half a cup of
a two toned muse
yeilds a quarter of
a sultry pair of cat eyes
& a tragic obsession
with princess serenity
stirred in with a dash of inconsistencies
and every teenage boys dream
under the heat of a mistress gaze
correcting grammar and errors
mixed in with your matching blacks,
& a quarter dozen
of féline decor
with shoes to complement
toss in a diamond ring
throughly wrapped around
your annulus finger &
indulge it with
strange behavior then
top it off with a silky whip
to accommodate
the quenching fluid of
a ******* *****

Growing up at a young age with ADHD can be a lot of fun. Everything just becomes that much more interesting. The sky seems so vast and every single blade of grass looks just as interesting as the one right next to it. My mind raced with questions every single second. I felt the only way to express it at times was relentlessly running around, as if every step I took gave me a satisfactory answer to each question I thought about; which was ultimately a lot of steps. It would be enough to drive most people into a state of madness. Not me though, I swore to the heavens I’d have every question answered. Because believe me, the seconds would feel like hours for every moment I didn’t know just how much wood a woodchuck could chuck.

Here’s my perspective; Thoughts in general are like the light from the stars that always shine the same brightness throughout the day. They are always there. Existing, even when you can’t see them. At least that’s how it is for normal people, you get the grace of day to nullify the shining of the light from those stars at times when it can be overbearing. You get a break. If I could describe what it’s like to have ADHD, picture your mind never turning off. It is always bright for me, and there is no dawn or day to alleviate my eyes from the galaxy of lights I see. It’s a beautiful disaster. You’re always thinking out loud to yourself about everything around you. When thinking about the concept of having a conscious and subconscious, you don’t even believe in the separation of the two. You think so much because of the energy flowing through your nerves, that there could be no way another part of your brain retains knowledge you don’t already consciously know. There’s so many questions every single second, that there needs to be some sort of way to express it. Mine would come through continuos questions and obviously, a lot of running around.

I guess I didn’t understand much about people back then, though. I was too busy exploring my mind and all the ideas that sprouted within it every second. I never thought it could be a bad thing. My father seemed to think differently at times.

The worst part about having an overactive thought process, is not being able to express it. Those thoughts have to go somewhere; and if they don’t, they build up  in a *** on a back burner until the lid finally blows off and explodes as some type of extreme emotion, from anger to sadness.  

As a kid, I have too many memories of confrontations with my father when I said something he didn’t agree with. Almost as if he thought I was overstepping my bounds as a male in his house by only talking about what was on my mind. If he didn’t like what I said, or if he didn’t agree with it, “I was an idiot.” It didn’t stop there either.

Conversations about things I’ve learned had to be defended with the words, “But dad, my teacher just taught us this today in class!”

“Well then, your teachers an idiot.” he would respond. It seemed like he knew the answer to everything. Even after I went to school and got an education that his tax dollars were paying for, it wasn’t enough to get him to agree quickly with things I said. It seemed everybody was an idiot, and as a kid, I almost thought it was normal to be one at a point. Everybody seemed to be doing it.

But even the innocence of a kid knows when something feels wrong. It didn’t take much of looking at his gritting teeth and clenched jaw to know either. I would watch the muscles in his cheeks and forehead pulsate with blood every time he squeezed his fist in stubbornness; as if his fists were his heart in that moment

I guess what hurt the most about the confrontations, was the awareness that he was not always this kind of man. I’ve seen him in different lights before. Brighter lights, where his happiness rained in a room and brought joy to everyone. Times where you’d never think the same man was consumed by a darkness that made him blind to reason. The pain came with knowing I was fighting to express myself to the same man that would make me laugh till my ribs felt weak. The person who I loved seeing happy, that much more because I saw how the shadows of the clouds he carried with him, darkened his spirit.

His alcoholism and addictions didn’t help aid his perspectives for the better either. Bottle after bottle I would watch get consumed, all the while his fuse grew shorter in those moments as his BAC grew higher. Cigarettes on the daily, pills and ***. Anything to escape the pain he harbored like a shipyard.

I started keeping my thoughts to myself more. At that age, I was innocent enough to believe I was wrong for having an opinion, or speaking my mind. I thought it was wrong to think the way I thought, so I maliciously put those thoughts on a back burner; And that’s when it started.

The silence, or I guess people would say, “the introvert,” found its way into my life. It’s such a tragedy of irony. The person who always thought a mile a minute, and still does, now barely says a word. Keeping himself locked away in his brain because there’s no key that could unlock him from the darkness of judgement. I was told I was an idiot and that I was wrong so many times that I never wanted to be those things again. If I never spoke, I never had to worry about hearing it.

For years I stayed quiet about the things that went on inside my brain, and it literally killed me. I felt like I was being robbed of my imagination, or rather I was robbing other people in this world of my imagination. Simple and plain, my thoughts weren’t being put out there. They continued to boil on my back burner, occasionally exploding every now and then into anger and depression. All of those amazing thoughts I used to have, now felt like fire burning through my veins for every pulse that kept them there to never be released.

I resented my dad, and won’t forget the day I told myself I wouldn't become him. I never would of imagined that that would be the day I put an invisible blind-fold on. Because I had swore to myself I would never act like my dad, my foggy eyes would never catch the times that I did. There was just no way I would or could be like him because he character caused me too much pain.

