank, grabby, carnivorous sea.
Disgruntled and shivering, but there all the way.

She’s the rare bird convinced of common feathers,
not so much ugly duckling as self-deprecating swan,
never so bold as to lock eyes with the water
for fear of seeing herself in clearest view,
and never seeing for sure that she’s a heart of beauty.

Not that she cares, anyways.

She's got the sappiest music taste—
though I’m not supposed to know that, either—
characterized by aplenty
of heartfelt bangers we loved in youth and pretended to be over.

She's no Mr. Brightside.
But ****, when she cleans up...

The only silver lining she believes in is her sharp-edged contour,
cutting as the retort she’s got ******* on the pulse of.
She just doesn’t need to shout to prove it.

I've the off-and-on friend who resents without saying,
no words to spare when she's busy as of late struggling to breathe.
The silence I took for elegance is suffocation,
but at least black lung is still the vogue, I’ve heard?

And through the struggle comes a wicked perfection:
the ability to lay waste with a whisper,
and revere only in the rawest quiet.

Her humor, sometimes for the offensive,
is the most potent sense of feeling
that doesn’t take looking at her own self.
She as herself could light up a room.
If only it weren’t so much easier to fall short.

Because never would she outwardly want to be on someone’s mind,
(little does she know she jumps to the forefront of mine)
yet in that same reluctant, teeth-grinding urge she denies herself
in the desire to find her good lighting,
I have in the desire to let her know she is beloved.

But to tell someone they’re poetry to you is a pin in the grenade
that these budding wisdom teeth just can’t grasp.

She’s there now in the sea I still liken to her eyes.
Windows to the soul akin to a place she hates,
just as capable of resentment.

All I know is I’ll be torn asunder if she loses herself
beneath the brine of a bottle or the message of faux-hope within it.
In a churning silence of the drink,
there’s no honest sentiment with which to compare.
Lost at sea, with no quality control,
fool’s gold is such a fine, agonizing release.

Yet on she heads, carving mountains in her path, for a swill.

Still, every time I see her again,
I know I’ll never help loving her some,
while I pretend there's comfort in the fact
that most of us had to sink before learning to swim.

Ezra James isn't the first
and certainly won't be the last
to go to sleep to the wonderful sound
of family having a laugh

Ezra James isn't alone
and will never have it be said
that he resents having to share
a bath before going to bed

Ezra James isn't afraid
of darkness after lights out
he knows for sure his brothers are there
of that he's never in doubt

Ezra James is safe and sound
he's certain of where he belongs -
loved by brothers, loved by God
in the heart of family Sibuns

You aren’t the only one with secrets. Some secrets will be shared but I imagine most go unspoken, because the best kept secrets are the ones we keep from ourselves, those things we don’t know that we have hidden or forget we ever hid in one of those hiding places we don’t know we have.

She imagines the sound of a spine cracking when she crumples plastic bottles to recycle.
He hates his father and not because he’s an alcoholic with a vicious temper
           but because he gets more attention from the woman he’s married to,
           his mother, than she gives to him.
She doesn’t like his laugh.
He doesn’t like his laugh.
She won’t answer the telephone because she’s afraid of being mistaken for a child.
He won’t answer because he feels sick thinking about all the prints other people
         have left on the receiver.
She has recurring nightmares about her childhood teddy bear and
         she is reaching forty-five years old.
She resents her baby because she has to give up drinking for her pregnancy.
He resents her for being pregnant.
He has never had a dream he can remember so he makes them up.
She makes up anecdotes that bear little importance to make her life seem interesting.
He is planning on killing himself before he is at the age his hair begins to fall out.
He intentionally hold his jaw clenched to make it appear more chiselled.
        He read this in a magazine.
She refuses to take her socks off in bed. She said she read in a magazine
         that *** is better if the socks remain on. She actually hates her feet,  
         and his feet and all feet.
She makes herself ***** more than seven times every day. She has done this  
         for five consecutive years. She is clinically overweight.
His hair is not naturally the colour people think it is.
She has fantasies about her boyfriend’s sister.
He is afraid to go outside or near sharp objects or get in a car because
         of his conviction that he will **** somebody for a reason he can't explain.
He has no idea what he’s talking about.
She has no idea what he’s talking about.
He says he doesn’t believe in love. He believes it, and that he deserves it,
          but has never been shown it or felt it. He hasn’t given up
          but says that he has with a shrug.
She loves the way he shrugs her off. She loves to feel unimportant.
She says she doesn't believe in love and people assume she’s damaged
           after her divorce. She never loved him in the first place.
She spends her time alone splitting open tangerines and picking apart
           the slices one by one and then eats the rind.
He spends his time alone splitting open saturated teabags.
He has been stealing from his mother for five years.
She knows her son steals from her but doesn't want to confront him
          because she knows he has a drug problem and she hates him for it.
He thinks his daughter is weak.
She’s sad her daughter is ugly.
She’s comfortable being ugly because it means she’ll never be touched by a man again.
They tell people they were too busy to make that appointment.
They are alone all the time.

