Lets start with L,
who I've been through before.
Oh young love and how sweet it was.
I was watching Buffy when he first dropped
that L bomb.
Big word for such little kids.
But now he's a man,
constantly hiding behind his ego or insecurities,
And I'm not sure which to believe.

Musing on other things than M,
awkward and skinny,
whose voice I've never heard
and face I've only gotten in pictures.
But he's kind.
Which has to count for something,
even if he's doomed to the
friend zone. (DUNDUNDUNNNN)

Back up to B,
and, oh, all the characters I wrote for him
about him
a deceleration of suppression.
He did love me, I think,
but not the right way,
and he still doesn't.
She can have him.
And I hope he doesn't lose a good thing again.

Jump to J,
who only wants me for the V, T and A
(if you know what I mean).
Which is great, I guess,
but I need love
in my heart
and in my bones.
I only have enough for one person,
who isn't me.

And then A.
And god I love him.
And god I miss him.
He'll win every time.

The colors are darker-
Blending together to be grey,

The magic is bitter-
It's sweet flavor ran away,

The cold has gotten meaner-
The heat has given in to decay,

The rot is much quicker-
Seeping deeper day by day,

The struggles are harder..

*Due to the fact that you've gone away...

Lately I've been a little moody
I get triggered by comments made
on a video or a tweet or the supposed
leader of our nation spouting his views
on ****** assault victims....

The real victims....men and boys that
are being accused of a horrible act
Innocent yet treated like they're guilty.
Please, don't get me wrong.
Being falsely accused is terrible.
Any one guilty of it should be held liable.

But, after all of the victims, women and men alike
coming forward to tell their stories, he speaks on
behalf of the accused.....Am I stupid for being angry?
What really disappoints me are the people that get upset
when women react to such insensitive views.
They tweet or comment and I try to have conversations
with these people and end up screaming into a pillow!

I walk away wondering if it's worth my time to make
my point of view understood.  
Will I ever change any ones mind?
It's the black lives matter vs all lives matter struggles
all over again!
The argument of should players stand for the anthem!

Why don't people understand that saying black lives matter
doesn't mean ONLY black lives matter, it's a way of saying
Please remember!!!  Black lives matter TOO!  Stop the hate!!!
People of color are being discriminated against and we are tired.
So finally a man decides to protest by calmly taking  knee during the anthem aaaaannnd......here HE comes to manipulate the meaning of it all and makes it about disrespecting the flag and
our troops.  

And don't even get me started on gay rights!  To be treated like
second class citizens is ludicrous!  How fantastically absurd to
be told by your own government that you cannot marry the
person you love! And because life has to be just a little more
unfair the LGBTQ community are at high risk for ******
assault and hate crimes too!    

I realize none of this is new....I guess the Kavanaugh hearing
triggered me and I can't seem to get it off my mind.  I heard
Dr. Ford's testimony and watched as so many people, including
the man himself, come with more and more ****** excuses
and a half *** investigation and in the end he sits on the supreme court any way.  

I'll do my duty....I'll use my voice and vote, but I live in a red
state and I know it's an up hill battle.  One that may be lost.
But I've said my piece.  If you've read through it all, thank you.
If you agree with me, keep fighting. If you don't, I respect your
opinion, but I'll never understand it.

I want to be with someone
Whose heart stutters
With my gentle caresses

Whose breath stops
Just with one glance at me

Whose palms sweat
Because nerves get the best of him
Even though he's been with many before

I want to be with someone
Who struggles to suppress a shy smile
Every time I smile widely
In his direction
With one that's reserved for him
And him only

It's all about being AFRAID

Afraid, afraid to close your eyes because you don't want to dream.
Dreams are not reality, in fact they are everything you wished you had, teasing you till you become Insane. You cry for the day someone will understand you pain, the pain that's never the same, you've become afraid to fall asleep, to fall asleep and never wake up, but that's what you want isn't it? To end the pain you've been suffering.

you don't have the guts, you can't sit there and take your life, you fall and fall, constantly picking yourself up, but never forgetting to leaving bits behind, your body becomes soulless, it becomes dark, you once were something, now nothing, Dreaming of the day you won't have this pain, going insane, you watch others , they're not hiding, why are you?

Why are you so afraid to let others see you fall, to know that you once have given your all but have received nothing at all for the things so small , see a dream can Become you're worst enemy, haunting you with the things you desperately need.

You internally bleed, but on the outside you plead, you plead for it to all go away, you know it doesn't happen just like that and that it's within time, but what if there's not enough time.

They say that some things can make you stronger , but you've given up on being strong , as I sit here, I realize that there isn't one strong bone left in my body, I carry my self to only let myself down , I put faith in others for them to only let me down, it's a never ending cycle , and it seems to have become all I've known, we all need and want someone to care, but that's not what I want nor do I need it, I've mentally and most times physically been on my own.

I'm not upset anymore because I don't have anyone there or anyone who loves me , I'm upset at the fact that I allowed myself to fall into such state of darkness , the darkness that tell you that's it's okay to let this be the end, you have the devil on one shoulder and god on the other , but the devil is playing tricks on you , tricks of the mind...

So I sit here and ask myself what it is that I truly want , and who I want to do it with,

No one and nothing , you hear all these inspirational speakers who can talk about their journey, their struggles and how they overcame them.. What if you don't know where it all began , it could of just popped up out of no where, but that's not how it is, there is always a beginning,  and an end, for now I will hold onto the beginning, and hope for the end.

Unheard

She screams as she struggles
The sound of her cries muffled
Her assailant's eyes look baffled
Her red eyes cry, her sobs stiffled

She tries to run but she is stopped
To the ground she is tackled
Her effort to run is attacked
And to the floor she is dropped

She tried to fight, she did, she tried!
She cried too much, she did, she cried!
She aimed to bite, oh yes, she did!
But the result she got was not what she bid
She wanted to hide, but all that was hid
Was only just this evil deed

An evil deed, indeed it was
An evil deed that no one saw
Evil as it was, no one saw
If someone had seen, she would cry no more
But at present her pride was no more

Blurred images
Hazy edged pictures
Images with burn holes 
Things to see behind
Clouds of lingering sleep
This is the first time in awhile
I've actually felt okay
The world is still moving to fast 
And me too slow
But my mind has a window
So I can see and hear 
Though my throat still 
Struggles for sounds
My hands form letters
That form words
That form phrases
My thoughts on pages 
My feelings on paper 
My soul wrapped into words
That will never be spoken 

These are my own words written by someone else, hope you guys enjoy my first poem in a while, things are actually improving. If im lucky i'll survive -Andy

Feeling the box I work in closing in on me during winter’s last gasp,
She has dug in her heals refusing to yield to warmth.
Unmerciful and unrepentant in her bitterness,
she taunts and tortures us all.

Yet, spring birds sing of spring as a lover sings of her man.
The sun struggles to break through the dark grey,
melting away the dim cold
and drabness that surrounds all.

Parliament's headquarters--Back alley for smokes n' such.
Politicians deliberating on the bread and the butter
While the starving go hungry and the Truth begins to suffer.
Never point to the signs on the wall
12 steps, Denial before the fall.

Consumerist, zombie shuffle back to the car, the market's full up.
Look for the polyethylene creamer. Metallic coated groceries
For the plastic (PORTIS issued) consumer.
"Coke is it" they would say as they take the morning grind (black/two sugar.)

Racists make the sea of Policy makers and warmongers,
Bathing in other's poverty, hunger and pain;
Fearing death before the climb, G-d before the fall
Slashing at the necks of basilisks until they turn to stone.  
Blind and petrified to the core,
I swear God, Parliament will smoke no more.

Comes along the Harbinger, you've got one new message.
Message one, There is no god, only me. I'm your Hypocrisy.
Cry to an empty thought, kid the kidders, sin among sinners.
Shamble back to Parliament's sanctuary, the legislators are in,
Let Smokes n' Such begin.

The stars try to shine
Down through indifferent clouds.
Her tears mix with rain
and water her path
defining the moments
Of forever.
Love is the fiercest part
of her being.
Though she struggles to
find it’s authenticity
Hiding her codes
behind barbwire and thorns.
Her hands are bloodstained
in the hours of time.
She is mysterious
With many latitudes
Calling from a different
Kind of universe.
Yet she walks that path of stones
Believing she is a different
Person than the one she leaves
on the trail .

Walking away from that
Hushed comfort of
understated majesty.
Hearing music amid
The squalor of verse
With strangers who love
among the poetic’s
of language.

I grow tired of the
Deep waters
I’m learning to navigate
the shallows
Where purring oratory
Captures me and leaves
Me spellbound beyond
All measures and time .

Birds are singing as they narrate people grinning,
The sky is blue and starred at night
We are done with the wrongs and now focus on the right
Days are spent doing nothing and life occurs without a plan
No more flames when leaving that metaphorical pan
Ice caps are freezing and ozones are healing
Oh, Utopia

Defined as a place of non existence by the Greek,
Our ancestors would marvel to see us actualising our peak.
With each new generation not being as good as the last,
We strived to be better until hate is a thing of the past.
Oh, Utopia

The world has not always been the paradise it is right now
It has suffered quite a bit! Sit back, relax and let me show you how:
Dictators, dating apps, disease and  dabbing...
Depression, **** picks, dress size and *** grabbing...
Distant difficulties discriminating daily
Diligent defenders demonstrating plainly
All demanding democracies finally decide on the eternal debate.
Watching Parliamentary playgrounds leaves me feeling rather irate.
We have overcome all these and finally arrived at our destination.
A cohesive existence founded upon the pillar of cooperation.
Oh, Utopia

The journey to our present was the present of automation.
Competition for resources died with the wealth's excommunication.
Our time became our own to pursue whatever we pleased.
Now for everyone, the day is ready to be seized.
Our evolutionary struggles all extinct, our troubles all gone.
Perhaps now is the time to be happy? Time to move on.
Oh, Utopia

No more fornicating over Instagram and insecurity
No more toxic masculinity and finally some male maturity
No more measuring our success by how high a like button can count.
No more choosing our partner from the size of their banking account
No more candid masks worn by a big green beast
The vanity of man all buried and deceased
No more celebrating the ****** exposure of a love island fool
Finally we are being creative and using our brain as a tool
Oh, Utopia

However, this bliss is not what it seems and all is not well.
For Winge-ing, moaning and groaning are as ingrained as the DNA in our cell.
Having no problems is quite a bad situation
As we thrive on challenges from the dawn of creation
You see humans are hole diggers and nothing is ever enough
We are addicted to trouble and finding the diamond in the rough
Oh, Utopia

There is still so much to see and to learn
A fact that fills me with equal hope and concern
Until we learn to change ourselves and gain some sanity
The world will continue to be as it alway has been, ashamed of its own humanity.