Conversations with other people started becoming more debate-like, I was always quick to defend my point because I didn’t want to be wrong. I talked more than I listened. If you didn’t know what I was saying, you just didn’t understand where I was coming from. I kept and thought to myself all the time. So much, that when I finally did release what was on my mind, it had to be right because I spent enough time to myself analyzing it. Other people just couldn’t understand that. They couldn’t.

Remember that boiling *** on the back burner; that occasionally explodes? Well, now it was now on the verge of imploding. I was so fixated on never being wrong, it was almost like I was never wrong. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Yeah it did to me too. When I noticed it, that’s when I imploded.

I couldn't believe I became exactly what I told myself I would never become. All of those past thoughts and hatred imploded in my brain and trickled down the inside of my body, burning me. I burned, but not with anger, I burned with depression and more silence. It was a vicious cycle. Speaking, especially to other people, almost became taboo to me. It seemed weird and out of place because it involved more emotions. I was kind of tired of feeling at that point. I had already felt enough through all of the episodes I would have from my explosions. Not to mention, I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I was my dad spitting image when I talked to other people. Depression can really be a vicious cycle, and I remember how much it would recycle itself in my life.

I would spend hours in school, with a million thoughts to say, but never spoke out. I hated myself for it, which would get me depressed. Which would then get me depressed for knowing I was depressed; making me depressed because I was depressed I was depressed. There seemed to be no escape.

I started abusing substance, from alcohol to ****. My abuse, came from the justification that I told myself I was doing it to understand perspective. I wanted to explore the same world of addiction that my dad did. I wanted to come to understand what it’s like to live in a world of dependency and escape. Boy did that backfire on me. I went into it thinking I could just jump right back out of it; that’s not what happened. I was quickly consumed with darkness, escape and depression. Anxiety got the best of me now, because I felt trapped in this world of rumination and hopelessness.

What was depression for me? Its was being stuck in a dark room, separated from the light of happiness by a cruel lock door. A locked door that had a small viewing glass for you to see what lies on the other side of it, within your reach. It was having what seemed like an entire ring of keys to open the door with, yet they’re all the same key. Depression was refusing to stand up, to take advantage of the little bit of light that shined through the viewing glass for me. The little bit of light that would of shown me I was recycling the same key, over and over again. All because I tried to use the dark to see.

I felt that my voice was unheard and I finally got to the point where I didn’t want to live anymore. I used to wish and pray that I’d contract a horrible disease or illness cause I thought it’d be the only way for people to truly hear the words I had to say. It’s a shame that I would even think this. But what even more shameful than that, is how much more words really are cherished after someone has died, or is dying. I had a one track mind for sacrifice, and was hell bent making it happen. I smoked **** by myself; occasionally drank in my lonesome; compulsively ate more than I should; anchored myself to be a sloth in my bed, slaved away to TV and constantly stressed myself over the little things I did. Anything that would speed up the process of my downfall, I did.

I still felt empty though, my collapse wasn’t happening as instantaneous as I hoped, which gave my relentless mind more time to think about it. I did want to live, I didn’t want to have to be this sacrifice to get my point across. “It’s such a cop out," my mind would occasionally blurt out to get my attention. “So what if I’m like my dad? Shouldn’t that be more of a reason to be able to empathize with him when he gets the way he does?"

It wasn’t until the day I got the brilliant idea that maybe I should speak what’s on my mind, that I saw how powerful I could feel. I’ll tell you something though, fighting through the agita you get in the back of your throat is hard. It literally stops you from talking. You know what you want to say, and exactly how you want to express it, but you overthink it and think you’re going to mess up expressing something you know is simple. That agita is the fear in the back of your throat that reminds you of why you feel that way. I didn’t want to result to the back burner again though, so I fought through the pain no matter how bad my chest hurt.

Eventually, I stopped resenting my father. I took it upon myself to sit down and throughly write him a letter, expressing the way I felt about our relationship. About how all I wanted was to see him happy, I was very blunt about how I felt. This is a part of that letter:

"When I think about how long it took me to write this, it’s pretty sad really. And it’s not even because my writing skills we’re slacking, the sad part is what I thought I had to do in order to write this to you. Every day that I would try and write this, I would put alcohol and drugs into my body because I thought it would aid me in my creative writing. But instead, pretty much the opposite happened. I sat staring at a computer screen ruminating about my own troubling thoughts and personal anger. So I sat even longer staring at that screen thinking I needed more substance in my body to awaken the thoughts that I so longed to express. I used and abused until I just got too tired of trying to write and passed out. My point is, I made excuses to take in substances for my own personal benefit because the whole time I was really trying to run away from the problem instead of facing it. When I really sit back and analyze myself as well as you, I see a huge correlation between us. And to be honest, I think it’s a big contributing factor to my depression. Not because me and you are similar, but because we’re similar and you think you’re so different. Do you want in on something I’ve never directly told you? Growing up, I’ve always had persistent urge to make you a happier person. Ever since I noticed how depressed and upset you were, I told myself I would stop at nothing until you saw the good that life has to offer. I didn’t realize how high I set my expectations until they were ripped out from under my feet. My interventions got me nowhere but further into a rut with you, not to mention they were labeled as girlish emotions to have. It’s funny how fast you can go from being helpful to being angry, which is exactly what happened to me. I became so obsessed with trying to make you a happier person that I started becoming angrier that nothing was working. My anger turned into depression and I started smoking **** significantly more to run away from the fact that it seemed like there was nothing I could do to help you out. I started seeing all the negative aspects of life and didn’t want to go out and have fun anymore, so I started compulsively eating and religiously watching TV. Not to mention, I would spend an abnormal amount of time on my computer. I went to the doctor 2 weeks ago, and since the last time I went there which was less than a year ago, I put on 20 pounds. I feel like ****, but I lie to everyone because I don’t want them to see how much I’m suffering on the inside. You know, there was a point a few months ago where I didn’t care if I died or got extremely sick, I actually hoped for it. I looked at my life as a sacrifice for the well being of other people, as well as for my own benefit. If I had gotten really sick or diagnosed with a horrible disease, I knew people would pay more attention to me. I knew that people would listen to my opinion more because it was more “influential” on them because of the fact I was probably going to die. I kind of counted on pity to be an influencing factor on me being influential to others, which is kind of like giving up. It’s kind of strange that you hear that coming from me, huh?"