I've often wondered if sometimes, if at all
There's a part of you-even if just a tiny bit
That resents me for the things I've taken away
Without your knowledge
It's justifiable you know,
I'll understand if you do
I mean I resent me too at times
I wouldn't blame you

But you, with eyes wide closed,
Heart open look beyond all of me
And I realize,

Things aren't always black and white
There's a thin line in between
Harboring all that's good within,
Looking beyond the imperfections,
And it's you.
You're the warm blanket we all need,
A perpetual calendar of inspiration for me
And most.
Let your aspirations guide to better things,
Be drawn to success like a moth to a flame,
Careful not to burn your wings,
Or to let people step on your cape
You're more than what you see in the mirror
The love you have within you radiates
To form an everlasting echo that transcends
Beyond definition
Finding reflections of each other in our hearts
And that's where , not anywhere else
We'll keep each other safe, warm and protected
For someday, this is all we'll have-memories

1314

When a Lover is a Beggar
Abject is his Knee—
When a Lover is an Owner
Different is he—

What he begged is then the Beggar—
Oh disparity—
Bread of Heaven resents bestowal
Like an obloquy—

Kids count kisses in Liverpool,
Romancing their way through school,
Boys whispering to the liars by streetlight,
Softly dancing with the girls tonight.

Sixteen rooms fall into place,
All the boys, they grab at Grace,
Louise can't hold on to her hair;
She touches a cigarette,
Smokes a pair.

Necklaces taking gently,
I stop to taste the smiles,
Frowning skeleton resents me,
She should stop for a while.

Sitting slowly,
The velvet petticoat sings,
Running underground,
Wineglass without wings
Cheap windows feel the high heels,
Dancefloor crawling, we're made of steel.

Necklaces taking gently,
Stop to taste the smiles,
Frowning skeleton resents me,
She should caress me for a while.

-Jamie F. Nugent

There is no I in denial.
They kiss in bed.
They roll around.

There is no I in denial.
He bought her flowers.
She placed them in a vase.

There is no I in denial.
They hug outside of
traditional thought.

I do not know how we got here,
but I know I don't want us
to stay.

There is no I in denial.
They **** in bathrooms.
They make love in gardens.

There is no I in denial.
She blew a kiss.
He caught a tough break.

There is no I in denial.
He holds a box of his things,
after being shown out.
She says they'll manage.

I do not know how we got here,
but I know I don't want us
to stay.

There is no I in denial.
They kiss in bed,
but it's not the same.
They roll around in bed,
but it begins
to feel
like effort.

There is no I in denial.
He bought her less.
She said it didn't matter.

There is no I in denial.
He feels like his father,
imagining things
she's doing.

I do not know how we got here,
but I know I don't want us
to stay.

There Is No I In Denial.
They don't talk as much.
They sit farther apart.

There Is No I In Denial.
She asks him what's wrong.
He resents her care.

There Is No I In Denial.
He gets drunk and
breaks the vase.
The flowers lay,
covered in wet glass,
sleeping in a puddle.

I do not know how we got here,
but I know I don't want us
to stay.

THERE IS NO I IN DENIAL.
They don't talk, they yell.
They don't remember each other.

THERE IS NO I IN DENIAL.
He drinks more.
She feels less.

THERE IS NO I IN DENIAL.
They were married underneath
an oak tree,
  She said, "I do."
He smiled and said,
  "I'm so lucky."

