Mario hits it with the sounds
of bodies hitting plexiglass.

My horses hit it without a sound. They want to escape it.
And I am trying to drive this dune buggy
off this cliff, but the clipping is strong here.

In Pac-Man, the tunnels were circular. I don’t know
if people realized that they were trapped in a sphere.

In Asteroids when you get to the edge of the universe,
you begin again.

And that Snake. His body could stretch all over his world
looping, but he could never eat his tail.


If all your electrons were in the right place, and all the wall’s
electrons were in the right place. You could feasibly walk through
the wall.

What would you do while in the wall? Think. Fear.
The superposition could rip your body into ragdoll parts.


When I turned clipping off, I expected the freedom to walk through
the wall and suddenly the floor
fell out from under me.

Every time I respawn I feel like my inventory is heavier,
and my flamethrower burns colder.

There once was a hero who was mute,
A musical hero, to boot!
His fingers did not strum
A guitar or tap a drum;
He saved the kingdom with a flute!

-------------------------------------------------

A soldier clouded by strife,
To have love lost like a life.
Finds beauty in flowers,
Destroys evil powers,
While wielding an oversized knife!

-------------------------------------------------

An army of soldiers well-trained,
Though, in action they seem dead-brained;
Hit with his own bomb,
That one knows your mom,
It’s a battlefield of the deranged.

-SLuR

there are so many places to hide,

in my home at 17th and South screaming death threats at my roommates laughing diabolically playing  videogames and Jeopardy cooking quinoa stretching canvas the dog going mad frothing lunging  spastic to get the monkeys or the wookies or whatever random commandments we issue forth  drunken while Schlock rampages the backdrop,

at my uncle's row house on 22nd and Wallace with my shoes off freezing skipping class to watch March  Madness unwrapping waxpaper hoagies grimacing with each sip of Cherrywine or creamsicle  soda reading chapters at my leisure,

in the stacks among fiberglass and eternal florescent lima-tiled and echo-prone red-eyed and white-faced  caked with asbestos and headphones exhuming ossified pages from layers of cosmic dust  presiding benevolent,

in University City disguised in nothing but a name infiltrating Penn club soccer getting caught after  scoring yet still invited to the pure ***** joy of hell and heaven house parties of ice luge jungle  juice kegstand coke politic networking,

at Drexel's nightlit astroturf with the Jamaicans rolling blunts on the sidelines playing soccer floating in  slo-mo through billows of purple till the early morning or basketball at Penn against goggle- eyed professors in kneepads and copious sweat,

in the shadow tunnels behind Franklin Field always late night loner overlooking rust belt rails abandoned  to an absent tempo till tomorrow never looking behind me in the fear that someone is there,

at Phillies Stadium on glorious summer Tuesdays for dollar dog night laden with algebra geometry and  physics purposely forgetting to apply ballistics to the majestic arc of a home run or in the frozen  subway steam selling F.U. T.O. t-shirts to Eagles fans gnashing when the Cowboys come to town,

at 17th and Sansom in the morning bounding from Little Pete's scrambled eggs toast and black coffee  studying in the Spring thinking All is Full of Love in my ears leaving fog pollen footprints on the  smoking cement blooming,

at the Shambhala Center with dharma lotus dripping from heels soaking rosewater insides thrumming to the  groan of meditation,

at the Art Museum Greco-fleshed and ponderous counting tourists running the Rocky steps staring into shoji screen tatame teahouses,

at the Lebanese place plunked boldly in Reading Terminal Market buying hummus bumping past the Polish  and Irish on my way to the Amish with their wheelwagons packed with pretzels and honey and  chocolate and tea,

at the motheaten thrift store on North Broad buried under sad accumulations of ramshackle clothing  clowning ridiculous in the dim squinting at coathangers through magnifying glasses and mudflat  leather hoping to salvage something insane,

in the brown catacombed warrens of gutted Subterranea trying unsuccessfully to ignore bearded medicine

men adorned with shaman shell necklaces hawking incense bootlegs and broken Zippos halting conversation to listen pensive to the displacement of air after each train hurtles by,

at 30th Street Station cathedral sitting dwarfed by columns Herculean in their ascent and golden light  thunderclap whirligig wings on high circling the luminous waiting sprawled nascent on stringwood pews,

at the Masonic Temple next to City Hall, pretending to be a tourist all the while hoping scouring for clues in the cryptic grand architect apocrypha to expose global conspiracies,

at the Trocadero Electric Factory TLA Khyber Unitarian Church dungeon breaking my neck to basso  perfecto glitch kick drums with a giant's foot stampeding breakbeat holographic mind-boggled  hole-in-the-skull intonations,

at the Medusa Lounge Tritone Bob and Barbara's Silk City et cetera with a pitcher a pounder of Pabst and a  shot of Jim Beam glowing in the dark at the foosball table disco ball bopstepping to hip hop and  jazz and accordions and piano and vinyl,

in gray Fishtown at Gino's recording rap holding pizza debates on the ethics of sampling anything by  David Axelrod rattling tambourines and smiles at the Russian shopgirl downstairs still chained to  soul record crackles of antiquity spiraling from windows above,