Oh, Dystopia

I see a rainbow sea of people
I see your culture; your history
I see your pain; your fear

I don't want to erase the battles you've won
I don't want to belittle your fight
I don't want to erase your uniqueness

I want to see a painting with the colors of life
I want to recognize your diversity; your struggles
I want to see your healing; your relief

I don't want blissful ignorance
I want to see the truth

Can anyone tell me why I let myself live in this?
Am I stuck in a room with no windows or doors?
I used to bang on the walls with bruises on fists
over tattooed wrists and faded scars
that led to a hole in my chest
that I filled with love for myself.
“Love for myself”:
You probably think that sounds conceited,
right?
But in all truth, it is the bitter opposite.
I didn’t need any of you to save me.
I figured it out on my own,
like I always do.
The fight in my gut emerged beyond skin,
but I was never good enough here.
I will never be good enough here.
I spend my weeks on a seesaw
between the highest praise and the lowest blows.
Every word that takes off from my lips
must turn and tumble in flight before reaching your ears.
You hear me. You don’t listen.
You twist me. You don’t illuminate.

No, I am not like a daughter to you,
and if you were my mother,
I would have disowned you long ago.
In fact, you really don’t know **** about me,
because I don’t want you to.
Too many people try to tell me how to live,
as though I haven’t come to learn what is best for myself.
I think,
as someone who used to fantasize about her own death
but has overcome that obstacle
and must continue to work to keep that fight alive in herself
every
****
minute
of her existence,
I have the right to write you off as an imbecile to my life.
You don’t own me.
You don’t know me.
You don’t even see me.

I ripped away the heart sewn tightly to my sleeve a while ago
and placed it in a treasure chest
kept in a safe haven to which few hold the key.
I hold the key.
But I don’t go there often.
You see, I never really get the chance.
I just want the chance,
just a little bit of time
to hear the quiet hum of a life reformed,
to stop and feel the breath in my chest,
to feel each lung fill to the brim,
and picture it nourishing every inch of my body
as I press the “release” button.
Can I press the “release” button?
Can I close my eyes and be…
just be, not do.
Can I whisper my desires to the wind that moves around me?
Can we tell secrets of our confusion,
our struggles,
our victories?
Can I reside to the treasure chest,
simply to fill back up?
“E” is for empty.

I was designed differently than you.
I wasn’t made for this.

its a struggle
             a constant struggle
                              to be perfect for you

I struggle with my sleeping hours, and my brokenness.
I struggle with so much, yet God is still with me here.
I struggle with wanting to be married as well, still...
My God loves me I struggle with loneliness and isolation.
I struggle with life still I know that it is not my choice.
Whether I shall live or die, so I accept my fate here.
Because, I love my God and Savior and accept his decisions.
He knows my future and my life's end, I shall trust him.
For he is God and wants only the very best for me and others.

Odysseus struggles needs to prove to himself world he is talented painter determined to achieve recognition goes from art dealer to art dealer seeking support one dealer says Schwartzpilgrim stop changing settle on 1 style you can be known for what you’re doing now is good stick with it call me in 6 months with 300 drawings just like these another dealer says Odys you must learn great art is a **** beneath bed sheets another dealer says Modigliani knew how to paint flesh paint like Modigliani you need to learn more about painting Schwartzpilgrim you’re too young inexperienced another dealer says thank you for your interest in our gallery we’re not taking on any new painters at this time Odysseus knows there are people so much more talented better looking than him he feels inadequate intimidated

thinks to himself sister Penny is right female wish list is curse Bayli haunts she alone always be my ideal until i met Reiko Lee now Reiko Lee Furshe holds me captive i long for her voice eyes shoulders wiry delicateness crazy outrageous humor fiery ****** appetite i need to tear apart wish list leave myself open need to learn to seek inner beauty let anatomy fall where it will need to cultivate new standards it’s difficult to see with different eyes i am so biased how do i do this?

Odysseus muses with Reiko’s ghost 6 months since separation lights candles burns incense opens bottle of red wine pours glass for her and himself sips watches her glass while he makes toasts speaks elaborately of her beauty charm cites reasons why each of them does not need the other why couldn’t you have been the one? what is it about me you didn’t like? what did i do wrong? pours another glass begins talking louder ending in rage why aren’t you here? why? what went so terribly wrong? i love you where are you? how come you’re not here with me tonight? looks at her glass sees she has not even taken sip feels slightly drunk fearful he has sunk too deep  gets up staggers to bed sniffs blanket for traces of her tonight is their anniversary his only excuse

telephone rings sometime in late july hi it’s me Reiko how’ve you been Odys? he questions Reiko Lee? uh yes Odys it’s meee your stray puppy Reiko’s voice sounds playful tender Odys are you there? what’s up? let me come over **** and ******* please he speaks into receiver Reiko Lee is dead hangs up wonders if he has done right thing paces room writes a woman like that you tell yourself you do not need  ignore her deny her let her pass because if you admit how much you want her you become fugitive in chains running from dogs men with guns a woman like that is all you need a woman like that is motive seed chance of a lifetime a woman like that takes chances at twice your speed a woman like that keeps you guessing hoping waiting a woman like that leaves you destitute you cannot have her because she possesses you a woman like that is a wanted woman

decides to move finds new place blocks away apartment on lill street changes telephone number in his heart he knows nothing more thrilling beautiful than joyous girl yet he attracts women who seek abuse because they see themselves in him because he lets them try to mend his abused mind because he misuses them so well reaching finding joyous girl looms impossible breakup feeds venting bitter fires

the most dangerous woman eludes meall other women are too attainable chinese green tea gestapo limousine it doesn’t matter that you don’t understand that is the line darling dangling darjeeling your lips bleeding your ***** on fire imagine i am running sprinting in relay race just up ahead i’m about to pass baton this is life expectancy of poet indonesian cigarettes made of clove leaves i held your wrists pinned your fragile body to floor strummed you like guitar while other men looked on i knew one of them would take you next

miranda comes out on verandah with lemonade on hot summer day hair blows free in breeze leans back against beam softly hums inside time bomb ticks somewhere fly caught in room knocking itself against window ricocheting off corners  buzzing crisscross ceiling floor miranda sips just enough so lips are wet eyelids flutter like butterfly wings ******* swell in heat of midday sun she calls to us with hand stirs more sugar in lemonade late afternoon when fly is caught entangled in spider’s web buzzing is muffled ice has melted lemonade watery we are dozing in hammocks rocking chairs miranda is changing dress perfuming thighs crafting character in mirror screen door slams she looks up recognizing it is only wind sun is sinking orange ball spider crawls fixing aim grabs thread swings in for **** we are passed out in grass at dusk lights around verandah beam on miranda appears wearing low-neck dress with one strap down breath heavy with anise invites us inside giggling shyly as we follow timeless newsreel vision men hard at work war room spins as fly ***** desperately spider opens legs miranda lies arched on bed eyes weaving

he gets drunk loudly sings she must be some kind of witch flying in the wind she must be some kind of ***** to dig this grave i’m in he rhymes it was just another **** stunt forgive me for speaking so blunt she was just being a lady no need to get crazy it was just another **** stunt he scribbles she gets ****** hair styled eyebrows plucked nails done walks out new woman miss fox Mrs. G. Fox madame de faux meeting the girls for lunch wearing her pearls writing her name in swirls talking up a storm pack of women is worse than pack of hungry wolves wolves stop at carrion women carve combs out of bones

Cal is driving Odysseus sits in passenger seat heading to pit & pendulum for cocktails it is raining down hard Odysseus looks out beyond sweeping windshield wipers sees red cowboy boots the ones they found together at flea market there she is Reiko Lee Furshe arisen from wasteland Odysseus tells Cal to stop car turns to see her she is running across street his hand reaches for car door handle what’s happening? Cal demands are you there? i can’t stop cars behind me! this is crazy Odys what’s going on? i’m not stopping! Odysseus stares through rear window frozen watching her disappear behind red brick wall in pouring rain

ghost girl it’s difficult to write in comatose passage apart i am in theater of mirrors with empty seat beside me black hole inside me itinerary of fears i’m seeing dancer but haunted by you look in your eyes smell on your fingers clonking up stairs of your wooden clog shoes feelings we dared plans we knew might never come true la laahh la lay la lay dee la lady of shady lagoon weeping willow pisces moon like India ink you’ve left indelible stain i fumble in dark of empress’s tomb like necrophiliac i grip onto memory stroke ashes of you lantern licorice amethyst bone you are gliding in your canoe cutting through mist swirling whirlpools that untangle themselves behind you dancing nearer to flame la shady lady does pirouettes in rain

The Breach Interpretation: Is a mild chemical defect, found on the losing side of painful guilt itself.
Making (or, causing) such troubling acts of kindness, the very rhythm (full of justifiable results...), on the biggest possible gimmick...that could ever be committed.
That's just a rough outline of the very interpretation (of "The Breach") itself.
But the Breach part, is truly insignificantly broken from the deep inside out....
The Breach itself however, fully adopts the very different struggles between both "what is right", and "what is wrong" (with one's own personal image, and their own personal struggles at large).
But that doesn't mean nothing should be any different, then when it came to how right that very someone's personal image was, and how awfully wrong their own personal struggles were...when they interpreted it into millions upon millions upon millions of different fragmented individual pieces, (of their own collection). (And that's just the tip of the iceberg, when you finally console the very dynamic realization, of eventually, coming to terms with the long acts of perspectives...) That then obviously shows that those millions upon millions upon millions of different fragmented pieces (with their very own different properties and meanings), because nothing is truly conclusive in ALL these specifics areas and points (of a system that has more to offer, then any other order of things which could tilt at ANY moment...) Revealing a mere simple reaction in their form upon an even simpler side-effect.
Which tips the balance of power...and creates the most unsteady order of chaos that could become either an unstable universe (that could hypothetically become "stable", anyways).
Or just another standard, simplistic, normal sense of self full of such logical wit, (or the smallest of components of each), could then finally define both each others strengths and weaknesses.
Once this happens, everything becomes much clearer, (of course with time).
And this very interpretation of ("The Breach"), can then become fully "self-established" towards just what truthfully surrounds this very Breach itself.
Nevertheless, things now become more founded upon.
(When once it was truthfully subjected towards an unfortunate one-sided enclosure that didn't know how to officially become as one.) Because it was simply missing its other half that was an entirely unknown placement that didn't know it even existed.
The Breach Interpretation is full of all sorts of unbreachable flaws!
But for how much is truly unbreachable...fully depends on the sorts of acts you commit towards.
That's entirely why, this very interpretation is fully masked by the intentions of either others, (or your very own, intentions).
Because in the end, intentions lie their way too victory!
And that's the start (not the finish), towards an act of serious possible violence...(that truthfully defies the very expectations...), of what The Breach...truly is!