The flowers lay on the floor,
  dying.

I do not know how we got here,
but I know I don't want us
*to stay.

While an intrinsic ardor prompts to write,
The muses promise to assist my pen;
’Twas not long since I left my native shore
The land of errors, and Egyptain gloom:
Father of mercy, ’twas thy gracious hand
Brought me in safety from those dark abodes.
     Students, to you ’tis giv’n to scan the heights
Above, to traverse the ethereal space,
And mark the systems of revolving worlds.
Still more, ye sons of science ye receive
The blissful news by messengers from heav’n,
How Jesus’ blood for your redemption flows.
See him with hands out-stretcht upon the cross;
Immense compassion in his ***** glows;
He hears revilers, nor resents their scorn:
What matchless mercy in the Son of God!
When the whole human race by sin had fall’n,
He deign’d to die that they might rise again,
And share with him in the sublimest skies,
Life without death, and glory without end.
     Improve your privileges while they stay,
Ye pupils, and each hour redeem, that bears
Or good or bad report of you to heav’n.
Let sin, that baneful evil to the soul,
By you be shun’d, nor once remit your guard;
Suppress the deadly serpent in its egg.
Ye blooming plants of human race divine,
An Ethiop tells you ’tis your greatest foe;
Its transient sweetness turns to endless pain,
And in immense perdition sinks the soul.

When you said we were done
I initially was angry because
I wanted to hate you so badly
But I only loved you.

A few days later,
I realize that, though I do love you
more than anything,
A part of me also resents you.
And maybe my anger was not,
In fact, because I couldn't hate you,
But because I knew a part of me does
And all I want to do is love you.

The last time you asked if I hated you for ending it;
I couldn't, because I understood.
But this time, you didn't ask
You didn't care
And I'm not sorry that I wasn't good enough,
Because you're the one who couldn't
Handle the distance.
Let your cravings and desires
Override a love
To where you couldn't feel it anymore.

I wish I could understand,
But I can't.
And I resent you for hurting me this way.
At least before I knew you still loved me,
Now I couldn't even tell you liked me.

Enjoy your freedom and experience
While I'm trapped as a prisoner
To my own mind.
The dreams of you continue and
Waking up hurts more than I can explain.
But I love you.
And, unfortunately, that will never change.

My warm breath ricochets off the surface in front of me, back onto the skin of my jowls.  I see darkness, but within that darkness, an infinite amount of possibilities.  I'm on the road, the warm summer air is heating the cool frames of my sunglasses as I travel to somewhere far away.  Destination unknown, just traveling, always traveling.  Every time I take a different path with fluctuating experiences, utilizing varying transportation methods.  I begin to float, but I am not actually moving.  It is as if the ground beneath me is simply sinking away.  The wind picks up, the sun sets as the moon lapses into being, and suddenly, I am above a city.  The bright ambient lights are off-setting at first , but I grow used to them quickly. The cacophony of car horns, metallic scraping, pounding footsteps, and atrocities being committed complete the atmosphere. Sometimes I am that atrocity.  I soar down to the streets below and my ankles absorb the shock of the landing.  It's never as painful as one would anticipate. I wander through the dark alleys, dragging my hand across the damp, rigid, bricks.  I hear whispers from the walls telling me where to go next.  I have a calling, a civil duty to uphold.  The collective conscious of the city is screaming to me, asking me to do what they do not have the courage to do.  After the deed is done I melt back into the shadows from whence I came, and wait patiently for the next task.  With no warning and no control I transcend to another setting.  I move on to another life, with no recollection of the past world.
I am five years old.  I stare up at an amusement park, bewildered by all that is going on around me. The noisy gears of the machines grind and whir, drowned out only by the carnival medleys shrieking from the loud speakers implanted in the various coasters and carousels.  It is too much to take in at once and I begin to feel anxious, something does not seem right.  A sense of familiarity kicks in, but never has anything so familiar felt so uncanny.  Swarms of people flash by as though they are images imprinted on film reeling swiftly through a projector. Amongst the multitude of scurrying figures, one woman stands still, like a figurine mounted inside a snow globe surrounded by thousands of  free falling flakes. She turns to face me, and as I stare into the pale blue puddles of her eyes, I begin to weep. Electric impulses speed through my nervous system, my vision blurs, heart skips a beat. They're letting me know that somewhere, somewhere else, a bell is ringing.  I feel the breath again and there is a blinding light.  An orchestra of zippers, Velcro, and papers crumpling reverberates against the cold cement walls.  Not completely aware of what's going on, I follow the crowd and scuffle through the corridors, my footsteps acting as a sort of metronome against the linoleum floors. It is then that I am finally aware of where I am. I am back in the real world, back in the school, out of the comfort of my dreams.  My destination in this world is predicable, the journey  not so immense, nor as intriguing.  My legs begin to tingle as the blood rushes back into the tired muscles.  The woman from my dreams is now just a pale shadow in the banks of my memory.  
While the environments of my imagination tend to differ, there is  a catalogue of fairly constant variables.  There is usually the girl.  Not always the same girl in a  physical sense, but one that provokes the same types of feeling whether she's there or she's missing.  Except for this one.  This one always leaves an ominous, almost haunting, feeling.  She is not visually disconcerting.  It is not her sandy-blonde hair, porcelain skin, or even her murky blue eyes that frighten me, but rather the way she looks at me with them.  Her eyes cry for help that I can not provide, and it seems that she knows this, and for that she resents me.  I have no knowledge of who this woman is, or what she is meant to symbolize, but she makes my blood run cold.

