The four fundamental forces:
Zeus, Aphrodite, Ares (or Mars), and Adam and Eve.

                            <<0>>                                          >> 0 <<

             Electric field induced by             Electric field induced by
            a positive electric charge            a negative electric charge

"Deutsch thinks that such 'jumps to universality' must occur not only in the capacity to calculate things, but also in the capacity to understand things, and in the closely related capacity to make things happen. And he thinks that it was precisely such a threshold that was crossed with the invention of the scientific method. There were plenty of things we humans could do, of course, prior to the invention of that method: agriculture, or the domestication of animals, or the design of sundials, or the construction of pyramids. But all of a sudden, with the introduction of that particular method of concocting and evaluating new hypotheses, there was a sense in which we could do anything. The capacities of a community that has mastered that method to survive, to learn, and to remake the world according to its inclinations are (in the long run) literally, mathematically, infinite. And Deutsch is convinced that the tendency of the world to give rise to such communities, more than, say, the force of gravitation, or the second law of thermodynamics, or even the phenomenon of death, is what ultimately gives the world its shape, and what constitutes the genuine essence of nature. 'In all cases,' he writes, 'the class of transformations that could happen spontaneously--in the absence of knowledge--is negligibly small compared with the class that could be effected artificially by intelligent beings who wanted those transformations to happen. So the explanations of almost all physically possible phenomena are about how knowledge would be applied to bring those phenomena about.' And there is a beautiful and almost mystical irony in all this: that it was precisely by means of the Scientific Revolution, it was precisely by means of accepting that we are not the center of the universe, that we became the center of the universe."

Danger comes from the root bad brakes and bald tires. Chain saws
      and wildfires. Poisonous
ideologies, housecleaning chemicals and toiletries. Powerful
      industrialists, alcoholic fathers.
Invasive species, illegal immigrants. Concentration camps, attention
      deficit disorder.
Performance phobia, identity enhancements. Pleasure, applause.
      Quiet moments, walking and
talking war buddies. Electoral politics, marriage and divorce. Pest
      exterminator, Yeats seminar.
Love affair, pencil sharpener. Whatever, matter. Ionic and covalent
      bonds, republican hairstyle.
Events in their mere chronology.

"What is a typical place in the universe like? Let me assume that you are reading this on Earth. In your mind's eye travel straight upwards a few hundred kilometers. Now you are in the slightly more typical environment of space. But you are still being heated and illuminated by the sun, and half your field of view is still taken up by the solids, liquids and **** of the Earth. A typical location has none of those features. So, travel a few trillion kilometers further in the same direction. You are now so far away that the sun looks like other stars. You are at a much colder, darker and emptier place, with no **** in sight. But it is not yet typical: you are still inside the Milky Way galaxy, and most places in the universe are not in any galaxy. Continue until you are clear outside the galaxy--say, a hundred thousand light years from Earth. At this distance you could not glimpse the Earth even if you used the most powerful telescope that humans have yet built. But the Milky Way still fills much of your sky. To get to a typical place in the universe, you have to imagine yourself at least a thousand times as far out as that, deep in intergalactic space. What is it like there? Imagine the whole of space notionally divided into cubes the size of our solar system. If you were observing from a typical one of them, the sky would be pitch black. The nearest star would be so far away that if it were to explode as a supernova, and you were staring directly at it when its light reached you, you would not even see a glimmer. That is how big and dark the universe is. And it is cold: it is at that background temperature of 217 Kelvin, which is cold enough to freeze every known substance except helium. And it is empty: the density of atoms out there is below one per cubic meter. That is a million times sparser than atoms in the space between the stars, and those atoms are themselves sparser than in the best vacuum that human technology has yet achieved. Almost all the atoms in intergalactic space are hydrogen or helium, so there is no chemistry. No life could have evolved there, nor any intelligence. Nothing changes there. Nothing happens. The same is true of the next cube and the next, and if you were to examine a million consecutive cubes in any direction the story would be the same."