I took the burden of my father off my shoulders, and I must say we get along a lot better today. He never thought I'd be able to relate to him in the ways that I did in the letter I wrote, and he broke down in tears to me. I never chose to give up on the thoughts that went on in my mind. I still struggle with expressing how I feel at times, but it’s not stopping me from trying to fight past it. I know I can relate to him if I allow him into my life instead of shutting him out indefinitely.

I have this belief that traumatic experiences can be the gateway to self-change. Trauma happens to us all, and it can be the very foundation of a person’s character. It can be what shapes your fears, develops strengths or weaknesses to certain situations and can overall can be a burden-like thought that you carry with for the rest of your life. Trauma’s have their ranges of impact and can even go as far as sending a person over the edge to end their own life. One that has stuck with me my whole life, which most people wouldn’t guess to be, was disguised in silence. People that go through traumatic experiences don’t always have crazy superficial cuts and bruises, a lot of the scars of their traumas remain on the inside, hidden away from plain view.

I don't know if I ever want to have my poems
immortalized in a book, to sit on some shelf untouched
a reminder printed on blank pages; my love, and my pain
organized into pretty poetic arrangements for other's viewing pleasure
for strangers to know me that intimately on a level I barely understand
I can't comprehend--

my love, and my pain, indeed
the love I have is beautiful, and worth sharing with the world
but I dont know if I could immortalize the pain it has caused me to love so throughly
so completely have I given myself over to everything
followed the winding paths through heartache and back;
I would much rather forget them here, forget the past

my brain is a garden in the fall
cold and dry and lifeless
bright prospects, once blossoming are long wilted over now,
throughly stomped by thick-soled boots

and discolor sets in.

filled with the fallen, it has been throughly raked apart, spread across the front lawn and scratched into lumps. they’re run over and jumped on and i just feel twinges in them now

All I ever wanted left me,
So I took it all.
All my lovers betrayed me,
So I ruined thee.
All I've ever known was subjective,
So I really knew nothing.
All my advice was selfish,
So I grinned right throughly.

I'm a wonderful caricature,
of what it means to be human.
Clowned up, and distorted,
that is the vision of me.
But worry not, fair sweet.
I'll be here as you worry and rot.
And I will feed.

I am all six circles of hell,
I am every demon.
I am the lie in the truth,
That glints so eagerly,
In the soft blue eyes of mine,
That can almost... make you feel mine.
Almost, but just out of a trance,
nay nothing ever was, just a circle,
That has never closed, just a cycle that,
has no history, impotent, yet
all consuming, I can't find the truth,
So I'll live in the lies, and they shall be,
The ties that I bind,
myself and others, delicately,
deliciously enjoying the feast,
I provide, alone, in the dark,
talking to those who live,
far far away in here, so that in my hell,
I can reside as king, and feel in control,
or an owner of something.

Yet still I awake,
stilly, I create,
These little poems on my own,
That you'll read on your own.
And you'll think, something but,
It'll be gone abruptly, as if you almost held a star,
but it twinkled unlucky.

on top of the world
the veritable top
staring down at the others
climbing to the top of the stars
and call on nigel
who didn't believe in you
and call him his best pastry
burnt
a crispy blackened burn
not a heavenly, crackly, toasted burn
a burn that seeps to your core and throughly
blackens all other senses
cutting them off
leaving you with only a sense of deepening despair
as you consciously realize that
you've fallen up the stairs to the top
and are falling down
away from the stars
toward the mud

the look in your eyes,
it haunts me at times,
and the time you lied.

oh, that kills me every time,
and how I saw you from then on,
you **** me every time.

your laughter echoes, reverberates.

the sound is hypnotic, dizzying,
the sound kills me every time.

the haunting eyes that shatter my soul,
and stalk my heart when I close my eyes.

the eyes of the only person,
who could hurt me as deep,
who could literally **** me,
inside and out, rip me apart.

you know who you are.
and you know what you caused,
because you’ve done it a million times,
it’s what you do, it’s what you’ve done,
it’s how you break our hearts.

it’s how the pain stays,
and how the light fades,
from our eyes as you say goodbye…
that last final time.

and we never want to see your face again,
because the act of perfidiousness,
stung so deep, and throughly,
we never forget.

we are sagacious, now.
your eyes tought us the lesson.

we will never trust in eyes,
what should be felt with hearts,
and we will be skeptical,
once again, of the truth.

you brought us pain, agony.
now, your eyes are forgotten,
and our eyes are open.

and we are healing.
we are seeing with new eyes,
the world of possibility.

and we are awaiting the chance,
to live life again, as ourselves.

we are ready to let the walls down.
we are ready to survive,
we are ready to love again.

but, we do it cautiously,
because when we hear a line,
we see your eyes in our mind,
and we remember the time you said the same.

