1.
From my
uneasy bed
at the L’Enfant,
a train's pensive
horn breaks the
sullen lullaby of
an HVAC’s hum;
interrupting the
mechanical
reverie of its
steadfast
night watch,
allowing my ear
to discern
the stampede
of marauding
corporate Visigoths
sacking the city.

The cacophony
of sloven gluttony,
the ***** songs of
unrequited privilege
and the unencumbered
clatter of radical
entitlement echoes
off the city’s cold
crumbling stones.

The unctuous
bellows of the
victorious pillagers
profanely feasting
pierces the
hanging chill
of the nations
black night.

Their hoots
deride the train
transporting
the defeated
ghosts of
Lincoln’s last
doomed regiments
dispatched in vain
to preserve a
peoples republic
in a futile last stand.

The rebels have
finally turned the tide,
T Boone Pickett’s
Charge succeeds,
sending the ravaged
Grand Army of the
Republic sliding
back to the Capitol,
in savage servility,
gliding on squeaky
ungreased wheels
ferrying the
Union’s dead
vanquished
defenders to
unmarked graves
on Potters Field.

The Rebels
joyous yell
bounces off
the inert granite
stones of the
soulless city.

The spittle
of salivating
vandals drips
over the
spoils of war
as they initiate the
disassemblage,
the leveling and
reapportionment
of the grand prize.

The clever
oligarchs
have laid claim
to a righteous
reparation
of the peoples
assets for
pennies on the
dollar.

Their wholly
bought politicos
move to transfer
distressed assets
into their just
stewardship
through the
holy justice
of privatization
and the sound
rationale of
free market
solutions.

In the land of the
pursuit of property,
nimble wolf PACs
of swift 527, LLCs
have fully
metastasized
into personhood;
ascending to
the top of the
food chain in
America’s
voracious
political culture;
bestriding
the nation to
compel the
national will
to genuflect
to the cool facility
of corporate
dominion.

As the
inertial ******
of the plaintive
locomotive
fades into
another old
morning of
recalcitrant
Reaganism,
it lugs its
ambivalent
middle class
baggage toward
it’s fast expiring
future.

I follow
the dirge
down to
the street
as the ebbing
sound fades
into the gloom
of the
burgeoning
morning,
slowly
replacing the
purple twilight
with a breaking
day of cold gray
clouds framing
silhouettes of
cranes busily
constructing
a new city.

The personhood of
corporations need
homes in our new
republic; carving
out new
neighborhoods
suitable for the
monied citizens
of our nation.

First amongst
equals, the best
corporate governance
charters form
the foundation of
the republic’s
new constitution.
Civil rights
are secondary
to the freedom
of markets; the
Bill of Rights
are economically
replaced by the
cool manifests
of Bills of Lading.

The agents of
laissez faire
capitalism
nibble away
at the city’s
neighborhoods
one block at a time;
while steady winds
blows dust off
the National Mall.

Layers of the
peoples plaza are
plained away with
each rising gust.  

History repeats
itself as the Joad’s
are routed from their
land once again.

A clever
mixed use
plan of
condos and
strip malls
is proposed
to finally help the
National Mall
unlock its true
profit potential.

As America’s
affection for
federalism fades
the water in
the reflection pool
is gracefully drained.

We the people
can no longer
see ourselves.

The profit
potential of
industry is
preferred over
the specious
metaphysical
benefits
of reflection.

The grand image,
the rich pastiche,
the quixotic aroma
of the national
melting ***
is reduced to the
sameness of the
black tar that lines
the pool and the
swirling eddies of
brown dust circling
the cracked indenture.

From his not so
distant vantage point,
Abe ponders the
empty pool wondering
if the cost of lives
paid was a worthy
endeavor of preserving
the ****** union?  
Has the dear prize
won perished from
this earth?

Was the illusive
article of liberty  
worth its weight in
the blood expended?

Did the people ever
fully realize the value
of government
by the people,
for the people?

Did citizens of
the republic
assume the
responsibilities to
protect and honor
the rights and privileges
of a representative
government?

Now our idea
and practice of
civil rights is measured
and promoted as far as
it can be justified by
a corporate ROI, a
shareholder dividend,
an earmark or a political
donation to a senators
unconnected PAC.

The divine celestial
ledgers balancing
the rights and
privilege of free people
drips with red ink.  

Liberty, equality
fraternity are bankrupt
secular notions
condemned as
expensive
liberal seditions;
hatched by
UnHoly Jacobins,
the atheist skeptics
during the dark times
of the Age of Enlightenment.

Abe ponders
the restoration
of Washington’s
obelisk, to
repair the cracks
suffered  from
last summer’s
freak earthquake.

I believe I detect
a tear in Abe’s
granite eye
saddened by the
corporate temblors
shaking the
foundations
of the city.

2.

The WWII Memorial
is America’s Parthenon
for a country's love
affair with the valor
and sacrifice of warfare.

WWII forms the
cornerstone of
understanding the
pathos of the
American Century.

During WWII
our greatest generation
rose as a nation to
defeat the menace of
global fascism and
indelibly mark the
power and virtue of
American democracy.

As Lincoln’s Army
saved federalism, FDR’s
Army kept the world safe
for democracy.

Both armies served
a nation that shared
the sacrifice and
burden of war to
preserve the grace of
a republican democracy.

Today federalism
crumbles as our
democracy withers.

The burden
of war is reserved
for a precious few
individuals while
its benefits
remain confined to
the corporate elite.

Our monuments
to war have become
commercial backdrops
for the hollow patriotism
of war profiteers.

We have mortgaged
our future to pay
for two criminal wars.

The spoils of
war flow into the
pockets of
corporate
shareholders
deeply invested
in the continuation
of pointless,
destructive
hostilities.

Our service
members who
selflessly served
their country come
home to a less free,
fear struck nation;
where economic
security and political
liberty erodes
each day while the
monied interests
continue to bless
the abundance
of freedom and riches
purchased with the
blood and sweat
of others.

America desperately
needs a new narrative.

The spirit of the
Greatest Generation
who sacrificed and met
the challenge of the 20th
Century must become
this generations spiritual
forebears.

The war on terror
neatly fits the
the corporate
pathos of
militarism,
surveillance
and the sacrifice
of civil liberties
to purchase
a daily measure
of fear and
economic
enslavement.

It must be rejected
by a people committed
to building secular
temples to pursue
peace, democracy,
economic empowerment,
civil liberties and tolerance
for all.

Yet this old city
and the democratic
temples it built
exulting a free people
anointed with the
grace of liberty
is being consumed
in a morass of
commercial
polyglot.

3.

During the
War of 1812
the British Army
burned the
Capitol Building
and the White House
to the ground.

Thank goodness
Dolly Madison saved
what she could.

The new marauders
are not subject to the
pull of nostalgia.  

They value nothing
save their
self enrichment.

They will spare nothing.

Our besieged Capitol
requires Lincoln’s troops
to be stationed along the
National Mall to defend
the republic.

The greatest peril
to our nation
is being directed
by well placed
Fifth Columnists.

From the safety
of underground bunkers,
in secure undisclosed
locations within the city’s
parameters, a well financed
confederacy employing  
K Street shenanigans
are busy selling off
the American Dream
one ear mark
at a time, one
huge corporate
welfare allotment
at a time.

The biggest prize
is looting the real
property of the people;
selling Utah,
auctioning off
the public schools,
water systems, post offices
and mineral rights
on the cheap
at an Uncle Sam
garage sale.  

The capitol is
indeed burning
again.

Looters are
running riot.

The flailing arms
of a dying empire
fire off cruise
missiles and drone
strikes; hitting the
target of habeas
corpus as it
shakes in its
final death rattle.
I make a pilgrimage
to the MLK Jr.
Monument.

Our cultural identity
is outsourced to
foreign contractors
paid to reinterpret
the American Dream
through the eyes
of a lowest bidder.

MLK has lost
his humanity.

He has been
reduced to a
a Chinese
superhuman
Mao like anime
busting loose from
a granite mountain while
geopolitical irony
compels him to watch
Tommy Jefferson
**** Sally Hemings
from across the tidal
basin for all eternity.  

MLK’s eyes fixed in
stern fascination,
forever enthralled
by the contradictions
of liberty and its
democratic excesses
of love in the willows
on golden pond.

Circling back to
Father Abraham’s
Monument,  I huddle
with a group of global
citizens listening
to an NPS Ranger
spinning four score
tales with the last full
measure of her devotion.

I look up into Abe’s
stone eyes as he
surveys platoons
of gray suited
Chinese Communist
envoys engaged
in Long Marches
through the National Mall;
dutifully encircling cabinet
buildings and recruiting
Tea Party congressmen
into their open party cells.

This confederacy
is ready to torch
the White House
again.

Congressmen and
the perfect patriots
from K Street slavishly
pull their paymasters
in gilded rickshaws to
golf outings at the Pentagon
and park at the preferred
spots reserved for
the luxury box holders
at Redskin Games.

They vow not to rest
until the house of the people
is fully mortgaged to the
People’s Republic of China’s
Sovereign Wealth Fund.

4.

A great
Son of Liberty like
Alan Greenspan
roundly rings
the bells of
free markets
as he inches
T Bill rates
forward a few
basis points
at a time; while
his dead mentor
Ayn Rand
lifts Paul Ryan
to her
Fountainhead teet.
He takes a long
draw as she
coos songs
from her primer
of Atlas Shrugged
Mother Goose tales
into his silky ears.