Sit back. Relax. Take a breath. Take a minute. Take a hit. Take a drink. Take a sting. Take a shot. Take a line. Take a day. Take a time. Take a mental Picture. Take a pill. Take something you've always wanted. Sit back and chill..

Sit back, watch the ashes, their crumbling down.
Keep your head in the sky. Keep your feet on the ground.
Keep your buzz going. Don't ever come down.
Keep your face smiling and don't ever frown.
Keep the toxins flowing. Keep your head held high.
Keep your thoughts clear. Stop wondering why.
Keep your hopes up. Drink that whiskey and rye.
Keep moving yourself forward. Live life 'til you die.

Sit back, watch the ashes. They fall to the ground.
Take a listen to the birds, its a beautiful sound.
Take a minute, sit back, watch the world go around.
Take a look at the sky, so vast and profound.
Take a drag of your cigarette, and let yourself go.
Take notice of your freedom, and let the wind blow.
Take off your winter coat, go with the flow.
Take off your mask, let your true colors show.

Sit back, watch the ashes as they land on the earth.
Feel the rediscovery, and feel the rebirth.
Feel the wind on your fingertips, for what it is worth.
Feel the world, what it is, it's incredible girth.
Feel yourself drift away, feel the grass on your toes.
Feel the sun on your face, feel the wind as it blows.
Feel the love in this world, as it blooms, as it grows.
Feel the light on your soul, see the beauty it shows.

Sit back, watch the ashes, their coming, their due
Realize, though, that it's beautiful too.
Redo all of the things, that you love to do.
Remember there's people that truly love you.
Replay all of the memories that make you smile.
Revisit your best friends, and chill for a while.
Resign from your deviance, cunning, and guile.
Relax in recumbence, sit back, reconcile.

The ashes will soon, cover all of this land.
Theres nothing to stop it, no curing command.
Theres someone who loves you, so go hold their hand.
Theres a shortage of love in this world of demand.
Theres only one thought that comes into my mind.
Theres nothing new out there, theres nothing to find.
Theres everything I need, right here, am I blind?
Theres people who love me, people of my kind.

So the world can go ahead and crash down around me, I'll just look Away. I'll just take a look at the things I love.  I'll just take notice of the beautiful Day.
I'll just take another shot, I'll just sit in the beautiful green Grass. I'll just look up at the sky and let the ending pass.
I'll just be sitting with the people I love, and we'll be letting our true colors Show. We'll be feeling the grass on our toes, and letting the beautiful wind Blow.
Get ready to watch the rest of the world fall to pieces. To watch the ashes fall. Prepare for the Show.  But Don't worry...Just Sit back, relax, and let the last of that beautiful wind Blow.

____

Fall with me. Drop with me. Drop like the rain descending from the pregnant clouds overhead.  Fall like an avalanche, free and uncontrollable. Fall like the waterfall, endlessly powerful.  Fall with the world, but not in disgrace, we're falling like leaves into a beautiful place.  We're falling into eternity… discomforting but true. So enjoy the descent, it's the least you could do, for out of this fall comes a beautiful view...

Fall with the leaves. Fall peaceful and slow
Forget everything that you don't need to know
Form truces with enemies, befriend every foe
For now is the time to let everything go
Forbidden are thoughts of a peaceful demise
Forsaken, the image of peace in disguise
Forgive all the subtle and meaningless lies
Forego a renewal, re-open you're eyes

Fall with the Rain drops, now finally freed
This is the beginning of the end indeed
This peaceful decline may be just what we need
This fall from our old withered branches of greed
This pressure discharged… our old ways replaced
This wind now uplifting, this beauty embraced
This Government Tangle, this Empire, erased
This Is the End of the struggles we've faced

Fall with the Waterfall, Establish your voice
Pro-life… Pro-love… Pro-strength… Pro-choice
Protest your opinions, don't let them devoice
Progress now possible, so revel, rejoice
Provide the necessities, laughter and love
Produce something new, something unheard of
Proclaim your new freedom, and wake with the dove
Promise to fall with the rain from above.

Fall with the Avalanche, plush and severe
Don't let the ending take hold of your fear
Don't forget, there's people that still love you here
Don't let these people, your friends, disappear
Don't be afraid now…  The grass is still green
Don't take your eyes off the beautiful scene
Don't let your colors be shaded unclean
Don't let the distance grow vast in between

Fall with the ashes that cover this earth
Be Born Once Again, re-discover rebirth
Believe in true beauty, for what it is worth
Beware of this world, its incredible girth
Below you are roots from which you can grow
Beyond the Horizon is the end as we know
Belong To A Bigger Picture, go with the flow
Become something less…  Sit back… Watch the show.

Fall with the ashes, but not in disgrace. Finally we can escape from this place. The government gone, the Empires erased.  We can Fall with the raindrops, with beauty embraced.
Take off your masks, let your true colors Show. Let the sun shine bright, let the moonlight glow.  Revisit your best friends, Let yourselves go.
and let the very last of that beautiful wind blow…

I used to know things about people, it was all too easy for me to figure them out.

I used to dread the day when I had found out I've failed, when I couldn't save someone. Strange or depressing as it may seem, I'm glad I haven't had to attend all the funerals I tried to prepare myself for.

I used to know if someone had ever been touched wrongly. Unwillingly. How far past their "no's" were gotten. I can't do that anymore, I don't know how to help anymore.

I used to cry at all the pain, I used to sob myself to sleep. These days I try anything just to feel a single tear on my cheek.

I used to hear things without finding or ever questioning the source. I used to sing out my struggles to the sounds I heard while crying on my backyard's swing set. I still hear it sometimes, but maybe that's just my imagination.

My mom told me I used to see angels.  All I can remember was being scared of the footprints on my ceiling. Maybe they were angels, maybe they were demons. Maybe they were just early signs of schizophrenia.

Was all of that just preparation?
Was it all just a coincidence?
Is this real? Is it God's work? Is it fate?
Do I believe in any of that anymore???

Who knew that a conversation over cigarettes with you would leave me so confused.

Is our craziness compatible, like taking a drug together and having the same trip?
Or maybe we're gifted with seeing things for how they really are.

Or maybe its just you.
Maybe I'm lost forever.

I need to walk your path.

I heard sounds in the woods with you
But was it the same music?
Do we share the same insanity?

Tell me if its a blessing or a curse.
Tell me if its worth all the pain.
Tell me if I can handle it... if I won't **** myself first.
Does the light in everything outweigh the darkness?  
Tell me what you think about souls now.
Does everything live forever?
Can you still see their light if they're dead?
Tell me what you feel.
Tell me what you know now.
I want your truths.

This has to be real.

My world has been flipped and turned inside out.

But finally, for once, I think everything makes sense.

I've come to the decision
that the problem with everything
is other people.

Our internal struggles are mountains we’re used to climbing,
you kind of know the best way to the top.
It’s when you’re confronted with other people’s mountains;
they’re already half way there
and you’re at the bottom looking up.

And there have been people
who have already climbed that mountain before you,
and they've influenced where
that other person has placed their feet.

It’s all an awfully tiring adventure
up other people’s perilous mountains
and you could be swept up in it
and lose yourself entirely
before you've even conquered your own.

Before you **** yourself, can you do me a little favor?
If it’s not too much to ask, if you have a little time,
If you’re not in a hurry, Please listen to me
Don’t worry; I’m not here to guilt trip you
I know you’re pretty much decided
So please, let me stall you for a minute or two
You know, some people **** themselves right away
Some people wait for signs
Some people change their hairstyles, their clothes
To send a silent SOS to anyone who would notice
Because it’s not easy to ask for ‘Help’
When you know they’re just going to say
‘Get over it’, ‘don’t be so sad’, and “It’s going to be okay”
When you know they’re just saying that because they don’t know what else to say
I’m not here to do that either
I’m not here to tell you that your problems
Are meaningless compared to what kids in Africa are going through right now
I’m not here tell you stories of people with cancer fighting for their lives
When you just want to end yours
I am here to tell you that your problems are valid
Your struggles are real, your fight is real
You are real and you exist
You take up space

Before you **** yourself, I want you to know
That whatever you decide to do,
You’re not a coward in my eyes
But a soldier who simply didn’t want to fight
With all the warlords inside your head
And you’re the only one who desires peace
A cease fire  
You don’t want to fight
Because you know in the end
They will win and they will devour you
You are a prisoner of your own world war
And no one is ever coming to free your chains
No amount of happiness disguised as little pills in a bottle
No weeks of sessions with a doctor who don’t even look at you when you talk
No amount of inspirational posters or celebrity ******* that says ‘It will get better’
I know you think nothing will ever change the fact that you are losing  
But the thing is, it’s not a fact
Those are just your opinions
And as far as opinions go, they can be changed
They can change
Like the person who owns them

Before you **** yourself, I want you stop worrying about hell
It may or may not exist, depending on what you believe in
And if you believe that hell is for people who **** themselves
Then why bother going there, when you can have all the hell you want, right here, right now.
At least this hell has internet and pizza and ice cream.
That doesn’t sound appealing enough but
You get the point

Before you **** yourself, do you know how many people on your Facebook page
will ransack your wall and post things like: ‘I will miss you.”, ‘Rest In Peace”, “I wish we could’ve hanged out more”
and other lovely words that they didn’t bother to say to you while you’re still around
Do you really want strangers to put hearts and kisses on your wall when they have spent their entire lives ignoring you?
Do you want your Facebook page to be infested with people who wants to scream to the world how much they sort of grieve you but didn’t show
how much they love you?
Do you really want them to use your death to make them seem like they cared?
I say, do not give them that satisfaction.

Before you **** yourself have you ever considered how much a funeral costs?
Why, it’s the second multi-million business next to weddings!
Let’s say your coffin will cost your family 50,000 Php
Your wake and all the other things will cost about 80,000 Php
That’s a total 130,000 Php that you could’ve just spent travelling the country
And escaping your personal hell for a while rather than spending it on your death
Burying you to the ground or burning you to ashes
Corpses and ashes don’t get to surf the waves
Or feel the wind on their faces
Or feel that moment of accomplishment when they finally reach a mountain’s summit
Would you rather rot and get eaten by worms
Than soak your feet beneath the blue seas,
and watch the sun paint the sky, bursting into colors as it sets?


