MY DAD WHISKED ROBIN WILLIAMS OVER THE CLOUD 9, TO BE HIS TWIN BROTHER

OR WITH THE HELP OF CRONUS AND BUDDHA, YOU SEE AS SOON AS ROBIN WILLIAMS DIED

CRONUS, AND BUDDHA, PUT DAD ON CLOUD 9, TO CALM THE SOULD OF DEAD ROBIN WILLIAMS

YOU SEE, BUDDHA AND CRONUS, HAVE BEEN WORKING HARD TOGETHER TO GET ROBIN WILLIAMS

INTO LISA CAMPBELL’S ******, I KNOW THEY WERE EXPECTING TWINS ANYWAY, AND BUDDHA

MADE ROBIN WILLIAMS DIE IN AUGUST TO GROW THE FETUS INSIDE, DAD, IS THE MIGHTIER TWIN

CAUSE, HIS SOULD WAS ALREADY THERE, BUT IN AUGUST, AS I TOLD YOU, ROBIN WILLIAMS DIED

TO GROW HIS SOUL INTO LISA CAMPBELL’S OTHER TWIN, I AM NOT TRYING TO MAKE LISA CAMPBELL

FEEL BAD, ACTUALLY I PREFER HER AND DAVID NOT TO BE FACEBOOK FRIENDS WITH ME,

I PREFER THIS TO BE KEPT OUT OF THEIR FAMILY, BECAUSE, I AM JUST EXPLAINING ROBIN WILLIAMS’S

ROLE IN THE ******, DAD IS ONLY MIGHTIER, BECAUSE HE WAS THE FIRST ONE DIED, AND

I DON’T BELIEVE, THAT BOTH SOULS HAVE TO BE THERE AT BIRTH, BUT BUDDHA IS LIKE THE CHRISTIAN GOD

HE CAN’T PRE EXPLAIN ANYTHING, AND ME, WELL I MADE SURE THAT DAD HAD ROBIN WILLIAMS SOUL

FOR BEING NICE TO ME, BY BEING A FATHER AND GOING TO MY CHRISTMAS PARTIES WITH MY MUM AND DAD

AND ANOTHER THING, DAD IS GIVEN THIS CREDIT, FOR NOT KICKING ME OUT, WHEN I WAS A DRUNKEN LOUT

YOU SEE THIS IS THE BEST PLACE FOR DAD, DAVID CAMPBELL MORNINGS, JIMMY BARNES GRANDDADDY

AND MY OLD FRIEND OLGA CHICK, FROM VINNIES IN SOUL LEO AND OTHER TWIN AFTER DEATH ROBIN WILLIAMS

SOULD GRADUALLY ENTERED OTHER TWIN AFTER BUDDHA KILLED HIM

BUDDHA WORKS IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS, BUT IT’S BEEN DONE NOW, ONLY COMPLICATIONS CAN STOP IT

Fashion’s symbolic sensuality draws eyes, stir passions and maybe even resentments!  =]

Of course, maybe you’re above worldly conceits, above fashion. YOU, go through life as unaware as sinless Adam and you’re excessively handsome, or pretty, obviously.

But for the rest of us - fashion is the medium of our beauty and God created Paris for fashion.

We’re pretending we’ve come to Paris (our immediate, pandemic safety-pod-family) for a family reunion - but REALLY, we’re on safari - a freshmen, college-wear, “back to school,” ensemble hunt (for meeeeeeeeeeee!).

Step 1 (there’s only 1 step) - go to the Rue Saint-Honoré.

This year, I like-like Anna Molinari - most of the ready-to-wear daily-trash I snapped-up is hers - all hers. It didn’t start out that way - but she sould me on an uncharted course at first sight.

Other designers seem to be pushing old-lady-looking floral prints this season. Eeuw! Why?? DIAF.

My gran-mère (grandmother) told me - 6 days ago - as she attempted to tame my run-away hair: “You need to be unpredictable, petite beauté, not some comely young automaton. Then everyone will find you interesting and watch to see what you do next.”

Thank you, gran-mère - I’ll settle for looking interesting any time.

Is tamed wildness
And manufactured wilderness-
A plastic world
All my young son will know?

I have known gritty gravel roads
And sunburnt savanah veldt.
Swam and splashed
in muddy dams and reservoirs.
I have sat high above,
in mountain peaks studying clustered clouds
close enough to reach out and run my fingers through by day,
and I have counted the dancing stars above
in vast dark nights.
I have discovered treasures in the misty valleys on early mornings
And seen sun streak through
heavy storm clouds
to colour a grey sky with radiant rainbows.
I have seen surreal snow fall
And slowly erase the world around us.
I have seen majestic beasts truly free-
Wildebeests, various buck and cautious rhinos,
Zebras that danced and played
Around an elephant that loomed high above them,
And elegant wings that whispered
upon westerly winds.

And it has all left me marked,
these magical moments  tattooed in
my south african soul-
And I am more for it - filled.
what will feed their sould now?

A** pple pie, freshly baked from the oven. I don't wait for it to cool, I want it hot, with a big greedy scoop of vanilla ice creams melting next to it.

B oys. Cute, querky, gross, crazy, but amazing. You can't stand them, but for some reason you need them in your life.

C ookies. Warm, fresh-out-the-oven, gooey choclate chip cookies.

D  is for dancing. Dancing in the rain with my eyes shut, screaming at the top of my lungs and not caring what anyone thinks. Just dancing.

E lephants. Strong, old, smart and beautiful creatures. Harmless yet protective.

F stands for foxes. More specifically fennec foxes. Adorable, small, cunning, cute and most of all, want by me!

G iving. Not just material items, but hope. Giving hugs, and smiles to those who need one. Also, For-giving.... letting go of the past and moving forward

H eartbreak. The feeling of no being able to breathe, not being able to speak, or make sense of everything without your "other half." Moving forward slowly, cautiously, because there are more around the corner.

I Me. The broken, yet strong; beautiful, yet self concious; smart, yet lazy teenager.