The construction
cranes swing
to the music
building new private
sector space with
the largess of
US taxpayers
money; or
more rightly
future generations
taxpayer debt.

Libertarians,
Tea Baggers, Blue Dogs
and GOP waterboys
eagerly light a
match to the
the crucifixes
bearing federal
social safety
net programs
to the delight
of NASDAQ
listed capitalists
on the come,
licking their chops
to land contracts
to administer
these programs
at a negotiated
cost plus
profit margin.

Citizens
dependent
on programs
are leery
shareholders
are ecstatic.

To be sure
our free
market rebels
don disguises
of red, white
and blue robes
but their objectives
fail to distinguish
their motives and
methods with
some of the finest
Klansman this
country has
ever produced.

5.

DC is a city
of joggers
and choppers.

Corporate
helicopters
wizz by the
Washington
Monument,
popping erections
for the erectors
inspecting the progress
of the cranes
commanding the
city skyline.

USMC drill team
out for a morning
run circles the Mall.

The commanding
cadence of the
DI keeps us
mindful of the
deepening
militarization of
our society.

A crowd  
rushes
to position
themselves,
genuflecting
to photograph
a platoon on
the move.

I try to consider
the defining
characteristics of
Washington DC.

DC is all surface.

It is full of walls
and mirrors.

Its primary hue
is obfuscation.

Open
communication
scripted from well
considered talking points
informs all dialog.

The city is thoroughly
enraptured in narcissism.

Thankfully, one can
always capture the
reflection of oneself in
the ubiquitous presence of
mirrors.  

Vanity imprisons
the city inhabitants.

Young joggers circle the
Mall and gerrymander
down every pathway
of the city.  

They are the clerks,
interns and staffers of
the judicial, executive
and legislative branches.

They are the children
of privilege.

They will never
alter their path.

You must cede the walk
to their entitlement
of a swift comportment
or risk injury of a
violent collision.

These young ones
portray a countenance  
of benevolent rulers.  

They seem to be learning
their trade craft well from
the senators and judges
whom they serve.

They appear confident
they know what's best
for the country and after
their one term of tireless
service to the republic
they look forward to
positions in the private
sector where they will
assist corporations
to extend their reach
into the pant pockets
worn by the body politic.

6.

Our nations mythic story
lies hidden deep in the
closed rooms of the
museums lining the
Mall.

I pause to consider
what a great nation
and its great people
once aspired to.

I spy the a
suspended
Space Shuttle
hanging in dry dock
at the air and
space museum.

Today America’s
astronauts hitch
rides on Russian
rockets.

America rents a
timeshare from
the European
space agency to
lift communication
satellites into orbit.

Across the Mall
I photograph
John Smithson’s
ashes in its columbarium.  

I fear it has become a
metaphor for America’s
future commitment
to scientific inquiry
and rational secular
thinking.

I am relieved to
discover a Smithsonian
exhibit that asks
“what does it mean
to be human?”

The Origins of Humans
exhibit carries a disclaimer
to satisfy creationists.

The exhibit timidly states
that science can coexist
with religious beliefs and
that the point of the exhibit is
not to inflame inflame religious
passions but to shed light on
scientific inquiry.

I imagine these exhibits
will inflame the passion of
the fundamentalist
American Taliban and
provide yet another
reason to dismantle
the Moloch of Federalism.

The pursuit of science
remains safe at the
Smithsonian for now.

7.

Near K Street at
McPherson Park
a posse of
well dressed
lobbyists, the
self anointed
uber patriots
doing the work
of the people
stroll through
the park
boasting a
healthy population
of bedraggled
homeless.

The homeless
occupy the benches
that have been
transformed into
pup tents.

Perhaps some of
the residents of this
mean estate were
made homeless by a
foreclosed mortgage.  

The K Street warriors
can be proud that their
work on behalf of the
banking industry has
forestalled financial market
reform.  

Through it exacerbates
the homeless problem it has
allowed these K Street titans to
profit from the distress of others.

Earlier in the day
I photographed
a homeless man
planted in front of
the Washington
Monument.

I wonder
if my political
voyeurism is
an exploitation of
this man’s condition?

I have more in common
then I probably wish to
admit with my K Street
antagonists.  

In another section
of the park the
remnants of a
distressed OWS
bivouac remain.

The legions of sunshine
patriots have melted away
as the interest of the
blogosphere has waned.

As the weather
improves Moveon.org
and democratic
party operatives
pitch tents in an
effort to resuscitate
the moribund
movement.

They hope
to coop any
remaining energy
to support their
stale deception,
a neoliberal vision
based solely on the
total capitulation
to the bankrupt
corporatocracy.

I heard someone say
a campaign lasts a
season; while a
movement for social
change takes decades.

If that metric proves
correct, and if the
powers don’t succeed
in compromising the
people’s movement
I’ll be three quarters
of a century old
before I see
justice flowing like
a river once again.

8.

I circle back to
the L’Enfant and
find myself
tramping amidst
the lost platoon
of Korean War
soldiers.

My feet drag
in the quagmire
of grass covering
the feet of this
ghostly troop.

My namesake
uncle was a
decorated
veteran of this
conflict and Im
sure I detect
his likeness
in one of the
statues.

The bleak call
of a distant train
sounds a revelry
and I imagine this
patrol springing
to life to answer
the call of their
beloved country
once again.

Yet they remain
inert.  

Stuck in a
place that the
nation finds
impossible to
leave.

The eyes of the
men stare into
an incomprehensible
fate.  

They see the swarms
of Red Army infantrymen
crossing the Yellow River
streaming toward
them in massive
human waves,
the tips of
sparkling bayonets
threatening to slash
the outmanned
contingent fighting
to bits.

They are the
first detachment
to bravely confront
the rising power
of China many
thousands of
miles away
from their homes.

America like
this lone company
is overwhelmed
and lost in the
confusion
that confronts
them.

Looking up
I perceive the
bewilderment
of my muddled image
reflected on the
marble walls
surrounding
the memorial.

I am a comrade-in-arms,
a fellow wanderer sojourning
with th

The pizza took her place in bed. It slathered itself all over her.
The pizza objectified my body.
It slid between her *******, leaving traces of red sauce and strands of hot, almost liquid cheese in the nook of her cleavage.

It slowly dripped off of her ******* as she spread its residue across her *****.
From there, the succulent, almost watery juices rolled off of her teet and onto her folded legs as she knelt there in the store window.
Everyone could see her.
But as long as those who were most enthralled came inside to purchase a pie or two, no one seemed to care.

Muffin milks the tiny teet
of a tête-à-tête torn
apart by warring factions.
slowly spitting the purple plum
dribbling, oozing
over the convex lips
which kissed and kissed.

Cream juices the cocky caucuses
of cordial cacophony.
Moist middlers meddle amidst
businesses of their own interest.

Power is power better bear than
bottom but everyone is ******.
Lap the ego from the firehose,
the giant member of the state
spraying like a cat claiming "mine!"

Hellbound, hell no he'll save us
everything is going to ****.
One man job to make us come
out of the 17th hole sand pit
of our pernicious premier club membership.

For you to notice me

If you only knew

I mainly want to talk, but my human side lets off.
Images of my rough hands around your soft waist to let our souls mix and seep when our eyes meet.

To sweet delight of soft serve with every curve I follow

I only want to talk

Exchange another note of human emotions and social interactions

See we lack the capacity to physically understand

And leading you off isn't in my objective
I just get stiff with kisses on your neck
I can almost feel your hands on my back
Your legs tighten around my thighs

Endorphins rush when your back  curves and your chest touches mine
Temperatures rise, I can see all the signs

I still want to talk
Your interests interest me
Lets take a walk
If we stand still I'll examine your body
My heart will go lively
With electronic  sparks
I only want to talk
But when you laugh I get this shiver
A cold quivering
That you wouldn't notice

In an instance we are on the grass with a breeze blowing your hair
And I'm grabbing your ***
I don't want to move too fast
You then reach for me
A heavenly breath runs across my neck
I almost turn wild
A stone to the ocean
Oh how opposites attract

I just want to talk
However clever I might be how has your day been
Lets get deeper mentally
I'll exchange ****** innuendos lets see if you notice

I'm just a man in not trying to be a pervert
Then you smile and it takes awhile to adjust

My imagination turns rough
I envision us at a picnic a diamond in the rough
Shoes off and your happy
So I am too
You make to first move

Now I am excited and don't know what to do
You look at me
The eye contact  from green to brown
We stare then our lips touch
Our eyes close to love the moment
As these can't be seen
Emotions run rampant
And I suckle on your teet

But I just want to talk

Hook:
***** water all through these streets,
***** water poisoning what we eat,
***** water flooding the mind,
Poisoning how we think.
***** water all through these streets,
***** water poisoning what we eat,
***** water flooding the mind,
Gotta be careful what ya drink.

Verse 1:
Uh, Seems like we always in a state of emergency,
In a land of democracy,
Things don’t seem free to me.
It’s like trying to wash our hands in ***** water, g.
Everything has a cost, so tell who going to pay the fee?
It certainly not going to be the dominant society.
For the system was build by and for white people to have superiority.
That demonizes anyone that doesn’t conform to their authority.
Spreading a sense of inferiority over natives and minorities.
And I’m not just talking historically, because these issues persist presently.
Change can’t happen unless one is willing to **** the teet of the majority.
For we live in world that separates based off of hierarchy.
That strips down and overgeneralizes our identities.
Then when one overcomes these disparities they are seen as the unordinary.
The exception to the rule,
Like *** is that supposed to mean?
Think I’m about to lose my sanity, dealing with an uneducated narrow minded humanity.
In a state bombarded with atrocity after atrocity,
Yet people have the audacity to tell us to get over it instantly.
Living in a democracy that doesn’t have time to listen to me,
Living in a world where history repeats,
Perhaps I guess we just can’t get enough of insanity.
It just doesn’t make sense to me?
I thought we were supposed to be evolved,
Yet be so devolved mentally.
Like how can indigenous people asking for clean water cause so much controversy?
For if your province or city didn’t have access to clean water, wouldn’t you worry?
Wouldn’t you start protesting firmly?
All I ask is that yawl start checking your privilege homie.