The 5 colors of sadness:
disappointed, didn't get what was wanted
confused, don't know what to do next, where to go
lonely, no one to love or be loved by
sorry, unable to help or change what happened
depressed, can't get out of bed, want to **** self

"Unless a society is expecting its own future choices to be better than its present ones, it will strive to make its present policies and institutions as immutable as possible. Therefore Popper's criterion can be met only by societies that expect their knowledge to grow -- and to grow unpredictably. And, further, they are expecting that if it did grow, that would help. This expectation is what I call optimism, and I can state it, in its most general form, thus: The Principle of Optimism -- All evils are caused by insufficient knowledge. Optimism is, in the first instance, a way of explaining failure, not prophesying success. It says that there is no fundamental barrier, no law of nature or supernatural decree, preventing progress. Whenever we try to improve things and fail, it is not because the spiteful (or unfathomably benevolent) gods are thwarting us or punishing us for trying, or because we have reached a limit on the capacity of reason to make improvements, or because it is best that we fail, but always because we did not know enough, in time. But optimism is also a stance towards the future, because nearly all failures, and nearly all successes, are yet to come.

As I think of things to do I do them.
Thing by thing I get things done.
That's how my father and his father did things.
I guess my mother and her mother did things that way too.

Sometimes I'm driving and I think how my father and his father drove
      too.
There was weather and they had problems. There is weather and I
      have problems.
Time exists only in the human mind. But if the mind exists, time exists.
Joy everywhere. Joy at birth. Joy at death. All joy, all times.

From the House Of Ali -Najaf to the House Of Hussain-Kerbala,
Swarms of people walk 80kilometres for threes days- united,
The largest peaceful gathering in the world with free services,
An experience like no other.
Blessed are those who walk,
More blessed are those who serve.
No discrimination,
Regardless of sect, profession or social status,
Rich or poor,
Young or old,
Men or women,
In wheel chairs, crutches or with Zimmer frames,
Prams or hand carts,
All march with respect and dignity,
With one thought in mind,
To pay allegiance to Hussain,
Who sacrificed his head for humanity.
Every eye is moist,
Every heart torn in grief,
Chanting"Labbaik Ya Hussain."
With an iron will to complete the walk.
A nation, war-torn, wounded,
Embraces the whole world in the name of Hussain,
The longest dining table,
Where every zuwar is honoured and treated like royalty,
To pay in currency, none,
Only love and kindness and an urge to serve the zuwars.
Along the roadside are set up Mowakebs (tents),
That provide every kind of facilities and amenities ,
Food,beverages medicines,toiletries,
Fresh clothes if need be, shower rooms and toilets,
A massage of your feet,
Services to charge or repair your phone's,zimmer frames or prams,
Anything for the zuwars,
All in the name of the Ahle bayt,
Mohamed,Ali,Fatema,Hassan and Hussain.
What Hussain and his followers were denied is served with outstretched arms,
The aftermath  of Kerbala was more tragic and callous,
The tears of Binte Zainab that retold the tragedy again and again,
Has born fruits,
The zuwars multiply in numbers
every year,
The rewards greater.

Wouldn't it be crazy wonderful
To see in person some of
The most noted Wordsworth's
And personalities that
Hello Poetry has to offer?
August 15th would be good
Here in Clayhatchee Bamalama
In the south with nothing else to offer but the woods and cornstalks the peanut dust air.
It would be a festival. A face to face to finally meet the poets I admire and describe in my head by their words and their profile.
I'm about to start a gofundme page to make the wildest dreams come true. Imagine Eliot greeting you in person.
Its gonna be tie-dye only and sandals dress. (Weeds illegal here and the price high as hell, so bring your own)
Load up the vw van with all your poet friends.
Entrance fees waved to those
Bringing their own soap and toiletries. Oh, and beer....or ***....whisky....tequila.... Etc.

born of blood
from a thorn
of a beautiful flower

from the love
of the horned
adorned
in power

cowering
in the vicious
maliciousness
of the constituents
in the deliverance
to my ridiculousness

saw
twisted shapes
and contorting faces
heard
blurred words
displaced
in hateful slurs
of aggression

and i cannot count the cases
in my tasteless confessions
in my reluctant concessions
in my brutal perfection
of my obsessions

imposed against my will
you're supposed to feel
what they do
right?