Before you **** yourself, I want you to imagine the 11-year-old you
Put them in your position and ask them
“What are you going to do?”
I know, it sounds ridiculous I mean, what’s a kid’s solution to a very adult problem?
But think about this, if that 11 year old survived through your current age right now,
Maybe you can survive for a few years more
Sometimes, adults tend to make things seems complicated when they’re not
Because adults are forced to think to just accept THIS reality
This reality built on taxes, corruption, politics and twisted definitions of responsibility stitched into every fiber of our adult skin
Adults are taught to ‘**** it up’ because we no longer have the excuse of youth
We are told to go with flow
To drown ourselves in status quo
Because it is proper;
Not because it’s right
It is not your fault you’re wired this way
But just because your wires are tangled and the knots are hard to undo
Does not mean you can’t

Before you **** yourself, I want you think about
The creation of the universe
I want you think about the Big Bang Theory
Or the Genesis chapter in the Bible
Or the theory that we came from Aliens
I don’t care which of these you believe in
They are just saying one thing:
It took time to create you  
Billions of atoms and neurons and electrons collided
To form you  
You are not some walking flesh and blood  
With no purpose
You’re here for something
For someone
Maybe not now
But someday
Someday, someone’s eyes will light up
Seeing you coming their way
Arms opening up, welcoming you to a warm embrace
Someone will smile because they thought of something funny
that you said and they wouldn’t care if people catch them smiling in public like some kind of nutcase
Someone will see your scars as proof of your survival
A tiger who earned its stripes

But only if you live to see it.
Only if you live to see it.

Before you **** yourself, I want you to know that there are people out there
Who genuinely care about you
of course it’s hard for you to see that
Because you don’t always see it when they show it
Probably because they show it too often
Sometimes caring is in the way a person says ‘hello’
Love is in the way they say ‘text me when you get home’
It’s when people say good night or have a nice day
It’s the little things that actually count
You just have to look out for them

Before you **** yourself, please try to realize that your problems are temporary
Do not give it a permanent solution
The world is a cycle, it revolves, and it changes.
Maybe not right away, maybe not this second when you need it the most to change
But give it time.
Give yourself some time,
But most of all, give yourself a chance.

Before you **** yourself,

don’t.


-L.C.

Now, when the moon slid under the cloud
And the cold clear dark of starlight fell,
He heard in his blood the well-known bell
Tolling slowly in heaves of sound,
Slowly beating, slowly beating,
Shaking its pulse on the stagnant air:
Sometimes it swung completely round,
Horribly gasping as if for breath;
Falling down with an anguished cry . . .
Now the red bat, he mused, will fly;
Something is marked, this night, for death . . .
And while he mused, along his blood
Flew ghostly voices, remote and thin,
They rose in the cavern of his brain,
Like ghosts they died away again;
And hands upon his heart were laid,
And music upon his flesh was played,
Until, as he was bidden to do,
He walked the wood he so well knew.
Through the cold dew he moved his feet,
And heard far off, as under the earth,
Discordant music in shuddering tones,
Screams of laughter, horrible mirth,
Clapping of hands, and thudding of drums,
And the long-drawn wail of one in pain.
To-night, he thought, I shall die again,
We shall die again in the red-eyed fire
To meet on the edge of the wood beyond
With the placid gaze of fed desire . . .
He walked; and behind the whisper of trees,
In and out, one walked with him:
She parted the branches and peered at him,
Through lowered lids her two eyes burned,
He heard her breath, he saw her hand,
Wherever he turned his way, she turned:
Kept pace with him, now fast, now slow;
Moving her white knees as he moved . . .
This is the one I have always loved;
This is the one whose bat-soul comes
To dance with me, flesh to flesh,
In the starlight dance of horns and drums . . .

The walls and roofs, the scarlet towers,
Sank down behind a rushing sky.
He heard a sweet song just begun
Abruptly shatter in tones and die.
It whirled away.  Cold silence fell.
And again came tollings of a bell.

     *     *     *     *     *

This air is alive with witches: the white witch rides
Swifter than smoke on the starlit wind.
In the clear darkness, while the moon hides,
They come like dreams, like something remembered . .
Let us hurry! beloved; take my hand,
Forget these things that trouble your eyes,
Forget, forget!  Our flesh is changed,
Lighter than smoke we wreathe and rise . . .

The cold air hisses between us . . . Beloved, beloved,
What was the word you said?
Something about clear music that sang through water . . .
I cannot remember.  The storm-drops break on the leaves.
Something was lost in the darkness.  Someone is dead.
Someone lies in the garden and grieves.
Look how the branches are tossed in this air,
Flinging their green to the earth!
Black clouds rush to devour the stars in the sky,
The moon stares down like a half-closed eye.
The leaves are scattered, the birds are blown,
Oaks crash down in the darkness,
We run from our windy shadows; we are running alone.

     *     *     *     *     *

The moon was darkened: across it flew
The swift grey tenebrous shape he knew,
Like a thing of smoke it crossed the sky,
The witch! he said.  And he heard a cry,
And another came, and another came,
And one, grown duskily red with blood,
Floated an instant across the moon,
Hung like a dull fantastic flame . . .
The earth has veins: they throb to-night,
The earth swells warm beneath my feet,
The tips of the trees grow red and bright,
The leaves are swollen, I feel them beat,
They press together, they push and sigh,
They listen to hear the great bat cry,
The great red bat with the woman's face . . .
Hurry! he said.  And pace for pace
That other, who trod the dark with him,
Crushed the live leaves, reached out white hands
And closed her eyes, the better to see
The priests with claws, the lovers with hooves,
The fire-lit rock, the sarabands.
I am here! she said.  The bough he broke--
Was it the snapping bough that spoke?
I am here! she said.  The white thigh gleamed
Cold in starlight among dark leaves,
The head thrown backward as he had dreamed,
The shadowy red deep jasper mouth;
And the lifted hands, and the ****** *******,
Passed beside him, and vanished away.
I am here! she cried.  He answered 'Stay!'
And laughter arose, and near and far
Answering laughter rose and died . . .
Who is there? in the dark? he cried.
He stood in terror, and heard a sound
Of terrible hooves on the hollow ground;
They rushed, were still; a silence fell;
And he heard deep tollings of a bell.

     *     *     *     *     *

Look beloved!  Why do you hide your face?
Look, in the centre there, above the fire,
They are bearing the boy who blasphemed love!
They are playing a piercing music upon him
With a bow of living wire! . . .
The ****** harlot sings,
She leans above the beautiful anguished body,
And draws slow music from those strings.
They dance around him, they fling red roses upon him,
They trample him with their naked feet,
His cries are lost in laughter,
Their feet grow dark with his blood, they beat and
      beat,
They dance upon him, until he cries no more . . .
Have we not heard that cry before?
Somewhere, somewhere,
Beside a sea, in the green evening,
Beneath green clouds, in a copper sky . . .
Was it you? was it I?
They have quenched the fires, they dance in the darkness,
The satyrs have run among them to seize and tear,
Look! he has caught one by the hair,
She screams and falls, he bears her away with him,
And the night grows full of whistling wings.
Far off, one voice, serene and sweet,
Rises and sings . . .

'By the clear waters where once I died,
In the calm evening bright with stars. . . .'
Where have I heard these words?  Was it you who sang them?
It was long ago.
Let us hurry, beloved! the hard hooves trample;
The treetops tremble and glow.

     *     *     *     *     *

In the clear dark, on silent wings,
The red bat hovers beneath her moon;
She drops through the fragrant night, and clings
Fast in the shadow, with hands like claws,
With soft eyes closed and mouth that feeds,
To the young white flesh that warmly bleeds.
The maidens circle in dance, and raise
From lifting throats, a soft-sung praise;
Their knees and ******* are white and bare,
They have hung pale roses in their hair,
Each of them as she dances by
Peers at the blood with a narrowed eye.
See how the red wing wraps him round,
See how the white youth struggles in vain!
The weak arms writhe in a soundless pain;
He writhes in the soft red veiny wings,
But still she whispers upon him and clings. . . .
This is the secret feast of love,
Look well, look well, before it dies,
See how the red one trembles above,
See how quiet the white one lies! . . . .

Wind through the trees. . . and a voice is heard
Singing far off.  The dead leaves fall. . . .
'By the clear waters where once I died,
In the calm evening bright with stars,
One among numberless avatars,
I wedded a mortal, a mortal bride,
And lay on the stones and gave my flesh,
And entered the hunger of him I loved.
How shall I ever escape this mesh
Or be from my lover's body removed?'
Dead leaves stream through the hurrying air
And the maenads dance with flying hair.

     *     *     *     *     *

The priests with hooves, the lovers with horns,
Rise in the starlight, one by one,
They draw their knives on the spurting throats,
They smear the column with blood of goats,
They dabble the blood on hair and lips
And wait like stones for the moon's eclipse.
They stand like stones and stare at the sky
Where the moon leers down like a half-closed eye. . .
In the green moonlight still they stand
While wind flows over the darkened sand
And brood on the soft forgotten things
That filled their shadowy yesterdays. . . .
Where are the *******, the scarlet wings? . . . .
They gaze at each other with troubled gaze. . . .
And then, as the shadow closes the moon,
Shout, and strike with their hooves the ground,
And rush through the dark, and fill the night
With a slowly dying clamor of sound.
There, where the great walls crowd the stars,
There, by the black wind-riven walls,
In a grove of twisted leafless trees. . . .
Who are these pilgrims, who are these,
These three, the one of whom stands upright,
While one lies weeping and one of them crawls?
The face that he turned was a wounded face,
I heard the dripping of blood on stones. . . .
Hooves had trampled and torn this place,
And the leaves were strewn with blood and bones.
Sometimes, I think, beneath my feet,
The warm earth stretches herself and sighs. . . .
Listen!  I heard the slow heart beat. . . .
I will lie on this grass as a lover lies
And reach to the north and reach to the south
And seek in the darkness for her mouth.

     *     *     *     *     *

Beloved, beloved, where the slow waves of the wind
Shatter pale foam among great trees,
Under the hurrying stars, under the heaving arches,
Like one whirled down under shadowy seas,
I run to find you, I run and cry,
Where are you?  Where are you?  It is I.  It is I.
It is your eyes I seek, it is your windy hair,
Your starlight body that breathes in the darkness there.
Under the darkness I feel you stirring. . . .
Is this you?  Is this you?
Bats in this air go whirring. . . .
And this soft mouth that darkly meets my mouth,
Is this the soft mouth I knew?
Darkness, and wind in the tortured trees;
And the patter of dew.