at Sam Doom's on 12th and Spring Garden crafting friendship in greenhouse egg crate foam closets  breaking to scrutinize cinema and celebrate Thanksgiving blessed by holy chef Kronick,

in the company of Emily all over or in Kohn's Antiques salvaging for consanguinity and quirky heirlooms  discussing mortality and cancer and celestial funk chord blues as a cosmological constant and  communism and Cuba over mango brown rice plantains baking oatmeal chocolate chip cookies,

in a Coca Cola truck riding shotgun hot as hell hungover below the raging Kensington El at 6 AM nodding soft to the teamsters' curses the snagglesouled destitute crawling forth poisoned from sheet-metal shanty cardboard box projects this is not desolate,

at the impound lot yet again accusing tow trucks of false pretext paying up sheepish swearing I'll have my  revenge,

in the afterhour streets practicing trashcan kung fu and cinder block shotput shouting sauvage operatic at  tattooed bike messenger tribesmen pitstopped at the food trucks,

in the embrace of those I don't love the names sometimes rush at me drowned and I pray to myself for  asylum,

in the ciphers I host always at least 8 emcee lyric clerics summoning elemental until every pore ruptures  and their eyes erupt furious forever the profound voice of dreadlocked Will still haunting stray  bullet shuffles six years later,

in the caldera of Center City with everyone craning our skulls skyward past the stepped skyscrapers  beaming ear-to-ear welcoming acid sun rain melting maddeningly to reconstitute as concrete  rubber steel glass glowing nymphs,

in Philadelphia where every angle is accounted for and every megawatt careers into every throbbing wall where  Art is a mirror universe for every event ever volleyed through the neurons of History,

in Philadelphia of so many places to hide I am altogether as a funnel cloud frenetic roiling imbuing every corner sanctum sanctorum with jackhammer electromagnetism quivering current realizing stupefied I have failed so utterly wonderful human for in seeking to hide I have found

in Philadelphia

Friendships are easy to lose when you play competitive videogames, rage quits and pride on the line, and yeah that's when things get insane. Smash bros, tekken, street fighter, king of fighters and mortal kombat, the greatest fighting games to ever come out of game designers hats. Its magic man, its addictive like gambling, who is the best gamer and who is a noob that everyone be trampling. Gg bro, even though we don't mean it though, your not as good as us, compared to us you are nothing but a ***. Powning and owning all you suckers, PC or console gaming, either way you are bound to find some trolling little *******. Gamer life, and one aspect of the nerd life, but there is more to our expansive life. There are the: know it all’s who can reference anything and corrects everything everyone says, and if you can't keep up, you can have a nice day. Star trek and star wars, collecting action figures that are definitely not dolls, roll them dice boy to see if our clan survives going down the falls. Dungeons and dragons, role-playing in a fantastic fantasyland, joining clubs like board games, videogames, writing, reading or band. Make fun of us now, but in the future we could be your bosses, so think about the next time you say that were wasting time trying to beat a dark souls boss. Cosplaying and reading comic books, this is the nerd life man, relaxing in our snuggies and croc's. Don't judge us without getting to know us, who knows you might want to get on the nerd bus. On a mission like Frodo or harry, going faster than the speed force just call us Barry. Feeling lucky punk, riding over you like a monster truck. Nintendo, Sony, Microsoft, steam, Sega, and PC, may just be me but I love it all, I'm not picky I appreciate things as they are like Marvel and DC.  Go go gadget, hate getting stuck traffic, I'm not the killer, I'm as innocent as Rodger rabbit. Please Ed, edd, and eddy, don't need to cause a scene because that would be pretty petty. What's the sitch wade, better beat those bad guys that choose to miss behave even if it effects my school grade. Kids that watch Cartoon Network nowadays will never how awesome it used to be, shows like samurai jack, power puff girls, Johnny bravo or Dexter’s laboratory. Duck hunting, ****** tunes and chill binge on anime and the only slam-dunk we do is Denny's pancakes sorry Shaquille O’Neal. Pocket protecting fiends; not to good at puberty, man we spending it all watching reality kings. New beginnings, love seeing what’s new at e3 each year, except for waiting for that game to arrive, counting the days till it finally appears. This the Nerd life, I may have never got the attention of girls when I was young but who knows I may just find myself a nerd wife. I can't wait to show my kids all that I know, the circle of life man, now I have a new perspective on watching this kid of mine grow. Future hopes, future class blasting off into possibilities, nerd life man better build up my durability.

they emerge from the wooded neighborhood ridge and fringe at dusk
into breadth of lawn
& limb.
witchy chicks
casting banter n bitchcraft.
teenage dead end dreamers tipped in black magick lip gloss
& glitter, their
genderfluid familiars &/or wayward boyfriends apparate
in the street pink cloud spinning wheel,
& hawking bile.
****** stella smile.
swallow a hex, send a snap, tongue along his neck
promising to fold bodies before sunrise.
the effervescent gasp
of post-ritual clarity.