opposed to killing
for the thrill
but it sometimes
just feels right

shanky gone unscrupulous

shivering
his shimmied
blood on the walls

stuttering stanleys
still silly stringing
calling for candy
but missed last call
and fell to the floor

as Bruno butchered the boar
in a deplorable fashion

a crime of passion

we were hungry
rubbing our tummies
for the honey
of bee hives

jive turkeys
turning to bunnys
for good times

but we were alive
while others were not

fraught with darkling majesty
sparkling at the seraded points

disjointed
in Freudian
ointments

self anointed
as god

standing over
some butchered
brod from abroad
wiping the fog
of dislodged
eye sockets
from my grog

how you get
from there to here
isn't really a fair mirror
on my intention

i meant to
suspend her
just enough
to face f--k
and with luck
strangle her

but she prayed to be ripped down
in her own way

my f--king way

stripped her
of dignity
wimpering
in little cute sounds

who am i?
but the guy
who spaced

hit her
too many times in the face
and replaced her
facelessness
with ***** toiletries

disappointingly
underwhelmed

still in search of a fairy
to take the helm
and ferry me
from this film

disparagingly
just spare me
the tragedy and grief
blaring from the TV

as i mock
their expressions
in my lessons
of humanity
before the flock

to shelter
my anxiety or not

gonna be
a real boy one day
and conform
to the
wayward ways

the way
of sheep

sleeping
soundly
in decay

blue fairy
gonna
marry me
one
day

be
real
one
day

one

day

1


d
a
y

I live for
Those moments between a shower and sleep
Where your body aches with comfort
Tingles in numb ecstasy,
With a stomach full of hot tea
And muscles unraveled like toiletries
Backbone faltering slowly
Eyelids weighted without desire
Without wishes, guilt, regrets
I live for these nights
Where I've been satisfied by the day
And all I want is sleep.

I once asked my mother and father
If there was a way to never wake up.
Not that I wanted to die...
I just want to stay asleep.

for the ****** act, there's too much
tailoring and use of toiletries
for it to be as expected: spontaneous
and exciting; too many stereotypes;
it simply said: just wait for my mouth
to be a toilet-fresh minty winter for
the kiss before oral.*

oh, between the drunken me entertained
by the lack of movement among
static things, and promises of soberness
to be rewarded with the rewards of
television and listening to politico talk?
what would i choose... hmm... drunk
by the minute, ******* sanity!
or in comparative issues, anyone branded
a schizophrenic (who doesn't put
a baby into an oven and run out of the
house on the streets naked) is met
with an army, what i like to call "health experts",
every citizen becomes a doctor, enlightened,
ridiculous like a handful of lice -
they all gained a doctorate talking *******,
they're the plumbers for each surgeon required,
know all know how bunches of loosely stated
definitions of idiots (boney m in the background:
poo poo rhapsodic utility made us all tsar's last rasp):
wear a kimono! kimono worn, what now?
dance the polka! danced the polka, what now?
freeze the danube! i hate these people,
they're the laziest theorists, they have better theories
than the theorists who prescribe pills for
de-activation of some sort of behaviour,
and that's only one footprint outside the realm
of easy living: creases, pyjamas, slurred speech
slurps of tomato soup.
psychiatric terms are metaphorical for / in poetry:
as seen by the casual inference of depression
whenever the average citizen says he / she are sad:
psychiatric vocabulary exploits a communicative
simplicity by staging an enforced "eloquence,"
not that it is related to socrates attacking the act
of rhetoric by a question (mark), since
rhetoric doesn't believe in being questioned,
nor does it believe in the existence of the question mark,
to be put on the spot, to be stopped from the bull-charge:
just imagine utilising rhetorical conviction
when the pre-script failed you when interruption
and question was utilised? for rhetoric to fail
it takes a comma (,) to turn into a question mark (?),
deciphered as winded and worth a digression
when the speaker is interrupted (via the full-stop):
socratic rhetoric was based on a flux of question,
at the time when rhetoric was spoken and acted
upon without a single question: socratic rhetoric
was indeed a rhetoric of questioning.

Up the stairs and then right.
Down the hall, 2a, 2b, 2c.
Here it is.
Unlocking the door, finding the light switch, lights on.
Kitchen, living room, bedroom, bathroom.
So here I am.
Backpack on bed.
Check pockets, phone, wallet, change, keys, cigarettes, and lighter.
Lighter works.
Check wallet, I.D., license, gift card, another gift card.
Just in case.
Library card
Never.
Blood donor card, cash.
$43.
$20 in the dresser and $23 back in the wallet.
3 sets of clothes, boxers, black ankle socks, shirts, one long sleeve, shorts and 1 pair of jeans.
Hang up hoody, clothes in the dresser.
Toiletries, deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste on the counter.
Shampoo and soap in the shower.
Razor in the cabinet.
Need food.
Shopping or celebration?
Celebration.
Lights off, out the door, locked, down the hall, stairs, lobby, door.
Outside, check cigarettes.
17.
Smile.

