goodbye, Mickey
gone to the great big
Boystown in the sky

you were my saturday
afternoons.
you, Spencer Tracey
and 20cents of mixed lollies
in front of the old b&w;,T.V.

your angelic smile
and cheeky bad boy ways.
one day i was going to
marry you.

but then life changed.

today, when i heard
the news
i went back to that time
so thank you Mr Rooney
for those simple days
vale, vale.

Loneliness is a pain,
Not the pain of a knife cutting through skin, sinews, muscles,and drawing blood.
Not the pain of a tooth in your mouth throbbing and sending shocks of horrors through highways of swollen nerves..
Not a fatal pain of a dying cell being devoured by a cancerous growth that thrives on the death and the pain of the very cells that produces its been.
Not the pain of the prisoner s body been tortured by men who see no wrong or feel no shame as they insert sharp hot instruments into natural and man made orifices in their captives helpless, hopeless bodies.
Not the pain of age as the body's functions start their natural march towards unreliability , Hips, knees knuckles, elbows and all the other joints as they  begin to slowly dry up and rub  against each other like stones rolling down a hillside.
Not the pain of hearts slowing, livers hardening,lungs wheezing like ripped accordians bellows .
Not the pain of childbirth.
Not the pain of accidents that show no fairness to the person in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Not the pain of self inflicted wounds that can fool you into thinking that that pain is the answer to your  problems.
Not the pain of the young healthy times when the body, and mind  could accept it and overcome it
  Not the pain of hunger or thirst.

Loneliness is the pain of the soul .
Loneliness is the pain of dreams that are dreamt when your asleep and when you'r awake.
Loneliness is the pain of memories . Some half  forgotten some that are so clear you could almost touch them.
Some you'd rather forget.
Some you would spend the rest of your life reliving over and over again.
Loneliness is the pain that  at times can be part relieved momentarily  through the bottom of a whiskey bottle or a point of a syringe filled with a concoction of juices from plants poisonous to both the body and the soul.
Loneliness can never be cured by earthly things. Loneliness is a pain that can only find peace through a kinderd spirit.
   Pat Rooney 2013

.i did write about rooney mara once, didn't i? porcelain beauty... eh... not mandible beauty, the sort of beauty parallel to the Mona Lisa... the sort of beauty that's not mandible like the beauty of a fat *******'s beauty of stretch marks and extra flab... ******* a beached whale... you know... a mechanic's type of fetish for a broken down car engine... rooney mara? ms. porcelain doll beauty? that **** you just paint, you don't **** it... thinking to yourself: if i **** it, will it break?!

                       is... is...
this guy known as
yungblud...
singing the song
california...
dyslexic or something?
no, wait, wait...
he's hiding a lisp?
**** it... i'll just do
the camp *******
of reading the sunday times
style supplement
magazine, interviewing
cheryl tweedy...
****!
who the hell put on
van morrison's
brown eyed girl on?!
   yum-yum-sloppy-seconds
thank-you-very much...
like... a face that allows
you decentralize your
phallus from orientating
it around cow Martian
testicles and...
those floral patterns
in a ******...
   kinda like... joey fisher...
see... i'm under the
polygraph of a liter of
ms. amber...
     who the ****... ha ha...
lies when drunk / drinking?
she's about a liter tall...
(insert snigger)...
and she has a Havana ***
girth...
all that's missing is
pickled onions...
and some raw cherry
tomatoes...
ah ha ha ha!
god... i love reading these
articles...
i love women in general...
not unlike those glory days
when women found
*** easy...
with the likes of...
oh **** me... there's a list,
which implies a colon:
tony curtis...
   shhhhh... it...
  i can only think of tony curtis...
charlton heston doesn't
really fill the bill...
ooh ooh!
  **** jagger!
**** it... let's leave it at two...
in the meantime,
the bite of reality:
        
*****... what you gonna do
when your favorite
sugar-grandpa is kicking
the bucket?
   fix it up with the types
of losers of my generation...
lament of the first world war...
the missing men...
or the Haj route to the Kaaba
of a Saudi Sheik's harem?
me?
   i'm a father every time i ****
off...
   daddy in a tissue...
both father... and genocidal
maniac... i killed more "people"
than ******...
hey...   appetites are appetites...
but it's not as bad as if i was
given the incentive of
a circumcision...
   now... you have your dress of genitals...
and i have my *******'s worth
of tux, white **** and bow-tie...
we're even...