in the house,
is a kid.
a gig.
the devil with a younger grip.
& the kid thrills on a bit of the ol’
         u l t r a v i o l e n c e.
****** videogames, ****** anime, ****** mayhem n melodic music.
he is a conduit of dark energy.
a pure blooded offering of the stone age/video age,
mind in a kind of kaleidoscopic way.
he is me.
bred on televised bucket slime ceremonials.

she checks her purse.
drugs & snacks & juul & a pretty dead bird.
a daughter of delphi watching your kid.
tending to him.
trending him.
popcorn smelling him, the texas chainsaw massacre on vhs just before bed.
palace of teeth n twigs.
just a short walk to the edge and then its bath time.

             the demon version is grisly and cruel.
             the angel version is starry-eyed and adventurous.

to conjure some
  thing,
at the cliff jumping.
it was fun.

drinking all night,
watching a soulless reptile
talk about his company
and trying to sell a sea of nerds
overpriced videogames
drinking all night on some ***** LA heat

Everyday is the same,
Sitting here all alone,
While you play your ******* videogames.
I'm on my phone,
Each day while I wait,
Is anything ever gonna change?

We may not have much money,
but attention & communication doesn't cost a thing baby,
I only ask for your time, but I guess watching all those zombies dying from your shots is alot more entertaining.

I pray for you night and day.
Sometimes, as I do the dishes, or play videogames.
You look so gentle, you sleeping phoenix.
I know you're capable, but still,
I see you're fickle. I can't let you fade.

So I pray for you, night and day.
I'd miss you, a whole bunch,
if you listened to your tears,
if you gave in.
or gave up, no less.

"From a very young age, I've thought
some videogames can be a little too reminiscent of 'Enders Game.'"

"Yeah, it could easily be a real war and you'd possibly never even know it."

"Especially when the games are basically an interactive recruitment tool. Call of Duty and the later Halo games leap to mind."

"Actually, my cousin-in-law just signed up for the army."

"Hah, did he cite Call of Duty as his reasoning?"

"Pretty much."

"Hah. I ******* knew it.
It's lamentable that it works.
The sad fact that it isn't a joke
make the jokes that much worse,
but, yet, the jokes aren't as bad
as the atrocity, itself,
yet it's the jokes that incur social wrath!

This adequately exemplifies Society's priorities, methinks."

I miss VCR players and Saturday morning cartoons
Star Wars marathons every weekend.
I miss being terrified of the mouldy basement dark
And watching Homestar Runner for hours.
I miss blowing things up in the backyard
And building that tree house, and making ****** movies
On a ****** video camera
With my oldest brother, who in many ways
(such as by blood, and parentage, and legally)
isn’t even my brother at all.

I miss the world the way it used to be,
Before things inside me began to go numb
And other things began to burn like live wires.
I miss the innocence I lost. I miss the cents I lost
To the arcade games and the broken vending machines
To the bullies on the playgrounds
Who even I learned to make excuses for.

I miss the days when a Weezer song
Could fix just about anything at all,
Back when I climbed more trees,
Swung on more swings, ate more candy.
I miss my kidhood, when I thought that
Growing up was going to be just fine.
I miss walking to ****’s for greasy hamburgers.
I miss the way the Space Needle used to
Make me crane my neck to follow its yellow elevators
All the way up to the spinning top.

I miss growing up with you, stuck between Freakmont
And Far East Ballard, going to Archie McPhee’s,
Rubber chickens, refrigerator magnets, hamburger hats,
Bacon soap, Jesus tape, pickle bandaids.
I miss your house that smells like cats
And your wonderful parents, and your too-many brothers.
I miss your kitchen and your living room
And your amazing singing and your air guitar solos.

I don’t want to date you or marry you or *******
But since you started dating that awful girl
Five years ago - FIVE WHOLE YEARS! -
I haven’t seen you all that much.
It wasn’t really a choice, I couldn’t be around her:
She makes you into someone that is not-you.
Someone that is quiet and shy and reserved,
Not loud and strange and outrageous.

I miss you, oldest brother.
I always felt like you understood me in a strange
Sort of distant way. I miss you a lot.
I feel less alone when you’re around.
I hope college changes you, I hope it makes you
Into who you are again. I hope you write more ****** movies
And film them and act in them
And I hope you break up with her
And find someone beautiful who makes you happy,
Who doesn’t make you into not-you.
I miss you, but not the not-you you’ve become.

I miss the first you I ever met,
Too tall, with way too much poofy hair,
And long skinny everything, and thick glasses
And a good sense of humor, and a taste in ****** movies,
Videogames, airsoft guns, horrible puns;
A pyromaniac, a secret fatty, a terrible dancer,
A geeky awkward kid from Tennessee
Who somehow changed everything about me forever.

Chainsmoking menthols,
creating clouds on parade.
Living in the dark;
frenching hurt that I've made.
There's a sadness in my comfort
and a comfort in my sadness.
***, fame, ******* down
commercialized madness.

I don't dream of pornstars
as much as I dream of clothes.
Videogames to escape it all,
carbon monoxide through my nose.
Too good for this and that;
entitlement at an all-time high.
Doing television to help me live,
or maybe to help me die.