I Accept The Call

Collect call from Salt Lake County jail
If you accept,
Press 7.
Seven is a lucky number.
Not feeling lucky today
He is in jail again
For violation
Of Mental Health Court.
I accept the call.

Jail for mothers of sons
In jail, I imagine being like
Steel wombs, without the mother.

There are no pillows
No pleasant toiletries
No longer do I worry about
How long the refrigerator door
Has been open while he looks for
"Something to eat" in his bag of commissary.

There is no mama's kitchen.
No sofa to pine on.
Your laments only echoing
off cement.
What is your excuse this time
For violating the rules
At your new mothers home
You must know by now
There are no soft goodnight words
Just the stained metal
Slamming closed

May you keep your sanity
While doing your time
And remember the words
Radical acceptance
Practice balancing your
Emotional, rational
and wise mind
Maintain focus and resolve
To never, never, never give up.
I'll take that call now
I accept.

Like the breath of an infant
Blooming new each day
Sweet toiletries
Fresh fragrance
Life unfolds before us

Natural bounties
Fruit bearing
Baring flesh
Sensory experiences
Gifts given, again and again

Never prosaic
Supreme variety
All for me, for you
We must remember
When taking, to give

Fall from grace
That which was never given
Clash with the Titan
Riding the eyes of the storm
Resplendent in ridicule
and washed in wasted rage.

Wrapped in rabid loneliness
Comforted by faithless poison
Purchased from a concrete German shell
Foaming at the mouth of contention
A stooping mottled scar for a face
and crumpled by a decade of abuse.

Such is the light that shines for some
Casting long deep shadows for others
Flickering in a wind licked alleyway
Caked in ***** and discarded toiletries
Shifting vision between dusk and dawn.

The hidden spectres just a heartbeat away
The gloss of a French pastry and the smell
of freshly ground coffee a fingers tip away
Searching for a random act of kindness
or some spare coin to buy the river man a liquid confession so that for a moment,
just a moment, to be human again
soak up the passing laughter and 1st world problems of the cities streets
Ignorant to the roads that lead to nowhere.

The spreading of wings,
to cover the night of day.

The overbearing clouds,
keeping the sunrise at bay.

All things great, and all things good,
are things by all means, probably should.
Lead to happiness, prosperity, and joy within me,
or a simple contentment, a peace that will be.

Yet no matter what strives,
no matter what comes to be.
The characteristic of things,
is that they all cease to be.

Happiness. Sadness.
All good and bad.
Like the time of midnight,
vanishing in seconds.

Burning the fuels, and pushing the lies,
we strive ceaselessly, towards countless lies.
Of messages of a future we think we understand,
A glimmer of hope which we barely comprehend.

Needlessly striving, continually pursuing,
we arrive at the destination,
burning, smoldering.
Our wayward soul,
all the burns that follow,
and we look upon, to truly behold.

What we see are the joys,
temporary pleasantries,
a series of countless,
wastes and toiletries.

When we realize the path that we sowed has been done,
and all that we wish for, coming undone.
We begin to regret,
not knowing back then,
that a path which burns,
will lead to ashes in the end.

Yet it is not too late,
for there's always a chance,
that the truth will shine,
bright as the sun.

It is the moonlit night,
the salient breeze.
Which cools our hearts,
and soothes the feels.

When we release the burdens which have cindered us for so long,
what is left, is to go where we belong.

Peaceful and free, cool and placid,
it is then we can say, "Cooling down is worth it."