Cuz I have some issues... I won't admit .. But I no ill commit to be bad to you ..I'm just bad.. ( No )....To you ... I'm good in bed but I'm just bad for you....

Uh what are these issues
What cause all this pain
You can open up and tell me mama I bet we both can relate
No we can't ) How you no
Y'all are all the same ) Well  I can't complain
Cuz these women are made to be fix
And we ****** are made to be broken
But y'all use ***** as a weapon
And get mad when we wanna just detonate

Cuz I have some issue ) I get it tho
I been there befo .. But I love it tho
Let me be the one to help you change your views
And how is that )
If I give a good channel you just have to be brave enough to watch the news

See bad girls are no good ( that's a lie )
And the good girls are no fun ( believe that)
Hood girls just wanna front (umm)
College girl just wanna **** ( haha)
It seem the ones who know how to roll always get a ring
But it's just promises
Just long resents
No wedding dress
No matter how much white you sniff
But what about my issues )
See I noticed it
I can take control of it
Even when your warm as hell
And cold as spit
I seen the broken heart but I can fix the split

She'll hurt your feelings
She'll  no why
She'll  play smart
To these dumb guys
Idk the game but if I'm playing man I won't be surprised

She smoke ****
She she get high
Best *** in the world this girl knows how to build up *** a drive
See your all the same )
No baby I went from bed ,floor, kitchen ( Hold up )
( That Quiet *** , disgraceful )
( Oh word up ) ( Word up)
Hold up forget it cuz all of the bad girls are always unfaithful

Offense is a proud, pretty bird
preening her feathers just so,
resplendent in attire
crested and crowned
looking down over the world

without warning,
the wind dares to
tousle her hair--
affection between
connected hearts, between
friends, between
the flier and the flight

the bird shrieks
at her ruffled feathers,
the caring gesture,
and the good intent.
she broods
she resents
and she preens

when she is ready,
the wind does not come.
she shrieks at its absence
as she did at its presence,
but she can't put her pretty feathers to use

Flandres, the flag of agony in thee I raise
The bravest scapes thy land survails
In me seek the darkest and the mad man
The sad crab cracks its nest
Against a backdoor saloon chest
My avenue stew mind philanthropy
Resolutions crust signs in my sight
And by my side Rosemary glinks and blides
Preparing my bedroom earing for
The day of the land lord sore
And than again the boots are crooked
The spirit is fulled and dream ain’t no avenue
Scooped you will feel and your brain got to be in a grill
While your smile resents some breakfast lamb
When the door doesn´t call you hence
Your feet ain’t gonna lick the garden  fence

Standing there the man and his black cloak
A shield spelling what spells seen to sell
Glasses clink telling whatever you ain’t bring
To the ceremony that makes you feel lonely
Chain your pony slowly for it’s holy
Now hear the voice in a big bang noise
Shooting swords like darts of joke
Seeking and begging thrilling candies
Whispering the grace, listen Sam, the grey taste
It’s your blamed race and it's you the same.

