I am barely a mineral now, not yet a woman in the ground,
not yet growing gardens and begging people to cook my peppers.
My home is dizzy from my constant re-entry, which helps me to cheat,
in life I am looking for the harvest in  people. I am a thread of cotton pulling
every word like it is more porous than the next, which helps me.
I summersault through conversations rather read in sharpie,
on the last corner white space of bathroom stalls,
alone and blushed. I remember love like a tagline inviting a smile
and messages to strangers. When I look in the mirror I am always inhaling,
my mouth says O, O I am out of excuses. I tell everyone I’m tired of working,
which helps me to hide in my comet ways. I am tight-lined,  
which is to say I feel love on the hairs of my arms, the wind,
the blades of fans speak to me at night when I have nothing left to say.
I am licensed to moving. In the dark in the cities public spaces and
also in alleyways I am soft like a moonbeam. I am convinced the world is a sewer,
which helps me to explain the exchange of waste and skin and the secrets hidden
in tunnels of shadows. When I move the world blurs with me like a heartbeat.
I am underground like the sewer, rotten in negative spaces, which helps me,
to hear the echo ripple swish of every piece of trash call my name.
I have no response. Some days the world is too *****. One day I will learn
to quilt and stitch together every important face, which will help me
to remember my grandmother and how she loved to balloon to the sky.
I dream she is a large magellanic cloud beaming out of the universe, the force
of believing is the word Hallelujah sung from the lips of Leonard Cohen.
It is midnight. It is noon. I close my eyes for a second and I see myself as miles
from the moon. I am running every day now and there is nothing left to see. My heart
is a kitchen door swinging and it does not want to stop.

I used to be wild
Drunk on my own newly discovered sensuality--and on Drink
Lemon Drops, and Pink *****-Droppers, and *** on the Beach,
and any fruity (sickeningly) mixed (sweet) drink anyone would hand me--but "no coconut!"
Laughing at my friends who were settling down
"You're all getting married, I'm just getting more awesome!"
Feeling so supremely alive
Flaunting my youth and vibrance like an obscure merit badge earned in Girl Scouts
(who would never condone by behavior, by the by)
Thin paper-plastic wristbands with Sharpie dates scrawled on them, and a tagline my only reminder of the night's events
"St. Patty's day"
"Brothers' last night"
"Makeout contest"... yeesh
Whole evenings, and weeks are now a blur, fuzzy from the alcohol? or just the passage of time?
Passing a particular apartment "I think I've been there before, once" and I struggle to remember how that night unfolded
A smile alights my face as some of it comes back, but not all of it; "Did that also happen that night, or was that another time...?"

And then a shift, in power, in gaze
Higher status, higher responsibilities
Higher shoes, (less *****)
The nipping and yapping one another, wearing down a trench around me
A Mother hen mantle settles on my shoulders (at least it's feathered)
And a jaded lens clouds my vision, sadly
My words about others, though never heard, would burn
Arrogant, downright Cruel, for a while
sigh
1am, that's enough for tonight
I'm tired
My bones hurt
I open tomorrow
The feathers are soft, yes, and choking
I look around, "What am I doing here?"
Ten percent of the people here make it worth my while
the rest...
Glitter cuts and scrapes my eyeballs, and I will wear the last vestiges to work tomorrow, no matter how hard I try
To rid myself of the testament to my night life

I want to do more
To Dance more, not police more
To allow more to explore more, and not to judge more
Everyone is worthwhile, and has something to offer
No longer compelled to define myself by the things that I do, or shove my newly-acquired identity in someone's face as means of introduction
To root out the real things that make me feel alive
And truth be told
I want to garden
laughs
I've never wanted to garden before
Wine and cheese with close friends, an adventure-date with my beloved
I'm alive because I'm living
Not because I've been going shot-for-shot for two hours with my best friend
But it's time for the next move
Whether you call it getting old, or settling down, or just "settling"
I call it settling in
To a cozy life I love, filled with only the people and things I love
Anything less, that's "settling"

philosopher says when he sees v: aha! a future parabola theory given that the romans chiseled v when they meant u!
poet says when he sees v: veer from w into saggy "missing the horizon attachment origin" with a u, could have been a ***** of B... we're here to make sounds... we're not here to make words into poster boys girlies french braiding their hair into ideas and lipgloss.*