J is for Jenna, my first best friend. We aren't best friends anymore, but we still talk, and enjoy catching  up in eachothers lives.

K issing. I love kissing. I mean come on.... everyone does ;)

L ove. A strong, complex emotion which many guys lie about, and which I do too. I think I've only ever once loved my partner... all the rest I enjoyed...

M om. My mother, the woman who decided "I'm going to take the qwerky, adorable girl home to America with me and make her part of my life."

N is the first letter in my name. Natalka Hannah Evangeline Kmiotek.

O veracheivers. The people who make fun of me, because they can do things better then me, and everyone else. ******* all.

P erfection. Skinny girls with perfect *******, and big *****. No scars, and white teeth. the opposite of me.

Q uiet, as in I have to stay quiet or they'll hear me. Who? My demons of course. If I'm too loud, they will come for me and drag me back to hell.

R stands for two things. The first is **** A horrible word describing a nightmare you wish you could forget. It's being robbed of your first touch by selfish men, and being back into a corner against your will, forced to stay silent.

S is for strength. The strength to overcome, the strength to live, the strength to move on.

T hank you. To everyone who has ever been there and listened to me...

U nderstand why I cut myself. Why I hurt myself. It's easier to deal with physical pain, then the emotional kind. The emotional pain rots and festers inside me, destroying everything. It shuts my lungs down, forcing me to gasp for air.

V acations. Small escapes from your daily life, into something glamourous and relaxing. The warm sand between your toes, as the hot sun beats down on you. The cool ocean kiss the tips of your toes, cooling your thirst.

W hen will pain end? When will people stop being mean to eachother? When can I expect my child to be able to go to school and not be afraid of the other students? When will I be able to walk outside, and finally be able to say "I am safe," not having to lie.

X plain to me why people put others down? Why are there perfect models and barbies, telling us how we must look, how it's acceptable in society.

Y es please. Thank you. Simple manner, dying out, almost extinct. What happen to being nice? Or do we now, just take what we want? Expect everything, like the world owes us.

Z ach. He was my first love and my first heart break. With him, when he left, the floor caved under me. We were one of those couples that would break up, and get back together then next week. I guess you sould say we were crazy for eachother, but when he left, I guess I was the only one crazy. I was crazy enough to think he was ever mine.

Will you conquer my heart with your beauty; my sould going out from afar?
Shall I fall to your hand as a victim of crafty and cautions shikar?

Have I met you and passed you already, unknowing, unthinking and blind?
Shall I meet you next session at Simla, O sweetest and best of your kind?

Does the P. and O. bear you to meward, or, clad in short frocks in the West,
Are you growing the charms that shall capture and torture the heart in my breast?

Will you stay in the Plains till September—my passion as warm as the day?
Will you bring me to book on the Mountains, or where the thermantidotes play?

When the light of your eyes shall make pallid the mean lesser lights I pursue,
And the charm of your presence shall lure me from love of the gay “thirteen-two”;

When the peg and the pig-skin shall please not; when I buy me Calcutta-build clothes;
When I quit the Delight of Wild *****; foreswearing the swearing of oaths ;

As a deer to the hand of the hunter when I turn ’mid the gibes of my friends;
When the days of my freedom are numbered, and the life of the bachelor ends.

Ah, Goddess! child, spinster, or widow—as of old on Mars Hill whey they raised
To the God that they knew not an altar—so I, a young Pagan, have praised

The Goddess I know not nor worship; yet, if half that men tell me be true,
You will come in the future, and therefore these verses are written to you.

The soul cannot be crushed
Even and odd
With all the weight of the world
STILL ALIVE
with all the pressure of the past
STILL HERE
Elements, isolated, commoditized , extinguished.
STIll expressive
Chained, bottled, misunderstood,
STILL WILD
angry, sad, lost and lonely
STILL LAUGHING
medicine, music, sweetness, poison...
The Sol will find a way
To fire
To rise
To water
To cover
To bring to life
Earth
love

Once again, I feel it snaking it's way through my emotions
Through some magic door I've yet to discover
Relief floods through me, still wary
As I begin to reassemble the pieces
Who I once was
Who I will be
Sometimes the pieces cannot be repaired
So I fashion myself anew from my learnings
Cycling through assembly, oneness, and broken
I know this may happen again
Maybe, in time, I may be able to prevent this self destruction
But for now, here I am

Sold myself out to suffering for a time
Bringing myself down because I don't deserve it
A place for me
Security for me
A life, for me
Misconception that all I have known
Is all I need to know
This false belief in myself
Ensuring I never step out too far
Finding comfort in the uncomfortable

The world is only as big as it reaches.
And yes, my children, it reaches pretty far.
It's filled with millions and millions of faces just wishing to attain fame.
They want more and more of it and they need it now.
But then there are those who don't know their purpose.
They feel like they can't fit in in this far reaching world.
They are the sould dressed in black, not because they are sad.
But because they are absent.
They feel like day after day after **** day they are going down like the Titanic.
But at least the Titanic drew money.
These souls, they are left to suffer under shadows of vultures.
They don't own a mirror because they don't want to look at themselves in it anyway.
Because they're afraid if they do, they'll see what they look like.
They'll see what people see.
The disgust, the patheticness, the nerd, the goth, the dork, the ****,
The in pain.
The insane.
The mental game.
They are all taking their tolls.
But where are these people to go?
How are they to know?
How were they to know that a disorder known as bipolar would result in bringing a blade to their wrists or a noose to their throats?
Their screams can't be heard because they're being cut off by the noose.
They try so hard to escape from this far reaching world.
But they can never escape this lie we're living in.
They scratch and claw at the door like a cat wanting milk.
Because that cat had a bad day at cat school and he just wants to come back to his cat home and drink his cat milk.
And then cry himself to sleep.
And as the cat sleeps he'll have his cat dreams.
He'll dream of one day becoming top cat,  sly cat, papa cat, and even the cat's pajamas.
He'll dream of one day when he can stroll down to the corner trashcan without being harassed by the big dog names Spike from down the street.
He'll dream of mice and how things aren't nice and about his dinner, rice.
But then his dreams turn into nightmares.
Like a 50 year old losing his hair.
Or like your spouse declaring they just don't care.
They've given up.
But suddenly you awaken hearing your cat crying in the night.
And you run to him and pick him up, assuring him that he is not alone.
And it is then that you catch yourself in the hallway mirror.
You see who you are for the first time.
You see yourself, and also a dark cloud.
It's that dark cloud of denial hanging over your head.
But you also see your cat in your arms.
And you are suddenly reminded that you are not alone in this far reaching world.
This far reaching world would be alone without you.
So my children, my black wearing souls.
Pour yourself some milk and cry yourself to sleep.
But when you awaken, remember your dreams.
Put them in a file and label it "Hope."