we laugh and say no thanks,
because your eyes are in our mind.

goodbye to the tear stained memories.
now they can be archived as
lessons that we learned.

and we can look into the eyes of our true love one day.
and we will see,
that you lead us here.

now.
goodbyes, can be healthy.


xoxo

"I thought you might enjoy this dvd about St. Francis," said Emily Scott, glancing curiously about the living room which looked like it had come out of "Better Homes and Gardens". However did the Detweilers not only manage to keep everything immaculate,but afford such extravagant furniture? Which is why it would prove enlightening to know what she thought of St. Francis.
A week later she called Regina Detweiler on the phone. " Well, how was the dvd? Did you like it?"
    "Oh, it was awesome... my husband and I throughly enjoyed it."
    "You mean... you agree with his philosophies?"
     "Philosophies? Hmmm. Oh, that! Well, he-uh- lived a long time ago."

Missed perception,
missed conception,
missed implication,

fists exist in the womb,
we see the mechanical means to hold

that wind.
Aha, you see, my role depends, hangs
from you,
a drip of sense, per haps the stuff
called gnosisnot…

Aitia, as a word, or a line
Aitia, assumes you see the tia-

Matters not, a disconnected god idea
Tia mat, aitia, shush a by, hush at best
- blow the man down
beastly idea, I owe you, payback
for the lies I told as knowns you knew…

THINGS, substantial things,
things of substance, faith , hope, agape
ape, naked
theories of time and chance and measure-
oh sure,
any line can make a reason, hooks you see,
infer reference to reasons, to fold
as indicated
along the dotted line.
-----------------

Friction is resistance, feel, the urge
to not let go,

at the edge of understanding as standing
under pouring rain, rain we all must use,

we are forms for water, once rain, many times,
to imagine with,
as one think links another, and sense of tow,
pulling
dragging, friction
from fictional characters, abstractions,
ones of one of thoses,
wit-minds they own,
living as aimed,
from most recent reset, empirical
lesson learned life. Per-ifery vision,
pulls the eye to see a certainly meaningless bird.

Pauselah and all, meaning being nothing alone.
-------------------------

Dune, dam the sand, didn't we--
the powers that be pushing cinema,

emotion enhanced shared experience
with strangers, in the dark, attention
focus, extend
to Netflix, and ever after, not the sameness/
- relatively tiny frames of focus,
- re imagine Monument Valley on a tablet.
The show-business intention was artful,
expose the world to panoramic vision,
from Universal Studios, et cetera,

and Radio Knock Outs, every body re-
cognates, co-gnosis, lock, looking
out, from Kansas City, or Kiev
- there is no time like the present
- we developed in, to occupy
- busy as a we/
- this is surreal, so clear and sharp
(rest perspective to default} - that should say
RESET
In the story we lived in, in the Bible,
fully functional for cultural via-ducting
truth, and nothing but the truth, so
line upon line
help me, God. I heard it's said the riches
of the wicked are laid up for the just,
so…
just, child lesson, see so, as a child,
- But Job answered and said,
Oh that my grief were throughly weighed,
and my calamity laid in the balances together!

For now it would be heavier
than the sand of the sea:
therefore my words are swallowed up.

yes, child,
imagine all the sand on all the shores.

As seen on TV, by nearly all the eight billion,
needed to make up our next cosmic byte…

If we get back
to aitia, we can ask for judgement…

come,
let us reason
together, through all cutting off of fluency,

we advance a means, and idly add a concept,
ways, as if we are the ways
and means committee,
co meaning like a way one hand may
wash the other, as
co-operation, brain and extentions,
-ygnowaddameans, aug-mental
tension,
cur- ma'dam cure eeeeeeeeeee
easy ease, re loose the captives,
let the o-pressed go free….

loose the fist locked and cocked, wave…

Think along the lines in times, whenever,
just now,
you watch raindrops wind a way to an edge
& plop, sound magnified
as in a bull-barn, plop… what scale are we?
-present tense
very insignificant… considering ants as

Ant-man, mirror neuronal echoes,
how will those effect my grand children.

RIP Stan Lee, you really tweakt my head.

-- this can't be default, we can't hold the idea…

The fullness of the godhead, ******, right.

That is expansive. Believe me, we survive.

I'm a size 14
European
I don't know what that is
in American
it's not a zero I think..
It's probably a cross between
overly skinny
bordering on chunky
not fit to be seen
in tank top and shorts
but when it's hot, it's hot
I'm not attractive
but cool
but I'm not lean
too many temptations
too many treats
I've never walked a mile
in another's shoes
I've never made it
to the end of the street
because my three children
throughly used me
abused my body
and then abruptly left me
I'm not so undesirous
that their Father turned away
In fact, to him
I'm curvelicious
and I don't even care
if that's a word
or not
I'm a big girl
I'm healthy
I'm loved
by a lot more people
than the anorexic girl
who snarled at me
when she wanted my man
but he was happy to stay
with the body that loved him
night and day

I never knew how it felt,
Until I was home alone,
Once there was disaster,
My parents did allow me again to stay home alone,
But I persuaded them,
To leave me alone,
Now here I am,
Home alone,
And enjoying it,
Throughly,
Before someone come's and ruins it.