     *     *     *     *     *

Dance!  Dance!  Dance!  Dance!
Dance till the brain is red with speed!
Dance till you fall!  Lift your torches!
Kiss your lovers until they bleed!
Backward I draw your anguished hair
Until your eyes are stretched with pain;
Backward I press you until you cry,
Your lips grow white, I kiss you again,
I will take a torch and set you afire,
I will break your body and fling it away. . . .
Look, you are trembling. . . Lie still, beloved!
Lock your hands in my hair, and say
Darling! darling! darling! darling!
All night long till the break of day.

Is it your heart I hear beneath me. . . .
Or the far tolling of that tower?
The voices are still that cried around us. . . .
The woods grow still for the sacred hour.
Rise, white lover! the day draws near.
The grey trees lean to the east in fear.
'By the clear waters where once I died . . . .'
Beloved, whose voice was this that cried?
'By the clear waters that reach the sun
By the clear waves that starward run. . . .
I found love's body and lost his soul,
And crumbled in flame that should have annealed. . .
How shall I ever again be whole,
By what dark waters shall I be healed?'

Silence. . . the red leaves, one by one,
Fall.  Far off, the maenads run.

Silence.  Beneath my naked feet
The veins of the red earth swell and beat.
The dead leaves sigh on the troubled air,
Far off the maenads bind their hair. . . .
Hurry, beloved! the day comes soon.
The fire is drawn from the heart of the moon.

     *     *     *     *     *

The great bell cracks and falls at last.
The moon whirls out.  The sky grows still.
Look, how the white cloud crosses the stars
And suddenly drops behind the hill!
Your eyes are placid, you smile at me,
We sit in the room by candle-light.
We peer in each other's veins and see
No sign of the things we saw this night.
Only, a song is in your ears,
A song you have heard, you think, in dream:
The song which only the demon hears,
In the dark forest where maenads scream . . .

'By the clear waters where once I died . . .
In the calm evening bright with stars . . . '
What do the strange words mean? you say,--
And touch my hand, and turn away.

My body is the training ground for
All of the reject demons
My inner demons failed to qualify as the right sort of fight
To match with any worthwhile struggles so

My inner demons are over dramatic children
     They do not wage wars
     They throw tantrums
     They stand inside my temples and pound the walls
     When they do not get what they want
     And shriek ringing into my ears until they turn blue
     Then fall asleep when they get tired
     Forgetting that they were supposed to be upset
My inner demons are pretentious
     They call themselves demons
     When they are more like imps
     They tickle at anxiety with the nerve to call it an attack
     And separate velcro and seams with the audacity to say that
     They broke something
     Then press on my heart
     Daring to call it an ache
My inner demons are clumsy
     They walk with their toes curling around my eyelashes
     And slip and spill their handfuls of tears
     At inopportune moments
     As I tremble due to the ones
     That have tripped and tangled themselves
     In my heartstrings and vocal cords
     Causing me to grasp my rib cage in desperate attempts to reach them
     And tear apart the inconveniences
My inner demons are shy
     They sway in my veins to the rhythmic pulse
     With clawed hands outstretched to the blue walled sky
     Cautious to never leave a scratch through my skin
     They dance on nerve endings and muscle tissue
     With footwork just gentle enough to not summon bruises
     And hold themselves still against my capillaries
     As if their presence might distract my blood from
     Its daily circulation
My inner demons are hoarders
     They over-stuff the filing cabinets in my brain
     With reports and analysis of too many situations
     And pick up old emotions and hide them in the recesses
     Of each ventricle and aorta
     Creating pseudo-space for newer, stranger, replicas
     Then pack extra breaths into my lungs
     Storing "just in case" inhalations and overused sighs
     They insulate their homes with extra calories and extra clothes
     Hiding until they can forget themselves
My inner demons are moody
     They like to stitch up new wounds with the thorns of roses
     And pry open old ones with feathers
     They tie my tongue with pages of foreign textbooks
     They tie my tongue in gauze and cotton
     They tie my tongue with other tongues
     And pins and needles and teeth and drawstrings
     They are self depreciating and they know that they
     Are not worthy of their title

My inner demons are pathetic
     I suppose they're right where they belong

The Aliens are coming for me soon.
And I will be here waiting for them.
My whole life it's been like someone-
no, THING-  no, HOW
whispered
'Kid, one day, we're gonna make you special.
Just wait for us."
Since my first kindergarten play.
Since my first line of yay.
From the first time I heard-
       'Relax, kid, you're gonna be okay.'
From my first dying day.
Excuse me.
Birth day.
My Dad never saw how the sun rose in that way.
On that day.
But the Aliens do.
And they were beautiful.
They Aliens know everything that surrounds you,
hounds you,
the ones who confound you,
and every single person who actually found you.
The Aliens know.
And the Aliens are coming to help.
And I am waiting for them.
The Aliens know about how you got kicked off the T-ball team.
They know about how much your dreams mean and how mean your been to others.
They know about the struggles you've had and you blame it all on your Dad.
But really it's all about yourself.
They know we put things on a rickety shelf and pray they'll never fall.
They know the human race is really just a flaw.
But the Aliens are still coming for me.
The Aliens are the only ones who know us.
The Aliens are the ones who can, but won't, control us.
They feel what it's like to be kept waiting
and waiting

and waiting.

Because.
Because they have been waiting.
Waiting for me.
And I am waiting for the Aliens.
Still I will wait.


Because only the Aliens have waited for me.

I’m the girl with the loudest laugh in the crowd, who warms the bodies of those who surround with happiness; the girl who puts on a smile and lights up the room, the girl who is there for everyone in their times of lonesome tears and times of trouble.

Within my laughs are cries of pain; among my lips is a dreadful control, constantly attempting to stop the quivering muscles; inside the bright room, the shadows wrap around me in their soothing embrace, drawing me into their abyss yet again; I’m the girl who wants to be comforted, calmed, and loved.

Notice me, and what I entail. Listen to my words, and try to understand their meaning. Look into my eyes and hear their quiet whispers as they spill out the secrets of sable struggles, a seemly sacrificed soul, and a sensibly sobered sanity.

This illness crawls through my brain, embedding the virus deeper into me, and stripping away all remembrances of my wholesome well-being. My body shivers and shutters despite the piles of blankets on top of me, or the two jackets upon my back. This physical cold is nothing compared to the grim cold running through my veins. I’m dawned with illness as my muscles shake and strain from the trifling weight of my own sorrow.

With each brush stroke, more hair comes out. The dark, twined mane falls on the floor of my bathroom tub, haunting me with judgment. My nails are peeled, the bags under my eyes darkened, the shine from my hair gone; all to feel normal. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, why am I doing this to myself?

___________
eating disorders, bulimia, depression, lost, lonely, depressed, struggles, pain, coping, mia, ana, life

and in my "hiatus" period of absence, circa 15th of April and 15th of December (minutes from a yesterday)... i've come to regret the Russians not having any... no... rather the bare minimum of orthography... surprise surprise! there's plenty to choose from! i had to return to a time when i was drilling greek into my head... naturally: a time for cyrillic was on the horizon... but... i couldn't do it with english alone... i need my mother tongue, a tongue that employs diacritical markers... again and again: english can do away with its j... it goes missing when raised to stand from a sitting position ȷ(J)... and it can cut the head off its I(standing)... ı(sitting)... to make an emphasis... i have been busy... drinking aside, have a look where i have been for the past... april, may, june, july, august, september, october, november, december:

ź = зь and ż = зъ

i'm drinking - and i am my most content - the world burns and goes about its usual wordly theatre... i'm huddling with a cameo role in the background... i am drinking content... my 3rd or 4th rejection letter! this time from : austin macauley publishers (london, cambridge, new york - sharjah - where the **** is sharjah?!) - i remember sending them a "manuscript" and a book already printed, bound... they said it would take them 6 weeks to reply... i didn't enclose an email address... i had to wait for the snailmail... my my... what lovely handwritting of my name and address... in the letter i did state: it's e(sch)lert... she omitted the (sch)... a rebecca crib admin assistant, of the editorial... 6 weeks though... hmm... i posted the letter and manuscript and the book way back prior to visiting my grandparents... circa 8th of september... it's a rejection letter... that much is true... but i'm drinking in celebration! i was making dinner in the afternoon and was asked: why are you so angry? i wasn't... i tried to figure out what i'd feel when enough of ms. amber was in me... i replied: i'm being apathetic... but now it's clear: i'm jovial! there's even a signature! an authentic signature... in all honesty... a rejection letter means something... if it is physically mailed... of course i'm celebrating! i exist! i exist outside the realm of getting spam snail-mail! of course i will reply... i'll tell them: destroy and recycle the manuscript - it really wasn't a manuscript to begin with... i pour my "efforts" on the manuscript canvas that's the html... but the already printed book? can you please not burn in... rather... keep it? i'd appreciate no 1933 Säuberung... and you know (kind reader) - i'll send this introspection to the same publisher... like it is... pop / pulp or whatever mongerel of style this has had to be... but a reply! i want to see how one might escape formal language, formal affairs, social affairs, esp. in letters - a dear ms. X / to whomever it might concern Y... kind regards / yours faithfuly Mr. Z... this has to be celebrated... given what's on the horizon... the norwegian novel viking a'comin'! the buldozer autobiography... the demand for a "death" of fiction... otherwise i'm still "here"... a "here" that truly is so distant that its distance allows my petty leeching and the world's grand fiasco theater of fire and smoke and mirrors! - after all... i'm not mad enough to be welcome to a cage if i'm a sparrow... a cage of rhyme, form and all those shackle devices / identifiers of "poetry"... the future is narrative... and the current narrative says? if you asked me to dress proper, for an opera... to don the shirt the tux and the bow (tie)... the well ironed trousers... perhaps... beside the point: air's in the head and i just wish i could heat it up... for a baloon of quasi-egoism effect... otherwise what is there... a former journalist becomes an isolationist essay-scribbler? all the best journalists retire from the profession and become essayists... polemicists... whatever... this "poet" says: no poet ever writes a novel... the real life is too fictive already... and most certain this "poet" adds: begone! lyricism and rhyme! i'll sing like the humming drone cleric of the hive of ambient refrigerator sounds at 2am when everything is sleeping...