And when you feel that you are alone at the end of this far reaching world, remember,

You're the cat's pajamas.

I have never seen
Spring, the prophet of joys.

I don't know clouds
That travel everywhere with rain.
My skin is pale.
My throat is parched.
Why sould I grouse to God?
Still, I am full of life,
Breathing in the air,
Bathing in the sun
And sleeping in the night.

Why should I grouse to God?

All people never eat the same.
All people never wear the same.

A blind snake gets its due food.
someone , too, inside the stone.

Why sould I grouse to God.

He is to be praised.
He is to prayed for infinite.

here I lay.
shaking and cold.
crying for a new day.
my life grows short as i grow old.
unable to move.
unable to speak.
my bloodflow slows.
my mind grows weak.
I feel like no one knows.
if i could speak.
i would let them be told.
now I'm dying.
awaiting my sould to be sold.
my tears drop, I'm crying.
longing for death for so long.
if only i knew how,
to end the suffering and be strong.but in the end.
i lay now.

I broke into
where I save
my soul

Had to have
that inner
gold

Sould into
I expect
denial

Some days my heart shines like its sure the sun is its closest rival and oldest teacher,
Other days my brain convinces it that it might as well just call in sick for the day to avoid the echoing pains of nights prior,
On most days though my heart is in a constant argument with my brain,
Maybe not an argument but more of a negotiation, my brain lets my heart wander on a longer leash and play its music a little louder, but once the storm clouds roll in my heart has no choice but to be locked away for the sake of my mental foundations integrity.
Somewhere in the compounds of my body there is a soul that cant get a word in on the dialougues of my heart and brain,
Then again he has no scientific bearing in the world so he holds no worthwile input?
But what if my brain and heart are tool my sould has yet to figure out? Or vice versa? Maybe souls are adaptations and sentience is is just us learning to use those adaptations to our advantage?
Souls cant be just tools or improvements though, they are too cemented and too complex,
Too  raw, unobservable, undescribable, and undeniable.
I just wish there was a way to get all 3 on the same page.
Nothings the same lately and its like my world flipped upside down, and this is me falling out of reality into infinity and watching everything Ive wanted or known pass me bye like lines on a road.
The other day I took some acid and found myself laughing at the fact that we discover medicines and we have politics and science and that we have this curiosity to explore and this hellbent obsession with expansion and growth.
I realized at that moment that there is a simple and absolutely gorgeous futility to everything humans do,
We might cure cancer,
The sun will still blow up eventually,
We may find world peace,
But overpopulation might bite us for that one,
The point is nothing we do can stop the end times, that doesnt mean stop what youre doing and lose all motivation, it just means at the end of the day, were in the can regardless, dont sweat the small stuff and make your moments gleam.

head fuzzy and wuzzy
fatigue of the sould
won't leave me alone.

eyes have mast
4 years have passed

my stomach erupts daily
i feel 100% full crazy

unable to cope
devoid of hope

where now to turn
what is there to learn

i feel so close to the end
can't reach out to family or friend

words keep coming via mouth and key
saying goodbye to life and this cycle of hell for me

Show me that you are a monster
That you are a bad person
A bad influence
That you are bad for me
Cause i need to hate you
A really need to hate you
So i will stop loving you
But deep down i know
That even if you show me all that things
Even if you ******* destroyed me
I will still love you with all my heart
And all my sould

A delicate subject, a delicate thought.
A thought I had been pondering.
Times are tough for many,
all in same or different ways.
No matter which *** you are.
Who's to say who's better off?
A mental break down could be near.
One may be stronger minded,
maybe stronger willed.
Maybe ones supported,
from loved ones that are here.
For those who are broken,
good chance you feel alone.
It's sad but true.
this thought we've had,
To end our lives.
A dangerous thought so many have.
A simple get away.
Living can be rough,
even very scary.
Our hearts can break so deeply,
Our brains can overload.
It's difficult to understand,
the amount each one can bare.
To feel like your alone,
to know you are afraid.
It's hard to judge a person,
who took their very life.
Sure you may not get it,
You may not understand.
I do not feel it selfish,
a struggle they where facing.
I really wish they hadn't.
A similarity we've all kown.
A feeling we've all felt.
This truth is very real.
A painful thought,
It's really so surreal.
A life is usually taken,
when a persons luck is down,
Or bullying has occured.
It may happen when addictions have overruled,
For some a medication with a side affect.
No matter the reason for suicide,
a reason they have felt was right.
Who's to say it's right or wrong?
A moment happens quickly,
when in pain and misery.
No truly happy person,
goes to think this way.
I wish they hadn't died like this,
so sad and all alone.
I wish they didn't feel that way.
I wish they had a person near,
I wish they hadn't hurt that day.
I wish they knew tomorrow would come,
a chance to start again.
I know they feared tomorrow most.
I don't feel them selfish in anyway.
In fact I bet, they felt they where so many different things,
Burdens to society, An Ugly face, a useless space, worthless and pathetic, stupid and a coward, unloved by all, who'd miss this stupid face.
They may even have felt Betrayed by one or more, a joke to ones around. Insulted by ones they trusted.
A broken soul needs mended.
No matter of their feelings,
deep the feelings went.
A while they built to that,
A while it took to break them.
A fight they tried to make.
Be mad there gone, be sad for them.
They where broken souls,
in pain they bared.
Life they feared.
know it wasn't to hurt you.
The pain they couldn't bare.
The thoughts they had where deep,
the tears they cried where real.
A cry for help they had,
hand to hold they needed.
How sad it is they didn't know,
the love we had for them.
We all have our up and downs,
Struggles we've all shared.
Similar thoughts in all our heads,
at some point it's there.
A hurtful subject, a sensitive thought.
A fight we fight daily,
a battle I hope we win.
For suicide is hurtful,
no matter who you are.
A tryful test for all of us.
I hope your not alone,
and if you are, you sould know,
I love you all out there!