but you had to face the 110m hurdles,
i had to become a don quixote, fencing with shadows,
shadow boxing as if simply training,
you could run from dyslexia and the abuse hurled at you,
you had to face an external battle,
i’m facing an internal battle... phantoms and imagery...
you had the external ahead of you, with a wife to be listened to,
i have... no body!
myself and only myself,
of course i am like an elevation of rat... i’m a carnivore
that trips to the supermarket for a 70cl of whiskey
every night, hunting my way to a state of sedatives used,
i know no other drug with or without a prescription...
**** saturday night... it can go to hell...
yes i will get a council flat ahead of the scamming ******
that are like ant queens on the reproductive conveyor belt
(believe me... write like a homosexual to get the g-spots!
have homosexual misogyny in your underwear!)
that’s a muslim donning niqab curtains seller 1.7 (seven being the children),
curse of the economy! get them politicised, angry self-believers
only self-believing by faked passports and fake health-wise ills
from the natural contenders to wear the boxing gloves...
who said things like trevor mc lure: you might remember me
from such existential paradoxes as:
punch my cancer into a liver, punch my cancer up,
liver me up paddy, scots ahoy... ah... what a tagline trendy,
i could almost become an adidas’ stripes of america or malaysia...
so there’s me buying my usual buddy... ‘no coke today?’
‘no, spare coke left, i’ll have this pint of bach to share with the bottle
of whiskey... mind your inquisitive whiskers of the tongue...’
she pretended suicidal tendencies all along...
started cutting veins en route arteries for a fake sing-along cry-along...
made no sense, i slept with my clothes on...
women are crafty bishops... they don’t do communion
but get to craft a second birth certificate of confirmation,
the womb that turned into a cross... we were all squeezed out from
that geometric that said oh oh zero o hay ‘oo;
first spot the letter u... then w... then h... the third letter i’m not familiar with...
too many papyrus scripts burning... can’t spot the latinised version,
i think i’ll need to brew and thus ferment a pint of whiskey to get this one...
just to get 1, 2, 3, 4 up in scales, should have been written as
1cm and exasperation(noun).
i had something originally... but then i decided to digress...
it was like a full house poker sequence... but without cards
and more humans than could be required for believability...
it’s almost... it’s almost like i was jealous feeding the sight
of a man in mid-life looping the thought of cool with the thought
of being cool when adorned with childish ambition to have it
as a child having only bought it as a semi-wrinkled naiveness
that worked its solipsistic magic of: gone are the days
of ***** magnet... come the days of a badger ******* it;
give way... here comes oral *** mummified - mum’s the word
filing is the action... testosterone does not equate itself as ****** *****...
down below australia did a roulette action and decided to
geographically spread its legs for the sire of cocksure ***** india...
enter... the mongolian harmonica trick of the index and lip motorboat:
baba hamza baba hamza ali ali contra v.!
so? i sharpened my u into a v... are you sure you
don't understand the question: vat iz veh vay?

There is a kinetic  c e l e b r a t i o n
throughout the entire universe--
both known and unknown;
  each molecule a universe to itself-

a world interconnected;
of sub-atomic celebrators
filling all time and space
perpetually valuing value itself

Value--
who, at its prime core
is in itself
the self-celebration
of hope/value= Love- (tagline) #healing

    and it is everywhere.
                  Yet, we.. are unaware.

Loving words
  (all that is real)
align with the celebration-
   of the kinetic-heal

and they pick up the magic
(the receivable rendition)
allowed into the receiver
through the act of volition

and suddenly we become aware.

••••


I am  melting  into   you--

and in the blend   of us
I am finding   the
c l a r i fi c ation      of me--  a
process  until today

I never believed in.

Once rolling alone
I am finding
the word  h o m e
in everything  
    that     you do

    e v er y- t h i n g.
          
                              -by paulSN

Two book bags just got shot down,
while celebrating the end of the school year on the play ground.
Destroying our souls.
Again and again!
in Chi-town.
Ain’t nothing sacred anymore.
Marching from here to there.
Saying “Stop The Violence”
is met by a corrupt system;
that just don’t CARE.
We The People must learn to CARE once again.
About our community....
Our brothers and sisters in their beautiful black skin.
Those two book bags represent someone’s
little girls bleeding out on the cement shores.
Never to explore education's reach, marriage, or raising children in peace.
“Stop The Violence” isn’t just a tagline.
Its a call for justice,
while sustaining the Black man's bloodline.
Our children deserve to be safe,
while being Proud and Black in any living space....
at any given time.
Why does my Black skin come with a 'they died too soon' deadline?


(C) Copyrighted

The snagged line grows taut
As I repeat the question
" Is there anything you want?"

House too empty , stairs too steep
She wants me back, I worry
"Weve been to ASDA , dont ask what i bought"

Saturday afternoon phonecall
"How are things?"
The reluctant tagline
"Not so bad"

Front garden going native
I set off down the cracked path
Doesnt want next door to see
I dont wave

TALKING THEIR LANGUAGE

June classroom, stir of voices
Arriva trains glide to the coast
Coffee needs filling, the last biscuit goes
This afternoon we look at idioms

Unpicking centuries, cultures
Somalia, Bangla Desh, Kurdistan
English remains official
Still a puzzle

"Speak slowly and clearly"
"Dont hit trees with sticks"
"Its a piece of cake"