Hook:
***** water all through these streets,
***** water poisoning what we eat,
***** water flooding the mind,
Poisoning how we think.
***** water all through these streets,
***** water poisoning what we eat,
***** water flooding the mind,
Gotta be careful what ya drink.

Verse 2:
Water is the foundation to survival,
Water can also be a philosophical symbol,
For we all thirst for something,
It’s like we are cursed or something.
Being immersed into desensitization,
Becoming numb to everything.
Needing to wash away what is obstructing.
Blocking the path towards transformation.
As established norms perpetuates discrimination.
Whilst also justifying racism and condemnation.
I didn’t choose to born,
But yet that some how qualifies me for damnation.
Because my skin colour is seen as being sinful, that needs to be put through sanitation.
Becoming guilty on the basis of association.
Which makes it harder to find the equation.
As everyone has different values, beliefs and expectations for how to fix this situation.
***** water sure is a contamination,
Thats been leaking out since creation.
That has divided not just people but also nations.
If only people could be mature when having these debates and conversations.
Instead of suffocating on our offence,
Or wallowing within a sense of victimization.
****, this ***** water sure has damaged how we function.

Hook:
***** water all through these streets,
***** water poisoning what we eat,
***** water flooding the mind,
Poisoning how we think.
***** water all through these streets,
***** water poisoning what we eat,
***** water flooding the mind,
Gotta be careful what ya drink.

This is where I'm left.
In all my rage, in all my disgust.
You built it up inside my trust,
You tore it down without a word.
I can't imagine how,
You just hold someone down and step on there throat.
And look away like you don't know.
Ignoring choking and gasping below your soles.
I'm disposable. A working class dog.
When my task is accomplished, you send me back to my kennel.
And the food is running out.
For every endeavor I face,
My stomach growls,
So loud, so much agony.
I'll be gone soon, but I can't wait.
I thought I meant so much more than this.
You told me to stand in front of the car then you hit the gas.
Left my wounded body in the woods.
To die alone cold and scared.
My bones are to broken to support my weight.
I'm not stubborn enough to ignore my fate.
This is the end.
And I trained my replacement.
I'm only two years old,
Yet I'm an easy target.
Avert your eyes!
Please ignore my cries!
Your problems are almost gone,
Your burden meets its demise.
You asked for a scratch then called me the thorn in your side.
Your fingers cradle me and pull away but in time,
I'll lie in the dirt and be buried alive.
I'll be a vague memory of an unpleasant ride.
And I know.
I know yet I don't!
I'm discarded because you love someone else more.
And you've no more love to sustain this case,
Of charity. This teet dangles over my face.
I once drank my fill,
Against your warm embrace.
Your skin was a blanket,
Warmer than a tropical wave.
But all that's left is sand.
Irritating in trouble some.
Sweep me off of your skin and wait for the next one!
You don't need me like I need you.
And everyone here would die to be with you.
So I'll watch from the darkened corner alone.
They all glance at me quickly and then they move on.
Whispering "how glad are you you're not in his shoes?"
Is that his punishment? What did he do?
Well I'll shout from the shadows exactly what I've done.
I'm innocent I swear it but please, have your fun!
And I'll sit here and starve.
Be thrown into the dirt.
Return to my kennel,
Lay and be choked.
Because I'm the one who's been thrown away.
I'm an animate object,
But my life has no meaning.

So I'll stand on my own!
And sabotage  you all!
Take a good look around,
All you see will fall.

My wrath burns hotter than Mercury in summer.
My rage boils like a stove under water.
And I'll use this,
Oh I'll use this well!
Like a present gift wrapped, delivered first class from hell!
I didn't sign for this package.
It was left in front of my door.
I stepped over it for weeks before I opened it up.
And out poured the darkest light imaginable.
It was black and bright red. Backed by a thundering orchestra.
My eyebrows slanted inward and my,
Sharp grin raised to one side.
So now sweet anger,
Sweet hatred and lust!
Retaliation will be so sweet,
And so just.
Revenge is a dish served cold as cries.
But smell the sweet hatred as I bake it alive!
Then eat it!
Take in every last bite.
This will be your last meal so eat till you die!
And I'll watch from the shadows in the shadiest branches.
Of the tree I hide in to which I was banished.

at what point wasn't it a way to bypass
the editorial scrutiny...
to directly engage with a reading
public...
why did i think this might be: any good?
i guess i only thought:
i need this out and i can't stash it
like a corpse...
into some damp cellar... like a morally
relativistic monstrosity of a sociopaths'
analogy of: "feels"...
   well, no **** Sherlock!
how i made the following reply...
is beyond me:

- believe me... i had more to write but i felt a sense of restraint... i'd like to see what a terse reply would make you focus on... so i'm scrapping the concept of handicap: heads up... now it all depends what you'll be choosey about... or not... because there's plenty in you reply i could quip about... well... then again: is being witty synonymous with being satirical? i'm not for intelligent / condescending humour on my part... personally i love the dryness of sarcasm... but then again: what's to like about the bluntness of nail-heads? just my take on... what exactly not to like about schadenfreude (what's not to like about schadenfreude)... i'd much prefer a humiliation of a leather gimp suit... so it seems: honesty is the best joke in play... there are too many stereotypes in England too... the best one i heard was by my Glaswegian english teacher in school... ahem... how was copper wire invented? two Scots arguing over a penny... like the stereotypical arsenal of deciphering the Jewry run wild in the realm of the gentiles... with the Scots... being our prized asset of: reverse stereotyping... i guess because knowledge of poor Hebrews is either a mystery or taboo... worse still... a mythology... and here i promised myself restraint... yet i'm experiencing something of a writing block and i... most probably found the most surprising alternative outlet... the eroteme lady - ms. query... so there must be nothing concrete about you... well... i too remember being a teenager prior to 2000 on those hotmail chatrooms where the acronym ASL could get you... all hot & bothered... don't take this the wrong way but i've heard that most writers, poet (i'm a chicken scratching doodler at best) reverted to the medium of correspodence... lucky you, "lucky" that i'm testing the waters on you... but don't worry... i've tested the medium with other people and wondered about their stamina... you are starting to gravitate toward psychiatrist status...  it's so strange though... not writing on abstract... blank... rather: inform sender... it's to them... all that *******, romantic or not... about writing for that one person... sure... **** it... write 'em a letter... don't mind about that trippy-*** poem of yours... you know? apologies if you come across as something of a punching bag for sounds... i hope no typos... well typos can be excused... ah these ****** articles about... wait wait... momentary lucidity... i was going to use some of this in my way of combating my writing block... the troubles in the english language... spelling... "approximation" drop the vowels realise: that's how the Hebrews wrote all along... treating their vowels like diacritical markers... the ****?! i feel like i'm being robbed in plain sight... because Copernicus didn't ******* realise jack-****... they pile it up with their Pope and the execution of ******* Galileo...  ugh... it takes some ******* nerve for these days to allow for this ****-centred kindergarten of events in man's... non-evolving history to continue like some: no ******* dodo exctinction ever took place... (agreed... the following are all faux pas... "invigorations") honey? babe? ms. anonymous gender fluid pronoun neutral... what's the informal, best? ms. avatar ms. harleyquinn the world's stupid? what are american stereotypes of europeans? come to think of it... that cookies is too big to take a bite from... you can't exactly base stereotypes having only seen tourists... since a tourist is a stereotype per se... i'd have to go to california... to get a californian stereotype... to georgia for the georgian stereotype...  wait a minute... Costa Rica... "hint hint"? Latino? that wasn't exactly... it was a fork in the road... the Sephardi... you're working from an avatar canvas... you're making allusions to... what i look like and it's like i'm a mesmerising doppelganger of al pacino... is there a chicago accent? i heard a lot of the ****** diaspora was lodged in that *******... i was terrible at accents... almost always a chamaleon... people still ask me where i'm from... so like this one-stand-up comedian in Edinburgh said... when he was quizzed about the geography of his accent... 'you might recognise my accent... it's... educated'... now that's that... isn't it? i could fake you an indian accent if i wanted to... perhaps a german accent too... but i could fake it... by the way... in these parts... biligualism can be treated as schizophrenia... just saying... somehow integration is not fully deserving the status that: not integrating decides... because... not integrating is... "safety first"... the dodo project alliance...  least of all... i've been dying to by a baseball cap with the Cleveland Indians old logo with chief wahoo... so stereotyping americans... it's beyond hard... it's like stereotyping Russian that are not in the vicinity of Moscow... some are probably Mongol remnants... their own idiosyncratic solipsists to their own... i'll take up my bicycle tomorrow and this drunken tirade will most probably fizzle out... i truly couldn't make up giving a toss about what's internalized americana stereotyping... not that i don't care... i just don't know... the currency of the nation sends me years and years of Ed Gein reinterpretations... what am i supposed to "say"? tomorrow i'll be up early and bothered about my bicycle as if it were a horse... but i'll still want to retain gravity with leaving you with this frankness of a reply... lobster-red probably implies if not simply implores: ginger and freckles... i like to think of suntans as serpents shedding skin... i suntan i'm a copperneck... i like the german sound on this... plus... it's readily available as compounded: kupfernacken... what's better? auburn-tease? kastanienbraunecken? i like the joy you feel with what you already prescribed me with.. that i know so little about you... that while i'm prodding you withhold giving me concreteness.... concreteness would allow me... disadvantage me to focus on "things" that are absolutely not necessary... so: i can focus on whether i'm not being pedantic enough and: misspelling...so... what's the stereotype surrounding Alaskan gurls?!