To save your soul I'd cross the seas
I'd steal a boat and sail the breeze
I'd live life upon the run
Staring down many a guns.

To save your sould I'd search the caves
That lie across our childhood bay
I'd speak to god in a moment so mad
Praying in selfish thoughts so sad

To save your soul I'd go so deep
Into the alley where the homeless sleep
I'd pay a dealer for his woes
And once again off I'd go

To save your soul I'd break the law
Not even I know what I'd do it for
But once thing I know is what I would do
And who I would hurt just to save you...

11/7/12

Swaying back and forth
Trees almost dance as they greet one another
And then, millions of leaves rustle
Trying to tell me that they haven't forgotten me
Sounding like a waterfall
These great trees could be waterfalls in another world
One where not one sould has seen water
And the gold, red and orange find their way towards me
Loveletter after loveletter transcending to me

I have seen many walk by
And they all caried something I'll never have again
A smile
A genuine one

Is that too much to ask for?
Just one moment of pure joy
As if I was kissed by the lips of bliss herself?
Is that too much to have?

Perhaps it is
Maybe I should give up
Let my weeps go unheard
Let my sould wither away
Let my heart shrivel under life's grasp

Maybe I'm just cursed
To lurk in the dreams of the past
Just for a glimpse of hope

THE SHAKS ARE THE TERRORISTS GETTING THEIR OWN BACK ON THE SOUTH COAST


YOU SEE WHEN THE TERRORISTS DIED, THERE IS NO WAY KNOW TO MAN THAT THEY

AREN’T GOING TO EXCEPT DEFEAT, LIKE A COWARD, SO THEY INJECTED THEIR SOUL

AGAINST BUUDHA’S ADVICE, TO BRING SHARKS CLOSE TO BEACHES ON THE NSW NORTH AND

SOUTH COAST, YOU SEE, WE NEED TO GET RID OF THESE SHARKS, BUT THE TERROSIST

SOULD IN THE SHARKS WON’T BUDGE, YEAH THIS IS THE WAY TO TRAP AUSTRALIA

BECAUSE THEY LOOK AT IT AS BEING A FORCE OF NATURE, SO HEAPS OF TERRORISTS

WHICH ARE DEAD, YOU SEE THE HEAD TERRORIST IN CHARGE OF THE SHARK ATTACKS, IS

OSAMA BIN LADEN, SAYING AUSTRALIANS ARE SO FUCKEN GULLIBLE, YA KNOW WITH ALL

THE SHARKS, IN THE WATER, THEY WILL STILL SWIM OR SURF IN THE DANGEROUS WATERS

AND THEY MADE THE SHARK ATTACK THESE AUSTRALIANS, AND EACH AUSTRALIAN WAS

TRYING TO FIND WAYS TO GET RID OF THESE SHARKS, BUT OSAMA WON’T BUDGE

AND NONE OF THE OTHER TERRORISTS DON’T BUDGE EITHER

YA SEE OSAMA BIN LADEN IS COMING TO THE NSW COAST

YA SEE OSMA BIN LADEN COMES IN THE FORM OF A SHARK

OSAMA BIN LADEN, GETS IN THE MIND OF TWO PEOPLE ATTACKING SOMEONE IN PYRMONT

AND ALL THE TERRORISTS ARE SITTING SIPPING METHANE SMOOTHIES

ENJOYING THEIR SOULS ATTACKING THESE GULLIBLE AUSTRALIANS

CAUSE PEOPLE SHOULD LISTEN TO THE LIFEGUARD, I KNOW IT’S FUN TO SURF

BUT WE ARE LETTING THE TERRORIST SPIRIT WIN, THEY ATTACK YOU NEARLY DIE

THE SHARK ATTACKS, WE NEARLY DIE, OR DIE, TERRORISTS WIN THE WAR, IN 2014

AND WE STILL LOOK AT THIS AS BEING ANOTHER LIFE THE TERRORISTS SPIRIT HAS CLAIMED WITH THE SHARK

OSAMA BIN LADEN, IS FORCING THE SHARK ATTACKS

OSAMA BIN LADEN, MAKING THE AUSTRALIANS ******

OSAMA BIN LADEN IS KILLING US ONE BY ONE

IF THE SHARK IS THERE DON’T SWIM OR SURF

JUST TO MAKE YOU SAFE, AND CALM THE TERRORIST SPIRIT

LET’S TAKE THE SOUL OF THE TERRORISTS OUT OF THE SHARK

AND MAKE THE WATER SAFE TO SWIM OR SURF IN FOREVER AND EVER AMEN

THE DEAD TERRORISTS ARE WINNING WHILE WE DON’T LISTEN TO PEOPLE’S ADVICE

LISTEN TO LIFEGUARDS, AUSTRALIANS

IT CAME UPON A MIDNIGHT CLEAR
THE VOICE I HEARD THAT NIGHT
I WASN'T SURE FROM WHERE IT CAME
IT GAVE ME QUITE A FRIGHT
I CLOSED MY EYES AND SAID A PRAYER
I WAS SCARED TO DEATH
AND THEN I HEARD THAT VOICE AGAIN
SO  NOW...I HELD MY BREATH
IN ALL MY LIFE I'D NEVER HEARD
A VOICE AS DEEP AS THIS
IT SHOOK ME UP RIGHT TO MY SOULD
IT ALMOST MADE ME ****
IN CHURCH, I THOUGHT, THEY SPEAK OF THINGS
THAT MAKE YOU FEEL THIS WAY
SOME MAY GO THEIR WHOLE LIFE THROUGH
TO FEEL AS I TODAY
CHRISTMAS EVE WAS COMING SOON
BUT I GOT MY GIFT THEN
I STOOD ON UP AND TURNED TO GO
AND I HEARD THAT VOICE AGAIN
THE VOICE RANG OUT SO LOUD AND PURE
I TOOK IN EVERY WORD
YOU MAY ASK WHAT IT DID SAY
SO, THIS IS WHAT I HEARD..........