The intricacy of language
Shapes ancient letters
"Lemon squeezy " chimes Messa
Our laughter is shared

it's quiet hard to find a welcoming book, i can cite two read in one sitting, thus spoke Zarathusrta (the original intent) and the soft machine by burroughs... all others came with many composed sittings... but none of the repeated encounters can be spoken of so favourably as Bertrand Russell's history of western philosophy, with that book came the kindest summer - in that i find historians the prefects of philosophy, the Republic guardians, leave the poets to do their sing-along, and furthered abstracts of symbols (should they wish, and ought), give presence to historians like Russell and Tatarkiewicz (surname derived as descended from Tartar auxiliary at the battle of Tannenberg with two naked swords dipped into ****** soil awaiting blood by a Lithuanian king married to a Polish gal).

sometimes poems can be more memorable than entire
books, there memorableness technique used in
epics gets lost most of the time,
writers' custard narrative awaiting a memorable
spontaneity is always missing, a memorable quote
needs to be bookmarked, it's hardly remembered,
all that talk of etiquette, esp. 19th century is always
the fog in novel, Mr. Darcy and his twin
Mr. Rochester, both haunted -
the former by social structures (prejudice;
his wife to be by lower caste governed by pride)
while the latter by a madwoman in the attic -
there's nothing memorable about these novels
in mono assertions, unless you have a book-club or
a cinematic script and a movie... poems are more
memorable, naturally, even if you're unable to recite
them because you rather recite the list of ingredients
for a bonkers curry, someone else will recite you a
poem, no problem. i guess that's because memorising
poetry is afforded by rhymes, the crude musicology
if given an instrument, would be to pluck
two same notes, ugly with a guitar, beautiful with
the tongue.
no, novels are not memorable, ask blind Samson about
the pillars he absorbed with his strength and pulled
down... ask him...
or... or i can tell you a little secret, it's a secret concerning
Sylvia Plath's *bell jar... page 119 in my edition (Faber & Faber),
slight digression: a page later she's complaining in
a "fictive" personality about the ineffectiveness of sleeping
pills... she has been apparently given max'      imum
strength pills... dear Sylvia,
                                        against your doctor's orders,
          against all pharmaceutical orthodoxy,
sleeping pills are best effective with alcohol,
even though the tagline is to avoid mixing the two...
i can't specify the quantity of alcohol in milligrams
akin to the dosage of the pills, dear Sylvia, they're only
effective with the liquid sedative, and perhaps a painkiller
like paracetamol...
nonetheless on page 119 she's citing a book you will
probably not read, and neither did she (explanation
a bit later)... she cites the first page of J. Joyce's
Finnegans Wake...
                 riverrun past Eve and Adam's...
and that ONE-HUNDRED LETTERED word:

  ba'ba'ba'dal'gharagh'takamminanarronk'onn'bronntonner'r­onn'tuonn'thunn'trovarr'houna'wnska'wntooh'oohoo'rdenen'thurnuk!­

i tried the syllable scalpel to my best ability for breath,
this grand anti-onomatopoeia, cut for brief pause...
but she didn't read any further like Delmore Schwartz
trying to sell this **** Grææ tongue...
she didn't read on, because there's another century in this
book:

(i left a bookmark on the page (no. 23) - a painting by
Diego Velázquez, the toilet of Venus 122.5 by 177 centimetres)

with loss of breath and entry of the centipede as follows

perkodhuskurunbarggruauyagokgorlayorgromgremmitghundhur­thrumathunnaradidillifaititillibumullunukkunun!

but i must i don't have the ratio, since i didn't bother counting
either words, but Sylvia did, and if she counted the first word
as a century, this second word must also be a century -
yet on suspicion should i believe she read further, or didn't?
they claimed the book to be a Babylonian Tower
readying for dispersions of the people, yet with historical
events it's a joke, given that there are no diacritical marks
in the book to provide stresses of accents:
e.g. fumatul poate să ucidă (romanian for: do not smoke
cigarettes, yes, there's a black market for cigarettes,
THANK GOD!) - and with saying that, it is not a book
with a Babylonian Tower attached to it, it's a tower for sure,
but a Globalisation Tower, how english became the
Lingua Levant once more, when the Franks had their
puppet king of Jerusalem at the time of Saladin.

Today,
I shared a post
on Facebook.
It explained that
manipulating someone into
having *** with you
is a form of ****.

To the ex-classmate of mine
who thought it was okay
to post a meme with the tagline,
"Regretting consensual *** isn't ****,"
in response
to my own post:

Not only are
you are a perpetrator
of **** culture,
you act as though
**** is some sort of
joke.

You think
victims "cry" ****
like the boy who cried wolf,
that their traumas are fabricated,
cheap shots
to seek revenge against
impotent lovers
and unfortunate one night stands.

Being manipulated into
engaging in any sort
of ****** activity
does not equate consent;
because
to manipulate is to
unjustly coerce someone
to submit to another.

Consent is not the enigma
society makes it out to be;
really, it's quite simple.  

Did they say yes?