A deep attraction . .the one that is followed by seduction..The strong affection, a beam that awakened my soul. My senses silently exploded,  and a deep sensuality reigned . Your **** manly figure, turned my world around. I felt I couldn't be nowhere ...without you 
.....By myself ..
Only you could light me on.. That strong attraction and longed seduction, ignited my soul.  Not getting enough of you , I   seemed to exhaust insatiable love.....then I drove myself  "framed ", and begged you to arrest me.  I was lost seeking your heart , a place you led me to dig deep..and you touched me and  oh.. so hard , pushed me in so right ..that I resided there, as a type of breed that swallowed  your concentration in ... Now. ..
I'm addicted to you.
An insatiable thirst for you blinds my thoughts .
And it is you and only you ..
Your pure heart and sporadic lovely company ...from which I cry for more . Your fun way to be yourself : nice personality and transparency  ..addicts me to yourself.
I get thirsty for you
I give you a strong touch
Grab me towards you
I want to feel your skin
Kiss your lips throughly
All your corners ....
Explore your oceans and hidden corals ..
Followone  your smell , whIle you take me there ......

Every song reminds me of you
A specific soundtrack of each time you've made me smile
The times we just laid and talked about nothing
separate lines of the phone
One side of the bed or the floor
Every song reminds me of you
I've listened to other genres only to find that the feeling still resonates
Wondering the what if of any moment
That sudden impact that strikes when the song breaks down
The need to hold on tighter
Wondering that If at any moment you'd actually pick up the phone and call
Pretending to ignore the melody that makes my head nod
The foot taps that echo hearts delight
The comfort of being at ease
My heart being heard through the speakers
Every song reminds me of you
Every chorus a simple reminder of the times shared between you and I
The melody my heart sings only around you
The addiction of throughly repeated songs
Fighting the urge to press the skip button knowing the next song only does the same thing
Bring back that irreplaceable ache that pains only to be near
The you tube of the minds eye, the Google play of the heart
Resonating each and every memory
Each and every time I fell deeper in love with a song that reminded me of you
Trying to replace that feeling of comfort that jolted soon as the song would start
Now days every song reminds me of you
Old new between
A different sample eclipsing times spent with you
Different artists, different melodies
They all remind me of you

hurt and agony,
this torment i feel inside,
will it diminished?
i can’t bear it anymore,
its consuming me slowly.

in every field,
every latitude -,
of my heart; pounding,
wondering and patiently,
waiting for you to come home.

be extra cautious,
i rifled very throughly,
for information,
that might help me bring you back,
safely and sound from the war.

Consciously curating the thoughts that stream through
offering a space in mind , working the mind
not just a block of damp cheese soaking up the leftover gruel but a fine fine piece of raw chocolate sweetened a tad by maple syrup and dotted with raspberries

that's me allright.
No matter the folly
It's time to rise and shine
Self consciousness really doesn't suit me
I know I got a few bruises but and I'd rather be amused than some kind of fanatic muse to a ***** artist any day
Humor is the hotline to Unconditioned Love Centers .

Snapping and projecting at other people is really lame self-defense because i'm picking fights with these tactics,
exaggerating anthills with this mindset
and digging graves using two left shoes with this clouded vision
from which
ultimately
I'll have to climb out of
because I'm not dead and no one was attacking me in the first place.

Why is it so difficult to be honest with myself when I'm faced with an error in my judgement or an unhealthy way of life is beguiling me to stay on tap?

Ignorance of Inner life, Inner worlds and Inner vision.
Got me trippin at ego's palace , high on self-pity
Drunk and dizzy on sickly sweet aggression.  

It's a scandal that these spaces of inner lands are vastly ignored as children and youth, blindly wondering the world           confused
with a rhythm that is skewed
because I know more about the gossip of the evening news
when really, this is      where the treasure is, this is
where the wisdom rests
this is where the magic lives!
All inside my beating chest, burrowed back beneath my eyes
somewhere where the 5 senses would be throughly surprised
accessed through quiet stillness or ecstatic joy
known to many as chills along the spine or the tingles of goose bump whispers
access to dimensions unfathomed
all waiting
for the space to become

realized , actualized and known.

I've realized, i'm a seasoned traveller through these Inner pathways and I've been holding myself back for fear I'm not beautiful enough
but
You know, if I hang around and wait for all you lot to catch up or for myself to suddenly be "like everyone else"
I'll never make it back with the goods in time
because
there is something more fun than enjoying depression
it's called not enjoying depression!

Stuck between joy and rage…

What's more of there to say?

Free fall with that sputtering sound

return to the place so thickly bound.

Where weapons of words strictly slice

a frigid sort to roll the dice.

Clashing, clashing always clashing

an argument still throughly thrashing.

It's a consort to delirium

silly little thoughts that hum…

Ashes bleeding from the inner chambers of her heart
shocked by his actions laughing at her marriage

arranged by his mother was a plan fora grandchild
Cadmus did not want any child even of his own.
He thought each one of them were a bunch of noisy
pests.
His heart was in fleeing this marriage he been trapped
in by his mother.
Cadmus had to stay married for a year then divorce his wife.
He planned on doing that very thing.

A marriage contract was in place warning if he wanted out after
the first year of marriage.

He would be left with nothing and no place to live.
His mother had done this when he was but a child in Baharian.

His uncle also made sure it was completely legal for his mother to
receive her dowry at her marriage to cadmus father.

A year went by Hans went up stairs to start packing his things.
His mother handed him the contract which he throughly read.
His face was furious to be put in that kind of trap.

He sat down to plan how he could continue to live this way and have money too.
I will go to work for my uncle and learn the publishing business.
Cadmus went through the steps of the business and became very good at it.