Spotify for the masses
beating in my brain.
Youtube and pornhub
to make me feel the same
as the lost I compare to myself
and the celebs I want to be.
I want to be on edge, rich, validated;
I want to live in a fractured harmony.

Glazed eyes
Tired sighs
Lost interest
Leave the room
Question that guy
smells like ****, you high?
No officer with a sigh
Detained and searched
Reasonably
Booked and Printed
All I was doing was
eating popcorn
and playing videogames

I can do one thing right every day

Sometimes the thing is going for a run
or going to the gym
or tossing a frisbee

Sometimes it's catching up on emails
or writing a paper
or buying groceries

Sometimes I talk to a friend
or smile at a stranger
or watch birds

Sometimes one thing is watching a movie
or playing videogames
or reading a chapter of a book

Four days ago I washed the dishes
Three days ago I checked the mail
Two days ago I took a shower

Yesterday all I could do was get out of bed
it's not much
but it's something

I miss Chicago.

I miss walking everywhere with my best friend.

I wish I had been brave enough to take his hand on those walks.

I miss walking with my puppy to go meet him after class.

I miss the adventures we had, and planning more adventures with him.

I miss splitting pastries and snacks and meals with him.

I miss joking with him, laughing with him, playing videogames with him.

I miss the silly little nudging game we used to play on the couch, on the train, on the bus.

I miss when our stop was near and he would turn back and offer his hand so I wouldn't fall...and he would lead me to the door before letting go.

I remember the first time he held me...I thought I would lose my mind, I thought I would cry, I thought I would die.

When I close my eyes, I can still feel how his hands felt, intertwined with mine.

I miss laying in bed with him, listening to his heartbeat and just breathing him in, his arms around me.

I remember the time he fell asleep, his arms around me, his hands in my hair, his face so close to mine.

I should have kissed him then. Instead, I confessed when he woke...and he listened to me and let me cry for what couldn't be.

I miss when he would take my face in his hands and tell me everything would be alright.

He doesn't love me. Not like that. But dear god I felt loved, oh so loved, those two weeks.

Dear Dad, we’ve had our up’s and down’s
From being out of my life for fourteen years
To being in counselling sessions that made you realize your mistake
I was so hurt because of you, but I still forgave you

Dear Dad, I am glad we have a good relationship now
Every second week we hang out and play videogames or watch movies
We don’t communicate about a lot of stuff, as long as we still hang out that’s fine with me
We’ve come a long way, and i’m thankful I didn’t end my life back when I was hurt

Dear Dad, I don’t want you to feel guilty for not being in my life
And you're not the only reason, I wanted to end my life
See what’s done in the past, doesn’t matter today
Cause dad, I love you, and that’s all that matter’s to me today

Could ADD just be a term we describe a growing amount of people who's consciousness has been fundamentally shaped from an early age from a heavy exposure to videogames, culture, computer usage, television and our educational system in tandem.

his videogames rest on my desk / snuggled under my belongings / his things fit perfectly amongst mine / like the way our fingers lace together under the chilly autumn stars.

it's...
listening to metric - clone (2012)...
sipping a whiskey...
pretending to smoke a cigarette
with an unlit cigarette in hand...
the feel and the texture...
the scent of unlit tobacco,...

and then it's... contemplating...
british and "british"...
              and the caves... and... speaking
a language lacerated...
loan words...
   music of corvus corax... katrinka...
i would never...
listening to such music...
attire myself as: bwitish...
technicalities...
              the prefix will do...
                 anglo-slav...
                         like... those anglo-saxons...
but less specific...
because: you'd have to also call them:
   anglo-pseudo-germans...
          or quasi...
                        i'm not being
specific either... an anglo-slav i am...
a patchwork of guesses...
         serb? croat? slovenian?
       the yugoslav? ukranian?
           russian? czech? slovak?
                    i've just been listening to
some videos of nostalgia...
from the natives circa 1978 and...
nik nak paddy... old man... something...

to associated with the british...
to be british...
  do you suppose... there's a turk these days...
that would associate himself
as... an ottoman?
         i wonder...
         maybe the concept of empire being...
domino... connected by land...
and not scattered like the greek diaspora /
empire...

           the empire of roman?
weird... isn't it? to be surrounding a massive
salt pond...
            while the constant chance of having
your back turned...
seemingly protecting this salt pond...
yes... sea...

- i found the stare of love at first today:
but i was numb to it...
deer eyes of an indian girl -
darkened / riddled by the equator...
while i was... picking three kings of chillies...
some fresh coriander...
cumin powder... kashmiri powder...
and black cumin seeds...

    - i saw eyes and i also saw two
nuggets of charcaol...
   my knees left nothing of the sort of iritation
fo drop everything and swim
against the current like a salmon...