- thanks for being ascribed in getting my "mojo" back...for now...

- What do you mean? I'm surprised this is the shortest message you've sent. I was getting used to your drunk musings. [I say this with a smile but I know you don't like emojis or silly acronyms, and writing out "laugh out loud" sounds ridiculous... after all, you know how important sounds are to me].

- you just asked one of those questions that... is aligned with asking... 'what are you thinking'? the moral 'ought compass waved me a goodbye and if i haven't broken any laws to pursue the sort of freedom of though i currently enjoy... bypassing the need so stress a "freedom" of speech... writing is an extension of thought: not a prompt / invitation to speak... i'm surprised that you scrutinise the length of my replies... and were we to begin with? in the "easily offended" pile-up? well i'm still getting drunk... you're still an avatar mystery... but at least i'm waging a war on prosaic sobriety to boot... i guess i had to come clean at some point... i never write sober... i don't see the point of being: disengaged from the genuine (a longer version of a one word would have sufficed... but i'm lazy about the spelling... while at the same time... there's this critical theory approach done in some of the newspapers about english spelling... let's see if i get it right... dis-in-genius... for starters... disengenous.. horrid... aaah so terrible... dis-less-advantageous... disadvantageous... oh **** me... i wriggled into that one: all sound and proper...why ask me: what do i "mean"? - it's not that i don't like emojis (well, i don't) but... what the hell... there are better hieroglyphs to focus on than chiseled into pyramid stone: own... happy face... the Chinese were doing ******* x-ray gizmo **** at almost the same time... it's a focus loss... don't even get me started that *** = a Parisian hello with tendering the cheeks with... a labyrinth of smooches... my lips are my pouches blah blah blah... you seem to be enjoying my rants... i gather? i don't even know why to bother with an ask (question doesn't even do justice to how i'm framing this)...  you want to write as little as possible to properly excavate me... well no surprise... if light can't bend around corners... i'll have a look: none-the-less... emphasis on the hyphens... this poor down-trodden word could be helped with some "breathing space"; no? i "mean": 霜... shoo-aang... frost... i have dancing skeletons throwing toothpicks at chopsticks pilled up in an area of pine wood... look at this sort of *******... and here we are... cradling one of the old languages with "holes in letters"... to peer through... O now i see... B: otherwise: ha, ha ha ha... what's **** in Chinese? the Greek prized π... but what P & I look like for a farting, mandarin? hey presto: "@"... not even a western concern for "patriarchy" could have complicated: what's already too complicated... a billion people... a wall... that didn't keep out the Mongols from invading... yet a phonetic encoding system that... would topple each and every pyramid... from Giza to the cleaving of South America from Africa that can be staged at some Aztec "miracle"... i am writing (to) you like a bewildered person... because: why wouldn't i otherwise not be? so what do i mean? hmm... what's that holy trinity of statistical terms... mean... meridian... mode? i think i remember correctly... thank god i'm not going to apologise for being drunk... i've heard the stereotypes of drunkards with no future for thirst... the other thirst... the thirst for something beside their own handicap... i'd also duly convert to Islam too... i was cycling past a mosque and heard the most impossible sound of praise that will never escape me... but by the bottle i did: closer to the Jewry i am... contradictory how that is... don't want to stop drinking... uncircumcised... it's a really magical juggling act that's littered with self-deprecating humour interludes... aligned with norse mythologies... grr... **** me... now i'm attempting to "sell" you a makeshift tinder profile sketch... don't know... never will... never used: don't ask...  but i forgive you... for asking me: what does "it" all mean? it means we're for the thrill of it... it makes sense if we're still gagging for it... and we're not exposed to old-age closure cinematic scripts of solo cinema of memory... i like typing because i have itchy fingers... you'd probably like to hear me speak... no? it's exactly 20 minutes past midnight and i have a date with a bagel at 9am tomorrow morning... i still want another injection of truth in me before i do the  lady nox some justice and sleeping with her fiendish daughters... i mean... who does that... wake you up with a hard-on? never mind... i don't even know how to end this "convo": it can't be with a farewell... or an adieu... or a サヨナラ... oh wait... that's "goodbye, forever"... how does one end a half-way between a musing and a real person on the replying end of "things"... i guess like this: NARA... ナラ... short for narazie...  translated from my mutterzunge as: perhaps loosely... for the time being... for now... how else... to end my tirade?!

- So let me get this a bit straight (as straight as a stray arrow, that is): you only write when you're drunk (I'm the luckiest one to be at the listener - or reader in this case - end of your tirades as you call them... I call them musings); you have a fixation with words, even the ones that you don't know how to spell correctly (except maybe in a language I don't know so I can't really tell), you didn't answer why I'm ascribed to getting your mojo back (where did it go?), and you wake up with a hard-on. Got it!

- i've been lodged into a backlog: ******-town sort of: stalling... give me a few hours... although: ever wonder what: giggles sounds like... in the deafness of the night? i do... i want to reply you like so... like now... like this... maybe i will... maybe i will not... i'm gaging to buy one of those cleveland chiefs baseball caps...the grinning siouxsie chieftan....perhaps i want to relearn "how to": take the GRIN... a little bit more... seriously... no? **** it... i'm drinking as it is... i want to reply you in full throttle... straight arrows... and the welsh V of the longbow-men too to boot... chopsticks straighter... "straighter"... i tend to only write when i'm drunk... i abhor sober prosaic intimidation and... all the lies, subsequently...sober people don't get "drunk" on moral relativism of white lies? and i'm born yesterday, no? you openly venture into... a quest of question within the regards... of being... this only.... i almost wanted you to feel this sort of... an alienating increment... of... how i might pile on more detail... they are musings... i don't take them seriously... about as much relax as is a required: necessary.... i have a fixation with words... jurisprudence to me is merely a game of thesaurus ploy-tow... i spell i don't spell... i'm overtly pedantic... i also felt queasy when testing my eyes at an authentic testimony of the "law"  being "exaggerated"... "tested"... "proved"..i must have: lying eyes... no other eyes do see... no? i have a fixation with "things" beside the usage of ***** and strobe lighting...

you have my attention... don't you? you know... the last time i attempted having a conversation... i was too naive...too young... everything "everything" applied itself to being too predictable... i want to love again: but being in love is almost a weakness... i don't feel like being weak... i guess this is where the rekindling of my "mojo" ends... hello cul de sac...

new paragraph... ever hear(d) of the alpha and the omega "man"? i'm pretty sure you heardf of mr. beta... for all the worth of a totality of... man... i'm last... i'd forever be... last... i don't want to be first... i also don't want to be 2bd sniffing **** and crab-meat-... either...

give me the totality... i'll be satisfied with a "question" of
last... hence the expression: omega man...
didn't hey-zeus say?
i'm the alpha and the omega?

i don't write sober, i'n afraid i might lie...
you're not lucky,..
but you're also not... godzilla....

i "somehow" haven't ascribed you with the sort of details of: explanation that would allow you... to satiate yourself with answers... as to how... why... yllu managed to "mojo" probe me back to life? you.. the Faroe Islands to begin with? you know... they have this gimmick... on the Faroe Isles... it's not a gimmick... it's called// i don't know what's it called... skúvoy? but i'm happy to tease when the whales are slaughtered... the the blood comes a running: the lions also... apparently tease with a yawn... look at this word, though: grindadráp....

ever catch the giggle im der nacht? nein? too italian... no? ******* borrowed pollack: the self-depreciating... loan... not load... of bollocking...

don't believe yourself as being the sole recepient of a reply...

you're not lucky... you're just... available...

terribly botherome... isn't, it?

- i thought i'd make this a two tier reply... it would be a shame to reread what i wrote on one of my "escapades"... perhaps this... hanging-over... ha'h... more like hung, drawn & quartered some time to time... but believably sane, pleasantly morose - at evens with masochism... so reclining into a moral trip-up... i probably mentioned grindadráp - since i still have the window open on the phrase i'm familiar with... Sámal Joensen-Mikines... i most probably ended up giggling in the night... god... i'm just skim reading what i wrote... well good to know that i can only the best thing and sober up: simultaneously returning to a more rigid, conventional... formal use of language: that i might suppose i'm in a confessional booth... a welcome mirage for the time being... while i decide to wither away watching the old firm (a derby soccer match between celtic & rangers)... of note... i had this argument with the natives so time ago... the... Celts... but it's the Boston / Glasgow Çeltics... no? you're a girl that likes sounds... i've been following this current discussion that has reached the heights of printed newspapers... citation, sian griffths (gwif-if-if-ififs) education editor: new spelling ROOLS to make english more predictable for pupils... "we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the feelds..." see... i really admired Charlie Bukowski for a while... until he came out as a lazy slob who would require an editor to correct his spelling... there's dyslexia and there's just plain: hash-browns... for all my worth of idiosyncrasy that i wriggle in as i go along, most of which will not find common ground and a cosmopolitan outlet of users... for me, as someone who acquired this tong'u: i've grown fond of how aesthetically messy this toong can become and how readily available this messiness is... even London can become a ****-joke: Loon'dune... in my mutterzunge sounds are more distinct... apart from the graphemes sz, ch, cz, rz (ż) - i'd have to borrow from a Czech a caron to hide a letter or two: š (sz / the equivalent SHarp in english) and č (cz / CHatter respectively)... all these unique sounds... ą, ę, ć, ń, ó, ś, ź - Wombat ł... anyway... i just thought, sobering up... that you'd like to have a certain bulging volume of fudge to return to... before i take another dive into ms. amber and pass another night as w. h. auden wrote: only the hitlers of this world write at night... sure... herr auden... because the day is for watching football and / or cycling.

