******. No white guy can say that, right.
People who can truly call themselves ******* can. *****-***** ****, W.O.P.,
maybe they can say ******, okeh. But they say it mean,
knowaddamean.
What'sbout Jewboy?
Can the Kaffen kid say ******?
Sand-******, but not ***** ******. Hecan say ****, too. And *** and *****.

Oy vey, okeh. We can take it. We can take it all. Rules is rules.

That's right. Wanna fight? Wanna be my enemy?

--- Grandpa had a play date. ***- Where's the Fun?
These kids got no guns.
And no enemies. Except imaginary ones.


Greedy little master mind sprouting odd fruits from Pokémon.
Can we make this work? Perfect it, in effect?

Marbles, maybe we can teach that old game and go from there to the funnest parts of FTA... Findtheanswer, like God and Adam played. The rules are some same, bounds, fudges and such. Keepsies, ante-ups and such, too.
Risk is right if-I-can-tation.
Losses can be baked, clayballs,
while momma bakes our daily bread.
Poor kids can make marbles in the sun, since forever, I am sure. Rolly-polly patti and johnny cakes roll marbles into spoons,
Momma knew that stuff. She could shake butter into cream, singin' along Que sera, sera, whatever will be
will be,

but it won't be the death of me,
watch and see,
babu boy oh boy
---
We can play war until we die, but don't tell the children.
They are the price we are to pay. They must believe.

We swore allegiance for security. We thought it best
for the kids to lie.

You know?
I believe, you know. It's unbelieving I need help with.

Can't you see? We swore allegiance and taught it has become the  honor-us-course-us-po-deserve-us ritual. A rite we pass for the protection of the eagles gathered around the body.

We are proud of our children who die taking
the courses called for, we never ask why,
except when we cry. Silently, inside.

It's our role to remember the glory
of our children dying for the IDEA that lives
in the statue of Freedom
under which our laws allow
might is right, if God was ever on our side.

You know what I mean.
Say so. You know the lies are being told.

Stop believing that is okeh, eh?

---
Mussleman dominance meme manifests once more to battle the flood of knowing being re-leased or bought, outright, to aid the seekers seeking the meta game.

F.T.A, remember? Find The Answer. Same rules as Hide and Watch,
"All ye, all ye, outsiders hidden in our midst, in free."

"Send me your- poor, huddled masses",
remember being proud of that idea.
Poor thing, lady libertine, so tarnished now that not even Iaccoca's glory loan could gild the actions she sanctioned in the name of the republic for which she (a proxy mate, feminine aspect of God) stands. Sig-n-if-i-cious-ly.

Seig Freud, we say, with the statue of freedom watching over the legislative body, she stands
quite similar to Diana of the Ephesians,
in her role as mob solid-if-er, if I know my mythic truths been told.
---
Trink, trink, trinkits gits the good good luck,
light m'fire witcha spark and see
a light in the night when the noises pending terrors flee.

Rite, we passed those places ages ago, now we hear echoes, only we know them, for we have been taught,
what echoes ever are.
Our own terrors screaming back at us.

Alot of lies are taught wrong
and a sleeping giant in a child may dream
of other ways to see.
New windows on new word worlds expressed in
HD Quad-processed reality
simulations. You know,
child eyes see right through those.

Exactly that happened. Slowly at first.
Good is more difficult to believe
you are expert enough to try doing than is evil.
Read it again.
This couplet or line, as time will tell.

Don't ignore known knowns,
stand up under the weight of knowing good and knowing evil.
Be good.

We know from conception,
we think,
whatever it takes means
take what ever we think right,
pursue happenstances in the favor of my father's world,
provided for me, the kid.
\
The son, a first-man son,
some several thousand generations removed.
Lucky some body stored the good stuff in the mitochon'orhea, right.
We'd be powerless. O'rhea, double stufft, blessusall.

Otherwise lies are left for kids to learn,
but not to
be left true,
as when they first was told.

Our sibyl e-gran mals tol' em true,
as they knew what they passed through, to the moment, then...

Around the fire, dancing shadows, make them play.
All ye, all ye outs, in free!