capital: oh... so that's what it was... back circa 1990 - when inflation of currency was rife all over Poland? that's when foreign capital was flowing in: foreign money... the economy was flooded with pounds and dollars... and given the exchange rate: i remember a time when you could get circa 7zł for every 1 £ sterling... so why would a nation start to print its own money? well... because more foreign money is coming in - at the given exchange rate: apologies: i was born yesterday - i need to explain certain things, from scratch... as was once stated - there's only a finite amount of money in circulation... physical money... "apparently"... and no... if you were to materialise all the wealth in this world into either fiat or gold: there wouldn't be enough of it... but how else would inflation happen in a country like Poland circa 1992? foreign investement: the wild west of eastern europe when the soviet barricade fell... i do remember being asked a question as a child: which is more... these copper coins... or this piece of paper? on the piece of paper was written 5, 000, 000zł - i said the copper coins... i wasn't either right or wrong - the person asking the question laughed... i don't think it was a question of: there are more copper coins in the hand... than a single piece of paper... after all... perhaps i acted all trans-****-sapiens and became chimp and saw less zeros on the copper coins than on the piece of paper? how else does does a currency inflate - when foreign currency is poured into it... it's the opposite of foreign aid... you put £1 into an economy - with an exchange rate: currently you'd get circa 4, 50zł out of... so where is all this "excess" money to come from? the moment when foreign money is invested... is the moment you have to start printing your own money... imagine... if the word BLACK was worth more than CZERŃ (чернь): oh, we'd readily translate BLACK = CZERŃ... but we also need a sentence for that "to make sense"... and there i was... thinking that russian doesn't apply diacritical markers... oh... right... they're not as discrete with accents like some of us... notably? нь = ń... and so and likewise... wait wait... źródło (source)... in russian it would look, look: oh so ugly... зьрoьд-ł-ł-o... (wh)en (wh(en) but now i know this (w)oe: the soft sign (acute)... and the hard sign for... e.g. życzenia (wishes)... зъыченя (perhaps зъычениa) - point being: ź = зь and ż = зъ... now does language come to me...it never left me... but now ai appreciate the minor details... i see the english and their language and how they speak it... how they churn out metaphysics and how they call forthe help of **** similis to give history the rusty coating of: nothing between a today and tomorrow: there's only the hanging off a tree from a a tail that the chimpanze doesn't thave... everything is so very metaphysical: it's never orthographic! тe два: tak - тe: оба (there's a wikipedia mistake... U+0411 / U+0431... not o'bah... oo'b'ah...): щекaць: szczekać! to bark... eh... greek became too rigid... i could remember all the letters... always buckling on ζ (zETA) and ξ (11), upsilon (υ) and nu-nu-nu (ν)... and this is, practically nonsense to anyone with a base literacy knowledge... to exagerrate... who does mind such pedantic pleasures... when they could be somewhere else: skiing! but it's worthwhile to know how a nation's currency can be inflated... foreign money flows into the country - and whatever the exchange rate is... there is no such thing as a "grafitti compensation": then again, there is... perhaps literacy has been inflated... inflated for a second literacy of coding to be assured? otherwise? bypassing the orthodox print... bypassing orthodox editorial scrutiny... was... "nice"... until the moment when the mediator sought to see fit that the reader had more authority over the written word: having re(a)d it - over the person who had / has: written it! we do part our ways with the russians on the "debate" concerning the "cedilla" involving A(ą) and E(ę)... cedilla: yes yes... akin to garçon - waiter! waiter! please - that greek sigma at the end of a word: and all its ασπεκτς... aσpectς - that really is an orthographic statement... only Ssssssss'igma is a letter with "three dimensions" suited for it... a handwritten element... otherwise in the news this week? the apostrophe society is no more... like when you don't put a possessive article if the thing in "question" ends with an S, in english? e.g.? the colours' (sez sirs - alt. colours's sez sirs... ses-esses) imbued harmony... and that is a possesive article, isn't it? with an apostrophe: 's? it's not a plural identification - there would be no need for the apostrophe to begin with! pounds' worth: no... not a pound's worth - the worth of a pound... pounds' worth: the worth of pounds! - what's that german word... glücke! nein nein... etymological root: glück 'luck' (etymology is the new history... it bypasses journalism and serves some journalistic cousin that's powdered in dust of cremated bookworms) - and yes, a hypen can come to the fore: after a full-stop and the opening of a new sentence with a conjugation: - with disbelief / - and!

i'm not buying how the media narrative will turn Cymru into a "K-affair"... sim sim: similie or else... but these have been my greek buckles: ξ (oh... that's why i wrote 11... XI - ksi...) - it's rare to see ξ sometimes: esp. in philosophy books... rubric!

- ζ
- ν
- υ (i can be forgiven, these two letters
are not suited for print... unless working
with a microscope) - unlike a roman Vv...
- ξ

but this is just the greek... if you ever read some modern... you'd think: and i just don't know, where they get their ideas from - with all those diacritical excesses that heidegger notes...

but now... for my cyrillic mini-adventure:

from Miньsk (Mazowieцki): with love

it might be said, that if i just the bare minimum -
if i even do not write anything at all -
but i have too many petty griefs during the day
to much else than the odd, occasional chore;
at the same time i do not want to sound
amused, bewildered, bored or un-used...
it's just that i find writing and drinking before
falling to my 343rd death -
my 343rd labour for mask and then exfoliated
in a dream: that might come...
or might not come...
unless a known audience... a wake sized nieche
privy... i find either unconscious or subconscious
struggles to warm up to an anonymous crowrd...
unless it was me being propped up on stage...
flooded by light... and the audience in the din:
with barely a shadow to scratch...
perhaps: then and only then...
but i've found that: it would be best that i sentence
the 2hs spare i have for merely drinking
and loitering from one video to another:
perchance something new in music is to emerge...
"coquettish" with a "something" that will never
have any realism-focus for me to undertake
a second's day carnality of the banal...
perhaps all this: "going out of my own way"
has been too much - or just enough...
to make me drink more and take more pharma
knock-out enzymes...
a naproxen and an amitriptyline...
perhaps the focus was elsewhere...
to stand frozen in awe...
when someone might "add": from one big void:
ex nihil a priori to... nihil a posteriori...
and all this cameo theatre in between!
mein gott... i can also convene to praise those
brutal breeders of sorts...
enough time to occupy two decades...
perhaps even three...
and then the grim reality of: should my child
die... or... some other worse:
the mortal should not be inflicted by...
"not reading into the genetic clues": properly:
"all at once"...
oh i would be so much happier to take this mind to sleep:
to not make some idle focus -
to entertain some eyes while i turn aside all things
hyper-inflated in purpose...
to die of a heart-attack in one's sleep...
but otherwise to simply focus on a welcome tomorrow...
that would be...
a gracious beginning to posit the day's slouching
zenith... or... i'm not sure whether this be a coming
zenith or a nadir...
but there's still that clear-cutting focus
regarding russian orthography...
cutting it with two tongues... slit at the tip...
with english the "placebo": no diacritical markers evident...
well: a TILDE over a ȷ is no more necessary...
than a "tittle" (not thai-tle... ty'ttle) over an ı...
to borrow the greek phrase: cut one head of hydra -
two emerge... cut the two heads...
i come toward the russian mish-mash of diacritical
application...
it's not be-au-ti-ful... it's messy... it's what it is...
but already i can see what this: cutting off the heads
of the english j-i hydra looks like...
it's not enough to simply enlarge them to state: CAP(I)TAL-(J)...
the knitty-gritty... why then the tilde atop of 'em?
prior "corrections": łen and when...
is not akin to... wrak or wreck... although these two words
have the same meaning...
unless: "partisan" V comes in...
very - weary... Cracow or Krakov?
a W = a Ł = a W = a V ≠ a Ł...
Ęwa and Ądam (e nosinė) are not covered by
Russian orthography...
the list is as follows:
ż (зъ) and... ć (ць), ń (нь), ó (oь), ś (сь), ź (зь)...
the graphemes? i'll call them graphemes for simplicity...
even though: they're not the smallests units...
as are vowels... or the syllables of consonants
in the latin choir of B'ee, C'ee... e'M... etc.
ж alternatively RZ (Ż) or Ž... otherwise the fwench:
je (suis)... this is nothing more than...
an encyclopedic evaluation...
a trainwreck proposal of: should i ever be stuck in
in russia... and i would have to: read... (ee'd - r'ah)...
chop off a TILDE off the torso of the english:  ȷ...
a crescent moon lying back emerges in the russian... й...
but it's not the english: jeep! it's an english: yeep!
or a  ȷeep! alternatively: yawn could be:  ȷawn...
but not if: it's jaws... coming into play: to chatter from
the siberian cold... how else to explain?
if not by... example?
then there's the "exploration" of the greek F...
as much as in english...
фoughts on θilosoφy...
good to know the russians only "borrowed"
one of the greek Fs... "culturally appropriated" or...
wasn't St. Cyrill born a greek?!
and away from greek we move...
since χ (chi): yep: perpleX... a Ks to a Ts
(note, revision found below)...
otherwise hidden... in non-vowel binding consonants...
like... ч- and -х (although... that's not quiet a Ch-ur-hC -
but sure... some altar for siц and... no... no siPS)...
cholera! which is not: SHow me the CHow mein...
for that we need CARONs...
that's when ч becomes CZ (in polish) or otherwise:
Č... long have i wanted the polish to adopt this version...
to hide the SZ and the CZ (es'zed, х'zed) respectively...
how else to write: szczekam?
a russian would write... щекaм...
out of a "simple" ш out pops out a щ (this letter...
is probably the only "etymological" route to bind russian
to the oddities of Ęva and Ądam (e nosinė)...
ш (š) becomes щ (šč) -
whoever was to undermine the old rules
of engagement when the ruling parties gave up
a monolopy of literacy? you can literally hide an entire
letter / meaning by using a hachek...
hook...
as i begin to wonder:
how much did the slavic tribes "appropriate" greek...
and how much did the two greek saints...
try to make sense of the slavic glagolitic script?
em... Ⱋ looks pretty intact if you cut off the body... E:
reclining...
but i do come from the western lands of the eastern
lands... hence? hardly any cyrilic influence...
but i too: with my own oddities... already mentioned...
come to think of it? the bulgars joined
the "party"?
beside that? what other, russian"oddities"?
orthographic - i.e. aesthetic dictations / rubrics...
ю really is a я... the russians have this english tendency
to stress their pronouns...
i this... i that! i walked up a street! and kicked a black
cat 13 times down the street to ease my luck!
you can talk in polish for days... and never stress the I / я
pronoun... really...
and ю is just a variation of я...
throw in the remaining vowels and you'd probably
come up with some "new" russian letters...
like ye... good point... i did make a "mistake"...
щэкaм! i'm barking!
unless... that's only an orthographic question...
notably? if you're going to: zerkać...
peer in / at "on and off"... casually...
зэркaць... em... it must be an orthographic question...
ergo? i wasn't exactly "wrong"...
just bad taste... зeркaць...
i've already shown the difference between (ъ) and (ь)
in a latin script: that uses more diacritical markers
than english "supposedly" escapes with focusing
on the rather pointless TILDE over the J and I...
this "oddity": ы... ɨ  clearly it's not exactly a ł...
minor details... like a mona lisa smiling...
best example of close proximity?
take a... no... that's a hollowed out "why"...
i know how it sounds... and there are no diacritical marks
needed for it... since there's a clear distinction
that i know of, between: I J Y...
tY... this little sucker is born from the fact that...
western slavs have a name for this letter...
iGREK... funny... the russians borrow more greek lettes...
and have to have...
ё (yo), e (ye), у (which they treat like a greek would U -
never mind the greeks themselves
making the following ref. Υγ / Γυ) -
and of course the я (ya)... so no wonder i see this
"letter" (ы) as an absolutely oddity...
i could stomach: ż (зъ) and ź (зь) differences...
well that's as far as i would come in learning russian...
spot the odd ones out... proper...
й (j) and ё... which is some german loan vowel with
that ******* umlaut... otherwise...
this poo'em was born from trying to **** the english
hydra of "orthography", with its mighty bounty
of the ȷ-ı TILDE! my my... what a ride!
come to think of it... now i think i can sleep.
- it hasn't been such a waste of an hour... drilling this in:
into my head...
after all... what did the professional clarinet player
say then asked about playing professionally
in a travelling orchestra? after 30 ******* years of
blowing hard into this thing...
guess what i still end up doing?
it's not so much learning... i'm still practising!