- à propos: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-L5iefl2QtA

- If you share music can I? I'm sorry that I didn't reply sooner. It's been a **** last week and this week isn't any better yet. I like reading your messages, drunk and sober. When I write in my native language I use the accent over the vowels to emphasize the second-to-last vowel of a word. I love speaking, reading and writing in my native language, though I'm sure that I know much less than you would about languages. Shall we continue talking about sounds? How about sounds in my language? Of course, you have to guess if you haven't already.

- mind you: i had second thoughts about writing this reply... perhaps you can judge for yourself... i'm just not into having double-mystery encounters with an "avatar"... plus i made an emphasis on the point... what music were you not going to share?

sure... but first share your music... i have this thirst for Nick Hornby's high fidelity and being a teenager again... a teenager in love, again...i was probably the most happy-go-anywhere sort of person when i found a vinyl copy of Wardruna's kvitravn in my local HMV... which is: sunrise records and entertainment ltd trading as hmv & fopp.... given i already have the other chapters on cd - copied into mp3... (runaljod - yggdrasil & gap var ginnnunga)...  and given it's so rare to fnd a vinyl of this calibre... that some vinyls comes with an mp3 link... i thought: hell... i'll give this record the proper 3D aura treatment and not listen to it on headphones... or utilise it to "conquer" space... & just walking with it across a market sq. without a plastic bag to stash it in... i might as well have walked with a cat on my shoulder... because... who the hell still buys... well... invests in vinyl? now... coming to the language...second-to-last vowels of  word... you know... you can keep me interested without overplaying this "mystery" game... isn't the use of an avatar enough? i really can't comprehend a language that focuses on second to last vowels... without focusing on vowels: per se... just to reiterate... you didn't share a link to some music... you pitted yourself as American... i can continue being interest without having too many enigmas to sort... i have yet to find a language that only applies accents to, e.g. suppOsE... or maybe i'm just too ignorant to have come across a language that behaves in such a way: unless it's some idiosyncratic variation (of it)... you don't have to remain a complete mystery to me for me to keep engaging... there can be some sort of rooting in reality... otherwise i'll just return to my original purpose of writing: staging myself against a blank canvas and a barrage of sounds that i'll need to "un-spaghetti" into linear streaks.... i'm not going to guess: you'll either tell me or not... i'm currently listening to snake-pit poetry: einar selvik... any one can have a ****** week... for a while i was anticipating you testing whether or not i'd reply not getting a reply from you... and that, somehow, miraculously... i'd continue to creep-up to teasing you again... perhaps that's me dabbling in misnomers... no... you'll need to give me something concrete... i'm already starting to itch with a sensation that i better return to the canvas than keep this conversation... no offence... it's just draining me when something abstract could also be doing: likewise... but it wouldn't end up being a ****-tease... i could possibly create something out of it... not just so more: oh... oh? ** **: what's next?! i know when it becomes a brain-drain... a side project... it has to come with an excuse whereby you'll probably recoil with: but i had a ****** week... granted... but who hasn't...  you could have waited another week until participating in the timeframe of the passing of weeks started to feel good once more... if you only dropped a music suggestion... otherwise... thanks... but... no... this conversation is going nowhere... i think i'm just relocating my writing block elsewhere... all the best: in keeping an aura of mystery... within the realm of avatars and non-accountability... come to think of it... no... this is as fair as i could be.

this supposed "unique" specimen... not really...
i want to focus on what allows me to belong:
beside the unfathomable landmarks
of trees and mountains:
roaming stars that even my demented
grandfather corrected himself on...
satellites... no... roaming stars?!
well... i didn't conjure this **** out of my own
*** for pleasure, either...

back towards... falling asleep while listening
to the Hellraiser soundtrack:
hellbound...
because eerie is how:
i how how: "things"...
i'm so alone at times that it's beyond making
sense: it's about infringing on a god-stature...
status... this omniscient
contradiction that some Elijah bundled up
into... two crows croaked...
the tower of London can entertain 6:
so the king's ******* and the queen's
jewels are left intact...
for the successor to worry about...

we have these conversations but too bad
the girl is playing timid...
and i'm... gargantuan...
the length of a tongue that turns into an eel...
hands like octopus extension...
i could wrap her up in... bubblewrap
and start the puncture pinch-pinch ceremony
of not seeing the bubble float: up-up...

i have a sense of ego like...
a bad l.s.d. trip?!
****-guage-abuse? gauge? sort the ones
for the snoozing zero-toasts
and you have yourself
a new jersey smart: bite-off... not bit... though...

i could never have children:
not because i could never be a good father:
but i'd be a terrible husband...
how do i "know"?
i would never allow myself
to earn the amount:
she'd want to spend...
via solo: i'll spend on ms. cojack amber
and some ******* liquorice vinyl...
and a bicycle...
rubber-teasing: ****-teet-****....
when using the brakes...
when minding my ******* "luck"
on a roundabout with a massive twuck...

plus i'd love to **** more...
i'd love to **** as much more as
the thought-"taboos" discourage me
from doing... so it's a nice adventure: thinking
the next: moral antagonist, antithesis
of "could i"?
central theme? Lo-li-t'ah...
and i'm the second from third removed
uncle of the marquis de sade...
you want... you need... you have to orientate
yourself around the last taboo...
the one that's not associated with...
crispy clean antics of those *******
in their savvy leather gimp suits etc.

"power to the people": *******...
power to who owns what...
i'm starting to conjure up
profanities akin to:
but at least when they owned slaves...
they took care of their slaves...
they wouldn't want a slave to be rotten...
to be despondent...
trouble with freedom is...
my own, self-made... man...
if i were a slave...
i'd learn to bend the rules...
i'd entertain the fantasy of freedom...
while being constrained with...
all the benefactor securities...
i'd be owned but i'd also be:
obligated to a social contract of some sort...

so freely as to nothing be:
so averaging assumptions...
presumptions... so by nothing i unfree myself:
to... sort of quest to: "be"...
while the priestly class held back literacy...
within the timeframe of when
a new literacy emerged... of coding...
so double-up-on-surds... no?

herr gizmo l:)(}{
the realm of the three brackets... )}]...
one literacy replaced the old literacy
but in terms of retaining the old type...
the new type is... not exactly allowing
for movement of... hearts? is, it?
i still have to retain punctuation...
i still need need to perfect it...

but this is not conversational linguinie,
is it?
i stand firm in, stressing:
writing is an extension of thought...
writing is an extension of thought:
it's hardly an invitation to speak...
the past centuries haven't taught us
that literacy is a constraining beast of priests'
fancy?
let me... detail my limbs for you
in stressing this point further:
what good came from the project
of literacy en masse?
graffiti scribbling on brick walls?
out of what beside desperation?

such constraints were employed as
to: the person exercised in completely body:
usage... wouldn't feel like
a ******* hamster of a ******* ferris wheel
when push came to shove...
somehow everything physical became
lesser class: demeaning...
somehow we all turned into *******
fluorescent
      telepathic / telekinetic Chernobyll
monkey sorts...
and the fat "stigmata" is a what?
                  
  this world is gagging for something tragic...
this world is gagging for a world war III...
but... it probably will not...
"advise" itself to experience such a disatrous take
on prospect...
nuance in language can go **** itself...
application of misnomers for added fluidity can:
go **** itself...
you ever come across a choir...
and a great wind...
see a ******* shrink...

don't look at me for inspiration:
perhaps some jokes...
i've been more honest these past two minutes than
i ever was in the passing of a decade...

death the limbo of "sanity"...
esp. when someone memorable has taken off...
who am i left with? "perspectivelly accountable"?
grey-matter fiddle-through middle-man
*******... no?
i'm not sifting through that, murk?
perhaps i'm sieving... sifting... sieving...
sifting... sieving... get a dog! she says, mother, dear...
i tell her: it's legal in Belgium...
her father already cited his complaints...
i'm tired of the ******* optimism...
i'm tired of this "adventure" some cling to when
deciphering "life"...
an overrated statement of too many facts:
that's life...
it's not a ******* frank sinatra:
come as we are... would be: mea culpa...

troublesome sufferings of a tired brain...
too many pop ref. points worth of closure...
i bought a vinyl today...
i walked it down a market place
like it was a puppy...
in a rucksack...

that there's a hope... my mother is crying
this silent agony of truth...
i tell her: it's sensibly legal in the Benelux...
England is ****** by all accounts...
a dog will save me?
i'm becoming rigid... brick-esque...
tide-prone...
moon is the mother of my skies...
i might might what?
fall in love: to fall in love is to allow
oneself to be weak; to be... dependent on
someone: the concept of "other"... no?
recurrrency is pricing on how many times
that's... sensible to try out?
before it fails?

i fall asleep listening to horror movie music...
i'm best coupled to a ******* hyena than
i am to a woman...
to live under a false sense of hope
is a: welcome bypass to otherwisse living
under a truancy of truth...
as the life around me shrinks...
the abounding shadow of me grows...
and not as a patriarch...

oh ****... "i simply, somehow...
just so it happens... fowgot to... encapsulate this
offload whiff a wyme".