I'm not asking
if they said no--
that's irrelevant.

Did they say yes?

The fact that
one individual
feels the need to
manipulate someone else
into having *** with them
implies that someone else
didn't want to have ***
in the first place.

Guess what?

If someone doesn't want
to engage sexually
with another person,
then that is not consent,
and just as ****
can be imposed physically,
it can also be imposed
mentally and emotionally.

So there you have it,
ex-classmate of mine--
you've said your piece,
and I have every right
to follow suit.

you are remarkably disgusting.

And I'll be ******* ******
if I sit around
twiddling my thumbs,
scrolling through
Facebook mindlessly,
while you belittle
victims of ****
for the purpose of
your own amusement.

Thanks for coming to
my Ted Talk,
*** hat.

"Hard to live"
Should be the tagline
For our beloved country.

It cost a leg
To find a place to live.
And an arm
To physically keep pushing forward.

America has a problem.
I'll say it once more.
America has a problem.
 
This is where people have the
Right to be judged
For falling in a failed system.

Is it just me?
Or some feel close to what I speak?

Why?
Do reporters concentrate on DJT  twittering thumb?
When many of us know it not him but someone.

If, he can't read a teleprompter before him without pause.
Are, we suppose to be buying into this nonsense he's on twitter?

Patience, he doesn't have.
Which means one of the minions writing under his tagline.

Pay attention closely, how all the newsgroup report this stupidity that DJT writes this on the social site.
Really, people, this man isn't so bright.

We very aware DJT Jr. just as dumb too.
Maybe he should let the other siblings speak.
For when he does he create more headaches.

Then the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
But we aware that DJT isn't writing all the tweets.

Even if they can't spell.

i've found a way to exhaust the internet,
in a sense the term exhaustion
is evaluated as non-engagement,
or an engagement  that reveals nothing
but revokes everything; it's a strange utility
to possess an access to; it used to be so much
fun once, now a game of  switching channels
constantly like an angry smack addict
race-walking for the next fix aiming at a canoe
snorted - shove that up your ***
and you'll get bonus points in candy crush saga,
i **** you not. i know, weird, the slogan
WHEN THE INTERNET USED TO BE FUN -
you're talking to someone who experienced
the internet's playground / kindergarten...
it's too real now... it's too artificial limbs attaché,
i missed the dating apps being included,
i missed the point of virtual profiles,
first encounters, i want them to be like
mountain climbing, not like a psychiatric
evaluation testing a trampoline you can do
rodeo girl antics on without suing the organisers...
the ****?! the internet is still a viral infection
in terms of how to manage it - we know it's
a yellow-pages of some sort,
but why reveal all there is to you in profile,
when you hardly looked sideways to endeavour
the profile assertion of the face staged in photography
(i.e. sideways?);
the basic trades are slow to pick it up as necessary,
hence the stress on mandible limbs -
the puny evaluators are gagging on the enterprise,
it will make slim literate efforts of slogan
into FAT EXISTENTIAL RUSSIAN NOVELS -
2 hours pondering a tagline or quote
of an advert like pondering a trademark pondering
a Renaissance masterpiece painting... 'andy Andy
your 15 seconds is up! your competition
is the scientific goldfish myth of a 3 second attention span!
go!
     'andy Andy won't go... he's still
     faking originality on baking beans and canning them
     like sardines... Boston Mohawks they call them;
     it all ends up a ******* dress attire
     party anyway - what they're doing
     in Iraq at the moment is what western
     society is doing passively yet aggressively
     in the west... the psychosis of the crusaders
     with Baphomet... Hercules with **** and ****...
     not one sane Greek sculptor would
     mould such a faking of homosexuality
     as the ultimate depreciation of
     **** ut **** magnetism -
     or hetero ut **** magnetism -
     the desecrating of the past in Iraq
     is only subtle to what Unesco missed
     happening internally in the European
     soul... i fear the rubber-band stretching
     of retaliation hanging by Damocles' thread:
quart divergence (c, k, q, s);
you don't mind my opinion, mind the children
coming from such niches.