because this will not end like some sort of "summary"...
i will remember each letter if i weave it into
this latin letter by letter...

the refleξive (x)
in that one might have χeated (ch) -
again!
what it is about an ξ-ray that is also an
"χ"-ray? the "ex" k'ss k'ss cuss...
is this what james joyce's finnegans wake
should have looked like?
again!
the cruξ of the matter...
whenever a question was to be raised about:
any χoice to be had...

i have come to grips with russian orthography...
i'll repeat... the crescent moon over и ("e")
to state: this must be elongated: й ("y") stands outs...

best examples are given by sports commentators,
notably in ski jumping...
suffiξes of surnames...
akin to -cki endings...
yes... you're seeing what i'm seeing...
we'll need some russians to work this one
out... how a C is not an S...
and how it's not KK either...
-цки... hello wet drum-kit snare!

of course not: you're not seeing N:И...
let alone: нaйт (night...
evidently -igh- is a bit complicated...
with ref. to the surd in knight - kappa and
the gamma and the ha ha ha ha tetragrammaton
left arm... vowel catcher i'd be most inclined
to borrow from the hebrews...
whenever they're not busy actually using it...
and not being a bunch of 'ebrews -
electronic brewing of tea?)
сo дaрк (so dark)...

which is the equivalent of writting english
grafitti "backward"... how it sounds...
and not for: what's the formality?
i figured: take the small steps, the trickle...
burn the eyes out with incremental poppy-seed
acts of progress... like the grand Pilgrim Emeryk
from the Świętokrzyski region of Poland
(holy cross)...
each year the pilgrim shuffles to the top of
the mountain with a speed of:
a poppy-seed's worth of distance each year...
by the time he reaches the top of the mountain:
the end of the world will arrive...

am i the next Delmore Schwatrz?
no... i don't have a Lou Reed to contend with...
am i obsessed with Finnegans Wake?
well i didn't spot any "additions" to the letters...
i didn't see any diacritical markers...
a book that shouldn't be translated since...
it ignores... a worthwhile mention
of the concept of orthography -
which is my escape from any western vogue
of metaphysics... i hide behind the omniscient
niqab of orthography... my face can be forever
hidden... but my eyes need to be on... fire!
fire! i want you to burn!

so i went to see the russians having
left the greeks... about any "nuance" bound
to the... ****-naked english language
with its magic act of the disappearing heads
off of J and I...
as you do... you "forget them" and also have to:
somehow "remember" them to be used...

do i still enjoy drinking and listening to
teutonic chants in german?
god almighty! when wouldn't i not listen to german
medieval music... when drinking?!
is that such a terrible sin?

also? i finished the trilogy of H. Sienkiewicz...
and i read some Boris Pasternak...
there was Nietzsche in polish - paul's leash said:
he's more bearable in this language,
than in english...
and how could i forget! there was...
Knausgård... Karl, Ove... volumes 1 and 2
of mein kampf...

now a "summary": hmm... ż (зъ) and... ć (ць)...
could... now... hard sign (ъ) is not exactly worth
ascription if... or rarther: because...
you don't treat a caron over an S or a C...
to "hide the english H" or the Aesti Z when coupled...
there's no need to write чъ... since?
that's pretty much in-itself given č of the nature
of чeap...
ć / ць is different in that... you'd have to hear
it first...
however... the one exception of this "rule" is already
self-enclosed in ж... which is зъ... somehow...
but not зь... examples?

жart / зъart... żart (joke)...
зьrebi... well there's no 'ę' in russian
to name: źrebię - mustang colt...
is there?
so... i was "wrong"...
in that ź = зь and ż = зъ is true...
but? ź = зь and ż = зъ = ж...
so from a "quiet unique" perspective...
and: mein gott! who's to see, travel,
and subsequently marvel at the pyramids of giza...
i'm a different version of what's
considered to be "tourism"...

give me this sole equation:
ź = зь and ż = зъ = ж
and i'll be happy for a month.
as i have been...

oh i'm back... and things have taken
SPEC-TAC-U-LAR turns and twists!
****-naked english over 'ere is gonna make
a chariots of fire runner...
i bet it will... when it comes against a juggernaut
like me.

OBSERVATIONS

First, I note a few surface details.

Outline
- Rising action – Keawe buys the imp and later sells it
- Crisis – Keawe again buys the imp although he doubts he can sell it
- Resolution – a sailor buys the imp from Keawe

The story centers on possession of the imp (primarily by Keawe, as noted above).  The full progression of ownership follows:

Ownership
- Old man
- Keawe
- Keawe's friend
- Unspecified others
- Keawe
- Kokua
- Sailor
- Keawe (attempted; sailor refused)

The motivations of the owners varies:

Motivation**
- Old man, Keawe (first), Keawe’s friend, others – reward
- Keawe (second) – reward
- Kokua –love
- Sailor – reward
- Keawe (attempted) – love

Note the relationship between these motives and the story arc.  Reward drives Keawe’s first two purchases (rising action, crisis), but love drives the third (before resolution).  Observe also the twin kinds of reward compelling the early purchases.  The first reward: obtaining prosperity; the second reward: preserving prosperity (including Kokua).

ANALYSIS

The story’s specifics (ownership and motivation) stage these events:

- Desire can reward (Keawe seeks prosperity and love and is satisfied.)
- Desire can curse (In his quest, Keawe uses the imp.)
- Reward brings uncertainty (Banishment threatens all Keawe’s gains.)
- Love absorbs curse (Kokua buys imp from Keawe.)
- Curse will destroy (Someone must bear imp’s damnation.)


These dichotomies follow:
- Reward is tarnished without the curse (by uncertainty) or with the curse (by destruction).
- One can avoid the curse but not uncertainty.+
- Love can deliver from the curse but cannot escape from the curse.

(+Note: This is because Stevenson portrays Keawe’s desire as a constant from the story’s beginning.  His unavoidable desire leads him to navigate the other events of the story.)


Two final questions:
- Does Stevenson present an ideal choice to resolve the story’s dichotomies?
- Does the imp simply represent the curse or something more?

First, would Stevenson moralize?  I presume the possibility, considering his dramatic shift from a Victorian upbringing to a life of travel and ensuing love of the islander lifestyle (the backdrop for the short story). First, recall the two motives (reward or love) and the consistent negative conseqeunces (uncertainty, curse, destruction).  All of these occurred both with or without a connection to the imp.  Keawe pursued the good life before meeting the imp’s owner and in the period of freedom from its grasp. Likewise, his love for Kokua began without connection to the imp and continued long after.  I summarize all these possible combinations in the following chart:

Choices

REWARD
1. Without imp: uncertainty
2. With imp: curse

LOVE
3. Toward the cursed: destruction
4. Toward the uncursed: no destruction

The story progresses from a focus on reward (first half) to a focus on love (second half).  The last option (love without destruction) is ideal; every other option entails some loss.  Even Kokua’s and Keawe’s choices to love each other by taking back the curse is bittersweet.  Each one’s sacrifice removes the other’s greatest source of happiness, an end that could have been avoided if Keawe had never bought the imp.  The implied lesson?  Avoid choices now that will sabotage love’s good intentions later.

The surprise ending may add an additional message.  If the story warns against complicating love, why does it provide an escape hatch, the drunken sailor who accepts damnation and buys the bottle?  Stevenson could simply be softening the blow of his cautionary tale.  If so, why did he include the elaborate curse that necessitated such an ending? I think the injection of a supernatural temptation portrays real life: wild possibilities coupled with high consequences.  The ending modifies the imaginary scenario to convey another reality: though love cannot erase a damning past, somehow, escape is possible.

If the supernatural elements comment on life, the imp itself may also have a specific meaning.  The unusual law of the imp (sell for less or receive damnation) makes it a constantly growing threat.  Its sinister descriptions (“dark,” “fiery,” etc) and concealed evil (glancing in the bottle stuns the owner with horror) also portray the imp as a potent living force.  Perhaps Stevenson portrays imperfection and evil in humanity as this palpable reality, present in the world and available as a means of man’s advancement and destruction.  As an advocate of Semoan rights who lived in the islands during multiple colonial power-struggles, he vividly observed evil’s corrupting power.  He knew that the world often suffers when people allow the end to justify the means.  And when those people are us—the otherwise kind-hearted Keawes—Stevenson knew that the fiend within us doesn’t have to win in the end.

He struggles and ponders,
reads and re-reads,
My markers fail before his eyes,
his naivety takes over,
A fruit? he queries,
I burst out in laughter,
Can be, I agree, but I await for more,
he peruses and my ribs tickled,
amused and curious, I stayed,
at his innocence that shined.
A Mango! he exclaims!
No! I equally enthused

'A woman, a fruit,
delicious and mystical,
for a man who craves'.

'Oh'  the meek sigh, a tiny sound,
concurred or dissent, I know not,
In a flash came a verbal rebuff,
back to his annoying self.

He annoys and appeases,
A friend I have known for years,
Mine forever, I know for sure,
no matter what he says.

I'd rather have someone live for me
Than have someone die for me

Anyone can jump in front of a bullet in one last tragic action
But how many can put the blades down?
How many can make a constant choice to live despite their struggles
As opposed to a momentary decision?