If the ceilings dripped
liquid metal
and the scratchy rose-print sheets
bit out for our bodies,
we wouldn't know a thing.

If God jumped into bed
and tried to cram in between us,
there wouldn't be enough room.

In the deep night,
all the stars could come down shattering into knife light,
It would be perfect.

All the asteroids
could warp the earth into a bowl
of milk, and splotch
the solar system into a giant cow,
but we could not join in the teet-mashing mayhem;
there's nothing pure here,
and our fingers hunger for bad places,
instead of ushering in the good.

I do not know what we will do,
but the world is falling apart.

Huffah! Rise up!
Today a new day
So glamorous
So grand and gay
That each passing of tree frogs shall
Slither
Spoil and spit
My naked toes never touch ground
Or do they?
My flitting flee turns heads around
Upside-down
I bemuse continually
Continue to follow through
Weightless in flight
In plight
Black-tailed hawks soar shrivingly with might
I gather and twirl and spill
Arms afloat and fingers outstretched
I greet the world
Hello!
Lovely lures linger in my spine
Ascend to my neck only to
Explode with confetti out of my ramby ringing ears
Explode with laughter!
Such yippity yap cannot view
Such vague heights
They don't catch me
I spill thrice with slender legs ahooved
We all come crashing down
I give a smile
Take a frown
Such grace and beauty
An epiphany to some
An engagement to all
Bliss meets ground in the fall
It rains colors
Tickling tiny eyelashes
Clickety-click I blink!
Oh woe! How my soreness traps all reds!
Shades of yellow
Shades of gold orange brown
Teet and totter
Only to divide and conquer
My fellow
Autumn leaves as Autumn comes
For I make no rule away
Grass grasps and clings
Leaves no trace but in my hair
How it curls and shines with flings!
I lick the sweetness of blue
Gumdrops begone I beg of you
Clamber to my lips
I kiss the sweetness in pips
Of more than two

green hornets come a buzzing,
teet-a-tat round my head.
relentlessly! persistently!
what monster i see?
mirror, mirror on the wall!

A backwards thief giving,
A parasite ******* on its own perforated teet
Nestled deep,
Bearing teeth,
Gnawing away kindly
Heave, pull
But the weight's gone
With one ferocious yawn

I dated a girl who emotionally abused me for months and when I finally split things off I cried everyday for a couple months.

I split things off with a girl who I loved with all my heart, I continue to believe I would cross oceans for her, yet I have not cried.

I'm an oxymoron, a lesson in irony.
I'm an upbeat jazz number, played in a minor chord.
I feel the world for those around me,
and only bitter disdain for myself.

I'm attractive, I've got a strong jaw line,
and a nose most guys would **** for.
I dress better than the guys I run with,
and my hair does exactly what I want it to.

I read French existentialist authors
and consider myself well versed in modern jazz.
I've got a steady job, and I've never been late once.

When I think about who I am,
and the jealousy I feel towards the happiness I am not providing you,
I get sick to my stomach.

All I've ever wanted is for you to be happy and you appear to be so and I'm upset because I'm a jealous ***** of a man who has the emotional capacity of a child longing for his mother's teet.


I don't know why I feel the way I do but I'm out of *** and I have to deal with how I'm feeling and that will be a first.

****** that's good poetry!
Consonants strike like hot cooking fat on bare skin
Nouns flowing; a Jimi Hendrix riff
..... Or maybe it was more like Clapton?

Digress

You're welcome.
Glad to know that when blood spills
Some lands on a page. Making...
A *******? Nah,
That's cliche and lazy assed
More like those Japanese ink paintings
Before those cooky Catholics showed up? Ish?
smooth and elegant lines in spiraled mountains and heart monitor tree Scapes

I'm Hercules on your own Queen of gods teet (congrats on the great ****** Milkyway!) spilling that good bluesy verse on the
W.
W.
Dot

I've bled you dry for years, "warrior poet"
You're welcome.

Katkean, takeltelen
Kuin olisin kolauttanut pääni ja hetkeksi unohtanut kuinka olla
Silmiä räpäyttäessä kadotan oikean kohdan,
nikottelen ja hämäännyn
En osaa hahmottaa missä sinun ajatuksesi loppuu ja missä omani alkaa
Johdattelet hienovarhaisesti harhaan, puhut pääni pyörryksiin
Et koskaan lopeta, vaikene, edes hetkeksi,
vaikka olen ahdettu niin täyteen sanoja, etten voi ottaa sisääni enää yhtäkään
Ja jollain tapaa teet sen niin ovelasti,
niin leveästi hymyillen,
pidellen kaikkia lankoja keveästi käsissäsi
Saaden minut uskomaan,
että äänessä olinkin kokoajan minä

Is it who's genes fall where?
   Or the pains we bear?
Is it the way we fare?
   Or the words we dare?

What makes the "love" Love?
   What feathers a dove?
What makes you wear that glove
   That keeps you from Love?

Do we make you hostile
   And storm down your mile?
Have we filled you with bile
   And forced your "Sieg Heil"?

Tell, how long must we wait
   For a bouncing gait?
Will your demons abate,
   Or have you ****** fate?

Some hold on to the hope
   That with time you'll cope;
They keep feeding you rope--
   I say, "******* nope!"

I gave you inches-- feet
   And with it I'm beat.
I'll watch you bite the teet,
   Silent in my seat.

Since you won't share my genes,
   Still stuck in your teens,
You can't care for our fare--
   Have no words to dare.

You're the feather-less dove
   Never to rise above.
They gave you unjust bile
   And you praised, "Sieg Heil!"

Who are you
To assume
That you are capable
Of escaping
The inescapable?
Mother's white-washed
Nourishment, propaganda teet
A taste
Acquired early,
Now it's all you can eat.
Nestled in protagonism,
Coddled by media,
Limited brains were
Your encyclopedia.
College wakes you
"Even my Mother is blind"
and you wonder how it was you lost your mind?

The cessation of my diurnal tapestry , a nocturnal tale of white horse
tragedy .. As we wait for the eight at nine , where shadows
often appear to be alive , hours run pathetically slow , freezing near dead from head to toe . Suckling from the bitter , wicked teet , normal people now **** where I eat .. Old crow nail , purple tip reactive banter from a starving vulture , the wailing of Lucifer , his consumption of the rotten in the shelter I rest my aching head upon .. Putrid bile breath , painstakingly reconnoiter the veins in both legs , stabbing wretched leather , smell of imminent death at the meeting house , night of inopportune visitation from an old chum long since forgotten ...What will I find when the body expires , when my broken heart finally gives in , when my brain sinks to the murky bottom , when the voices stop calling  . Who will I see , to whom will I greet when religion receives its long awaited answer , when the riddles lay restful and solved , when guilt and needle wounds are calmed ...Will life resume once more upon my fragile piece of Earth or will I jettison on a beam of light around the Universe .. Will there be a Jesus or a creature with intelligence I can't even begin to comprehend or will the bulb be switched to off and that's it ?

We're trekking and we're getting there
Soon the doldrums will be days behind me
I may be taking my time, but you are taking me back
I'll see you when I spit out the other side, I'm sure.
Don't let the sour summer swelter of the mundane tear at your hopes.
We're on our way,
Whichever way that is, maybe North maybe West maybe Both
We're running with the currents,
I can see your cheery little head bobbing in the tides, but
I won't take its false promises,
I'll just be looking for your wet feet when they'll trample the dunes.
I'm not one for waiting
I'll live and maybe anticipate the days
When us ******* no longer need the rock and roll
because we'll be suckling its lovely teet
and it will be our time to cruise
and be rad dudes in the ****
And coffee will shampoo our gnarled hair
that will be curled with salt and sun and *****.
See you then.

what's questioned is whether  i'm prone to eat
a McDonald's  or identify myself as a Slav...
that's what's questioned... would i eat a status quo?
it's a hard question... would i rather integrate
            or leave a poor babushka
riddling what could have been
had October come in alter guise in 1917?
              the quo vadis
question is only a roundabout...
a clarifying circus-fair...
                     summated:
we long to live locally... embedded
  into a crucifixion as one might be
    into a circumcision.
                   and beyond such an affirmation?
negligence and a harrowing...
words spoken over lakes:
the instilled nations,
words spoken over seas:
   the instilling of the experiment of
globalisation galvanised...
     words spoken over rivers...
       as standardised narrative woken...
and later cue: unmoved.
       we're all here, with quivers for
a worthwhile of demands...
and still the belief in pacifying troops
of when the word becomes an actual
punching clench for the knuckled signature...
only then i see my coerced duplicate
arranging a feast for fattening politicos en masse.
           ferris and cartwheel summary,
for every eager ****** wetting clot
    of the feminine oyster slurring due to
excess saliva outpouring...
       funny how she earns enough Fahrenheit
when slobbering the oyster trail to a warm-up
and cools her oral into refrigerator standard
while suckling as if at a teet...
                     the mouth cools down,
the fleshy marrow pouch heats up...
        you start to think: Copernicus is next
to explain this conundrum...
              by god i sometimes wish i had the chance
to don mascara... for the fun of it
to make my iris whether blue or green
   hypnotically caged in that socket of
blink blink... blink blink...
        brown and mascara looks just as good
as a a van morrison song might...
well... aren't we all hopeful that it's just another
case of negging?
n'ah... just a duchamp pisoar... worth's
legitimacy of noun in the medium of art...
    my vocabulary can't be as ****** ugly as
what people do to people these days...
i count mine as softcore, Attenborough ****:
worth a narrative with an objectivity myocle;
'cos the other eye still has to squint to look
pretty and infused with the activity
that has a myriad count of termites for
a mother, with that invisible ***** attache
toward: birth as continuum of constipation:
blind drunk Mona Lisa slipped one out
with Antoinnette while the guillotine smirked
and snarled a: chop... chop chop!
it almost sounded like clapping, not so long ago.
    all that was said and was nonetheless missing
was a queue in which everyone sang
      baritone bard sang in duo
                 with a castrated evangelist a cumba
           lonesome texan: don mclean's starry starry night,
by now van gogh (gau not goth) would have
cared, and mattered, simultaneously....
   sha la la la la la la la la la la t'da....
      (approximate count)...
               oops'e said lazy Daisy...
                                 and the day was just that...
lazing with Daisy on a mercurial Sunday
    that prescribed the message of the omni-encompassing
yawn.