- come mid-thirties and...
   i'm starting to feel comfortable...
with the solo-project... the dodo-project...
looking for signs of: waking up
to what could have been an abortion...
or a genocide into a tissue, flushed down
the toilet: the horror of being circumcised...
without jewish or muslim...
social structures...
         it could be much worse... i could have
been circumcised...
i could have been born with
both a ****** and a strap-on *****:
seeking the ****** st. of tic-tac-toe and
a skipping rope of:
  that i have kissed a man...
that i have gorged on a *******'s
****** like a wrath and love of god...
that suckling to the **** didn't
pose a problem: got choc tinged teeth
and bitter-corn in between...
oh i'm pretty sure she wasn't in love
with me:
             a wry smile while i didn't
speak the "proper" native...

mongrel soul retaining a weird question
about who's who and who's a token
postcard on loan from...
lost from former forged empires...

on my way back home...
   i was... once upon a time...
that sort of guy... loitering... waiting...
making waiting... a ritual...
worth smoking a cigarette...
patience is a religion that's not invested
in peace to all: for all...
     first comes first...

nearing the magic number 35...
it's very sensible of me to state:
it's quiet impossible for me to share a bed...
with anything or anyone except
my shadow...
considering how when i expose
my shadow to sunlight...
mindless shadow pretends to have
eyes... when it crawls into my head
at night: when i sleep...
and tells the alternative story of
the day...

    to be wedded and with children...
one would most certainly need to be coupled
with prospects in one's early 20s...
after the mid-20s... well...
the boat's about to sail...
the solo- / dodo-project is...
  a bit like... with writing being concerned...
one's hope for a career in...
    a chemistry lab...
or the selfless-acts of hippocrates' students...

all very well to love children...
but... ******* them up...
never really becoming that...
nobel prize winning psychologists
with a break-through...
when the whittle cherbus... gremlins...
kritters arrive...
an over-zealous cat meowing / moaning
about curfew is one of those spin-offs
of madness...
talk to me about a babe crying...

- and yes... some people shouldn't drink...
their genetic disposition: ah ah...
their individual metabolism...
they never conjure up the amphetamine
(metaphor) ***** from the lullaby
zombied-out death-cult of sedation...
- and these same people shouldn't pick
up smoking a ritual tobacco stick...
even i venture to call it:
a bullet to the head...

  how is it... to become... selfless?
when... one... has become...
self-realized... past the groan of:
the facts... aged 25 and your brain
should stop... window-shopping
function suffixes... no?

i had an idea for a glove...
with a rubber-band...
to... restrict... the natural laziness
of the hand when walking...
but because i drink and only jargon
poor poetics...
in rage i ripped the rubberband
off my arm... lost to history:
lost to the void...
oh i know how that it feels...
would it have been of use...
i guess not...
     a bright idea in a bucket
of maggots and maggot ****...
is... about as much worth as...
a screwdriver is to a forest of nails...
chisel... n'est ce pas...
i was... asking: grit teeth...
soul... clenching... bizarre objects
of gradations of sharpening...
the obvious square-headed axe...
pulp...
      a whole rainbow of objects...
perhaps a scalpel is the last resort...

i smile because: i've turned angry into
funny...
who doesn't have the monopoly on violence:
well... i also do not have the monopoly
on c.c.t.v. -
   little help from coming from
under the iron curtain...
the local seem to be... all ah...
oh so detached... missing las vegas cousins
and...
if i could only allow you...
to allow myself... to fathom...
the maldives of my mind...
a drag of a cigarette... a bottle of whiskey
35cl... you start the bets...
who's about to...
      find prison in solipsism...
solipsism as a mental illness...
as an altruism: as a atheism as a...
genius maddy: spezial neds: youz callz
'em... quivering folk?
what'z that phra-phra-puccino?
    autist-spec:   ah yes! those rare breeds!
spazz-taculars!
i was one misunderstood for one of them...
i took the insult to the grave...
well... i took it to her grave...
by the god of the hebrews and by the mythology
of cain... from siberia came the huns...
the turks... the slavs and the mongols...
only germans ever came from
       afri-*******-ah-hahaha!
they skipped the toll of sanskrit:
the birth of writing...
why? it became complicated...
when beijing was founded...
but sure... a replica tux of skeleton came out
out... fringe kenya and landed in: old delhi...
as many consonants if not more:
down to the core: with the spices...
the unfortunate indians of north
america...
the somewhat fortunate indians
of: south america...
brazil: post-racial mecca...
argentinian beef and...
                             myths of nazis
living to old age...
                 no... oh no... i will not die...
first comes ol' lizzie then comes
my sodden sorry ***...
envelope of a missing postage stamp
of a world: we've been to the moon...
via new york and the leviathan london...
where's afghanistan cave fighting...
the pashtun women of... glorifying
copper and cinnamon / cumin and coriander
ash... and beauty...
how doesn't it sound:
the day the music died:
we sang dirges in the dark...
                 bye bye: may-pole luck with
christ: the advent of...
the crucifix is hanging... ornament piece...
but the... iron maiden isn't...
           it's enough to identify a god...
it's quiet another matter...
to torture him... and... sorry...
but if i were to be crucified...
   sooner me and the comfort of hands...
outstretched... than... hands-tied...
pushed onto a pole: to impale...
lost advent of etymology: slav...
and the lost "e" of paul...
to remind... the crucifix... well...
            to impale...
                       looks like...
the crucifix is missing limbs... it would take...
days... the arms that would be
flapping... agitating an imitation
of a swan breaking into flight...
the two lungs... imitating drowning...
while hanging... extended...
     to crucify... hardly: the affair of...
being... impaled...
perhaps joking: slav(e) gave the clue...
germans: whether orthodox
anglo-ßaß - celtic mingling...
    germs... who's eating what... "leftover"
etymological clues...
we can play this game... forever...
it's hardly the hebrew the original:
indu- prefix of... roaming... or not...
                      