Yes, I'd rather have someone live for me
Than have someone die for me

Because I don't wanna be the one everyone avoids eye contact with at the funeral
I wanna be the one people look to and think "she really changed his life"
I wanna be the one he looks at and thinks, "she gave me a reason to get up each morning"

I don't wanna be the cause of a death, romantic and tragic as it may seem

I wanna be the reason for the decision to *live

Sometimes I wonder if we are really all listening
Or just too distracted with the African diamonds glistening
Sold to you by Zales, yet every kiss begins with Kay.  
Fat and lazy fast food crazy
Chasing highs blinded thinking they really have it their way

The devices in our possession finally allow us to progress as one people.  We can connect with others oceans away and together rid the world of evil.  The destructive misuse of power is felt when we see the segregation.  Responsibility has been shed for more tax cuts, when some live unsure they will make it.  Fabricated stories facilitate war - on drugs, ideas, and our collective growth.  
So I must ask
When these tragedies happen, who actually benefits the most?  Making sure to add "terrorist acts" under a potential insurance claim just days before buildings imploded to dust rather than be eaten by flames, or severed with a plane.  The man who did this was named Larry Silverstein.  Interviews after he seemed cold, devoid of soul, and mean.  Arms dealers, oil companies, and bank executives, carry out these plots that are now repetitive.  Play with the heartstrings of one's own people, that think they can veil everything but I know we're not feeble, and in all these other places we're beginning to feel.
Cheney's Halliburton rebuilds nations after war decimates the ground.  Yes, let's let our pockets pay any amount, grind ourselves 45 hours a week so with our taxes they can play around.  Still staying stiff in the position promising your wishes will come true.  But again the scapegoat ***** your hope of political action bringing something new.  
While blowing ourselves away the frame becomes unglued.  This cancer is man made and he wants to redesign you. Analyzes with the force of a brute. Built tall walls with his flaws that only allows the seven deadly sins in.  Will he in his mind ever decide to see the sun again?  Can he really say that to himself he is a friend?  Meanwhile a governor of Flint, Michigan is okaying lead be let in to the water system, 9,000 now are poisoned.  We're talking families complete with children.  Speaking on topics like this, I do not have fun.  But the divine needs to shine wherever necessary.  If we don't speak now we could head into a reality that's only more scary.  No more families buried until they carry out their long lives.  I will honor Mother Nature and the life she provides.  As the Amazon depletes, the air needs more trees.  Less chemicals drifting into our systems as we eat and breathe.  Fearlessly pure we become free.  With eyes on the skies we leave our feet, articulated honest advancement.  Through conscious choice and proper management.  
No one owns you or where the lands currently sit, but you'll probably hear different from the government.  

We are all one, and life will go on.
Sun shines on our land every day at dawn
Balances created keep our hearts in motion
Close your eyes and see the focal point of your devotion.  Music gave me a way to see inside there lies the potion - to take my emotion and share the reflections to other oceans

My dearest Frank, I wish you joy
Of Mary's safety with a Boy,
Whose birth has given little pain
Compared with that of Mary Jane —
May he a growing Blessing prove,
And well deserve his Parents' Love! —
Endow'd with Art's and Nature's Good,
Thy Name possessing with thy Blood,
In him, in all his ways, may we
Another Francis WIlliam see! —
Thy infant days may he inherit,
They warmth, nay insolence of spirit; —
We would not with one foult dispense
To weaken the resemblance.
May he revive thy Nursery sin,
Peeping as daringly within,
His curley Locks but just descried,
With 'Bet, my be not come to bide.' —
Fearless of danger, braving pain,
And threaten'd very oft in vain,
Still may one Terror daunt his Soul,
One needful engine of Controul
Be found in this sublime array,
A neigbouring Donkey's aweful Bray.
So may his equal faults as Child,
Produce Maturity as mild!
His saucy words and fiery ways
In early Childhood's pettish days,
In Manhood, shew his Father's mind
Like him, considerate and Kind;
All Gentleness to those around,
And anger only not to wound.
Then like his Father too, he must,
To his own former struggles just,
Feel his Deserts with honest Glow,
And all his self-improvement know.
A native fault may thus give birth
To the best blessing, conscious Worth.
As for ourselves we're very well;
As unaffected prose will tell.
Cassandra's pen will paint our state,
The many comforts that await
Our Chawton home, how much we find
Already in it, to our mind;
And how convinced, that when complete
It will all other Houses beat
The ever have been made or mended,
With rooms concise, or rooms distended.
You'll find us very snug next year,
Perhaps with Charles and ***** near,
For now it often does delight us
To fancy them just over-right us.

Note; this is for all to read everyone .... Everyone involved in HP war of words with another, , everyone on this site... This isn't singling out anyone, this is truth, that no one will say. Though I choose no sides, I stand for god, and god told us to love one another.... So here's a message for all to read. Note; this message isn't to boost wolf by any means, this message isn't to boost me. This message isn't to cut down anyone, or hurt anyone. I support all of you equally. And love wolf just as much as all involved in war with wolf,as wolf wars with you!!!...,read first, and see truth. As there's a war here over words between all. So this goes for all... I'll tell you before you read this, after I found out Gary originally unblocked wolf first. Mine heart spoke to me to unblock wolf and write him. And wolf was humble enough to write me kind message, and the message is from a hurting but real and open heart... As everyone knows me and wolf had throughout the time I've been here been dealing with our own conflict. Though who am I to scorn this man? And judge him? Being a sinner mine self, and a man whose done wrong a lot in life... Please read, if I loose support from even those I support, so be it, but truth is, I stand with god, and the reason why were here is to love one another, and forgive. No matter what the actions or words said. Please read,this goes for wolf,and all in a battle with wolf, and wolf in battle with these others who I love just the same as wolf, no partisan ways meaning not choosing sides, just speaking truth to each of you so please listen and read.

(Wolf Spirit  5 days ago)
thanks for the unblock and friendliness, B..i know you have seen some viscera from me....i apologize for that...seems some folks have ways of making all look bad in the wrong light. i wont use names...please accept my whole hearted apologies for any misdirections.....and indiscretions....if you prefer, i will post a public apology. HP is no longer a viable option for my poetry, and i am sorry that this came at this time......you really are, and have turned out to be, a stand up guy. may your travels be fruitful and your days be many and most jubilant. bless you, good sir poet.

(brandon cory nagley  4 days ago)
Hey thank you friend wolf!!! Glad you wrote friend , I wanted to yet didn't feel the time was yet right , not knowing all to say right asap, lol. Glad to see you hanging in their Wolfie. As you see I try to stay away from others who still cut you down so on and don't like poems that cut you down.. I have no hard feelings against you like so many others do, though I respect the ones who don't like you much , though I respect you a lot to, and stand like you just to write poetry. Not here to hate or **** with words another,.. But to learn from each other, show love to another, as I have seen you do give love to so many despite many fights on here with others.,,I've seen and see your beautiful soul wolf... You are a man whose humble, and has much influence!!! Use thy influence to the good brother, when others attack you like I've been attacked.. forgive them no matter if they keep attacking, forgive them. When one cheeks slapped, let them slap the other,,, the fact is you win with love wolf..hatred and anger as you well know, as any human knows burdens our souls, not just in this living physical world. But the next spiritual world. The next reality that's more real as you know then this one. So while here we need most to love another... Forgive always! Even when people keep attacking you and backstabbing you and all other hating speeches, or defaming, and ones murdering us with words, or physically, however the case, yes as you know we must stand up against it. Though while doing it, showing the one killing us love, forgiveness, maybe just maybe to change their hearts in the process of that love, friend wolf I don't expect no apology to the public lol you are a good soul, yet with burdens like me and everyone else...I've seen you wrote you had a stroke? Many say that's quote ( a lie) though I don't know whether you have had stroke or not? I can't judge you and I also can't assume you didn't... If you did friend I pray you will heal wolf... You want to know something? Since I first joined hp I've always respected you as a soul... The one behind the flesh and bones....... I've always respected your soul is bright, many as you know hate bright lights.,. And like me friend. You have many spiritual demons you are battiling as I have ( literally) battled them with proof, not just in the head lol... As I see you battle very real ones, though wolf you can and we can overcome them, and part of that is trading love from your heart, to those of hatred, and when darkness comes... Light it up with light... Your a true light wolf not just a poetic one, but a true spirit of light and yes everyone deals with struggles, depression at times! And literally demons that attack us on a regular basis, attacking both me and you, not speaking of people actually speaking ( demons forces) and real demons, we can overcome them. Though you must have faith to do so, it took a lot for you to write me I know, and its taking me some courage,,, I have no hard feelings for you friend!!! As I said, I respect your real soul wolf. I take no sides with no one.., as I friend I tell you this, I love all people, you, everyone including others who have all written bad about one another,,, I love each and every one of you equally, not just because your all flesh blood and bone like me. But because god put us here to love another, not judge another's skin. Or look, or life... But to help one another... And as you know in poetry especially a site like this, we can learn from another, if we choose not to learn from another and hate another, what help does that give another soul? And our soul? NONE help... So friend, I take no sides,., I stand for gods love to others, what we were sent here to do, love another.., and wolf I see you have love in you. I don't hate you nor any others, the fact is I'll say this as a friend ( I've seen you attack others, though the other truth, I've seen others attack you) and a person who wants to show love, and not give into hatred I step out of the bounds beyond the hatred that was spewed out on this site..,, but I love each and every one of you all equally... Now you all must do the same.., mine Christ I believe in spoke this... As a christian this is what I do, even if I didn't believe in jesus I'd still do it,,,
John 13:34-35

34 “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. 35 By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

1 john chapter 3-
13Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you. 14We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren. He that loveth not his brother abideth in death. 15Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer: and ye know that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in him.

One who hates another god considers same as being a murderer, and no life will abide in him, and he won't have life, our goal here is to love and forgive always friend..
Verse 23-same chapter and john...
23And this is his commandment, That we should believe on the name of his Son Jesus Christ, and love one another, as he gave us commandment.



Just as peter the disciple of christ spoke and asked jesus he said ( lord how many times shall I forgive a man? 7 times lord,).....
Jesus replied to him( I tell you forgive him 77 times) he was trying to teach peter,, there is no limit on how many times you forgive, you always
ALWAYS forgive, no matter what friend wolf. always,
As I forgive you Wolfie... As I hope as well if there was anything in the past I don't remember saying if maybe I did wrong to, you may forgive me.,, thank you for your letter wolf, you ever need a friend... Please write ok(:: anytime wolf...

Your friend, Brandon Cory Nagley

(Wolf Spirit  4 days ago)
thank you for that....hang in there

brandon cory nagley  4 days ago
No thank you friend wolf like I said friend write anytime you want, and you ever need anything just write (:::

Wolf Spirit  4 days ago
thanks, B