how soon... is... savannah brown,
to represent sylvia plath?
                                               too soon?
i say, too soon.
                  i have come across
my second fictional charioteers...
ragnar and athelstan...
   ivar the boneless and...
  bishop heahmund....
                      my "concerns"?
Αγνή Παρθένε...
              χασμουρητό:
   (χ) chi...
                   chasmonreto...
while i thought of?
the hungry only feed their
thought by usurping a freedom
from hunger!
                      how the first wave
of heathens learned to be humble...
while the second wave of heathens
aspired to be... noble...

   who, are, we, versed in
teutonic chants?
      de pacem domine?
            might i, site, a sing-along
to a kumbaya?
              replica?

             salvare mea dominus,
mea praesentia....
          quod iustificationem
   vestra autem praesentia et vestra
   salvus erit immoderata cuiusque
     luxuria subsequenda...

see... leftist intellectuals
always **** at the teet of islam,
in terms of the blinding lights
of "consciousness"...
but, what does, 'fathom', begin,
and end with?
                    
the antithesis of
a soul?
  the anti of a psyche?
well, there's
the yawn,
and only the yawn
to counter
the winds of breath.

          at each of these medieval
chants... i weep...
           i weep from a certain
presence of joy that cannot
find translation within the confines
of the modern world...
i cry, because i find the sort
of joy, that cannot be,
associated with the joys
of the modern world...

      to think... a pagan...
twice over...
         ragnar in athelstan...
the source of knowledge...
worth more than gold...
and ivar in bishop heahmund...
purity, truth...
          an antithesis of
pagan jeleousy...
  nobility...
            what man is not
allowed to cry,
in celebrating the slow...
snail like climbing
manifestation of
a conversion?

         if man is ever allowed
to cry...
       it's at this...
         that element of beauty
of a transvaluation of value...
   ragnar in athelstan: knowledge...
ivar in bishop heahmund:
                       value(s)...
to be of noble cause,
is to demand...
                           and what if...
sisyphus... didn't roll the stone
up a hill?!
  what if... he just let it sit...
and pretended the stone
to be a mirror...
  not so much a "mirror" adequate
for an image, reflected,
more.... a "mirror" of
his thinking?
  surely... thinking is born
from the existence of inanimate things...
rather than animation?
    thought surely has to
source itself in inanimate objects...
first... before moving into
the fog like argument of evolution
working from the ontological extensions
of apes...
              ex similitude rurus ut similitude
      (out of similarity, back into similarity)...
ad imitatio...
        (toward imitation)...
        et regressio
                     (and regression)...
          but... all the critique of byzantine
culture... once a convert to a byzantine hymn:
forever a convert... to a byzantine hymn.
even the ancients can't allow themselves
to convert the heart from allowing
the heart to absorb the conversion that has
a pristine fathomability of the mind:
in its state of being: thoughtless.

the conversion pilgrim:
from catholic,
                 to hebrew...
back, en route,
                 to Byzantine chants...
   was anyone ever, really,
worried out the metaphor: Byzantine,
to replace the word: bureaucracy?
i was more worried about
a conversion via sung psalms.
          and if it is music,
and i cry...
                   i treat that as
a worthy authenticity worth
investigating...
given... Ragnar valued the knowledge
of a monk...
while Ivar...
  the nobility of a christian
warrior bishop.

                    how may i ever repay
my slander...
       i will only repay that slander...
with my honesty...
i need not torture myself,
in fathoming the unfathomable
rites of repenting...
          i will cry, upon succumbing
to the sand psalm...
and if that is not enough...
then i will continue to renounce...
and slander...
   for what are the tears of the honest...
equal...
         to be equal made...
upon the lashing...
the "repenting"... the "pure"...
the liars?!
                   liars do not cry with
joy... liars cry...
to masquarade their hidden ambitions /
or whatever other hydra head
pops to mind...
                 guilt.
i cry... because beauty needs to be
celebrated... with the only worthy
and available alms... tears!

Most can’t understand me, to be honest I don’t understand me either,
All because I won’t conform to all ya sheepish lizards.
Snaking each other in order to eat all the gizzards.
In a land where everyone is ******* bitter,
Spitting around their toxic chatter.
Last time I checked my business isn’t apart of your matters.
Last time I checked you were not my creator.
Thinking you know better,
Stop it I’m only filled with so much laughter.
To me your advice is like anime filler.
Womp, a womp womp like some Charlie Brown chatter.
And I don’t **** with snakes, I only **** with ladders.
They say Life is a board game that results from domino factors.
But if everything is by chance, then I’m ok with being seen as the mad hatter.
A conspiracy thinker, that goes outside the box to find more and better answers.
Instead of sitting on ones *** like the rest of yawl wankers.
That be crying about the **** I spit, but sorry I don’t make music for ******* toddlers.
If you want family friendly entertainment go watch Mr.Rodgers.
And if you keep acting like a little *****, I’ll have to get you a shock collar.
For most of yawl are second rate bug zappers.
And I am the beyonder.
Your nick miller.
I’m the Undertaker.
Your Rob Schneider.
I’m Christopher Plummer.  
Hook:
Look We ain’t in the same league,
You best believe, don’t **** with my expertise.
Yawl ain’t real, yawl fake as a weave.
I’m the Havarti, your the blue cheese.
You can’t measure up to me.
So back off, with all your pathetic critiques.
And just respect the technique.
Verse 2:
Respect the technique or prepare to take heat.
Smoked out and hung from one’s feet.
Ain’t no way to opt-out as I won’t fall for your deceit.
Do you think I’m fresh from the teet?
For I’m not one you can simply defeat.
Or be blind sided by all your *******.
Why can’t you see?
Why do you lean on Ignorance?
******* around, drugged out, like Charlie sheen.
Why do you fake innocence?
We are all ugly on the inside?
But a lot of yawl ugly on the outside too!
I guess some people can’t escape or hide?
Escape or hide from what is actually true.
Ooohhh!
From what is true.
Hating on my technique.
Hating that unlike you I’m actually unique.
Hating that I have the courage to not be a sheep.
Consuming the feed the media forces into you and me.
Getting us addicted to toxicity, in order to not say a little peep.
Can’t you see we are not actually free?
Can’t you see you’re overdosing on deceit?
If only you weren’t to blind to see.
You might just learn to respect the technique.
Hook:
Look We ain’t in the same league,
You best believe, don’t **** with my expertise.
Yawl ain’t real, yawl fake as a weave.
I’m the Havarti, your the blue cheese.
You can’t measure up to me.
So back off, with all your pathetic critiques.
And just respect the technique.

today my cat had kittens there are only three
cuddled up together a lovely as can be
looking for a teet so they can have a feed
for the mothers milk something that they need

with there eyes still closed they still think its night
feeling in the dark to fill there appetite
mother she is lying in the basket too
licking all her kittens just like mothers do

one is very stripey mixed in with a grey
first one too born first one on the way
the other two are black with a touch of white
born very shortly afterwards. sometime in the night

mother she seems fine after all the strain
now her fat has gone shes nice and slim again.

a dreaming pup
suckling at the teet
courageously whimpering

Ya Know I Read Today On A News Webpage …
That... Samuel Jack...
Was Mistaken For Laurence Fishburne' MAN … ?!?

Well It Seems As Though This White Media Bloke …
Thinks Samuels’ Role In Django … HOLDS …

... TRUE Fa’ REAL … ?!!!?

It’s Really NOT A Big Deal Cos’ As Sam Explained …

“ All of us blacks, still look the same !”

Well This Would Seem To Be The Case … ?
For IGNORANT BRAINS With RACIST VEINS … !!?!!

That’s NOT A CLAIM I’m Merely Saying … !!!
Racism STILL RUNS... Or Am I MISTAKEN … ?!?!?

When What’s IDENTIFIED Is A Lack of RESPECT …
From Those GENTRIFIED SUITED LOVELY White Men … !!!

Whose Identity’s... "Hidden” …
Kind of Like …… “ Robin Givens “ … !!!!!!

Mike Tyson KNOWS When Covers Get BLOWN … !!!
That MISTAKES Can Lead To Prison Scenes … !!!!!!

Where Mistaken Identities …
Can Be Left In Penitentiaries … !!!!!!!!

Well Maybe They DO … ?
And Maybe They … DON’T … ?

I Don’ t Have A Clue And Don’t Hold Much Hope …
That Blacks HELD In Cells Are ALL Criminals …

Identities In Court …
Are NOT All Born From TRUTHFUL Tales …

That Would Seem CLEAR …
From That Flick... " Primal Fear “ … !!!