Ok love hear me out, I know it doesn't matter anymore but I am writing this message when I have no hope left or whatsoever. You have your reasons to be I had mine. For a time I thought by forgetting the past we can move on, these past days felt exactly how I wanted our relationship to be. I never said you or made you realise how much hurt was I at times and I was okay with it because I had you and I will always put you first over anything even if it means work, yes work and at times you knew how much you meant to me over anything. I find myself in the scariest places I have put myself through the hell of trying to win this losing relationship but i feel it's been going nowhere at all as you have made up your mind cause that's what you asked me, in mind it was okay if I lose. there's no purpose in living i feel when I can't even feel anything I have been dead inside before and I know how worse does that feel, lately my emotions are detached and i feel tangled up like wires, chaos within. Our call that night, thank you you were there with me but that's how I feel exactly every moment, dead.
On that video call where we didn't talk I was looking at you and I don't know what your eyes usually tell others but right then you gave away a secret I learnt to say "I know". I will be always be with a tagline 'Let me feel again, Anything. Everything. Please. I will take it all.' and you understood me. 2020 has been a struggle as you can say, but for me, particularly, it's been a struggle everyday. I believed in you with my everything and I don't blame you for anything. Last time I needed time I sat in a place of peace and sweetness, and my thoughts about you and us became poetry but, the moment I came back it was too late and you were gone. Love, I write this to say that I love you and always will, and to prove it, I could end myself but  it's not that I'm scared, but i would end myself, not knowing, if you smiled, when you knew, i loved you more than myself. Love, I have to thank you for everything everyday no need to go into detail and you know now without explaining I am what I feel. Currently empty, like a plant left over. Love, you are my sunflower, warm, yellow blooming joy infectious as sunshine which puts a smile over my face, golden in the light and my perfection. No matter what you will be growing through my heart, warm with happiness and love. You were my sigh of relief and now you're gone and I’m sitting here gasping for air. My eyes have dried with the tears I've cried and now I am empty, I've got nothing to give and now I am done, I've got nothing to look upto. I'm fine, if not completely at the moment, I will be, sometime later. I love you and take care, Yours soon to be unknown.

raise a woman an inch above a man,
and you will raise an hippopotamus
above an elephant.
jokes sided.... the piston works, yes?
the horsepower is ferrari or ford?
make a tagline of the treadmill lost
to the *******...
tools are missing: hammers and other additives,
but the rich boy turned into ***** sniffer are aplenty:
next best seller, arab carpet seller turned into
a capitalist we are fathomed with!
raise a woman an inch above a man,
soon stilettos will not do, but the skulls of other men
for the tormented walk.
let man’s optics suffice... let woman’s felt suffice:
as her ****** of the closed eye prove: man
sufficed pleasing her with eyes glorifying open
and her skin numbed to a loss of a ******’s pillow fight sleepover:
made man into a disquiet animal of her ennobled sacrifice of having
to live beyond his burial as a widow that
once spun web, then as widow spun doubly
an architecture of lies as the once spun
netting for enclosing a man for pure mechanics.
fools are we to attest such nature,
but double fools are we to succumb to it.

Paul SN

There is a kinetic  c e l e b r a t i o n
throughout the entire universe--
both known and unknown;
  each molecule a universe to itself-

a world interconnected;
of sub-atomic celebrators
filling all time and space
perpetually valuing value itself

Value--
who, at its prime core
is in itself
the self-celebration
of hope/value=  Love- (tagline) #healing

    and it is everywhere.
                  Yet, we.. are unaware.

Loving words
  (all that is real)
align with the celebration-
   of the kinetic-heal

and they pick up the magic
(the receivable rendition)
allowed into the receiver
through the act of volition

   and suddenly we become aware.

   •    •    •    •

I am  melting  into   you--

and  in the blend   of us
I am finding   the
c l a r i fi c ation      of me--  a
process  until today

I never believed in.

Once rolling alone
I am finding
the word,   h o m e
in everything  
    that     you do..

    e v er y- t h i n g.

there are people on the internet
who will always know more about me
than my parents do.
they’ll see my tagline and
they’ll feel it
the same way that i feel it
the rush that comes with that
very first introduction
the freedom that tags along
on the coattails of
a name that at least one person
will keep as yours
they’ll feel the sadness
that comes with the moment
that someone you love
turns out to not love you back
well, not you
specifically, but
your kind
as they say
they’ll feel the dread
that comes with the look
in someone’s eyes when they
find out about everything
they’ll feel the excitement
that comes along with
the first smile that a stranger gives you
when you introduce yourself
and they don’t question
your very existence
or turn your greeting into a debate
they’ll feel the solidarity.
they’ll feel the community.
two words that i broadcast
to everyone except the two people
who gave me two different words
before they even asked what i liked.

mom. dad.
i’m not your baby girl.
i love you.
this is me
this is who i am
and who i am
isn’t going anywhere.

i hope one day
you’ll learn to love him.

I would never have got to feel what I felt when your hands found their way to my head and ruffled my hair.
I swear,
That was one of the best feelings in the world.

''Tall dark and handsome'' goes the tagline, we know all too well.
''2 out of 3 ain't bad'' you lightly comment, winking at me.
You have a pool of men to choose from, but powers of persuasion and magnetism saw you pull towards me.

I am the babyccino you treated yourself to after a hard week at work.
A sample of the love and decadence to come.
If you only let yourself-
Frothy and soft, like my body succumbing, and letting you do as you want.
Milky and sweet.
Warm with every touch.

I could be the rich flakes of shredded chocolate,
the marshmallows gracing the top,
to make a good thing-
even better.

*If only you let yourself

Song of **** 
Things got wrong 
Black dark sky 
Landed on D2371. 