Getting left behind
Not being loved
No one understanding
No one caring are my fears
I had a dream I was lost
No one tried to find me
No one cared
No one listened, understood
Feeling left out
Feeling like no one understands
Feeling like No one can hear me when I’m screaming to be heard
Destructive behavior I have
Wishing I could change
Wishing I could make it better
Wishing for another chance
Wishing for someone who will come and save me from myself.
my fears
not being heard
being left behind
not being understood
no one caring.
how can I disappear? Make people understand.
Disappear from
this world
Show people what it's like to worry, misunderstand, not care.
my fears,
people laugh
people tease
people misjudge
people misunderstand me.
Behind my back, they laugh, tease, hurt, so I can't see them. It hurts.
Now, I hide this pain in my heart making sure no one sees my hurt.
Pretending to be someone I'm not.
Trying so hard to fit in, to cover the scars, trying
so hard, to be liked by you.
My feelings disappearing
No regrets
Hoping no one resents me.
After my dream ended, I wondered...
What am I leaving..
When I leave here?
The pain I've caused. The hurt,the disappointments, the worries
Hoping, now people understand, people miss, people hear me, and others
Forgetting all: all the pain, and hurt
I learned to hide inside, buried deep in my heart. No way out
My fears...are these..

You are the grains against roots
You are the pictures to the poems
You are the music to the seasons
Utterly mistaken for one, two years

Shifting your moves
Reconstructing images from the page
Searching new views
Resting your chin knowing
The crickets will never rest
The oceans will never forever forget you
The forest will be burnt

A paradox will be solved
For you, crashes require reboots
Setting leap year back once more

The flowers will forever
Bring you a demesne

You are a pastiche
Your voice is mellifluous
A formal fallacy resents
The starting line logically
Helping you recognize the beginning

Terror evolves in the pure open space
where sparked by the doubt of one who resents
the consequence of living and knowing
nothing of the terrible, terrible
confrontation, it propounds incessant
problems of being and ceasing until
entangled Reason entangles itself
in implications of implications,

confounding the space, conceiving a place
of refuge bounding Nowhere’s edge,
where ponderous dreams of life without care
augment the power and anger and dread
of Terror itself, thickening like air,
glutting the infinite heart of the head.

My insomniac ways beg me not to wake this early in the day, but the smell of coffee beans awaken my soul.

It’s been 5 days since I’ve seen the light and my cosmonaut tendencies have gotten the best of me.

Each night I take a trip to the moon and back, collecting some stars along the way.

My soul thrives on stardust and my heart pulses with the moon.

My spirit, a wolf in the dead of the night, lurks in the shadows; Reaching out to every inch of the universe.

Just searching for the peace and serenity that comes with being one with the universe.

My soul may be a thousand years old, but with each new day I am born again.

Maybe that’s why I am afraid of the light.

You left a coffee stain on my heart and though the strings couldn’t bare to part with any fiber of your love, my body resents you.

I broke. She broke me. I’m broken. Can’t you see that I’m broken?

She has hurt me in ways that you could never imagine, bound my heart to her soul in more ways than any one person could think possible.

She twisted my veins, intertwining them with her heart.

I wish she could see the way that I could.

Love is such a fragile thing, but when you use it and abuse it you learn more things than you would ever find in a text book.

Love, you tug at my heart strings. Took everything that I am and tossed it aside like one of your ****** up love poems.

Crumpled me up in the night then threw me away in that soiled trashcan in the corner of your room.

Let the lyrics of my love for you slip away in the night.

I hope every syllable leaves a shadow of my kiss on your lips, turning the sweet nectar of your raspberry lemonade chap stick to chilling memories of the ice in your soul.

My bones ache from your frigid love. Our partnership was always more than bad news.

Before you ripped my heart in two, you turned it into tissue paper.

It got thinner and thinner each time it broke, turning something so strong into something now so weak.

The storm of our love created a river that may not have ran smooth, but I loved her anyway.

You taught me to love each fragment of danger along the way; taught me to use each crack of thunder and each flash of light, to my advantage.

My love for her grew as deep of the depths of her heart until the day she set me free.