ELVIS HAS LEFT THE BUILDING!

2020 - day 193

Sunday, July 12, 2020
8:03 AM

Peer Gynt, self aware, self fulfilled troll-like
being ghostly,
projected before me, on the wall that is not there
- callin' all in, all ye outs, in free
- hear ye, hear ye
- the day of judging is this one called today.

See that pile of idle words, find the ones y'know,
use'm t'make sense
since you know sense, on sight, you re
co-gnostically be tuned to the same
signal. {soft call to be true to your self aware

you are so naked

but who knows?
right being you, not me,
selfless lost in the mix,
billions of bits being bet on yet
more
hope, faith and love
these
the trying trinity judging me...

can one tell one story, or must one,
take part in one,
as in the
one story being
the whole of all stories,
yours, as well as mine,
told in words we all know you all know

y'know waddamean.
tell me wha'd I say? Baby, be old,

turn and turn and turn
night to day, in time after time after
ever
ever
ever
being floods reality with
those three triers used to try men's souls,

attention, to the trained, means one thing,
stand up straight, eyes front, hup, now

to the beat march,
as to war...

We are off to meet the Manicheans who
swallowed all the hate once given
follower of Nicolas, in Antioch,

given hatred taken from the revelation,
interpreted by the time
stage acting as now,
the day... back when a hundred monkeys
were imagined able to use
a machine that made sense from chaos, over time.

ሴ

bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump

ding
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump

ding

the dance of graphical images mages form
as words flow from fingers into magical machines
imagined
famously by a Huxley fellow, convinced life happens
on its own volition
using right, as opposed to non working trials
abandoned,
{when the band broke up, 1970, or so}

but the music never died
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump

ding ding ding
writers of types of tales barred from publication,
suddenly appear

as it were from the type of word processors {Wangers}
that one Huxley envisioned responding
to a hundred monks who saw nor heard nor spoke evil
but
tapped, and at each tap a letter formed
to let a sound be heard
no levers stick, no carrying platens signal need to
advance
ding
tic, steadying sounds calling next from a habit
formed to the beat
tic tic tic
squeeks
as common, common conie-like rock squirrels

squeek squeek over the steady everthere sixty cycle
hummm

hear it, little dog, not too far away; adding music
to your day, which
grew from this seed, a little spore of living from
my state of being
informed
this day,

it was mine,
when first I noticed, this being the day.
I have power to live,
today,

I slept through the night, quite comforted, indeed.

Each new day
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
has a rythmn
sometimes it's steady, some itssteps stutter, some  say

sibalent whistles signal something, in the spirit,

sssssss

wait, too late, we made the story and let it fly.

ሴ ሴ

Lessoning myself in social graces,

I wash away my stains, my graffiti screams whispering
see me, see me, see me say

trolls exist in this place. Those who mocked knowing thyself,
and called evil good and good evil,
call fair foul and fould fair,
say sould souls were stolen, when we know the deal:

the price agreed was paid.
I insist enough
insisting for any rational troll,
knowing you are enough is enough, is part and parcel to
the act of being true to you as you
may say you wish you were,
free as truth in ever after...

- ain't nobody got no papers on me....

The sybils all told you , furies may come, but did you imagine


the wise principle thing promised riches beyond rubies,
for what a ruby is worth,
we have no clue.
What's a ruby worth to you?

Are you hungry? Here, eat a ruby.

Auto, self, did, done, act act, ionic become charged, my son.

Mama. ah. the old wounds we cherish.
Times before now, states of decay, shedding of skins to be
wise
as a serpent, like, that's a good thing, as good as
harmless
as a dove, on which poets rise in mind's eyes to see

sources of courses through the shallows near the shore

we all meander nearer now, swamped in ante
cipitation, capere, take it

take it, take it and move on. Live and learn,
follow the flow,
when you are snow, when you are precursor of coal,
go
on, no shortage of power,
like in America, where the power is always on.

Or was always on, in my future,
which is already
your past.
So fast,
but
its all realted,
it is all one idea, in the end, we each are given one last day,

to make up for everything, or make up everything.
The latter, I think,
today.
ሴ ሴ
ሴ

You men ideas, furious in your raging, sing to us of
Gracious slaves of justice,

wake the lost hope of truth in
misformed
messengers whose every efforts fall mortally short.

Leaven a lessoning of habits formed being as a binding,
tied to each part of any whole
re-li-gated, ifthenelse ifthenelse ifthen else
re-legate, make a rule,
you
too
late,
we was e-pluriblized afor you was
aware eveh had begun,

The Pax of Everest living radiant as ever was imagined.
Peace
on earth, good will to the kind having hearing ears and
seeing eyes and slich oily minds,

anointed minded ones,
tested,
proven to have survived up
pop this very mortal moment called today,
to then, when you became dear reader in this medium
of mass messaging
lacking
any organized haeceity of pure me, not thee, not
other wise

ways wise men walk, watch, watch the liars strut,
do wise men walk this way?

Live and learn, we always say,
when given a day,
to think about it,

before dying and knowing, or not, if the point
is ever made, or was
already made before I started trying.

ሴ ሴ
ሴ ሴ ... _ .

This bodies taken, it has been pulled away brought out of place.