This void soul 
Dark matter shatter
Who are you?
A question perhaps 

Trapped in screenshot 
Living in simulation 
Talk of town
Who's this sarcasticbong? 

Dumb dumb 
Looking for show
It's hidden flow
Blinded earthlings go. 

Multiple parallel riff 
Colours popping gif
Can't you niff 
Awake your clairvoyance. 
Narrate your story
Mock theosist lore
So called influencer 
Hide your favorites 
Blame to others 
Boycott with hastags
Real is bluff 
Everything good, me 
Everything bad, you 
Rhyming with tagline 
Someone tagged you. 

fyoo-cher 

haz-bin

kom-pruh-mahyzd. 

©sarcasticbong

Always elected.
Washed 'til torn.
Had the line loved best.
Worn in rest, at play.
But now its dated,
It's too tight.
Tagline no longer fits.
Time to remove
and toss away.
Favorites are outgrown.
Replaced by new bests.
Time frays even favorites.

Facing your own.
One race for years has a problem confronting their own.
They are the master of total fear.

We seen it in segregation.
When that race became the rage of a hatred nation.
We see it in present times.

When confronting racists seems to hinder their  test of humanity.

When any racial group of your own creating violence.
When professing they are better than others.
And those of that race hide behind the tagline-of see no evil.

Then you enable hate to move around society.

White churches that professes love.
Doesn't go the distant to fight hatred.
Like a person that can't speak.
They stay silent as if they are hate groups supporters.

But one day when that button is pushed to confront.
Just watch how the group that create the fear.
Now wants to seek peace at the conference table of love.

Except time for solving a conflict only started us to challenge our hearts.

i have absolutely no idea why this world is built
upon the stagnation that good
is equated with being stupid,
and that evil is prime intelligence...
or primarily so.
take the retards away,
and what you're left with
is what democracy challenges....
democracy is a kind of politics
that allows for crimes to prosper...
take Jimmie as an example
a belief in strength is not a belief
bound to rebellion...
democracy breeds a faith in rebellion
and the distribution of injustices,
where everyone can suddenly
exclaim: NOT MY FAULT! hands
raised flapping, the innocence plea...
the dodo's: i shouldn't be dead,
but i am, nonetheless, here i out-flap
the attempts of pigs at flight!
so too the chickens croaked,
and didn't coo like pigeons;
so too the Krev Ørn:
na ma hyrna jar! ska hurn sad nah!
and then death followed -
hi sfaldnjier ga'rm!                  d + n + j = ð
                           dneerie... or ~, or quasi....
or nearer -     knee earned ear -
harpoon tagline ooze!
knock knock. who's there?
onomatopoeia. onomatopoeia who?
echo! echo! echo!
                 so spoke the chastised pigeons
when hearing the morose croaks of crows.

Time always ticking
A trip triple tricking
The thinker’s talent telling
Told trust in their wits
A tad foretold in tableaux
Tot tot tin buckets in tams
Take out and talkative
Go tick tick tick tick
Trick the topography
Turn up the top town
To take a tent
Try truly hard
But tend to be tardy
Tagline and cosine
And untwine and the
capital of Lichtenstein?
And whatever else you can find
To taint the trees with
telemarketing
Watch the tardigrades
Trek through lichen and tailwater
Taradiddle my fiddle and
Trick the ticking time

Thou Shalt Not Lie, might well be his motto.
Except fabrication is his path.
The lying president loves to take the low road.

And honestly, believes his own truth.

More fiction than facts is his tagline.
Even when he speaks you ponder if he lost his own mind.

Now, we all know many blacks shoot off about those dying to give blacks rights.
Just remember some blacks crying it.
Wasn't supporting it.

Supporting what you ask?
Black protest.

Any injustice against any race?
Is injustice faced by everyone.
Sounds good, sound great.

But blacks have had to face the blunt of stupid racism centered around ignorant of humanity.

We know of the Nazis that in the photo seated with white American soldiers.
And aware of the loyal black American soldiers treated like second class.

Oh, you can fight for us to win?
Just remember there are limits to your services.

Those that don't know history will buy into knowing nothing in life.
We saw the rise in the fifties of a King.
In the sixties of a bright mind in Malcolm X.
Held his best against the best scholar.

Saw the nurturing of a boxer called Ali.
Saw the Black Panther Party branded into being what they wasn't in the beginning?

Angela Davis, fight against injustice.
Saw the man of justice for righteousness rise to the Supreme Court in Thurgood Marshall.

And many before all them name fight for personal freedom.
Oh, they won't be mention in certain educational books of the group that pushed out to many region in this country.

Then many only know of black fighters by researching to learn and adapt their practice.
Let give honor to Black Live Matters for proudly fighting justice like those in the past.

What happened?
They came up with Blue Lives Matters.
Again, thanks to black protesters.

For that tagline never were thought of until then..
They barely can address the code of silence.

So black protest holds power.