Some Set Sail …
After Being PREPPED By Those Adept …
At MISLEADING And Then PLEADING …
To Juries Seeing A DIFFERENT Being …

To The One In The Dock Who’ll LIE Like A Dog...
To Convince And Deceive Like A Grifting Thief … !!!!!

Trust Me BELIEVE EVERY Skin' Teet’ …
Does NOT Breed … " Smiles “ … !!!
More Like Mistrials When What’s Profiled …
Allows Cons’ To ROAM WILD …............................................... !!!

But Let Me Change The Style...
of These Words I Now File …

... “ Mistaken Identities “ …
Are MANY And … PLENTY … !!!!!

But Soon Become CLEAR When Things They Hear …
Affect Their Ears To The Point Where THEY FEAR … !!!

... Their OWN VENEER …. !!!!!

Like Those QUICK To CLAIM … !!!

... “ They Don’t Discriminate !!! ”...

Which Is A MISTAKE If Talk About Race …
OFFENDS Their Brains …
To The Point Where They Have To Run Away...

From Colour Lines That They CLAIM To STAND BY …  
But Are QUICK To …............ BRUSH ASIDE..............… ?!?!?

These Days ONLINE And In REAL LIFE …

It’s HARD To Find...
People Inclined To Speak Their Mind … !!!

Who Deal In STRAIGHT TRUTH … !!!
TOO MANY ABUSE The BASIC RULES … !!!!!

If You’re Gonna HOLD BACK It’s CLEAR You Lack … !!!
What It Takes To Be REAL... See There Are NO DEALS … !!!!!

When It Comes To TRUE Expression... !!!!!!

You Must STILL NEED SCHOOL …
If You’ve NOT Been Taught THAT LESSON … !!!!!
of Speaking From YOUR HEART …
From The End Back To The START … !!!!!

It’s CLEAR These Days That ….. “ Women “ …..
Well ACTUALLY They’re … “ GIRLS “… !!!!!
IDENTIFY Their Worlds …
With TRUTHFUL OPEN Ways … !!!

When The Truth Is What They Closet...
Are More Secrets Than Gays … !!!!!
Identities MISTAKEN... Mostly When They Lay … !!!!!

So Fellas Get To Listening …
Cos’ These Words HERE Are STRAIGHT …. !!!!!

A Lot of Girls Be Swimming …
In Lakes Filled With MISTAKEN …
IDENTITIES … “Well Hidden” … !!!
From End Right To BEGINNING … !!!!!

So Fellas.....
DON’T BE … “ Winking “ … !!!
Unless You’re Down To … “ Play “ …
The Game I’ll Name As ……………………..

" Who Is It You THINK You REALLY ARE... ?!? “

Because The Game Is Getting... HARD … !!!!!

NOT THAT WAY... CLEAN Up Your Brain … !!!!!

The Way Girls Behave Just Makes Me LAUGH … !!!!!

So Here’s The Deal … !!!
I’m Seeing NOW That What SURROUNDS …

Does JUST THAT......... NOTHING MORE …. !!!!!!!

What’s At THE CORE of Human Scores …
Is MUCH MUCH MORE Than What’s ON SHOW … !!!!!

DON'T Believe YOU KNOW How People ROLL … !!!!!!
MISTAKEN Roads... IDENTIFY Holes …
In What Resides … Inside SLY Minds …. !!!

They’ll TRY … They’ll TRY … !!!
To Say … “ It ain’t so !!! “ …

They Will DENY Til’ The Cows Say … NO … ?!?

That’s Just … A JOKE... !!!
Before One Last Quote...  

These People Are A PLENTY … !!!
So Keep Your Vibe ROCK STEADY … !!!!!

When Drinking With These … “ Entities “ …
Who CLAIM TO BE … “ Allegedly “... ???

Those Who Live RESPECTFULLY...
Because They Have This … “ Tendency “ …

To Hide Behind Their Own FAKE GUISE … !!?!!

DISCREPANCIES....... And ……….

...... “ Mistaken Identity “......

it's not that i'm gagging for them, but then again i'm suspicious as to why i don't receive them... where are all the malicious comments, the insidious emails, where are they? i'd love to receive a pigs head thrown at my front door, i'd love becoming an adrenaline junk comment feed filled by load of ******* dressed comments... i mean, my email account is quieter than a graveyard, i keep probing the hornets' nest, and all of them seem stoner lazy... i keep probing and probing and probing... and all i get is an ox's **** back.

maybe i'm just a loveable alcoholic,
that has enough time on his hands
to describe what time is,
given that space has been occupied
by a parabola of einstein,
the the several other impossibilities
of the generalised inquest
as to what is, possible, and as to what is,
impossible.
      i'd be the richest men alive had
i seen the rings of saturn, eye to eye,
but i won't: hence the maggoty stench
of reality overshadowing me...
or that cat's meow loosened inside
my head -
        off the rails -
i tell ye,
    don't buy a *maine **** cat,
they're just like bloodhounds -
easily depressed, and often too clingy -
you'll end up like me,
   with a feline pavarotti in your head,
i've never hear so many distinctions
of meow in a thousand lifetimes -
quarus, the bane of my life,
if you can call it life with him included;
easier listening to a hundred dogs bark than
his meow distinctions,
     a million mice and one piece of
buttered cheese: can we please, please,
please make this guillotine work?!
    i don't want mice without broken
necks... this cat's ******* annoying!
it's like a baby, cries for nine months
suddenly stops, and starts to suckle at the teet...
it's a bloodhound incarnate as feline...
i don't have the heart to tell the ******
to stop his moaning meows...
but the ginger isn't exactly
a charlie's angel worth of revelation!
ugh... grrr...
       next thing you know i'm pampering
kenyan toddlers on the sly...
had this one night stand though,
with this african bubbly...
what did i end up with,
a child male ******* his thumb,
coming to sleep on my hairy chest...
stroking his afro while trying to
imagine tight-knit spaghetti....
and it really felt like: are you hers,
or are you mine?
                   did i mentioned she preferred
to fake a ****** with her thighs?
oh, sure are ****,
the senegal boys were buddying up busy
with the games console,
i was a surrogate white boy with
a ****** reclining on my chest
falling asleep...
                kissing him goodnight,
and, words aside - i like the racial slur
glue, apologies, i'm not a ****** in
this respect, i just love to avoid
choco, and i much respect
the dr. dre - ******, please,
its either dr. dre or it's
you try **** a kenyan lass,
and she throws a baby boy at you?!
******, just say it:
i'm an usher fan...
you ever had a one-night-stand
when you get to lullaby a black baby
on your hairy white chest?
thought so.
**** as a six pack of **** nuggets...

and i really was up for a steak &
kidney pie...
  i didn't sign up for this sort of love,
but given there was the question
of love on the roulette -
"homie" had a white father for a night...
i guess that was me
measuring ****...
    and the access of promiscuity -
like **** did that work...
sooner me it, and the elephant
in the room,
    than the bling readied easy ride of ****.

i still can't forget that little ******,
his oily twirly curls of sub-sahara -
the buttery feel of his skin against mine -
how easily he fell asleep in my hands -
how he didn't discriminate me not being
his daddy...
   his mama who faked her thighs don't
being ****, who i said to: no...
you just pulled your children from the bed
onto the floor...
and there the poor ****** stood,
at 2.am., ******* at his ******-dummy -
naked, me naked, her queenship naked
next to me, her naked daughter on
the floor by the bed like a respecting dog...
hey! reality!
  so i took the scruff into my arms...
laid him on my chest...
    and he took off into the cloth of night...

no, ******, no no no!
i'll say these words like you rap them,
you don't own a nuance in a thousand miles
of the "proper" usage -
    i have the abiding jest to say them,
what this one-night stand experience,
plus, the pakis in england demanded i be
deemed: vermin...
  i'm pretty sure they're behind that
vocab selection...
      sure thing ****...
i'll be king vermin...
                   wanna see my chew?
grit nibbling, teeth that scold beyond
the bone -
  teeth that chatter and gnash,
treating a piece of bone like a corncob -
until they start suckling on the marrow:
the moment when
rats turn into leeches,
is the moment when rat teeth gnash
past the bone and reach the marrow:
suckle that ****'s worth
                 of freckled blood-clots:
vermin does, what vermin is said to be.

as i always state:
learn how to read, or at least to: reread...
   hard to spot the tuxedo language,
when everyone on the most inglorious stretch
of pavement is wearing hardly a tux,
but a straitjacket.
       oh sure, the sharks were always asking
for the gentle touch,
    the lions were always asking for the gentle
touch...
     for some reason, man was always
asking for a touch of sanity.

For a thousand miles I walk, I'm sure the lie flies faster.
The destruction of doubt drowned out by the sound of laughter.

For every truth told a lie is hushed elsewhere, balance the scales and prepare for the birth of rumor, for the truth is buried in the pile of gossip talk and acid spit, now it's all up in the air and turns to acid rain that burns the flora of the future.

I've been wrong before and I'll be wrong again, but I'll plant the seed of truth because hushed lies close eyes and obscure the facts from the days of our lives, news gossip force fed down the channel to the front page of media on which we suckle- the teet and milk of ideas to fit our personal narratives.

For every mile the truth walks, the lie flies faster.
In light of the facts the lie cannot hold and it's doomed to fail from its creation, it's the birth of disaster.

I'll speak and hold true the best way I know how, but all these lies and hollow words taste sweet which is why the truth is hard to swallow.