Five years later he made his own fortune and then divorced his wife.
She was better off with out him. He liked the blonde haired blue eyed woman
. He did meet one but he out and out lied to her of his love for her. All he wanted from her was trash stories. One morning she was looking at all the emails over the years from him.

Blue eyes was done with him. He was never coming to be with her in
any life time.
She totally deleted him from out of her life.
Two years later she was waiting for a cab to go to the airport.

Blue eyes had written and published her first book.
When she got on the plane there he looked twenty years older. Blue eyes just walked right past him with no notice,
When the plane landed in New York blue eyes got her things walked past him again into the airport.She bent to pick up her luggage and thats when he saw her for the first time  in person. Cadmus this time
was the one left being alone. Blue eyes looked up just in time to see her husband and daughter while giving them each a hug full of love.

it doesn’t feel right
to write about you
i am sorry
i love you
a little
(i left my heart under your doormat)
(please don’t ever check)
i am sorry
for all of this
even though you probably didn’t know
(you might have)
i hope you never read any of this
i can’t get you out of my head
and you’ve throughly clogged my arteries
i am so sorry
i’ll be okay
i hope you are
i hope we both are okay
in the end
in the middle
in the now.

Be careful little mouse
you are dancing with fire.
I have you under my magnifying glass
I decide weather you burn,
so I’d hold my tongue if I were you
your tricks have a way of making me tick
trick
trick
tock  
though there will be no warning
when your your life catches a flame
I will watch you squeal and squirm
with a grin upon my face.
so please think throughly about your words
and put them up and zip them away
if you’d rather not pay the price for your words upon this day.

Thursday

week has slo~mo’ed, edged on, visitors gone,
two and half rain days, but a mere coincidence (?),
it’s appearance, their concomitant dis-appearance,
inclemency has kept us closeted and cozily, but not a-lonely,
for the world’s tumult~tilting-plane distracting enough,
its axis! seems more than a few degrees a-kilter,
(lively, lovely word, rarely used), and since when have I awoken with
mine eyes have seen the dripping rhymes, for my germanic-jewish
is pretty prosaic, my musings confined to a middle-of -the-night “thingie,” but here and hear I am jingling away in anticipation of a rain-all-day situation, and frankly, a tad less political west wing,
King Lear worthy drama, polarizing, thee-ate-her, might incentivize an exciting trip to the emerald isle’s solitary gas station and IGA supermarket (weekend supplies for the newest arriving morrow-guest-mongers,) for sure-as-right-as-rain-it-will-be-ceasing,
they will be soon enough be landing by F-Day (3) ferry, on the morrow, with their own Shakespearean screenplay, and many compliments on the verdancy (a previous never employed actor’s verbosity) of our tree encased, oak surrounded, tiny cottage hideaway, where we are all the world’s a stage, and we, the designated locked down, can be all ~ heavenly host, wait staff, sommeliers, and most importantly, their captive audience members…for their small life’s litle newest pieces, require us to be fully updated…

enough folderol! first glance reveals wet everything, windows moisture painted; and a halfway penetrable fog  means incautious
summer drivers will be out mise en vigueur, french for ‘in force’, testing their luck upon our ****, curvaceous, ample bosomed hilllock roads, (stop),  excited by their chance to prove their stupid mettle…and their auto’s european superior brakes & suspension…

so the six am borderline of unofficial time division has passed and it is still Thursday, still wet, fog-ever-so-light touch lifting, and the challenges of writing a good piece of poem, yet sizzling in the mind’s frying pan, is still a long haul walk down the creaky corridor to the
just-kitchen ing ya, and the bed’s seductive dulcets.
singing why not “Stay (just a little bit longer”) (1)…

thus throughly convinced, bury dreams of Javanese Enlightenment within the seducing drowsed plumpness of my pillow
unti they arrive in force, but that is a different story already written…(2)

<>

Stay… ah, just a little bit longer
(Please) please, please, please, please
Tell me that you're going to
… Now your daddy don't mind
And your mommy don't mind
If we have another dance, yeah
Just one more, one more time
… Oh, won't you stay, just a little bit longer
Please let me hear
You say that you will, say you will
… Won't you place your sweet lips to mine
Won't you say you love me all the time
… oh, yeah, just a little bit longer
(Please) please, please, please, please
Tell me you're going to
… Come on, come on, come on (stay), yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Come on, come on, come on (stay), yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Come on, come on, come on (stay), ooh, la-de-da
Come on, come on, come on (stay), my, my, my, my

1/16/2016

The days drag themselves
succinct, akimbo-
spitting out the day in spurts and
steadily vomiting the night.

I am never afraid of death in the winter.

And so when I sit in bed
and out of the corner of my eye I see
it- death has always been a sort of

white rabbit, I once felt I was one
crushed in a young girls' hands,
having to carry that burden for the rest of her life

I don't want to say that
I missed innocence, in fact,
I want the pleasure of losing it again (Fitzgerald)

I read so much Fitzgerald that year
perhaps because I felt my life was
on some sort of side of Paradise.

Was clumsily and unbearably in love,
Princeton summers,
Was quite unloved
New York autumns,
Was throughly confused
New York winters.

The men come at us,
fling themselves like a screeching
jungle animal of a kind

But we don't care,
we sit in the park fermenting
like we usually do

but still the men laugh
still they come at us
while our skin sloughs off our faces
and we tell them "I'm dying, don't come any closer"

I felt like my face being ripped off once
but I didn't try to do anything about it
of course.