the **** came out from Egypt,
like a pyramid...
i'm, literally, not here...
i'm, not here...
            and that's a the end
with many more post-scriptums
coming from the kid of god...
kid, yes, baby goat antonym,
and no point using fingers
in the most weird arithmetic
counting to: that! it..
           or, i! the: obscure ref.
   to what's airy and prone to disperse:
                     a, and subsequently
without, i.e. a-,
           i don't under the point
europeans with european women pampering
to rich arabs, and why egyptians are
involved... there's enough hate
to sell another Holocaust,
    wasn't the last Holocaust so denied
as to not sell it?
  it's selling, right? what with Rachel Weisz...
the holocaust is selling hot, so what's
the argument? the Poles didn't even get to sell
the holocaust, they were partly to blame for it...
   so what's the problem with holocaust denial
if holocaust clap-clap is about endorsing it?!
   oh look here! the title got you,
what's missing? the articles, benefits of a, god...
lamb of god sounds like the right tame,
the worthy cliche...
                         there's always a devil, and the devil...
ha ha... but there's never a god, and the god
is monotheism... lamb of god, kid of devil...
baby goat... d'uh!
                                   teeth!
gnats and the crocodile bite-snap!
                                  well, trans-gender euphoria...
woo! hoo! youth day with the pope gesticulating
******* into it for a ****** cream advert!
woo! hoo! chug! chug! chug!
      wonders... and god does indeed work
in mystifyng ways... last time i checked, he
didn't include the encyclopedia in his genesis...
beginning with day 1...
                  but i'd expect Peckham to be on the list
in terms of gaff...
       shame it's never article bound with god,
but always article bound to say: devil...
it's not you even say a ****** of being godlike
by saying ***...
                    as you apply to devil,
and say: the devil... i really do believe in holy
matrimony... whether sealions have harems
or whether swans prescribe monogamy and the lonely,
wandering, widower...
            sounds about cello or male ******* slapped against
a tennis-racket crap to me...
don't know, were you expecting a narrative
of ping-pong?
                   well, the i is in the huh; that should be clue
enough for you.
        lamb of god is never as restrictive as kid of devil...
somehow g fakes being a consonant unlike the d...
               why does kid of devil ask for the or a preposition?
i'm almost crying... why does it need atheism in between?
                      can't you think of anything more demeaning
than being crucified?! how about being impaled on a pike?!
how about the blood eagel for those who transgressed
      the nordic social code... how about the iron maiden?!
you have to be ******* kidding me to epitomise being
crucified... they didn't crucify the son of god,
no more than they crucified an innocent man...
                    the ******* must have done something
to compenstate being a Jewish woman back then...
i'd establish being impaled on a pike to be more painful
than being crucified...
  and so we behold the least original form of execution
as our heart-rendering feeling toward keeping
a stranglehold of the throng...
        we had much more ingenuity come our way
in terms of how a human body would be mutilated
if allowed capital...
it's such a shame that i am left with this dust...
         but it's still a case of: lamb of god...
       and not kid of devil... atheism always pokes its
ugly head through... no one says: kid of devil...
there's nothing definite or indefinite about it...
           yes, kid, baby goat...
            no one bothers that with kneeling and
repentance...  you clean the language up,
   as it looks, the unearthing of the nag hammadi gospels
mostly read by western psychiatrists is no help to me...
    the transgender movement is a lazy way to say:
i really didn't read a lot of poetry...
because these people didn't!
the land of the pronoun is a wild west of what's
typically english, asexual noun appropriation,
   and general liking toward custard ****:
my my, it really does splash a bit about the place.
                              they decided it was easier to
do the genital chop... than read a poem...
                     i'm stating from year 0...
because there's really no point in asking this
Jew raised in Egypt to take us anywhere else, other than
here... if you can make as much money from
other people's ultimate miseries, as the money
made from the holocaust... good luck to you,
i somehow never see money as translatable goods...
too much a priori static... it's like you're not
expected to, but do so nonetheless...
  a right old need in asking for a bollocking...
          and here is nowhere... and i mean:
    i have no geneticists' bias to preserve the human race,
or that argument that really, really belongs in a museum...
  atheism is so lacking motivational convo,
  i'm almost starting to believe it... ****! i have started to
believe it! look at me! dodo haven bound!
           i'm about to get flustered and ask for
a balding swan to fuss about its feathers when
i ask: which way to the toilet, devoid
of toiletries? it's ok... really.. i have a sun tan;
what? isn't that enough?
       will schindler's list teach me anything,
will it teach me to hold your hand more gently than
my own?
    i have no respect for people making money
in making others respect it...
at least the old tesatment people put on a ******* kippah...
you just keep up with your religious
hollywood ******* of many ****** movies
and i'll make enough of them foundation
for the next pyramid! Belial unto Balaam sooth!
i have enough gravity to drag me beneath the seas,
  and make sure that the earth eats me whole,
enough crematoriums to remind fire it's chore...
   and enough air, worthy a ****,
  and a comic gag to choke on turning words
into fishbone, of that pinewood needle refined kind:
neunzig-acht rot bollons... needle... pop...
     ja, minus ein; papa apache made me do it!
gott... mein goot ęglish achtung!
                 we really did stand & deliver as
                       adam & the ants told us to do...
we obviously didn't spawn any babies...
to keep our body motivated toward a beyond a grave...
no matter... T2 came out... and
no sight of Arnie Schwarzenegger.