Weve walked away with a corpse and weve got nothing left to lose.

What can we do with this, this empty shell, this doomed lifeless man.



What a reflection of our lives, what a dance in our minds, where will we go

what shall we do, we are sitting here wasting away without a purpose.

Im always looking forward, but ive got no destination, no compensation.



This unwholesome life this tattered dream, why am I here why dont I believe?

Im looking for answers, a purpose to this routine, where am I going what have I to gain?

Tell me my purpose, feed me some truth, you stand there as if you have something to say but the words never escape

your mouth.



I see this body, this soulless body, who told this man what truth did he receive.

I guess an ending to everything he was or is there something more?

Is this man burning? Do flames consume him? Is he paying for his mistakes or is he paying

for the fear of another mans fear to speak?



If someone had told him, where would he be, would he be with the angels would he be at his feet.

To think where this mans body lays and where his souls seperates, could have all been changed.

To think this mans fate lies within the words of another man, a man sent by the creator but a man who was

a coward, a man who was ashamed, now a man lay dead in his grave and his sould is chained to a lake.



Many men suffer and many men die, we with hold the truth and another man burns.

We tell ourselves theyll be reached by someone else, how can we know their faith, how

can we know where theyll end up.



What a responsibility we have took on, where souls lie in our hands, where some men burn

and some men live in paradise from the speech out of our mouths. Tongues of fire have power to

breathe life into men and death into others. Open your mouth and speak the truth to save another mans fate.

I want to hold you so closely
so intimately
my scent lingers on you
the way the smell of fresh coffee
haunts the halls of my home all afternoon
I want to kiss you so deeply
you still taste me on your tongue when you sleep at night
the way the taste of my morning coffee
clings to the roof of my mouth till well after mid morning
I want to touch you so often
the ghosts of my fingers fill your dreams
the way the feeling of sand and water
fades slowly from your feet for the rest of the day
I want to affect your very being
so my sould lingers with yours
twirling and twining and twisting together
like the strings of balloons
floating into the stars

THE STORY OF MY ALCOLIC GRANDFATHER FATHERING MY DAD



YOU SEE, WHEN ALEXANDER GIMBERT DIED, HE TRIED TO BRING THE FAMILY

TOGETHER, AND FIRST, HE WENT UP TO JUPITER, TO SQUIRT METHANE ALL

OVER BRIAN ALLAN, AND FORCE, MY BROTHER, INTO THINKING THAT DRINKING IS

COOL, AND THEN MADE MY BROTHER ONLY BE HIS OWN PERSON, BECAUSE

I WAS BEING MUCKED WITH BY BIG MENS KIDS WHO WANTED TO DRINK

BEER, AND ALSO, MY DAD, WAS WORRIED, WHY I WAS FIGHTING HIM, BUT

ALEXANDER AND CLARRY JUST WANTED DAD TO GO TO BED, TREATING

BRIAN LIKE A LITTLE SHY BOY, NOT CARING HOW I ACTED AT SCHOOL

BECAUSE BRIAN USED A LOT OF ***** MOUTH, ON DAD, AND CLARRY’S

REINCARNATION, WHICH IS RYAN CLARK, THE ACTOR WHO PLAYED SAM MARSHALL

ON HOME AND AWAY, TRYING TO EXPLAIN MY FATHERS MANS KID, BUT

BECAUSE IT WAS IN THE 1990s, THEY HAD TO GET WITH THE MODERN TIMES,

ALEXANDER GIMBERT, IS NOW DAVID CAMPBELL, WHO IS FATHER OF MY DADS

NEW REINCARNATION, ELIZABETH CAMPBELL, YOU SEE, DAVID’S BACKGROUND

MATCHES WHAT ALEXANDER WANTED FOR US, AND THE FACT THAT PATRICK WAS

INTO JIMMY BARNES WHO IS DAVID’S FATHER, YOU SEE, I GO AROUND TELLING

EVERYONE THAT MACAULEY CULKIN WAS CLARRY, BUT WHEN I COME TO THINK OF IT

RYAN CLARK MAKES MORE SENSE, AND, HE IS A PROFFESIONAL LIFEGUARD, WHICH

HE STUCK AT HIS GUNS, TO MAKE A VERY GOOD LIFEGUARD, JUST LIKE EVERYONE IN MY

FAMILY, YOU SEE I AIN’T LIKE THE OTHERS IN MY FAMILY, ONE REASON BECAUSE, I WANT

TO BE A FAMOUS ARTIST AND WRITER, AND I ENTERTAINER ON YOUTUBE, AND ALEXANDER

GETS INTO MY HEAD, TO MAKE ME KEEP SAYING, I LIKE ART AND WRITING, YOU SEE

CLARRY WANTED FOR ALL THAT HAPPENED BEFORE DAD DIED, AS THE DEMONS, USED

ALEXANDER GIMBERTS SOULD TO FORCE ME TO THROW ALL MY BELONGINGS OVER THE BALCONY

AND THEN MAKE ME GO TO HOSPITAL, TO EXPLAIN MY BELIEFS WITH A LOT OF WEIRD CHATTER

AND MADE IT CLEAR TO THEM, THAT I LIKE TELEVISION, ACTUALLY THERE IS A VERY STRANGE

SITUATION HERE, YOU SEE OLGA CHICK, AN OLD LADY BRIAN ALLAN LOVED TO TALK TO AT VINNIES

SUDDENLY DIED AND WAS REINCARNATED AS THE OLDER BOY LEO CAMPBELL, AND LEO IS PROUD

TO BE A BIG BROTHER TO ELIZABETH CAMPBELL (DAD) AND WILLIAM CAMPBELL (ROBIN WILLIAMS)