That must have been the night it flooded, wasn’t it?

Our love was like a reckless storm. Two fronts clashing, composing a volatile connection that sent everyone running, but you thrived in the chaos didn’t you sweet pea?

You always used to tell me that I was the lightning to your thunder, but every time I struck, I could feel you slipping away from me.

No amount of sorrow will ever erase the image of her from my mind, the taste of her in my mouth.

She was my favourite cup of coffee and my only sweet dreams.

Her shadow haunts me like a silent plague, keeping me awake in wee hours of the night.

Maybe I just need some tea to replace the bitter taste in my mouth, but until that day she will forever be the reason for my insomniac ways.

When I moved to this town, I dreamed that one day I would own the little yellow boathouse that sat on the riverside (the one with the white trim) From what I heard, it was abandoned years ago, and no one in the town had bothered ever fixing it up, so slowly it decayed. But I always pictured myself making the repairs necessary to turn it into the beautiful home I imagined it once was. I would turn the corner room that faced the water into an office and spend my summers working on my novel.
But today, Caleb, the youngest son of the neighbor boys who lived in the house down the street told me it had been destroyed by an old oak tree that stood behind it. When he told me the news, he and I were standing out in the long driveway, my hands wrapped around my coffee mug.
‘There’s nothing here’ I thought. ‘Just him and I’ (and I was air) ‘so it’s just him here.’
I dropped off my cup inside and headed across town to see the damage. I reached the house by noon, and as I stood, staring out at what was left of what was supposed to be my home one day, I began to sob. I felt like a child. All of my dreams had been crushed, literally. The tree reminded me of a giant spiderweb, it was bare and it’s branches stretched out like long fingers, wrapping themselves around the house. Besides the river, the wind was the only sound I could hear. It whistled and howled at me.
I had given up the one thing that inspired me: my city. For this. A little house on the river. It’s like I ripped off my skin, and all that remained was my bones, and all they could do was clank together in the cold like a wind chime.
Everything was upside down. This is not how I imagined my life. I had nothing mapped or planned, but where I was now seemed so far away from where I envisioned myself being. Everything was unfamiliar to me, and it frightened me. All I wanted to do was take gasoline to whatever it was I had created here, and start a new. But this tipsy topsy life was mine, and I had to make do.


He picks me up in front of a family of statues under a green isling. The side of his car reminds me of crinkled paper, or mashed potatoes. We sit silently in the car at first, then he begins to tell about a woman he had encountered today. The word ‘*****’ comes out of his mouth so smoothly. But when I hear it, I feel it’s sting on me like wasps. Is there something to be said to prevent me from becoming that woman? (if i’m not already) A woman he hates? A woman he resents? A woman who’s dry in the morning and too boring in the evening? My tongue curls and I feel my stomach coil. Men use the word ‘*****’ to describe women who are strong. Women who are assertive. And when men feel threatened, or rejected or emasculated by a woman, all they can say is “that *****”. There is no male equivalent. There’s no word like “*****” for men. Sure, there’s ‘*******’ and ‘*****’ or ‘******’ but none of them feel as harsh. None of them sting like ‘*****’ does.


We pull into the long driveway, and pass the other neighbor boy who’s name I honestly can’t remember. When we get into the house, he pulls me into the bedroom.
“I need you” he says.
‘What’s the difference between want and need?’ I ask myself. There isn’t much we NEED. To eat. To sleep. To drink. I NEED a drink. He WANTS me. It’s a primal thought. Instinct. I am not a need, not really. But he knows how I think. He  know’s “need” works on me. Because I hear “need” and feel desired, until I’ve been had. And then I remember “need” means “want” and I remember “need” means he’s tricked me.
I think what we all REALLY need is a day. Spring cleaning for our insides. Be it your body or mind. For the housewives of Castle Creek, that means cleanses, and binging. For me, it means sitting down with a leatherback journal and a good pen. Scribbling down everything and anything that comes into my mind. No filtration. No distractions.