an under 30 year old should be partying right now,
gimmicks of chums  and the laid leases on the daisies -
well -  not this one,  he's finishing off a second beer
of his feline promenade  that's english suburbia twirls
rather than a grand archway  of paris -
sitting underneath the sea of black and the moon
marked clearly  hardly scythe or fully chubby -
somewhere half-way between both -
well, the beer was blossom, the cigarette
a morbier cheese - and the traffic,
this traffic night traffic - watching it on
collier row road  by the aquarium store
on the brick up-stand, sometimes the moon,
sometimes the traffic - busy bees and dressed and
attired - ready crowd pleasers - i was there once,
hardly a success story, from pedigree pampering
self-conscious bewilderment, to a near-homeless
mutt ragged with 3 weeks of unwashed hair
prolonged by wetting it -
hardly a stink, but still the grease from the pollution;
and lie the children of dentists are told,
pea sized amount of toothpaste, brush quickly
under 30 seconds... go over it, and as nicotine staining
proved prior to this tactic, indeed teeth became
nicotine stained, now using less toothpaste and
shortening the brushing to under 30 if not under
10 seconds... my teeth have no nicotine stains...
after all, we need dentists and what not, we need
to feed them, we need the middle-men to tell us
it takes 3 minutes and a thumb's length of toothpaste
to get the job done, twice a day...
indeed, my mouth was converted into a toilet -
it's mint in my mouth, it's charcoaled roses on my neck
and cheeks, it's quasi-mint under my armpits
of anti-perspiration unshaken can snow muck,
i'm well oiled like Cleopatra - i have babe powder
on my *** - all the pleasant toiletries you know -
but what i don't have and you won't ever give me
is the smell, the smell like Jack Daniels from the
brothel and the sweet taste of the girls -
see, a pea sized dollop of toothpaste and under 10 second
brushing, and still the nicotine staining doesn't
coat the inner side of your chop chopper chops;
ah but still getting drunk watching saturday night traffic,
everyone's so busy i figured the best job around
was to get a profession in laziness.

A Story of Scientology and the
Mental Health System Connection

THE CAUSEWAY

By the time I got to Tampa Florida I was so weary that I was stumbling off my feet. I hadn't had any proper sleep in 4 days. My bones felt as if they had eaten a cancer. I can't remember sitting and waiting for motor pool to pick me up from the bus station. I must have been sleeping on my bags. Not that there were that many of them. I had very little clothing or toiletries. In fact I believe all that I owned was in one tiny suitcase and a carry-on duffle.

I don't remember the name of the man who picked me up that day. We'll just call him Noah. And the white van that traversed the Courtney Campbell Causeway carrying State Road 60 from Tampa to Clearwater? We'll just call that The Ark. Because we were about to meet a *deluge...

The first part of the trip I was nervous. It was raining and extremely windy. I remember asking Noah if we could wait for the storm to pass. He told me that he was under orders to get me to the Fort Harrison within a certain time frame. He would meet those orders come hell or high water. He didn't actually say that but that is what he meant. And that, my friends, is what we got!

The first part of the causeway appeared to be wide. It had palm trees on either side and some greenery. But at a certain point all it was was some roadway perched upon pylons. The engineers had started construction of the causeway in 1927. It was a total of 52,165' long. And, brother, I was feeling EVERY INCH!!!

The wind was blowing so hard that the rain was almost at a horizontal slant. The waves worse. They were spilling over the roadway and frothing. There was no one on the road of course. Nobody else would have been crazy enough to go out in that storm over that Causeway. But Noah had his orders, by God. And he was going to carry them out. That's how brainwashed and insane some scientologists are. Especially in the Sea Organization. Failure to follow "Command Intention" could be seen as grounds for the RPF. More on that horror later.

Well. I remembered Elsie. How she said the Lord Jesus Christ answered prayer. She'd told me that if you confessed your sins with a pure & contrite heart and asked anything of him, he would grant them. That's just what I did. I recall closing my eyes and talking to a man. I didn't know Him. But I told him I was sorry. And if he'd just get us to our destination safely I promised I'd try to be a better person...