AT PRESENT ALEXANDER AND CLARRY HAVE BEEN WORKING WITH DAD, TO TRY AND BRING FUN

INTO DADS NEXT LIFE, YOU SEE, I GOT A PHOTO FRAME OF PUTTING DADS OLD MAN, THROUGH

THE POWERS OF BUDDHA, REINCANTATE TO ELIZABETH CAMPBELL, AND MY NANNA IS WATCHING OVER

US, AND HER CURRENT EARTH LIFE JOHN ROBERT REMIEL, IS CURRENTLY MUCKING WITH MY BROTHER

WITH MUSIC AND MUCKING WITH ME ON YOUTUBE, AND DAVID CAMPBELL WAS BORN WHEN HIS FATHER

WAS IN COLD CHISEL, MIND YOU DUDES, YOU SEE JIMMY WAS A BUDDHIST, AND ME AS CRONUS

UNDERSTOOD THAT MY ALCOHOLIC GRANDFATHER DIED, BECAME SON OF JIMMY BARNES

AND NOW, FATHER OF MY FATHER, HOPEFULLY WE CAN MAKE THE FIGHTING ALEXANDER USED TO

DO TO MY MUMS MUM, AN OLD FOGIE THING, SO NOW POP IS NOW DADS FATHER, THROUGH THE EYES

OF BUDDHA EVERYONE IS RELATED

my pen is screaming at me to pick it up
i dont know to say what
there is nothing in my head but all the words that you've said and everything that ive recently done.
it makes me wonder who ive become
ive seen the hurt caused im no fool
the same thing he did to me, i did to you.
now im going back to sit in that chair
try not to cry, pull my hair and scream
just not care about any sense of control
thats what i lost, not me as a whole
but the control
its to late to go back now
to many things have been said
are we still going back to playing pretend?
i dont think thats what this is anymore
its something ill know for sure
if we can get through this then we can get through everything because ive done everything i can to push you away and in some how in your own twisted way
you still love me and stay
now we will see if these friends are right
we all have a piece of love to give at one point in time
its true when we said sould mates, never ever apart
each one of us holds another in our heart
we've all made and repaired to many scars
thats shaped us into the people we are
so with those little broken pieces of love
that we've only ever known
the causation being our homes
somehow between all these broken hearts and broken bones
we found each other and made our home
somehow by force of nature we are bound
all of our broken pieces of love fit together
changing how we it forever.

What is it I am doing?
Sitting up thinking when I should be sleeping
Resting my tired and weary mind,
But instead I'm realing.
Why am I drinking?
Sipping on ***** and tea
When I should be resting and at ease,
When I sould be in bed asleep.
Why am I smoking?
Cigarette after cigarette til I dont even want one more
Nicotine is only going to keep me up
When I should b laying down.
Why am I torturing myself?
Going back in forth in my head
Fighting back the tears and wrestling the fears.
When I should be tucking myself in for the night.
Why am I shaking?
Wanting to scream out into the night
I feel as black as the sky inside and I'm crying
When I should be dreaming.
Why am I not just sleeping...?


© Ashley Rodden. All rights reserved

It's an illness, and what a wicked one. It lasts five stages. Through four stages it tortures you the best it can. It tortures you with nostalgia and melancholia. I will tell you about these four stages, until you finally reach the fifth and last stage, the stage that will feel like redemption to you. Brace yourself, this illness can **** before you reach the final stage.

Stage 1, denial / delusion
In this stage, you will deny what happened, and will live in a fantasy your poor mind created for you to keep you alive.
You know exactly what has happened, you know the truth. However, this hideous creature, this torturous illness won't let you "get over" the truth that easily. It will torture you with false hopes, wrecking your mind because each and every night, you will wonder if what has happened was real or just a bad nightmare of yours.

If you made it, be lucky for a second. Stage 2 is awaiting you.

Stage 2, wrath
In this stage, you will feel an ager, a rage you never felt before. You will have the urge to destroy and to burn, not only things, but also you, the memories, and just everything and everyone surrounding you.
The illness wants to destroy you, and it gives you ire so you can "prepare" yourself for what will come for you. Destruction in the finest, most painful ways, you can't even imagine.

You survived Stage 2, now let's take a look on how desperate you can become in Stage 3.

Stage 3, negotiating
In this stage, your desperateness to wipe the slate clean will show. The illness makes you parley with the wildest, most unreal people you may meet in your life, only to undo what has happened.
You would sell your sould to the devil.
You would give your life to the Grim Reaper.
You would… You might even want to make a deal with me.

I think we should stop about what you would, it might get to horrendous for you. So we reach Stage 4, the stage that has the highest verisimilitude to **** you.

Stage 4, depression
You will cry waterfalls of tears, so be careful that you don't drown in the sea of hot, salty water your ever so beautiful eyes created.
This stage of torture is where the illness got quite creative. I'm sure you heard a lot about depression, but in reality it is even worse than the worst you expected. It might feel unreal from time to time, but I tell you, it is real – savagely real.
It might **** you, so try your best to survive this stage. That's the only admonition I can give you.

You survived? Congratulations! Hereby we reach

Stage 5, acceptance
In this stage, the final stage, you finally reach the redemption you craved for so long. You will finally be able to leave behind what has downed you so much. You will be able to fly again, your wings are back.
However, be careful. This stage is the shortest of them all.

Many people before you have failed before reaching this salvific stage.
I hope you won't underestimate the illness. You might have reached redemption, but it only waits to strike again and to devour you.

Be careful, even for I will watch over you.