See dancing shadows, en-joy my joy, be strong,

long strong, sing along, long, long song

and laugh until you die.
---
Some con-served ideas will land a man in a prison with no keys.

Imagine that. Take your time, it is no passing fancy. Be here,
with me, a while. Pleased to meet you I am, no comma needed.
Now, we may wait, whiling away a time or two is common, in mortal pauses. Are you dead or alive?

Is it dark or light? Do you see in color here, or in gray?

Who built your prison? I built mine. You'll love it, I imagine,

whenever forever flows past those old lies striving for redemption,
recycling-clingy static hairballs and ghost turds
touch, once more,
*** potentia amber atoms in cosmic chili for the soul
of the loaf-giver, warden of the feeding forces life lives
to give dead things. There's the rub.

Spark to fire? Watts to fuel the favor, Issac, can you lead us in a song? A con-serving song for when the cons a fided or feited,
defeat my sorrows and my shame,
let me see Christ take the blame.

Confidencein ignowanceus. Worsen dignitatus evawas.

Blow on it. Soft. The spark landed in that ghost **** you thought you swept away or ****** into a vortex of hoovering witnesses,
if you whew too strong, you blow yer own little light out, and have to wait for lighten-loadin' bearers
to take care from you.

That can take time, too.

It always takes a while to get deep enough to see the bottom.

Cicero, old friend...

ne vestigium quidem ullum est reliquum nobis dignitatis 

[not even a trace is left to us of our dignity]

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dignitas(Romanconcept)>

See, from a single spark,
touching a volatile bit o' whatever,
you may see the root of the Roman canker sore
yomamma kistyawit.
And be on yo way,
satisfied minded there do seem to be a way, each day, just beyond the evil sufficiency we find soon after the morning's mercy's been renewed.

And may, if it may be,
ye see a rich man wit' a satisfied mind
and may that man be me in your mirror, as it were.

Carry on, as you were.
Or walk this way, a while,
mind the limp. I'll set the pace.
It ain't a race, y'lil'squirt.

Wait'll y'see.

Waiting is time's only chore this close to shore.

What manner of men are we, who could be our enemy?
What name makes me your enemy?

What peace can you imagine when no words carry hate?
Can you imagine evil peace?
Cromwell n'em said they could make peace wit' war.
They lied.
Their lies remain lies,
evil knowns
good to know, on the whole.

Knowing makes believing count for more than idle
oaths of loyalty to memes mad
from the first of forever to now.

now. stop. This is the bottom. I know the way from here.
Do you?
You can say so, but you never know,
if you never make the climb.

And that can take forever, I've been told.

♗  ♗  ♗  ♗  ♗  ♗  ♗

Hopery, changery, stranger-than-strangery
tip the good vicar your hat—
as he sits with Obama, the global Gautama
indulging in neighborly chat.

Popery, popery, changery-hopery
grant the old Pontiff his wish.
Then summon a bishop to season and dish up
a kettle of catechized fish.

Changery, hopery—swing from the ropery,
garnish the Vatican stew.
The Cardinals compassed, the media rumpused
the Protestants joined in, too…

Fakery, changery, safety in dangery
lack of direction was lost
as it became clear that no concord was near
and the threshold of lunacy crossed.

Changery-hopery, soap-on-a-ropery,
buy the Obama a beer.
Let the Lord’s liberation enlighten our nation
as forums and quorums get queer.

Hopery, changery, babe-in-a-mangery
hail the immaculate mess;
until limbo is purged and repentance is urged
and the canonized con-men confess.

Babilo-mockery, roll with the rockery
kiss the pontificate ring;
til’ the old Argentinian wax Constantinian
causing Gods angels to sing.

Jiggery-pokery fooling the folkery
monkery second to none…
what was once sacrilegious is now a religious
conventional focus of fun.

Papacy, lunacy piping the tunacy
Father goose mothered the egg –
but it cracked in the nest while the stupefied West
lit a match to a gunpowder keg.

Yessiree/nopery—smoking the dopery
opiates dulling the masses
who bow genuflecting, with candles reflecting
the shine of their Latinate *****.