Noah was terrified. I can still see his face locked in a rictus of fear. But now I felt strangely calm. Even when we hydroplaned over the asphalt I wasn't afraid. Finally we arrived at the end of that terrifying strip of water and wind. I don't recall exactly. But I believe Noah stopped the van and wept. For the first time in my life I thanked God. I recognized the event for what it was... A PURE MIRACLE.

*AND I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER IT AS SUCH.

Today, i found myself outside of the
Drugstore.
Even the name has a dark connotation,
Like most things,
If you really think about it.
A store for drugs.
Now yet another thing that is made
For serious purposes
Is romanticized
By todays society.

I wasnt there to buy
Candy
Or makeup
Or toiletries
Like i probably shouldve been.
I was there for one thing,
And one thing only.

I headed into the stationary and
Household tools section,
Hoping to find the tiny bit of relief
Hanging off a shelf,
With my name carved into
The glinting metal,
Not unlike what i would be using it for.

But instead,
All i found were
Paperclips
And thumbtacks
And safety pins.
But i had hoped to escalade from that,
These innocent desk drawer tools.  

I didnt pick them up.
Did i want to?
Yes.
Do i have to?
Im not sure.
But i didnt.
And thats good enough for me.

Today I go to pack my bags for what
I need in the journey ahead of me
A camera and four books (not quite a lot)
And enough songs to last me for a week
Then comes the clothing and the toiletries
Packed compacted to last for a fortnight
Then I'll pack some card based activities
And something soft for my head to rest right
And finally, a pen, pencil, and pad
For my first trip with this site that I have

Do you know what we men love, ladies?

We love the raisins in our apple pie
when we just want apple pie
We love the broccoli in every dish
how you beg 'just give it a try!'

We love the fortune in toiletries
so there's no room for our combs
perfumes, shampoos and body creams
blow dryers, curlers and foams

We love how you sneak to the bathroom
just prior to us awaking
we plea for you to hurry
as our bladders are sorely aching

We love to join you shopping
and discuss the cashier's hair
and if we happen to like it
do we tell you...do we dare?

but most of all we love you
for the biggest, most valuable perk
is the motivation you provide
to get our ***** off to work!

O FORTUNA!
("You Will Become Yourself")

She's three.
A distinct reek of Old Spice!

"And who's been splashing on
my aftershave!"

I growl in my best
Daddy Bear voice.

"Me...me!"
she answers in her best George Washington.

"Mummy's perfume
smells yucky sweet!"

She a good judge of smell
this little girl.

What is...what isn't nice
sides with the Old Spice.

"So. Are we right then?"
I ask.

We go for a walk.
The cat on the leash.

Because.
We haven't got a dog.

And so we head off.
Dad, cat and little girl.

The cat none too pleased
at "What's that meow smell!"

Old Spice
not for cats.

Only for
Dads and daughters.

*

Old Spice is the smell of my Dad...it is forever him.... deeply ingrained in the olfactory memory of many generations...the essence of childhood thus becoming an archetypal perfume that stands for all things that he meant...safety, warmth, and security.
It was what I always gave him as a birthday and Christmas present....saving up all my pennies to be able to do so and foregoing chocolate and sweeties all during the year. My mum on the other hand
was always the equally iconic 4711. I still have both in my bathroom even now...how Proust like!
So it was odd to pass it on to...my daughter.
Her mum said it always reminded her of a Mexican drink called Horchata de arroz which is flavoured with the Aztec Marigold. and made her feel drunk even if she hadn't imbibed.
Darling daughter said it smelt of mummy's potpourri on the coffee table.
Oh and of... Daddy.
Old Spice was founded in New York by William Lightfoot Schultz in 1934. He was a soap and toiletries maker, and his first fragrance was, ironically, a woman’s scent: Early American Old Spice.
It is said that Shultz was inspired by his mother’s rose jar when creating this early version of Old Spice. A rose jar usually held a moist potpourri of rose petals, spices and herbs in a base of salt to preserve them. Those notes can still be detected in Old Spice’s products to this day. This perfume was released in 1938 to great acclaim, and he followed it with some men’s products in time for Christmas sales at the end of the year.
Although the original scent of classic Old Spice has most likely changed with time and reformulation (as a number of fragrances do), it still retains its primary scent profile, and it could be argued that it represents its own classification. Unlike many other men’s scents that fall easily into labels like fougère, leather or musk, Old Spice brought carnation, pimento, nutmeg and cinnamon to the forefront, omitting some of the classic men’s notes of pine, vetiver and lavender. This iconic mixture summoned up images of seafaring explorers and adventure, but the image and reality were often the same: Old Spice found its way wherever American G.I.’s were stationed during and after the war, and this helped to influence its proliferation around the globe.