I belive in one God creator of heaven and earth

because thats my religion since my birth

it doesnt matter if you believe in ying and yang

or that the world was created with a big bang

it doesnt matter if you pray five times a day to the great merciful Allah

or if youre an athiest that doesnt believe in nada

because we are all branches of the same tree

you have a heart and sould just like me

so open your eyes

and see past the lies

youre looking at a tree when you should see the forest

look at us we are suppose to be one chorus

we should see our same roots not our split limbs

instead we start wars over the language of hymns

it doesnt matter if you read the 7 valleys, the 5 classics, the vedas, the quran, the torah, or the bible

because all we want is to be the worlds next idol

we are now just leaves blowing in the wind

of our own mortal sin

we should be reaching toward the light to let ourselves bloom

yet we would rather there be an atomic boom

so you see it doesnt matter what we belive because if we cant see past a religion

there will always be a division

I was so afraid to loose you that I lost myself someway in the middle of love and hate.
So please don't look at me like this. Like I'd have ripped your heart out and left you bleeding on the street. That's just not what happened, okay.
You might ask yourself why I tell you this...
Maybe because you just have no right to act like this!
Maybe because I've spent the entire last year crying and thinking over the same **** thing.
Maybe because I can't and won't do this one more year.
I wish I could tell you I'm sorry for how things went.
But I'm not. Seriously. I shouldn't have to feel guilty because I walked away  from something that made me sick.
Yes, I was the one who left but we both know why.
So I'll ask you again, why sould I feel guity about this? Huh?
Why is it a shane to walk away from someone who makes you feel sick and worthless? Why nobody ever asked hy I walked away?
Because you're the poor little kid that was left behind?
I teel you this because I want you to know that I don't miss you anymore or even hate you. I can't. I've spend so much time thinking about you and everything that has gone wrong between us that my whole body is sick of you. Of your voice. Of your face. Of your whole existence.
But there was a time when you used to be the most important person in my life. To be true, that's the only reason why I'm even writing this down.
I let you go along time ago betwenn tears and loneliness.
And whatever what, I'd never wanna go back to the past.

Today I feel like writing,
No pen, no quill, no ink.
Today I will write with color,
I will need a palate.

Let's use some bright blue,
Let the sky fill our sould.
Umber, no, use light brown
Make it smell of fresh earth.

Will need some pink for the
Ballerinas dancing in my mind.
And don't forget the yellow,
Daffodils make me happy.

In the sky a spot of orange
A balloon floating to heaven.
A rich, rich green to
Make you smell the trees.

Put your fingers in the paint,
Joing the fun, spread it around.

What color are you today?

In any future this is instant,
in real life these thoughts once fitted into words by a mind,
fit into the spirit of Christmas in 1984,
I am betting my
cred -- wagering my very defined sould idea
it was the real 1984
eleven days after my first born child…

-if I yet have credit, having spent all my own attention on
finding the evil
lurking somewhere in today, waiting to pounce,
seeking with legendary,
fabulous, monstrous civil strife level pride events
reason to call
provocation to devour
my soul, my unsouldout soul, my held
breath of life,

waiting for this surface to break, patient as any
app attempting to become
Gibsonian ICE!... in your patience you possess…

Ah, cotcha. This quote is from a stream of words -emanating-
in the global pool of streaming
news of bygone days. Dec.23, 1984 on accusing voices…
Satan the idea…
A message:
The people who will experience the fullest meaning of Christmas on Tuesday
are the people who know and feel that there is something
in them that needs to be destroyed.
It is true, as John said (John 3:17), that
"God sent the Son into the world not to condemn the world,
but that the world through him might be saved."
But he saves by destroying.
Like a doctor who amputates a foot full of gangrene or cuts out a cancerous lung.

From <https://www.desiringgod.org/messages/the-son-of-god-appeared-to-destroy-the-works-of-the-devil>

Right. So far. Now. Who whets the edge?
I care less if you guess my name,
stranger,
works; if you find you may entertain a stranger with no sense of pending danger,
see,
afore mentioned cutting,
was mistaken instruction. A missed meaning,
hamartia aitia sort of glitch in the interpretation, privately,
by the muckety mucks,

(by the hair on my chinny chin chin we must shave away the fungus)

The torn flesh
of realities with actual purpose was, intending to repair it self,
using, right, a single stitch.
In a word.
Yet, wait…
Usury found a way to own the story of the act. So,
early autumn, fires raging, smoke obscuring meaningful
right observation of the arrival of Christmas Decorations at Walmart,
in the memorable year,
2020, I heard a sound,
bah trumpa trump trump,
in September,
the one all connected minds shall never remember not
having,
we made up our mind to act on the original anointed mind idea,
let it spread,
like calmin' balm on truly chapped hide.

We all got our differences, 'n' all, viva la

la la la
but we all have right use, too. The idea is not so hard to imagine,
unless you mind is broke, I get stuck in first person,

being broke and woke is a zeitgeistical joke.
We see our neighbors on Hulu,
even in Beijing, if we have the proper world citizen VPN.

Do you hear what I hear? Is this that brat with the drum,
again? Bahtrumpatrumptrump…

merry anointing message, may it trickle through your beard,
and tickle little ears with hope unimagined,
before 2020 made mental time travel so common.

{go tulsi, go, go, go}

It all happened at once. Everything he could have hoped for. Everything he had feared since the first moment he said he loved her. Blood rushed to his head as he heard her mutter those three words, and then flushed from his face as he noticed the curious, vacant look in her eyes. He realized that he had shared the feelings that went along with that look: the heart-fluttering joy and breath-quickening high that she could only get by holding the face of that one person, the one who had stolen her heart, in her mind's eye. He felt frigid inside, colder than he ever had in his life; numb inside, like those words were deadening his nerves and darkening his vision. He was cold, and yet underneath it was a raging inferno; the racing fire of every feeling bottled up for years that seemed like decades building up in one moment in his dead heart, a fierce pain coursing through his body and gathering once again, yet in his wrists, begging to be released from his body in a final goodbye. He had never felt this way before. In a split second his life had ended, but he was forced to live through this; his only purpose had been taken from him. She was that purpose, and he raged against himself trying to understand why she would so willingly give away all he had worked for, all he had suffered for: didn't she know that he loved her? Didn't she know that he sould do anything for her to prove that? Did she not understand the one simple fact that she had been, is, and will always be the only person who would hold his heart with the same intensity? These three words were almost the ones he had written for her, yet had never quite gotten around to letting her hear. deep down, he had always known, from the moment he met her, that there was no future for them, and that she would never love him, nor even like him, more than a mere friend. The words were harmless to the one that she said them about, but they were worse than a shot to the heart for him, the one who loved Her. She had said "I love him".