Fakery funkery, pachyderm trunkery
hierophants never forget
but the clown and his trainer cut loose the restrainer
and cancelled the circus’s debt.

Piggery, smokery, tighten the chokery
offer the refugees bacon;
their mullahs may howl with a slaughterhouse scowl
but the empire’s free for the takin’…

Your love,
Is sharper than the edge of the crescent moon
that was struck in my heart and i futilely mourn.
Glimpse of angelic dagger was your lies,
and you burried it deep within my eyes,
     and now im blind.

Your love,
Is hypnotizing like the beauty of the moon above,
In the vague sight of my blindness you're a white dove.
Pain chastised me! tears drowned me! but i still love you,
For you're my heavenly poison that i can't resist through,
     and now im weak.

I as your moon wanders beyond lim'tation
just to flicker my lil light even at your reflection.
Go run away from me as far as you desire, leave!
But when you're in need, it'll took only 1 glance above to give,
     and you'll see me waiting for you.

Far above the grey sky i silently watch o'er you,
Tears frozed, blood drowned my crippled heart as i stare at you
With your new found happiness that's far brighter than me,
You have your sun now, so ill just force a painful glee,
    and you'll see tears in me as i smile for you.

Far above the blue sky you look up and found me no more,
But you never care and thought I'm atlast gone for sure.
Your sun just blaze to its peak & covered me from your sight,
Now my love you're so blinded with her spurious light,
    and you never see that i still light for you.

Far above the black sky and now that your world's down,
Now when your life's darker than the darkest night's lawn,
I'm your moon, gladly being a moon rather than your sun,
to give you light in your tragic night when your fake sun sets down,
     and you'll see that I'd never will ever leave you.

There's a place I have been
But it's a puzzle you see,
Nothing ornery and nothing certainly so.
The trouble ensues amidst the crackling air, It Inherits an anxiety that was born from youth.
Characters place a charge to pass between each Dimension unveiled in the quandaries exposed By each curious want. In wanness its decided, That each should mercifully idle, and pause Before it yields the gain. And an ampule of light Is pronounced by the right to take up pizza in The order of minds

“I consider it a bless'n just to be in your presence; My body you arouse, but its my mind you be ***'n, having it ******'n....”-->
The blessing is all mine, that I would find; A woman who would simulate without any hesi—tation...-->
“U elevate me to new heights each time our thoughts are in session; As a result I'm confess'n-->
FINALLY a man with a spark of perfection, who thinks with his mind and not his—*******....”-->
Heights are limitless when it comes to our love & when we pray to the Man above; Perfection maybe from your point of view, but a woman like you is: Hell there are only a few...-->
“I love how you neva leave room for doubt or cause any stress'n; YES God favored me when he sent u in my direction; the shield around my heart I've always protected, was invaded & destroyed the minute our souls were connected...”-->
Mentally our love is on the same plane & there's no point'n fingers on who is to blame; I credit you with this connection & you have a touch of a different heart; A whole unknown section...-->
“U are the epitome of what many guys portray to be, but unlike them, you represent the reality of what a MAN should be; You don't just compliment, you complete me; I belong to you; You make me feel brand new, every bad memory of my past was instantly erased & replaced the moment my heart was introduced to you...”-->
I complete you? Thats hard to believe; But if you ever take your love away, for eternal my heart will grieve; You make me ecstatic to be alive & when I get next to you my stomach feels like a beehive...-->
“U're the man, Nah let me take that back, you're the truth; There are so many worlds I could use to describe you; You're my friend, my lover, my man, my knight, my KING; Us together, we can conquer anything...”-->The description of me being your KING, doesn't mean anything if you're not my Queen; I may be your friend, your lover, your man, your knight, but you conquered me when you stepped into my sight...-->“Consider me the Bonnie to your Clyde, I was made to stick by your side; Whatever comes our way, with each otha we gon ride; When othas look at us, its hard for them to decipher what they see, but when I look at us, its the definition of love to me...”-->
I'm Jason & you're my Lyric; To spend the res of my life, hmmm you're my pick; That's right this right here just click; My word is—Soul mate; I've been look all my life for this date & God made me wait & everyone else hate...-->
“They say u get what u pray for & I find that to be true, bcuz everyything I've searched & prayed for is found all in u...”-->
In my dreams you are what I see & I never thought this would be; Flawless in front of me; I asked God to keep this love strong & keep my heart & soul where it belong-Wrapped around your heart & saving you from harm...