As James the first of Aragon was supposed to have said in his best Valencian: "Açò és or, xata!" ("That's gold, pretty girl!")

~



If I gathered all my bags
packed them lovingly and with care
folded neatly shirts and pants
taking extra precaution to carry spare undergarments

If I wrapped my toiletries in tissue paper
steam-cleaned the toothbrush
collected equal miniscule amounts of
toothpaste, shampoo, and conditioner
all medications labeled
deodorant in a special container  

If I had all the reservations and plane tickets
pre-paid
my printed confirmations with my wallet and cell phone
bags shipped ahead so nothing could be misplaced

then,



would you take me to


                               funkytown?    /

Pharmacare insurance breakers,
Batteries to light incensed toiletries,
Smell the man next to thou,
That's thine night scented laboratory!

Light flickers to non electrical chords,
Shufflers to peddlers,
The hoarders and robbers art felonious skirds!!!

Long/night lonesomeness for thy journeys a shallow hell!
Two unknowns to a cell,
How compassionate thou are not!!!

Steal what thou has,
Forget what thou has got....
Turmoiled,
Soiled crook!!!!!

Study the firm release junk.

Tired eyed pest,
You seek the streets,
You concludeth the best!!!!

For little is better, yet is better than big in thus shoe in?
No win on win to matcheth catchy amend!!!

Scared yet?

Holiday hussies,
Mix matched fussy!!!
You complain for now....

Thou art broken and poor, hath thy infallibility lost to thine loser next to your own score?

Pathetic patriot who stands next to a country who steals your time,
They trade it,
They display it,
On shores of emegri kind.
What a mongrel of mankind!!!!!

Never say no, to that  lonely and struggling man.  He's reaching out for your help, from your precious hands.
Never say no, to the children, who have no food.  Take time to provide  for them, before they are abused.
'Never say no, to the homeless in cardboard boxes, out in the freezing cold.  Make sure they receive blankets, and toiletries, for their bodies, and their running nose.
Never say no, to the families, walking without shoes.  Perhaps, you can get shoes to them, before they start School.
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing

I got 3 cute CDs - one a folk-country, the two others jazz
Some "different" clothes, with all their razz-a-ma-tazz
a box of diet candy that I thought was just dandy
and a nice Adele CD from one of the nurses here at the hospital
that ring a bell
Trendiness-wise in my subconscious,
a sweat suit from the state American Legion Auxiliary
So I can go out and jog with Hillary,
just kidding,
that would be too titillating
and exhilarating
for me
two books on conservationism that deserve some study
some toiletries,
two magazine subscriptions
for when things get murky,
nothing for muddiness
but then I'm not outside much.

three bags,
two large
one small

two boxes,
of assorted
miscellany

photos of
one and all

two calendars
two clocks
one for the bedside
one for the wall

quilt and favoured pillow
one petite eletric recliner

assorted toiletries,
mostly pretty soaps

decorative pillows
nine in all...

this is what we moved
from place to place
gathering up the fraying
edges of a life unravelling
moving her one rung
closer to the divide

melancholy  thoughts
meloncholy thoughts

these are the small pieces
of a life lived large and hard

tears gathered in linen
as new friends  are lost
uncertain the path before
sadness at the cause

brave hearted she  is
at yet more loss....
brave hearted she is
at what lies before

she suddenly died last night
her clothes are still there
her purse
her toiletries
all her things left upstairs
those the things that make a home
fixed in my memory

she suddenly died last night
nothing reminds me more
our dreams
our experiences
all those unsettled times
maybe she should have left a note
or one more memory

when your arms form
a garland around my waist
I am unpacking the toiletries

first the electric toothbrush
with its accompanying charger
then the half-empty

lurid green bottle of shampoo
aftershave in its glass phial
cheap razor and deodorant

I tell you this feels like
one of those cheesy adverts on TV
and you say yes it’s just like that

so what
and I say so what back
and close our cabinet door