and to even think...
when we were leaving high-school,
i wrote down my ambitions
in the leaving book my two prime
ambitions...
either living a bohemian lifestyle
of an artist in some European
capital (Paris... god, please, Paris),
or becoming a priest...
   well... i'm doing both...
a covert monk...
          there's the god's **** of beer,
there's ms. amber,
the marquees de bourbon...
               and...
                usually a newspaper and
a blank space in pixel paper...

poor boy gotta laugh...
poor girl gotta fish, tame or hunt...
rich boy gotta party...
rich girl gotta dream about
a fling -
some variant of an indie
romantic comedy.

I've never met Andy Rooney.  So I can't truthfully say I know Mr. Rooney.  But you can't help forming an opinion after watching him on 60 Minutes for more years than I care to admit.

First, Andy's opinionated.  Well, who wouldn't be if they were paid, presumably well,  given an entire week to collect and share their thoughts with millions of viewers, and on any matter that rankled you that week!

Second, Andy has Svengali eye brows that you just can't take your eyes off.  I'm sure CBS provides Andy free barbering, as sure as I am that he tells the barber, "Nothing off the brows."

Third, how many times has Andy told his audience not to send him things.  After which he dips into a cardboard box and pulls out a cheese grater, a bible printed on playing cards, or a logo baseball cap?
Andy, don't worry; I got the message.

Is my minute up yet?  

Fourth, Andy's hand shakes.  Not unusual for a man his age.  It's not likely to happen, but I wouldn't mind shaking that hand just once.

Two different bodies, much parallel by space,
Yet they’re seen as a similar soul, much too wise;
Frankly, only one thing connects their far-off lines:
The cross in the form of a woman who inclines.

Meeting them is no pure coincidence, she lauds,
For a change of heart brought their lone planes with applause;
But the baffler still ponders about these young gents,
Why would Fate make me the origin of what bends?

Much amazement can they to charm our muse’s chasm,
Brought out of an obscure triangle to spasm
And make her plight more difficult to make choices
So as to bring a cut-off with life’s dull voices.

Oh, but who am I to decide for one fine gent
If but my dress be the maiden of honor’s bent?
Now, give me a plausible reason to choose you,
It might be your last of me and be it adieu.

Please, discern of who shall be your beloved half,
Just between black and white, never the grayish bluff.
Will it be the wise fighter or the wise equal?
They may blind you with mirror looks, so choose lethal.

Fitz
Fritz
Fido
Sandy
Spencer
Chaplain
Bernard
Jesse
Snoopy
Charlie
Charles
Fred
Freddy
Bones
Remmy
Ren­a
Reno
Tony
Julian
Julie
Frisco
Meghan
Addison
Robby
Buddy
Rudy
F­riedrich
Fredrick
Bernie
Rudolph
Adolf
Ferdinand
Rose
Cassie
Cassidy
Lee
Balto
Little *****
Allen
Alvin
Jake
Demi
Randy
Alex
Richard
Alexis
Kenneth
Ken­ny
Chris
Jose
Josey
Rodger
Moe
Joe
Emilio
Walt
Emily
Emma
Maddie
­Anna
Jafar
Aladin
Jasmine
Genie
******
Amber
Gracie
Ramen
Gordy
G­ordon
Jordie
James
Bucky
Huff
Manny
Sam
Samantha
Mary
Marie
Tila
­Rita
Cathy
Tammy
Mickey
Cam
Amelia
Rene
Jeb
Dan
Bagel
Tommy
Donut­
Bubbles
Blossom
Buttercup
Mark
Cody
Andy
Cristo
Andrea
Whiskers
­Mike
Bill
Billy
George
Geo
Joy
Mitch
Trigger
Tigger
Stephen
Archi­medes
Anya
Duncan
Nitro
Crash
Bub
Crystal
Egor
Bernadette
Cammy
T­immy
Antonio
Natasha
Natalia
Ivan
Abbey
Abdul
Carly
Aaron
Omega
F­inn
Nina
Debby
Tomato
Tabby
Artie
Archie
Noah
Kyle
Alfie
Alfred
Conrad
Conner
******
G­unner
Fry
Fries
*******
Constance
Connie
Frank
Fran
Candice
D­andy
Lucy
Lou
Louis
Quincy
Doogle
Dubie
Dakota
Ace
Casey
Barry
Te­rry
Trenton
Gabe
Laurie
Cornelius
Kabob
Sky
Skylar
Rufus
Louie
Ba­rton
Kimmy
Angel
Capri
Basil
Cy
Ruby
Emerald
Eleanea
Elenor
Barth­olomew
Jazz
Dreamer
Thunder
Topaz
Amethyst
Salsa
Meril
Dodo
Toto
­Eric
Barbera
Hannah
Katie
Zoey
Ben
Pinto
Squanto
Columbus
Columbo
Porgy
Bess
Clark
Savannah
Ken­dra
Marco
Leise
Toby
Trevor
Tresten
Treven
Adrienne
Caleb
Carlyn
­Ricky
Gibby
Donny
Han
Solo
Hans
Gabby
Dirk
Spot
Sebastian
Dee
Sco­oby Doo
Shaggy
Polly
Reginald
Burger
Steak Sauce
Ethan
Bradberry
Lucky
Fergie
Cheese
Boxer
Napoleon
Snowball­
Gerald
Jeremy
Benji
Gemma
Pal
Mal
Preston
Jack
Jackson
Molly
Mac­kenzie
Alexie
Alicia
Dora
Olivia
Salvador
Beast
Beauty
Oliver
Dal­e
Rim
Marley
Diego
*****
Bobby
Ralston
Zeke
Rooney
Plato
Cole
Nep­tune
Sailor
Frida
Rico
Dali
Veronica
Victor
Copeland
Swift
Riley
­Tubs
Lassie
Yo-yo
Harvey
Lemonade
Coke
Pepsi
Tanya
Camille
Token
­Laser
Beam
Seamus
Dorthy
Ian
Moby