constant staring at scribblings
on the wall, wasting time. pages
stayed with tape and tacks with
words having found understanding
of how the Universe ticks --
*******.
thoughts scrawled before first
past life, put there by hand of
hopeful idealism. writ before,
then enacted through guise of
terrible excuses --
*******.
movement through with attempted
realization, and refusing quarter
for ends to selfish means. then
prying image to subjugate logic.
then onward selfish movement --
*****.
abated a time, then in the fourth
past life, perhaps sought retained.
though all lives cry out for adap-
tation. all crying out to leap,
to find the next waiting, the
one to find the prior salient --
digresser.
fourth found temporary per-
manence with excelling
from deceitful path traversed.
the changing of names follows
change from di- to noc-turnal,
with distance never relinquishing
hold that follows image of sub-
jugation --
metamaniac.

(20 minute poetry)

Desperate times call for even more desperate measures
and the measure of man's in the time that he treasures, the good leaf days.
So we okay the game and play along with the plot, but an actors lot's not a happy lot, not what you'd call
the pick of the crop, more like the puck and that's a candidacy for lunacy.

**** it,
I am a poet
I plant words,
Poetry?
I grow it in a two by four.

What more can time do to me? I am ancient
my back is bent
my legs are bowed,
two eyes that once glowed with anti-cipation
are now dulled with a hint of mild hesi-tation.
It's all for one now and everyone for himself
how?
I don't know.

It could be the twenty first century thing to be nothing to no one
to go it alone.

At Mile End, the days end drowns out the dreams and muffles my screams,
but never slows down the clock.

[1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 0 and repeat]

We
fit toge
ther seamlessly
like the numbers on
a digital alarm clock,
moving without hesi
tation, from one figure to
the next, a movement of time transi
tioning,  unsettling, unnotica

bly building on and constructing ourselves
within the construction of time
itself. We are the only
static constant, the on
ly reliable source:
time keeps moving
forward, and
so will
we —

/                        since the english language has
no diminutive concept:
confined within words -
    the adjective inside an adjective,
inside a noun...
      i'sa(h), would become e'sa(h) -
but that hovering diacritical
mark above the ι...
   is that like: trying to differentiate
ι, 1 from l (lower case)?
     yet it was implemented
    in a time of eloquent handwriting -
**** me, introducing second
tier "syllables": within words
(i.e. diacritical marks) to english?
a bit like introducing a goldfish
                   to the ocean...
                    or rather salt water...
imagine going to the coast,
bringing back some salt water -
and putting a goldfish in the bowl...
huh? dunno...
   but i know how my goldfish died...
apparently...
  a fish breathes, in water...
  and there's oxygen in the water...
and if you don't replace the water?
the fish ends up belly up, on the surface
of the water...
          i won her it him at a circus fest
anyway...
   i guess the only time i can become an e
if you play around with the already
given invitation - that "thing" hovering
above the ι (iota) -

   i = e ÷ ī

                        obelus -
   divided by = prolonged
                            sound rep. (-tation) -

english, as a language has no
   diminutive concept...
oh wait, it sort of does...
         esp. when Peter, becomes Pete -
which then becomes
the universal beginning: ma(h)ma(h)
and ends up being mother -
that subsequently becomes charlie (the) III's
very public mummy,
when lang lang played on her birthday.

- but there is a more overarching
diminutive concept...
      not to mention that english is...
too proud to allow loan-words,
   rarely...
           sometimes the bare minimum
of french, or the pillar of german...
other languages use plenty more
loan words... notably the borrowed
  weekend...
               since even the polacks know
this phrase:
   the poles do not speak their own
language - they borrow "their" language
from others...
       that said... even
                 english is partially original.