In an open end expression,
I wanted to do something like try to make you smile.
Things seldom seen as perfectly as they appear in person.
No matter how hard I think about it, it doesn't exactly make for what I see In your presence.
Somehow it just calms me.
That eternal peace that comes out of nowhere.
That inescapable feeling of being a different man. That unavoidable truth Found in the sound of silence.
This is the effect you have on me.
Somewhere deep down I touch bases with a me that I haven't seen in such a long time.
I guess the cool part about it is that it never takes much.
Nothing out of the ordinary, just one of those lazy days off work
no odd shaped supervisor barking orders.
You know, none of that aggravating **** we face on a daily bases.
Just a unexplainable peace.
Finding it's way into light, A light that only you can provide.
A light that appears soon as you smile.
Lips unraveling the bud of a pearly smile.
A stem wrapped in clothes, roots tied in rubber soles.
That's you, That one flower whom refused to stay in the same spot.
That rebellious bunch that kept too much to herself that followed the sun wherever it went.
Most flowers hideaway when the weather breaks, taking a deep snooze until the cold goes away.
On the other hand you are not like most flowers. You put on a coat and found a place with a heater.
Whose to say that you were wrong.
Whose to say that if you didn't adapt that you still wouldn't ask a million and one questions.
It's those quirks alone that make you easily lovable.
Still kind of irritating though, not all of the time just sometimes.
It still kind of makes me want to lock you in a closet, still kind of just makes me look at you and somewhat growl.
Eh, I know that sounds kind of ****** up but admittedly I enjoy every bit of it.
Although I still kind of  want to call God and apologize for whatever it was I did just take you away.
That sounded mean, but I'll do you one better.
It still kind of makes me miss you when you don't do any of those things.
At some point I don't know what made you take your shoes off and root yourself beside me.
But I'm glad you did.
Life would be so boring if I didn't have someone to shoot the **** with.
Even if half the time I kind of, sort of, always threaten to **** you.
Never in a serious way. Always in a silly off the wall sort of way. Noone would see it coming.
Nah but in all seriousness,
I know that your just expressing how you feel, Although I joke about you being clingy .
In the moments that I don't want to shake you, I enjoy it throughly

Thorough, and thoroughly,

Nearly through, throughly true. If ifity fit ifity fit, pfft. Pfft,

Ifity fit not, no fit no fit, wait, sh-it fits, in time, today

-thoughtless of me, wordless, wait ‘but through...’ word. text

-we need e- lectric, mind, appawareness usually clicks time

Was a word as all words are, mere after thought, mere means to points with no lines in reason

We must record this moment, we the scribes and proper scholars, art’s great sifters, shifting screens and lenses,

Lo' looking loci-precise, sharp, pattern
- memory verses versus Youtube.

From a long forgotten dance.

In time we have no long ago, after ever – does what ever does – you know,

Just, justice, just makes no real

Sense one may take as common, as where all is fair, yes, es-sense, knowing more than mere names of things seen. Sounds, reasonable, eh.

If you bring a reason, to the table, why... would you expect to win a reasoning contest?

Writer chose heads. You give a reason, we test it on history, and lead your learning based on attention paid patterns over time. Ai is on our side. Life is openbook.

Do you think? Why can you read these letters literally only forms of sounds words would make, if you

Stop, Look, Listen, train town brain, mindfullness, oh yes, fashionable, aware being as a ware,  
YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE

Selah.  

Page Break


After a full life, per each idle word in books that burned, lifes works that burned in time,

All the songs copied for the choir, all the poor scriveners treasures, burned, as by

Midnight oil, from the brain pan of a great blue whale... back when

Capitalization, o, a ver-ified manmental tool to frame course corrections...

means (n.)

"course of action,"  
late 14c.,  
from mean (n.); sense of "wealth, resources at one's disposal for accomplishing some object" is recorded  
by c. 1600. Compare French moyens, German Mittel. Phrase by no means is attested from late 15c. Man of means is from 1620s. Means-test  
"official inquiry into the private resources of an applicant for public funds" is from 1930.

1 aha footnotes have been invented for poets...

Ok. You set the style, I wish this to be easily read, on any powered page displaying device. {yeah, who owns the air? This is published for peer review, ears hear, ah, then attend} Was it good for you?

-some times

Some times iusta dissipate

And that we find amusing, amaze

Zoom, doom, doom, freeways,

Free mean path. Why factored.

The advantage of being old by any standards common in history. Our species lives about this long, in the realm of measured things.

--- In the cultural patterns, vibes, radio active ifery evers

Candide, the referee and me.
Information, where we reign, really

Leibnizian reasons for evil.

Truth, as life’s mean free path.

-Voltaire, definitely, might agree with Heisenberg.

If it were ever said.

Evil is the best worst outcome,

Chaos is not evil, chance is best

Judge, we need to seem fair.

The wall in Shiloam, answering the reasoning of Voltaire, on the air,

Imagine that. Footnotes. Or xv

Ctrl x, then v, besure

I say exactly the same thing

… to dissolve the political bands which have connected them {the we} with another, and  
to assume  
among the powers  
of the earth, the separate and equal station  
to which the Laws  
of Nature and  
of Nature's God entitle them,  
{when all that occurs,  

in the course  

of human events,  

we are yet in, it seems,  

time being as it is,  

SYFT- fit slipt} {Balaam’s *** has the curley braces- note that} {} for vocalization...