Hoobler Hobbler:
He brings only fatigue.
He is but just annoying,
He rarely does intrigue.

Even my brothers are
Extremely irritated so,
For they cannot do anything
Since he really cannot go

For even a strongman like old Mal
He cannot move this hefty tonne,
Both Adsel and Luke alike
Their words like an empty gun

Frank cannot do anything,
He just perches there to watch;
Mike and Blake hide in their hole
And Rooney's but a blotch

Oh this fascinating team
For once they really can't control;
This heavy weighted sleepyhead
Has just worsened this hellhole

Hoobler Hobbler:
It's not just the fatigue,
He also brings along chaos
But still doesn't intrigue

COME ON UNI-TED!!!!!!!!!!
No ****** Rooney
Injured
De Gea injured in the ---kin' warm up!!!
For ---k's sake!
In the warm up!!!!!
Yes! Yes!.....
Oh you ****-hole!
Referee!
Are you ---kin' blind?!!!
That was NEVER a foul!
Who's paying your ---kin' wages
Yer tw-t !!!
YEEES!!
MEMPHIS!!!!!!!!
Fabulous goal!
Waddaya mean lucky?
ohh no, kick him
---Kin' kick him!!!
OHHH NOOOO!!!
What the ---k are ya playin' at!!!
THAT was a lucky goal
The *******
Thank ---k it's half time
I need a smoke
Phew, I'm knackered with another half to go

                                                 By Phil Roberts

.a viable compensation... males ought to stop being such ***** romantics... how my father plays the Chamberlain to my mother ******... me... and a woman? please... let's just get it over with, castrate me... i have no existential imperative... i am,. the sort of fascist you're supposed t fear... i actually endorse their ideology... i can't sway the opinions of western women... **** 'em... to be honest, the most ****** eruptions i've felt were for Kenyan ivory beauties... ivory? the teeth... skin like molten chocolate... rare for a white man to desire black women...never experienced the Asian fetish... first time in Africa and i recognized in her eyes: we weren't a pair of the ugly people... while shy smoked marijuana on the stealth... god...  liquorice in caramel... coconut oil smeared all over her... my one time in Kenya... and i'm looking for a shade... and i also fall in love... and i recognize the eyes that fall love... and everywhere i go... i fall in love... but never stay... a death, the blues, and what comes after: the everyday noose... just prior... come sleep.