guise them up as the exodus as the fomer
lands of Jagiełło...
the battle of Hastings: blip...
             who am i... but at least in england...
i can speak the language
like some conrad of masovia:
readied to sell the "lesser creatures"
for the... encouraged...
integration to the *****: kneel...
of the baltic pruß...
who weren't... coddled...
the welsh weren't coddled...
they were "told" to... brighten their
day to day... expand...
fathom the easily accessed seas:
expand...
who owned the monopoly of
the baltic sea: as if it were
the bosphorus...
beside... the danes?
expansion of: ****** come together
with a ******: breathing
h. p. lovecraftian h'america...
loot maine and call it... start:
bittersweet apartheid...
not me: i'm still half of Vilno...
and the most remote aspect of L'viv...
no... crusader songs... no crusades: per se!

i used to play video games...
i became... more fascinated
with the romance of: a lost year...
that the school re(a)d... it wasn't in any
fathom of an iota of red:
or a synonym in burgundy:
for the worth of the burgundians:
leftovers of the angevins...
that richard the lionheart
found a love for england...
the island... an abhorring testimony
of youth and no solance...
that old age never found him:
akin to: the needle never found
the mystery of the haystack...

i am not! lithuanian!
common practice of exodus polacks...
paul-lacking:
slav and "e" dribbling...
      like the germanic peoples:
who aren't lingua franca revisions...

    ⰏⰑⰣ     ⰔⰑⰂⰑ...

lingering "blame"... darwinism via
the default...
the monkey skeleton left africa...
arrived in india.. left a schism...
some went to хины
             some went to:         чeнa..

   anglican via: the great mother siberia...
is a mother...
beside the zenith advent of: mother...
muffer: af-af-rye-c'ah'cah!
******* twins to mind the rhodes!

the skeleton left africa...
yes...
   but... the hindu morphed the genesis...
a second time... into writing...
what... phonetic encoding...
beside... the primodial...
   hieroglyphics... from africa... would have...
ever... arrived at our...
emoji internet advent... door-step of
extending democracy / demographics...
central?

the wheel and the square also
left africa with the skeleton:
the arithmetic of bones and muhammad...
but the triangle settled in greece
and became pythagoras...
and the letter: Δ....

    the inter-racial violence of north
h'america... is not... beside the wery bwitish
advent of ****-stan... as... imaginary
loitering of a border: coming to survive
with Belfast-Kashmir...
           that's making priority of...
the written word...
over the skeleton jump-start...
       bypass...
              and the emoji... and... grafitti...
clue out of africa...
never met... the sub-continent of india...
or... the chinese ideograms...
or sanskrit...
but... ******... *** and bounty...
the mongols never made...
crimea... their capital...
hastings was forever a washington's
survival guide...
       that theatre gave the birth
of lincoln and... whitman was...
everything any other poet: including
homer and dante always dreamed of...
that europeans invited themselves
toward: finding h'america in a can
of sardines...
and that the h'americans believed
they found europe... in kent or essex...
or... in books...
or... in loitering... or being...
allowed to be obnoxiously loud...

            like that **** would still stink:
100 years from now...
but yes... the libido of a genghis khan...
i trace my libido to:
how i imitate the people who
check their blood pressure when i *******...
i... genocide my... fractions into
the moloch couldron that's:
beside... the prayers of a...
        tele-evalngelical church of praises!
h'america is nothing new...
it's just better: regarding...
what remains... a solid old.