Take me there, to the world
Where!
Everyone could speak their heart out
Without having to think about the results
Where no more mask of fakeness one would have to wear
Just to impress the society and people
And you being a real you would be enough
Where people would be understood for everything they do
Without having a tagline of explanation to carry
Where trust would be so easily gained
No twice thinking and looking back would be needed
Where,
One would have enough courage to
To hear their inner voice  act as it says to stand for themselves!

All the cuss words
thrown at a *******
thinking her job is beneath others
is not acceptable to my ears.

A fight between family members
aiming at stuff
which happened a long time back
is not acceptable to my ears.

Brawls and abuses
between a group of friends
who used “best friends forever” as their tagline
is not acceptable to my ears.

Two love birds breaking up
over stuff which could have been avoided
and saying things which breaks other ones heart
is not acceptable to my ears.

A human being
degrading his self worth
and calling himself, low being
is not acceptable to my ears.

All this stuff, and many more
sears through my heart
and burns a hole full of void
named “Bad stuff my ears can’t tolerate”

The day Donald Trump came back to reality.
No one truly like to see anyone fail in life.
Although many halted Obama at every corner and found this man had the ability to succeed.

Even when surrounded by a racist breed.

Trump, if smart would abandon his base and work for the people of America.
He wouldn't be hurting their feeling any more than trying to establish his legacy.

He , of course must let the Federal branch work like the leaders that created all the division to operate without threats and other nuisance.

Anyone buying into his tagline "Make America Great Again" must be fools to think we never was under other leaders.

At various times, we hit rock bottom but survive.
So have other countries.
And we constantly bounced back.

The greatest liar of all times
Might find success when he separate himself from the mess.

Strange, how folks dealing in *****?
Are good people?
Hustling in the drug trade to survive.
What many call quick money, quick death?

In truth, he/she might not be a bad soul.
For many legit folks, we think to exist in society.
Operate in quick money schemes.

But quick to die once their Ponzi scheme is caught.
They rank high in suicide.

Quick money, quick death.
Watch what you do?
Maybe this tagline properly fits you.

weird...

   i thought that...

civil war happened
in countries
that subsequently
grew stronger...

and that...
it happened...

            only once...

no... ahem, mmm...
hmm...
    no... this current diatribe
of exporting american
politics,
to us, pwoo europeans?

what...
i'm not a sub-species
sub-class of
a, "people"
with what this...
outer-****
suburbia dictates
     me as being?

yeah, i also thought up
a tagline...
   buy toilet rolls,
forget reading newspapers...
how's that?

god forbid i ever make
a youtube
video...
   no...  no...
             better chance
in Dante's hell,
finding me,
fiddling with chop-sticks
and counting rice...

i've never heard
of a country,
that entertained
two civil wars...

      nope...

              for a country
to entertain two civil
wars would
be the equivalent of...
Lazarus...
the first... Lazarus... nation...
  
no... mate...
          no...

   prove me wrong thought...
you know,
me, ol',
zombie...
  t.v. ingest "thing"...
               show me...
ah...
                    where's that
beanie kid giving us
relations from Sweden's
     malmö...
        strapped into a yellow-vest
in Paris?
                  oh...
blank...
                not 'ere...
    started reading "journalistic"
entries on news websites...
  big bro...
              big enough to
              shy and shudder... bro...

the h'american export
of news...
the mt. sinai of nations
inter-relations poise,
with me,
back in,
whittle ol' england...

  your, ahem, civil war narrative?
come a second time?

           you even know
how peopke describe napoleon
in some parts of the world?

why didn't napoleon
ever **** someone?
no one gave him a gun...

  that's from Poland...
so...
     what am i to entertain from
h'america beside...
the slow rot of the war
incubated by economics,
in retreat,
what, with everything being
reduced to: made in china...

   h'american... what?
culture?
     open paedophilia?
h'america... what?
                         no single nation
in this world has ever entertained
two civil wars...
        fake news comes
against
the alt. media commentators...
  fake what? gerbil?
   oh... i'm not being paid...
  passionate pursuit...
    
              one gay "fwend" of mine
said:
            no country rose
to its global standard of owning
feet,
     without having entertained
a civil war...
come on...
two civil wars?
who's, stupid, enough...
       there's no ideological
competition,
you're obviously going
to implode!

   yeah, that's how a noumenon /
per se works...
  you're confused!
you're vibrating an answer...
a metaphysical drift...
when replying to: nothing!
you're filling the void,
and that's it!

         well i know it's hard
being associated to the stature
of a meal...
    depends which
end of the meal
the oyster feasts on...
   does it begin with the feet,
or the head?
  how conscious do you want
to be, to a life,
that only serves itself
for the non-pursuit,
of the exalted status
                         of death?

no people ever experienced
two civil wars in
their history...
      
          unless i am listening
to the cognitive exodus of
h'america....
   to the rest of the world...
      o.k.... sure...
entertain me...
  have your, 2nd gob-****
morbid fake of a war
                to...
    somehow...
         oh... right...
           you defeated your
ideological competitor...
            so...
                         strapped, back
to the moon, are we?