*******, i too, am,
bewildered at not
finding my ego...
or rather... pretending
to leave with a hard-on...
what's wrong with me?
or... rather...
what's wrong with you?
blame games can
only go so far....
        i can only pretend to
give a ****
having listened to
enough chris isaak songs...
after a while...
i'm  "thinking"....
if this doesn't have rooney
mara to compensate with...
                 *******...
i'll eat the cauliflower...
point break ***** of the 21st century...
i'll scratch my beard
and pretend to shave... o.k.?!
hard-on, no ego...
ego, no hard-on...
  i guess thinking's
side-effect is that that...
thinking... sometimes paralyzes....
good to know-ro-ro-robot-good-to-go.

only in england, where so few philosophical
works are actually read,
it's apparently enough to cite Locke,
the famous island isolation -
after watching a program on bipolar disorders /
manic depression and what not
started watching a rekindling of
the premier league from the years 2002 / 3...
with the years' music in the background -
great memories Wayne Rooney was still
at Everton, and David ****** had a moustache
and a ponytail standing in goal at Arsenal,
Ole "babyface" Solskjær was playing at
Manchester United - the white stripes came out
teasing a breakthrough just before
their elephant album - well, that's that,
but this programme about the manics -
you'd think that england was really accommodating
to eccentrics as once Vladimir expressed -
he's half-informed, 'hey Vlad... you have half
the picture, honest to god...'
but i want to deviate from any sort of scrutiny
on the subject - the "sane" people think
doctors are holy - what's with this notion that
some surgeons don't leave surgical equipment
in bodies, and that misdiagnosis doesn't happen?
well... so much for deviation:
does it begin with questioning your thinking
rather than questioning existence?
half-baked activists - no "change the world"
prompt? i guess you could say that -
no qualification credentials and you're just
a street-cleaner, apparently - a street-cleaner
in the sense of shuffling tripping up on
banana skins (chris rea - god's great banana skin -
https://goo.gl/3JYJYV - great song) or waltzing
on autumn leaves - suddenly there's a new
zoology department at the London zoo -
changed sphynxes on two legs rattling piggies
of savings they never made other than what they
picked up from the street - besides that -
well, you can resort to the Koran -
or at least i find a way to mediate it - back to
descartes: an example of good through doubt,
meaning i'm a quasi-believer, but not, as sartre
would claim: an unbeliever - since doubt equates
itself with good faith, sartre's doctrine teaches
bad faith... and if the opposite of bad is good,
then the opposite of doubt is denial (the un- prefix
summary when coupled to belief);
so this one manic depressive was describing
a moment of solipsism in terms of annie lennox
singing to him - well, she was, the man just
experienced a moment of solipsism, a thought
experiment in subconsciously, and he simply didn't
realise it - like i told you - so few works of
philosophy are read in england, most of these books
try to follow the route nietzsche attempted:
to write very little when others wrote a great deal...
and then what? sit on a poet's laurels and ****
and smile that all too deceptive smile of some sort
of accomplishment? that'll hardly work -
imagine thirst, and hunger, and put that into writing -
and here we have the telegraphic technique -
as suggested by the author of slaughterhouse 5 -
m. kurt vonnegut - well obviously you will not find
any comparisons - but then at Yale the professor of
"creative" writing or whatever they call it
just cited the first line of the first canto - so i ask you:
why would you want to write something as if
it's an instruction manual for a television set?
oddly enough too, the Florence school of art technique
wasn't passed on - while Albrecht Dürer kept his
a secret, unto himself - lucky man, a sad man,
but a lucky man - i actually like his selfishness.
no, they don't read philosophy in england,
and i can testify with the usual saying they have:
'he's lost touch with reality', what the hell is that?
no, i don't have the stamina for any secret society
crap - i get the comedy of life,
a comfortable positioning on the ****** laze -
limit all of life's temptations and live out
a slightly impoverished life - premonition i'd say
now, had enough money back when i was making
investments in a music & book library -
now i'm full - now my turn to give -
oh look: a bunch of gnat memory readers
easily distracted by traffic lights - we've all been
there - two years and a few books in between
it took me to read Heidegger's being and time -
TWO YEARS! and how much came in between?
sunset upon glee of the sea - Ezra's
broken token to the conjunctions
        and
                and
                        and and and and
i don't mind - man lived to be poetry's prefect of
the 20th century - see, a whole group of them, not a solitary
macaroon fetishist that Proust was -
and moby **** will have his days counted,
but not by me - there's no point being a Samson
keeping all the pillars - actually, that's the point,
to be Samson, take a few literary pillars
and then the whole **** temple collapses -
so with two or three of them taken by you
the rest you leave a rubble - turning over to the leisure
of poetry - Vladimir, haven't you heard?
people in england think all poetry is depressing,
depressing? 'what's normal?' is another maxim
in england - singing on the train is forbidden, also -
hey, social criticism is better than running around
with a kalashnikov - turn words into bullets
and mown the strata - and mown the strata -
                 and mown the strata -
give up on preplanned expeditions - only gymnasts
and tightrope walkers do pre-planning -
patience and constant innovative practice - ****'s jazz,
there was no classical composer in their midst with
a silencer of the music, music scores -
how they crammed an entire orchestra in those
little heads of theirs, i'll never know -
so this manic depressive man cited solipsism without
knowing it, and it made him very, very uncomfortable...
i wouldn't have sent him to a psychiatrist,
i wouldn't even want to go to one voluntarily -
i'd have sent him to the library -
but oh, oh, more and more libraries are closing -
while the zenith in my local library was
Thomas Mann's Doctor Faustus - everything else
was toilet paper.