It is senseless, it is wreckless,
It is ****** up nonetheless that
There is still nothing to be said for your death
They’ve arrested two guys for selling drugs
But what’s that got to do with what’s above
We need to remember you for your life, not your death, Marianne
But that’s all I seem to know you for. And that’s just not fair.
It is hopeless, it is sadness
That has come around to haunt us
In these moments, in these days, after you fell
From a window, so senseless
Did you even know you were falling?
Did you know that you were dying?
Did you know that anyone else was awake, across the way,
With her window open, at 4 am, early that Saturday,
And she heard you scream,
She heard you fly,
she heard that sonic boom rush that comes when life leaves us,
and rushes you off to another place
where you just watch over us
and I wonder if you saw
how nothing happened for a moment.
Fifteen moments, fifteen minutes, that there was silence
And I stood there looking out my window
Wondering where was the sense in this world to guide us down that street,
Where were the people rushing down to the courtyard, running on the concrete,
Searching for your face, for your familiar body, for you to be okay.
There was nothing.
For fifteen moments, fifteen minutes, there was silence.
And then they started coming.
And I stood there and watched as sirens and lights and cars, they all flashed,
They all came in a flash and ran around in a flash and blinded me with a flash
That didn’t leave me that whole weekend.
I don’t like sirens anymore. They mean someone’s been hurt.
Like you were, Marianne.
I heard a glass shatter and a cryptic scream, and I ran to my window to see
It sounded like someone had been hit by a car, slam, crash, break
With reality, break with life, break away from the lights from the sirens that only come when it’s too late,
but there were no cars on the street, not that I could see. I couldn’t see any accidents, at least not in front of me.
Should I have called? Should I have said something?
Here I am proving the bystander theory that I learned all about
In that lecture last Tuesday.
You’re more likely to be helped if only one person sees you fall,
Instead of seventeen or fifty or a courtyard full of freshman
Still up watching tv getting high eating shrooms playing videogames
Whatever you wanna call it, whatever you wanna say you were doing
Was it that important?
And who am I to talk? I didn’t call anyone. I didn’t do anything.
But I’m writing you a poem, Marianne. If you can even call this a poem.
That’s what I’m doing. I’m trying to remember you.
I’m trying to know more about you.
Because I hate knowing you only for that second that you fell,
For that second you might’ve ****** yourself over and fallen out the window in Brewster Hall,
Because I know you were a great girl, you were smart and you were cool,
And I wish I could’ve known you for your life, instead of this death, so cruel
And where is the memorial? Where is the flag? Where is the announcement saying
We are here to remember
No **** no we aren’t. We are here to forget. That is what we do best,
As humans, we forget. We push it to the side, go on with our lives, because that’s
That’s how we cope. We don’t. We pretend it didn’t happen, that she didn’t fall by that bench.
A girl died ladies and gentlemen. And we know her for her death. And that is a fault we need to fix, a life we need to resurrect
Through memories and poetry and spoken word at events like this
I hope you hear this, Marianne, and know that girl who heard you fall
Hasn’t forgotten you and never will.
I’ll be okay, but I’m not who matters. It’s the girl from Taiwan
Who loved to play soccer and greet people with a smile,
It’s the girl who loved her boyfriend, and was in love with this school,
So in love with the place she never even had to visit
To know she wanted to come here,
And this is what she gets.
Death. She came here for that American dream, and she got it
For almost a year. Not even. It’s terrible.
So here’s to you, Marianne. Rest in peace. Sorry about the way we met.

Boys are weird!
Us girls will never understand them.
They scuff their knees up and walk out the house with tousled hair,
Can they ever think before they do?
They swing, climb, run, and jump on everything!
Just stay still.
Boys will be boys,
With dirt on their faces and cuts on their fingers.
They stick gum in girl's hair,
Carry slimy frogs in their pockets.
Their appetite is atrocious,
Are they gentlemen deep down?
Boy's language is all washed up,
They'll call you hot instead of beautiful.
They're full of burps and hung up on videogames,
Wrestling in the house every second.
Do they have a nice side?
Dads will keep a good eye on them,
Making sure they're good for their daughters.
Boys never stay like this,
They grow up to eventually become a *man.

No drugs for me they **** with my head
No alcohol either
I say everything that shouldn't be said
Videogames are just no fun
Binge watching **** can ******* undone
Reading gets boring
So does Facebook, pinterest and Skype
Hanging out with some people PAH
I don't have a single one who's my type
I don't like the gym or watching movies all day
I don't like children I never learned how to play
I'm not fussed on cooking and sewing gets old
I've grown out of my friends
That's a fact I've been told
So what can a person do when they don't click with the rest
And being alone brings tears no less
It looks like I'll never fit in

There’s not much left to write about
Happiness and sadness are gone
Instead, I’ve traversed the subjects
And they all left me fighting a scream.

Anxiety’s clutched at my heartstrings
Dampening, muting their song
But now I’m going to break free
And dive into life headlong.

I’ll play videogames and write some poems
And do all the things that I miss
For while once this was time-wasting, never
Shall I waste a day anxious for this.

I guess anxiety’s got its perks, but
The one thing it gets me to do
Is work ‘till I have no more work, but
I had nothing to do at all, so I’m blue.

these days I've been feeling as if my legs were rooted in place. like the hope a kid will show with just the look on his face. I might be tired but it's not that bad, after work I still have things on which I gently rest my back. like records no one know, and videogames like pillows, letters someone wrote me three october moons ago.

these days I've been feeling as if my arms were two anchors. they get to the bottom and get stucked in the ground. they can't hold the air you used to breathe in my face, softly. they can no longer reach for your thighs like empty gardens on amaltea. they can no longer sever the ties that we create for our own lives. but it's ok, and I know it's ok, and at least it's ok.

Right now someone is dying
While you sit on your couch screaming at your videogames as you **** innocent people
Right now someone is starving
While you spend $300 dollars on a fancy meal that you will end up wasting
Right now a child is wishing they could go to school
While you sleep through high school and complain about how its wasting your time
                         Perspective

Oct 12th 2016:   The day filled with beautiful beautiful oranges after the passing of a horrible storm..  I suppose God paints these oranges in the sky and atmosphere as a starting point for the relax time that has been long overdue..  "I'll just color it all orange for now and rest the colors.."  My brother and I found it a perfect time to pull out the bikes and ride in the cool the storm has left for us on these hot summer days..  And of course its time to ride through those huge lake puddles on the road!  