Walk the line
talk the line
stay within the lines
draw the lines
follow the lines
Everything ever created started with a line
Everything ever marketed started with a line
“ CHECK THIS OUT “
“Line me up said the man to the barber”
“Read this line” said the optometrist to the patient
Stand in line to watch a big screen filled with many lines:
MOVIES
Time after time
line after line
we all measure life
TIMELINE
Cast a line
FISHING
Run a line
LAYOUT
Hang a line
LAUNDRY
Two solid ones
closing in a series
of dotted ones
HIGHWAY
Shortest distance
between two objects
STRAIGHT-LINE
Phone a friend
lifeline
TELEPHONE
Imagine a world
without lines
RIDICULOUS
tagline
PUNCHLINE
Joke
Lunch-line
BUFFET
feast

Flushing Meadows 91
Jimbo had a last 4 run
Out of tune in the earlier open
Had a wrist surgery done

Approaching his 39th birthday
A few days away
Started his night which went into day
Patrick McEnroe at the other end holding sway

Two sets to love
Three games to love
Love 40
Down in all 3 parameters
Sets Games and Points
A full house crowd
Gently dispersed
Not wanting to see the Legend once fierce
Now in reverse

I got him and the match
Patrick thought but as he said
With Jimbo you never can tell
Till you shake hands at the net
Exactly what happened next
Jimmy turned the match
Third set with his lead diminishing
Jimmy said famously
See you in the 5th
Met him as promised
Shook hands at the net
2 am the next
Winning the match

Many Greats who'd left the stands
Embarrassed to see him play the losers hand
Decided the result before hand
Papers next day had a surprise in hand

They want more drama
Iam gonna give it to them
The Jimmy Connors scream
Tells us that we too can dream

Next on the other side
Michael Schapers
Reached a ranking of 25
Now a qualifier
Had a bad year earlier
Hence put thru the grinder
It was vintage Jimbo
3 sets in the row
Dutchman was a no show

Karel Novacek
The no 1 Czech
Seeded 10 was once 8
Lost in straights
Few games into the first set
Thought Jimbo was easy to get
Made the same mistake
Different story at the net
Shook hands in disbelief
Actually felt a sense of relief
The sold out crowd chanting Jimbo s name
Court converted into a Colloseum all the same
Every point Jimmy lost
Crowd turning hostile representing a lynch mob

September 2nd
39th birthday celebrations
20000 plus audience
Joining the celebrations
Celebrated in his own style
Pre Quarter final on the line

Aaron Krickstein
Standing in between
Jimbo and history
When it comes to glory
No one fights harder than Jimmy

A former world number 6
Had his ambition fixed
He had his tricks
Standing in the midst
Front row seat for Legendary Jimbo grit

Tennis Stadium sounded
Like a football game
No individual sport had garnered such fame
Tempers flying in all directions
Umpires decisions questioned regarding its effectiveness
David Littlefield in the chair
Had a lot of heat to bear
Formed a new vocabulary
Kids of that generation used constantly

One game away from
The match slipping away
2/5 down in the 5th set
Feral instincts intrinsic
Created the birthday magic
Everything he did defied logic
Fans ecstatic

Lost the first set against Paul Haarius
Won three next 3 marching into the Semi
Considered by many to be the greatest point in Tennis history
Time stopped in New York city as people went dizzy

Everything changes
On of the most uses adages
Won the US open 5 times
On all  the 3 different surfaces at different times
Clay Hard and Grass
Including the inaugural win at Flushing Meadows
Going into week no 2 a miracle
Even for a 5 time winner of the title
The story he scripted here biblical
Lost in the last 4 battle to Courier
But won the hearts forever
No sacrifice big enough for immortality
His heart the reason for his enduring popularity
My city and My people as he declared proudly
5 generations of opponents during a 20 year career none could have handled this more Wisely

Playing against him
Is like playing against an army of 40000 fans
Gathered to watch him dance
Every match sold  out in advance
Black market tickets for a 1000 dollars
No seller all buyers
Crowds outside the stadium
Matching those inside
A very rare sight
His mere presence a delight
All his opponents feared the most
As he was always a darling of the crowds
Joke goes around that even the opponents family
Actually roots for Jimmy

This is what they want
This is what they paid for
Said this aloud to the crowd
Established his legacy
and with the fans his intimacy

Greatest fortnight in Tennis
Said most of the games players and  pundits
A wild card entry  given
Their most wise decision

Sailing into the Sunset
Time he will decide
On his own terms
His name is James Scott  Connors

His tagline which he underlines
That follows him at all times
Sums up his Attitude Charisma Fame and Game
IF I EVER ENTER THIS STADIUM IT IS GOING TO ROCK N ROLL