Fred’s a peddler of dreams
Between caked on make- up grins
And a dime sack of ****
He puts holes in logic
Like gaping buckshot wounds
While he sells his wares
To a corrupt, pretentious, college indie scene

The kids who sat in the back of high school dances
“Jesus I wish they’d play some Rooney!”
Are now ******* on the tongues of frat guy’s
Who’s favorite songs are narrowed down to a lists of hits
Played by Journey!

The same girls who dressed for cold New York days
In a California heat storm.
Who listened to Bob Dylan and The Doors
But now they’re covered in the sweat of a ******* without the hope
Of *******
Listening to Jay-z
Not because they like it, oh no!
They need to dance
And at least he sings
On key
While kids who made
Wordless promises
Sit in the back
Dropping LSD.

Fred’s a peddler of broken dream
Reach your hand in his satchel
For a fist full of glass shards, and rusted cutlery

He speaks in Biblical urban
Like “Thy shalt not give in, give up, sell out, buy in, peace out!”
And fred is a prophet on E
He’s the only holy man who’s ever meant anything to me
Or spoken a word more then the lessons I learned on Sunday’s PBS specials
I need Fred like a savior needs second chance
And I can find them at the bottles of these sugar coated alcoholic
Drinks.

And I’ll fade to a dim reminder like the scars
On the wrists of the girls and boys who wore the
Nightmare before Christmas hoodies, and understood so well
When they were younger that the only way
To achieve anything
Was to slice themselves under dull razor blades
In bathtubs payed for by parents
Who’s love was occupied by a 200 $ pay cut.
But now the bloods dried and the scars are gone
So 200 miles away and they haven’t learned
A thing
Or done
A thing
And when anything was possible
They need a multiple choice, with an E
For all the above

Fred these are my sacrifices, no love
These are old and weary so now I can sit
And watch the girl drown herself in alcohol
Fred to you I give her.
Put her in your bag of broken dreams
And sell her back to me as a blood alcohol
.40

Fred these are my payment in things I don’t own
The guys in meaningless vintage clothes
Dropping acid
And convulsing in chairs
Until their nothing but blink stares
And steady green lines
With the white noise swan song, and the time
4:40 am
Put him in medicine bottle
Marked “Lysergic acid diethylamide- For mild post college depression”
And Me and you Fred can share a nice chuckle.

Fred’s a con artists
He’s got an empty bag of *******
He’s got all the money he needs
He’s the **** all poster child
He’s the God I always imagined
He’s the best part of the week
He ‘s a lie caught between
Some tongue and cheek
And if I only knew what he said
Was a cautionary tale
And not some well thought out pitch or sale.

Well then Fred’s a messiah
Handing out second chance
In his knapsack.
But his advice
Is deafened by the constant hum and irritating beat
Of a floor drums that’s moving the youth into an early graves.
-Kevin T.