After a day of bike surfing we both rode home with hamburgers on our minds!!  The sun was setting and the night was being born..  We rode in right before dark..   Our mom made us the most awesome cheese burgers!  After we ate we went into our room to get down on some videogames.. Both our phones were going crazy with notifications and we both decided to see what all the fuss was about..  

The first thing we saw was pics of the moon..  At first I thought they were a different moon but it turns out it was ours..  We both went outside to see and sure enough our moon had changed.. It was a bit darker colored and had a strange glow to it..  The next strange thing was that the sun was starting to rise again! Only it was rising in the west were it had set before!  

The news was going crazy with this as people started to panic everywhere..  Some experts on t.v shows said that we were looking at the otherside of the moon.. Through out the month there were videos poping up on facebook of people doing strange things..  There was a kid in a town not far from here that could turn himself into a bird..  New flowers were starting to grow, flowers never seen before..  Strange things were happening..

Videos were pouring in on all the new things being found throughout the world.. Some sisters in japan found some faries flying around a river.. A family found a colony of little people in and around the mushrooms growing in the back yard.. Many strange shrines were also appearing..  This day is now called, " The turning of the moon."

when my mother was pregnant,
my mother looked up names and their holy meanings and found one to be to her liking
and so i was named ;
but my brother, upon hearing this
squirmed and pleaded to change it for whatever reason
and so i was named ;
and later
i would play two videogames and love the two female protagonists so dear
i'd name myself ;
and a little further on
i would read a book with a main character so enticing and thoughtful
i'd name myself ;
and now
i find myself drifting from meaning to mood to games to books
and so much else - so many factors in a life and person
and i am only character
with a debated name

Fingers crossed, heart open
Once again, praying don't let this happen again.
Waking in the morning, a kick in my step
Old blue jean jacket and sweat
I fearlessly lead.
But I want the weather to be warmer
I want to be thinner
And I wish you hadn't turned out to be such a coward.

I know it really couldn't have been something
My insides yelling at me, why did you think otherwise
Long Eyelashes can say a million I love you's
But he's got those empty pockets and bachelor stare
While my eye twitches from all the caffeine
And all the goodbyes I hear.

I fear bitterness could easily take hold
Everyone works it out with their significant other
But I film myself on my screen
Let me give myself peace.

I threw your tshirt and scarf away with a rush
In the dumpster of my court yard today
Red cartoon swirls around my head
Videogames, wasted words, late nights
Feeling like I was better
All for nothing.

I wish I had known you too,
Would end up being such a loser.
And I hate to feel angry.
Its not really my style
But can't a girl catch a break?

Seems like the universe demands no man sustain
My heart, while everyone chimes in
I am a warrior, fearless, and goodness
But why, why, why

I have started to hate my house
I have grown tired of the same place
But I try to swallow these past few hours of bitterness
Too much to do.

Haven't even touched Slaughtering April Fools
But I know I must, planning an Alabama runaway
It always comes in when needed.
But why did I put my future and hopes out there
Just let me please book this sweet thing, let this come through
Show me universe my path is aflame.

A wind cascading out
I hold my own hand, once again
24 years young, I sometimes
Have to tell my parents to give me space

I have never been a believer in regret
Two months and I will really
Look around with newfound eyes
Soak it up, my empty hand
I rise to any and all occasions.

Im doing pretty good. Want to create more.

Also it ends up being positive feedback loop. The mental distress caused by creating too much creates more mental distress. Guess Ill just play videogames and relax and take a couple drugs.

Sometimes the drugs do make me constipated though which *****. Feel like I havent pooped in days.

Er.. Which is it? Monster or man?
Who cares?! He’ll slay the gorgon, ****!
His eyes cast a fierce light,
His hair scared into white,
And for the right price he wields death in his hands.

---------------------------------------------------------­--------------------------------

There’s a pink puffball with quite the appetite,
Doesn’t chew food, he inhales it with all his might.
He can’t fly very far,
So he likes to ride on stars.
Defeating evil as he goes, with every bite.

----------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------

Test tube mutant cursed with the stupid
N. Sane in the brain, heart shot by cupid
Breaks boxes with a twist
Helpless without his sis,
Won’t stop ‘til Cortex has been uprooted.

-SLuR

Oh, what I'd do for a bear best friend.
He'd be big and cute and cuddly,
and friendly and huggly, and he'd cheer me
when I was sad, and make me laugh
with his big, bear belly when I was down.

I'd want a big, brown bear buddy,
who stood about 10 foot tall
and wouldn't let big, bad bullies
beat me up and make me feel sad.

We could play videogames together,
and eat lots of snacks and candy,
and I wouldn't mind when he ate
more than me. After all, he's a big bear,
who needs to fill his tummy.

He'd let me ride on his back,
and take me to all kinds of places,
like up a tree, or in a cave, but
I wouldn't be scared of bats or rats,
since he'd be there to protect me.

And I'd show him stuff too,
like my prized marble collection,
or the art I did for my class that
the teacher didn't really like, but
I know he'd love it just 'cause I made it.

He'd be nice and polite, but also
fun and cool, and just the best!
Oh, what fun it would be to
have my very own best bear buddy.