-Yes, when in this course, of course... what were we agreeing... as this we,

- go on... say why


a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation. {same we}

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, -

Ok, that gets us 1000.

Here, just west of the Pacific Crest, we all are in constant contact, in touch state, stated

Wait. 5G is, livewitit.

Nonsense, this is not the rescue mission statement.  

We are here for fun. Peace is fun. Makesum.

What we do, we, soldiers of the ancient orders, duty bound and regimentally religamental, do & die with honor to the code. We,  
the people who know how to believe all men are created equal to the task,  wombed or un, we die knowing
failure is no option, there is no longer any other ever this is before.

---- did that occur in your ever?

@ today, 2022 tehkne- of course, freedom at the quantum level must be means-tested, mmmhmmm tested, measured for sensitivity to we, being the judges... we who chose freedom, down low, deep pro-fundus-mundus lizard brain, mitochondrial link, yeh,

Phoneme, yah, who, yes, at best is spirit one may deem worth something, a breath, may being
may, as a word described, an action, being... here, mere is

As God is said to be described by Jesus, in the good news,

Made plain enough, to build a whole plethora of reasons for war.

War with reason, by faith, or by the code, that which must be true?

Drama, the idea, information acted out, without words,

Mimes in boxes, you know, you can admire the best performances, and thus imagine a purpose, break dance contests in the joint.

Yeah, and poetry slams, no curses, no spells

When I grow up... I’ coulda been a contender, any contest,

If it ever came down to life and soul, I never bet my soul, I bet yours, and I live,

So see if sense is all mortals imagine, or not... spirit- ual ‘n’al.

babies are birthed from the darkest.
the LOVE of creation, from the darkest.
the light of life from the dark.
without the current in the fluid
the brain would not spark.
in order to stop you
had to start
and so I propose being
neutral.

these days we could use some
neutrality. some of that prior unity
recognition. the initial condition.
the balanced act.
the grey only looks that way
with the blue sky shining
when the sun comes around.
contrast creates definitions.
provides a canvas for the reflection...

communal disconnections,
normalcy in alone. here,
we are meant to moan and groan
and throughly love the lust,
the bones of this life.
with the I sight the commune
becomes hindsight, the WE
shrinks down to one, alone,
wondering,

competition to get to a conclusion
just an end of some
pass-time action. choose one or
the other.
each holding its truths,
the necessary rules.

so I try to be a neutral being
standing right on the middle of
both.
I was raised on the coast,
the waves only rising and falling,
crashing, laughing
at the nights fate. each rise
rolling down into the valley, the pit.
giving time its due. then,
surface to the moon and prepare the ride
again.

the neutral being, press upon
the sides
there is only One.
allow the insight to ignite from within,
embrace the ease of reality,
regardless of perception.
be quenched, release.
ALL is One.

an ode to my stars,
I am One, learning to balance.
I thank God I witness.

Black as coal
        Darker than a moonless night sans stars
           As blind to sight as a blizzard to a      
                                               snowflake



   is this mystery


drawn
compelled
inexplicable
      Yet with sooooooooooooooo many black       holes one has to wonder


How ever does this universe exist?


Einstein would have thot it child's play

      "Simple you bafoons,
                  One creates the chaotic world they exist in
                                     and
the other is throughly  entrenched in the theory of a chaotic universe —

so no matter the
                                                head banging


there is a  river running thru
and   rivers   of  l  o  v  e  

are rare

                






And when found
                                           run
                                                       d
                                   E
           E
               p
p
  e
    r

than imagining.



                Flowing strong
                           from time immemorial till time ceases to exist.






            But  rivers

                   Be they crashing as white water over hidden boulders
                    or pooled
                   black as night
                                   masquerading as swimming holes


never,never,never run clear and bubbling
                                                    Like brooks strayed from streams.


rivers  are     a. L. I.                V.   E
           In constant f, l, u,x
          

Always flowing

Ever moving.

So why are you surprised to witness this miracle?  E=MC2  "



                [Silly,  expecting constancy when change is the only constant to be true]

The
On the stone wall
There stands
An empty bottle of
Lemonade
It was throughly
Enjoyed
By the person
Who left it there.

Torn and unsure, should i follow my instincts blindly or think this throughly, should i keep to myself and stand alone, rely on only myself, or open up, what is right and wrong, should they even be distinguished? Or should life be simply that just life, pure life, just simply living without any expectations or categories? What is there to do? Keep to your self  and do nothing? Or to do everything.

I wrote a letter with an tremendous amount of emotion
Going back constituting the top of I's with little tiny hearts
Throughly proof reading the lighthearted gesture
Don't take to serious the tone I used
Consider it
A philosophy of the heart
It's intense ego
To get this point across
Though outrageously verbal
Choosing to live for now, contrasting to the future of reply
Tucked in an envelope
Optimistic in it's view of being open
A chronicle of sorts, envelope following envelope
An incarnation of my heart being sent in letter form
Count each word as a single throb of thought
practical words coming from a mouth that cannot speak
Only moral that I would send it's words in practical selfishness
This need wrote in ink
A sort of food that longs for the companionship of purpose
A need to speak and be heard
A need of touch, to feel this effort that somethings happening
An extension to the abstract heart that throbs in latitude
the height of it's dreams
So forth sealed in darkness
Awaiting the conference of your eye

i'm different
they say
unknown, foreign, alienated, that's how i feel to them

those people, them, they, all of those whos eyes judge throughly without remorse,
i search for another,
                                   just
                                          like
                                                  me