.ich! schreibenmann! über oder mann: nein güt! ich! schreibenmann! alles gelb... ja?! entschuldigen (mir) verstecken (hocken).

contra millenial contra baby-boomers
no....
people didn't say much,
all they ever said was:
"we" have no problem with
you drinking yourself
until you reinvent
the yo-yo...
   i so too thought:
   this... "labyrinth reconstruct"?
this is not coming from
a rotten mind,
this is coming from a rotten
head,
the shackles of Brazil...
             good to know!
know what?
the fact that i will drink myself
to death,
iwill never have to be made
compensate for,
i will have a hybrid
choir of ****** overdose
addicts being entombed
in a vinyl collection listening
section / choir...
               ich, diable, ich père....
rob the poor man
of his metaphor,
to make dues of his...
missing quiff, ***** style 1970s
style!
      my *******
miane **** dog qua basset hound
cat..
2H of sleep...
no... i want, to, butcher it;
chose chicken and curry
instead...
but for the ear crsip:
i wish i could:
        
YOU BLATANT DUMB
IDIOT...
that's how we pet
animals in Slavic countries...
children?
you don't want to know,
i already know how they're
"petted"
in post-germanic countries
of England, or France...

only in a wealthy nation...
will you sooner see
a homeless man,
than a homeless dog!

I WANT, TO, SLEEP!
and i don't like being given this
excess of attention!
no!
circa!
       round round
the ******* go!
go! *******!

   i never dated in my life,
o.k., once, speed...
  i didn't like the whole
formality of acting a
pretense of...
whatever never for a fragility of:
no. that wasn't too soon.

     my... "culture"?
it isn't even on your, ******* map...
me white, your brown,
you hiati something
royal or something?
you no go, to the modern variant
of the Hermitage... savvy?
me white too...
but me no go
where your tanned
is already a tanned / non-nigerian
no-go... savvy?
              
i hope to die by toast...
you die:
by hope for forklift
in the ******* ****
of kilimanjaro doing
the black betty sing-along
through & through...
and...
what wouldn't i give...
for a kissing scene with
rooney mara...
esp. her most...
whatever that was
in a girl with a dragon tattoo...

gein: meet bukowski...
bukowski...
meet me...
    necrophilia meet
necrophilia...
i want to be strapped
in such an Arizona
stronghold with only...
a gueswork of tongue
to be given the leash!

i eat off the table that
becomes
the hushed crumble
of... that meme...
                n.p.c....

  which... obviously related
to the mahjong solitaire
and the "whole"
NP-complete-ness...
  
  i know of NP-C...
not that i am smart,
  but in that i have enough
ingenuity to avoid...
what cannot be a furthering
of argument..
    worth sustaining...

too much of unknown
to people geometry has
riddled them
beyond the compensate
of being related to...
what argument is there
to have,
when the people you're
trying to over-shadow,
are un-relateable,
in that...
to have to claim
defeat by having
no simple symbology,
having to perpetually
retort with geometry
that cannot implode
counter-intuitively
for a "sacred" scrutiny?

die kröne überreste die kröne,
als die volk überreste nichts mehr
"ein" der mensch'n;

ja? savoy.

Saturday  Afternoon

Im sitting in a pub drinking coffee
Theres a big crowd already in
Most of the boys are drinking Guinness
Except for an old doll drinking gin.

There's horse racing starting  on the tv
and the guys start reading the form
The noise is starting to get louder
The bar 's starting to get warm.

I can see that the guys aren't winning
You can tell by the sound of their sighs
But theres a fast horse starting to run now
Their moneys on at sixes and fives

The ***** is starting to work good
Its doing its usual routine
The old girl is starting to drop off
And the guys are begining to sing

Its just a usual ***** Saturday
Like the ones that went by before
A weekend of drinking and gambling
Finish your drink and away out the door.

I dont know why I'm sitting down here
Theres nothing at all here for me
Except some long gone memories
and a want for how things used to be.

So i rise and finish off my cold coffee
And head for my house down the street
A want in my guts for a cold beer
And a shot of  strong whiskey drank neat
           Pat Rooney 2013

Rich people like letters, poor people do not.
They bring profit to the haves, despair to the lost.
Rich people love blood, they buy it like bread.
The rest must sacrifice it on the altar of their dead.
Rich people sing songs of  summer and day light.
The losers  have dirges that are whispered at night.
This is the way  of the peoples that inhabit
a world unbalanced , shared  by  lions and rabbits.
Will the axis ever  turn,  will the  unbalanced be balanced.
or will we stay like we are  the ways never challenged
    Pat Rooney 2014

With winter and awards shows upon us, the celebrity-obsessed wonder, "What are they wearing?" When it's fur, you wonder, "Why are they wearing it?"

Fur makes the shapeliest star look like a pudgy cave-dweller. Kim and Kanye become dumpy mall rats when they pile on the pelts. The matter of animals by the dozen being electrocuted for a single coat is of no interest to the self-absorbed duo.