He finishes, kisses me on the cheek, and disappears. I’m left on the bed, my dress pulled up, exposed. And so, a few minutes later, after I’ve collected myself, I head down the hallway to the kitchen. I have become the woman I never wanted to be. The woman who’s making dinner for her husband as he sits and watches some terrible Tom Cruise movie. It makes me sick how average my life has become. ‘What a sad way to live.’ I think. Just like everyone else. But I am not everyone else. If I were, perhaps everything here would be so much easier. I am not the woman the people of this town want me to be. I am far too artsy. Far too independent. When I walk into the grocery store, people stare at me. As if they were looking at a wanted poster. The worst part of going to the store isn’t the weird looks. I’m used to that by now. It’s the music. Smooth jazz. It makes me feel like i’m in an elevator. An elevator that’s stuck, and i’m waiting for someone to come and rescue me. But no one’s coming. I’m stuck in Castle Creek. The world’s smallest, ******* elevator in the United States.

The Man in the Moon will be leavin’ soon
Officially, he retired.
But Polaris and some other stars
Are saying he got fired
The Man in the Moon would never leave
Of his own volition.
Management, cutting back on costs,
Is phasing out his position.

His quarterly reviews have not been going very well,
They say he isn’t any good with change.
When he gives his full attention, he seems to do ok,
But lately he’s been acting kind of strange,
His bosses claim he sleeps all day.
And on cloudy nights, he stays away,
(It’d be age discrimination if they said he’s getting old)
So they say that he won’t listen and won’t do as he is told.
They say because he has seniority,
That he resents authority,
Won’t show his new boss how the job is done,
And in their final summary, out of ten, they gave him three,
Said that he doesn’t hold a candle to the sun.

But those of us who know his work
Know he would never, ever shirk
Responsibility, or jobs that must be done -
At night when he works overtime,
Countless souls look up to him, but
At night they’ll never, ever, see the sun.

If The Man in the Moon is told to leave
Our lives will be amiss,
So I took a poet’s initiative
To make management a list:

Reasons Not to Fire the Man in the Moon
Who will watch young lovers kiss?
Who will push and pull the tides?
Who will occupy the space
Where The Man in the Moon resides?
Who will tell the farmer when it’s time to plant his field?
Who will lead the eclipse when the sun needs lunar shield?
Who will be the subject of songs and nursery rhymes?
Who will notify the werewolf when it’s his changin’ time?
Who will calm the sailors after stormy nights at sea?
Who will make a silhouette of an owl in the tree?
Who will light the children’s path each All Hallows’ Eve?
Who would raise vampires from their coffins
Were The Man in the Moon to leave?

I ask these questions with a plea
Knowing that, if it were up to me
And I had the power to blunt the cutter’s knife,
We’d leave the Earth and Heavens as they’ve been for all these years,
And The Man in the Moon would have his job for life.
PwL  5/24/15w

When you break five beer glasses at work
do not berate yourself
imagine yourself as a young child
she is with you for this instance in your life
would you be as cruel to her as you are to yourself?
You have as much right to let thins shatter at your feet as she does
Do not take this as a mistake
Take this as a subconscious act against the addiction that held you parents in its ugly hands for years
2. If you want to find your joy in speaking to strangers
then allow it
hang out with the boy in Hawaii at 3 am that you just met
discover that his leg resting on yours feels like the warmth of the island
even in the depth of the night
realize that you do not have to miss the cold skin of the boy who was your first everything
you are a girl who needs warmth,
and you are a girl who can find this warmth in others
3. I’ve learned in the past month that the best way to figure out who should be in your life is to love yourself harder than you ever have before and watch for who resents it.
4. Do not apologize for your emotions
You are human
Do not allow someone to tell you that you are lesser because you are angry
Because you are sad
Because you just don’t know
5. Teach people the acceptable way to treat you by reciveing nothing less than what you need
Wear your self-love for all of them to see
Scream it from the rooftops
You are a goddess
You are not to be underestimated
Sharpen your eyes so well that a look will keep them in line
But do not forget to keep your softness as well
Do not harden your heart
Just because they fear your fire does not mean you should douse it
Do you not realize how many other people it keeps warm?

“She prides herself on her strength and steel,
but she cracks like porcelain now and then.
She knows how to piece herself back together,
but covers her cracks and chips in layers of glue.
She is composed of fire and compassion,
but she struggles with doubts and insecurities.
She burdens herself with the weight of the world,
but carries forward bravely, determined to make her mark.