Fortunately, the most admired and articulate personalities are speaking out. After winning a Golden Globe last month, Taraji P. Henson said, "I love clothes and to dress up, but no fur. Stella McCartney laced me with all these incredible faux furs." Taraji's ex-con character Cookie on Empire may have a fur fetish, but Taraji ditched the fur from her closets after seeing raccoon dogs skinned alive for fashion in a PETA documentary on HBO. She then ditched all of her clothes to star in a "Rather Go Naked Than Wear Fur" ad, which she unveiled at PETA's Fashion Week party with fellow animal advocate Tim Gunn.

Another dynamo who removed the unsightly hair from her back — I'm talking about fur — is the fabulous Wendy Williams. In addition to her daily talk show, Williams now hosts Wendy's Style Squad to cover red carpet fashions. "Fur is not the mark of success anymore," she said at the photo shoot for her PETA campaign, which she unveiled live on her show.

Sia led the charge this winter, with this imaginative computer-generated spot in which animal models strut down the catwalk in human skin.

And then there's Pink. "I would like to say I've always been fur-free so I could be proud of myself," says the pop icon. "Unfortunately, I went through a selfish phase and wore fur on a couple of occasions. But I wised up and now boycott fur completely. I wish everyone was forced to learn the horrors that these animals go through for fashion trends. I hope fur wearers get bitten in the *** by the same kind of animal they wear on their back." She took this message to the masses on a PETA billboard in New York's Times Square and stars with Ricky Gervais in avideo about fur and exotic skins.

Who else is fur-free? Lena Dunham, Rooney Mara, Jessica Chastain, Angelina Jolie, Kristen Stewart, Charlize Theron, and Natalie Portman, to name only a few.

Sharon Osbourne, who won a People's Choice Award last month for The Talk, says, "The reasons I stopped wearing fur were because I was educating myself through documentaries on what goes into actually making these fur coats and fur scarves that I was wearing, and when I realized how it was done I was sickened." Sharon hosts PETA's newest video showing how hundreds of chinchillas have their necks snapped for just one fur coat.

Many of you may be thinking, OK — gross — but I don't wear fur. Terrific! I'll end by suggesting you take another evolutionary step by visiting PETA.org to watch Joaquin Phoenix, Eva Mendes, and Pamela Anderson reveal how less-furry animals live and die before ending up in someone's closet.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015

Before Morning Breaks
   Theres a time before the dawn,before the first spark of the sun weakly glows
    Its the time your not sure if your awake or still in sleeps dreamy  flows

    You open your eyes and a merger of thoughts, fears, and hopes rush in
Ideas, memories , regrets,people, loves.Theres some you  lose theres some you win

       As another spark of light , maybe two, emerges, begining to speed making its mark
The suns rays still have not won the  everlasting daily battle of brightness and dark

      Your head begins to settle down it begins to rationalise the truths and the fakes
        But still the dark is in it's zenith, in control. its still the time before morning breaks

       Now the Sun begins to fill the dark hidden corners of your mind and  room.
       You move your ladened  head  and begin see the glowing rays of early morning loom

        The thoughts that were running through your mind seem to scatter from the light
        As if afraid that it may revel the secrets that are best pondered in the dark of night
                       Pat Rooney 2013..

Hard to say goodbye,  harder to say hello.
Hard to stay at home, harder to  walk and go.

Hard to take a drink, harder to put it down.
Hard to fake a smile, harder to stop a frown.

Hard to feel alone, harder to join the crowd.
Hard to speak down low,  harder to cry out loud.

Hard to tell a truth, harder to speak a lie.
Hard to be alive, harder to stop and die.