She takes the reigns and her presence screams command,
but she hates the burden that comes with being in charge.
She knows leaderships rests deep within her bones,
but she resents her authority and responsibility.

She builds armor out of sharp wit and determination,
but she doesn’t dare smooth out any of her jagged edges.
She understands that she is the hero of her own story,
but recognizes even heroes need saving sometimes.

She burns soft and bright like a star in the night sky,
but she explodes violently like a supernova from time to time.
She scatters herself like stardust across galaxies in the aftermath,
but she is phoenix incarnate, reborn timelessly from her ashes.”

Sometimes I wonder
If despite the love we share
-The unrequited love only family can fathom-
If there is any hate beneath
Perhaps hate is too harsh of a word,
Resent sounds better.
Do you resent me?
Even for the shortest of moments,
Even the most minuscule amount,
Do you resent me?
Not me personally
(Or so I hope)
But for things that have happened 
Because of me,
Just because I am your sister?
For the things I took from you,
Never out of malice or spite,
Usually unknowingly,
And completely out of necessity,
Because there was no other option?
For the unforeseeable problems
That unfortunately arose
With their arduous effects
Reaching not only me
But you also?
For the things you were forced to do,
In my unintentional absences?
For the consequences of things
I had no control over?
I know you love me, I do
But is there a part of you that resents me too?
I wouldn't blame you,
I really, truly wouldn't-
Because secretly
I resent me too.

I picture my crossed legs, cresting a mound of ephervesent green, not tumult Sky with shadowed cloud, but cherry kissed blue rolling with heat.
The morning song sweeps the vale, harkening the beast and fresh fauna arouse, and the morthered trees wheaping away glass tears of mid morning shower.
Not a sound of combustion smoke, or thick air laced with chemical cloak.
But licked breath of sun flower fume, and jolly ring of a blue **** call back tracking the day of English country side sun.
Village in the deep pathed with rosened brick, cobbled with years to their name.
Thatched and single glazed sleep the houses of those in pleasure to live, away from sound and smoke and ever reluctance to give.
Yet bestowed from my world I am ****** back through to a bench in embankment side.
My village blown by September breeze and blue *** lost for lacking of trees.
The birds song unsung and arrogantly moved by the slamming tune of metalled wheels. Locals March by with mission and no excess, thoughts of exploration never sound as each space in the city has already been found.
My poet talk resents the city, as country birth implanted my eye and captures my spirit with intrigued motivation.
Yet opposites attract in such manner or Fashion, that crescent streets and busses red, fill my eyes with more movement than words ever said.
And unfinished I want to be here, to inhale the fume and absorb the sound, and so that upon return to my fields of green, my dream of birds and thatched village lay, that not the strongest of mid September breeze, could ever blow away.

Once upon a yesterday
Things were easier than you'd expect
One thing lead to another
Now you mind is filled with regret
A loop that meant forever
Wasn't broken
But thrown away
Three symbols of love and affection
Walk back and forth, day by day
From a broken marriage
Comes not a broken home
Instead a bitter child
Who resents
What she'll never know

Justice has exhausted her empathy
and is content with apathy for the time being
because contempt makes one resent senses.

She could choose dissent, or ascend
to the throne of lethargy.
Either way, no more empathy.

Justice is cloaked in ambiguity
and resents attempts to set her free
because she just wants to be.

wonder of wonders,
the men at Love's door
when a ripe man worships a woman,
the stars wake
and rivets of harmonious song filter through the universe
love is a release of majesty
the loved ones are a measure in kindness
were it not for Love,
man would have dissipated long ago
worship this yardstick
sever your pangs of ill will
the one who clearly loves
has on his side an angel
the one who resents is not forgiven
war is the trademark of a man torn with envy
love is the fortress of the blessed
wash your hands in a pool of love
the waters there will cleanse you
like no earthly waters can
love is a gateway to God
------------------
-----------------------
..(C) 1986/2011 Spiros Zafiris
..channeled; spirit Ram
------------------------------------------

A dusty solitary moth darting through his darkest night
  Finds himself attracted, helpless, to the candlelight.
He's lured to the burning flame.
He resents it all the same
And whips his wings to extinguish it in a futile fiery game.
He gets so close he starts to burn.
My name is Moth.
I never learn.