    Pat Rooney 2014

and at the end of this session, i'm going to gorge on homemade banana cake, and a glass of milk; hmm, so that's that.

hannah hallysem, chloe vevrier, rosalia verne, dakota skye, nadine jansen, milena d., katrina jade, alison tyler, sasha foxxx, noelle easton, shay fox, kourtney kane, aletta ocean, lexi belle, aria giovanni, maritza mendez, silvia loret, laura lion, ashley graham, latex lucy, alexis texas,  dana dearmond, abella danger, karmen karma, jezebelle bond, keisha grey, karmen grey, jelena jensen, carmen croft, aneta buena, ines cudna, ewa sonnet, emma green, louisa marie, ivy nedkova, karolina pliskova, emma green, louisa marie, ivy nedkova, rooney mara, claire forlani, kelley scarlett, malina may, amirah adara, phoenix marie, foxy di., kenya lust, kiera winters, christy mack, paige delight, faith nelson, darya klishina, sand morris, alysha newman, silvia saint, adele stephens, deven davis, ewa wyrwal, tanya song, synn wagner, christina lucci, hunter leigh, lynda leigh, gemma atkinson, mulani rivera, sarah harding...
        
   all those "expectations" mingling with a *babuska...
gotta have a babuska after a list like that...
      looks nice, doesn't it?
         see how honest other people can become...
      that's as honest as you're going to get:
i'm hardly an out-of-the-closet gay / intellectual...
and this is hardly the most desireds genetical "encyclopedia"
worth reciting...
      but at least there's no closet,
and certainly no skeleton in it...
  to be honest, i'd love to see a compendium of
a woman's favourite *****,
   oh sure, i can switch off...
    i just start thinking about cow *******
and milk sacks; not that hard;
  ugh... furr... itchy... stroking a cow is like
scratching your skin after the barbers...
milking a cow: ah... another subject
of investigation...
                        why do men not bother being
breast-fed, to out-compete the babe?
seems a shame to leave a vacuum for
capitalism to not investigate, don't you think?

I was always lonesome even in a boozers bar
The boozers  seemed  forever to be  in another room
I could never really be in that room with them, I'm always on the edges
The voices sometimes were sweet kind , friendly,like good mood music,
But the mood music turns hard, ugly,  coated in a grey gloom.
Happiness is quickly overtaken and grabbed by its neck and sent to its doom.
Im on the edges in a crowd laughing, talking like the rest, but my voice my sounds are not heard.Im  alone in a boozers bar
   Pat Rooney 2014

The Bottle
The devils  in the bottle
are forever trying to get out
And when the cork is open
They slither sweetly down your mouth                            

At first they taste like honey
sweet strawberries and cream
A taste of sunny summer days
Forever etched in your dreams

Slowly they get your attention
they are heading for your soul
and after many glasses drunk
They have you in their hold

Their taste has now gone sour
like milk thats putrid and thick
But still you got to have them
You've been conned by their trick

Oh the devils are in the bottle
its pure hell to put them back
if you ever get the cork back on
you can climb down of the rack
  Pat Rooney 2013

Im looking for a midnight rainbow
        coloured black and blue
        With a little bit of golden light
         peeking shining through.
         Im looking for a midnight rainbow
          coloured black and blue
          And when i go and find one
           Im gonna put it in a glass box
            And bring it on home to you
         Because your arms pulled me
         from the dark  dark tunnel
         of despair. and your eyes  carved
          a heart around my soul
                  Pat Rooney 2013

Sensuous pleasure
Human touch

I close my eyes
Darken hue

A stampede of thoughts
Streams of consciousness

Springsteen in Asbury Park
Aung San Sun kyi, a lost voice

Meeting with a philosopher
American friends

Judge Judy
And Poetic license

International conflicts
Blame the Russians

Rooney drink driving
Racist police and the NFL

PhD students
And Noam Chomsky

R.E.M
'The End Of the World as We know it'

BREXIT
Blame anyone but yourself

A mother giving birth in the street
To poor for St. Elsewhere

North Korea
Blame the Chinese

The beautiful woman next to me
Another day in paradise.

The man said something
Now the other foot.

When we were wee lads

they told us we would go

blind if we masturbated.


They also said we would

end up like Mickey Rooney

If we pulled on cigarettes.


Makes one wonder what

Stevie got up to, mind you,

he managed to play piano.

I can feel myself falling with the I of myself trying
To hold on and I'm here Keats
I'm here Woolf just let me be with you here
Camus and Calvino
Dear Arthur and Wharton and Campbell and Rooney,
Please hear me as
All possibility is fleeting,
Running towards an imaginary Jesus
Though I know there is no savior

Other than honoring repetition.

Today is the day
Of the same old human equation
The same old outcome
The same old return from the return

Can you imagine
Knowing how trapped you are
In this human body
Human mind

And using
Art and all its distractions

In n Out

As the only way
You can communicate
To mostly deaf, ignorant ears

For help
For help

God help

A plea
Followed by
An answer
That will never come.