'Put my hand in the hand of the man from Galilee,

that song keeps playing in my memory, and I recalled

Or I thought I did, I imagined he'd walk with me
and talk with me
Along life's merry (or was it narrow?), way

a light touch, his arm around my shoulders,
as boys are wont to do,
I axed 'im,
help me fill the darkness behind my eyes,
which I think may have been blind, at that time,

I have memories like that.
packed away in old memes. That mean something...
Gold-something...
color maybe, Goldfarv? Bloom.
Right, my augmentatious savant
looked it up and I sorted what I recalled

Google The Global Brain, Howard Bloom,
where he named a kind of
category of knowability. Memes, he called them.

And I thought, memes mean something more,
not Dawkins's, nor Bloom's, but these,
heteromemes bubbling out my belly button,
look real close.

Here a seeing being done, words appearing...

fractally featureless by the time a clock could have been imagined,

the point of the story was made,
and there is no end in sight.

Pop. Another apocalypse bubble collapses by mortality. Whaddyaknow?

What remains when a bubble pops at a positron level,
after the charge is touched and
the tension-power-loss collapses the bubble?

You should think, you know atoms work, this way.

Touchy bubbles disappear when their form is disinformed,
the wall of a bubble,
one quanta of power thick,
vanishes
as the charge that formed it flees.
That bubble,
not cloud-based, random super positioning,but
elect
tric-magi-tech, a touch screened
at the quantum accounting point of real-ification,
but, probably,
a bubble,indeed,
powered, one way or another, with a single charge,
Go, that's it.
(I charge thee, son Timothy, go)
That's all an electron does.
It goes, as soon as any sense can be made of it,
outa here, oughta hear it, clear,
ping. No charge, no bubble, but next sure as...
No, ah, when I think about that..

Hell,
somethi' from nuthin musta hapt one time,

but ya'll take no heed, this voice,
m'fallin angel, Tantan, droppin' in ol-fren, tricky hybridbast...

Noah was a tellin' Ham the truth
found in wines that moved themselves aright,
slurry tongued, and laughin' but pisstoff.

The idea of somethin' goin' south in a family,
that started up again when
ever Noah started drinkin' old wine, sayin' sbetter'n...

Old story, God damened 'em, not me, I just
built the box.

Who told you I was naked? Noah queried Shem.

-- aye, ye know, Noah was drunk,
No excuse, but you know.

Things were said, that maybe could be forgotten, after a while,

But those father wounds a man imagines worst
are the one's his son's forgot.
Forgot can't be forgiven it seems, sometimes...

The story being told is complicated. See,
the Bible is a lens,
not a map.

I've looked so long through that lens,
that I began to see the bubble formed around me,
charged powerfully with fear,
'yond my bubble monsters lurked.

But, my bubble bumped another,
purest of happenstance,
the bubbles merged and merged again,
their power building to a wave,
crashing to the shore and no more
was I bubbled in my safe place.

I found this trail up from the beach.

It got me much farther than this, should you ever
visit me.
Did you regret the defeat at Ai,
or were you
Aachen, bold?

No, irrelevant, obtuse allusion to Yahshua,
that's not in the stack,
that card's about as relevant as McLuhan's hair of the dog.

Information unformed begins to boil deep in me.

Somethin', ain't it?  All them three meter dishes shrunk down
to the size of a spoon, a teeny weeny spoon, a coke spoon,
like on Miami Vice, back when.

Satellite TV changed the desert, fer sher, but 4g, brohan,

that was the trick. Elect trick.
Future, on demand, where outhouses are still de rigueur.

Before you know it, country kids,
too poor for any but outlaw dreams,
can audit courses at MIT,
if somebody
shows him, it can be done, prove t' him
it works, faith can make things happen,
but
happening as an event, in the Deep Field,
is sorta hard to nail down to one thing,
until the very last
Planc-sec.  
Astrophysics is part of the metagame, fer sher.
But
there's some stuff that takes some patience,
to learn. Fifty year'r longer.

Everything that's old and still works is only old, not rotten.

Olde time religion, at the oldfo'k dayroom,
where the clock runs the whole show.
It's another game show. Saint Bob Barker takes a bow,
and declares the potential worth of all your eyes behold,
behind the curtain,
lies the prize.

If, if, if you are a luckywinner and
you arise when I call your name
to come on down,
fall on your knees and declare the worth...

pure gamesmanships required here, golf whispers only,
worship, 'smuch more difficult to aim for than praise.
I agree.
Praise, appraisal, worthyness, worthship, prize, what's the diff?
How comes a thing to be worthy,
in your estimation? Tell me no lie.

A feeling? What's it worth?
Depends.
Safe? Priceless! Don't shout. There's money to make.

'Got a busy-ness pre-positioned high above the rest.
A super-positioned superstion. The darkness.
See, safety is a human right.
So we sell walls, impermeable. It's always, lights on
within, then
We'll be rich and powerful wallbuilding,
citi-zen warriors fed and fattened
by those we make
feel safe, from the dark unknowns seeping in.

That's the idea. It's worked for years, at least
since
we saw the Power in Myth and
capitalized Campbell's bliss and Sagan's billions and billions of stars.

Within these walls workers will work for food and a feeling.
And Facebook.
They choose a place and stand, and do what comes to hand.
Heartily
grip what's easiest for you to hold on to,
they are told.

Attendants bring the meds, settling every disruption
of the peace the patient craves in his comfort.
The price ain't right, m'mouthmumbles...

You are absolutely co-rect-allatime, tekayepeel.

There are wishes being made,
on all manner of stars
for happy ever afters.

If wishes were askings, what if
connecting to the source of haps which,
every expert knows, haps are
all happiness can possibly
consist of.
Oh, consist.
That sticky, gluteny idea stuck in my daily bread.
It's related to resist, desist and the command to stand.
Sistere. Shield-wall and all that. Turtles all the way down.

A disruption!
Day room Now! Granpa's shouting,

This is that bomb, this is a dam buster Jesus H Christ Bomb!
I'll drop it. I swear.

Something's bound on earth to go wrong,
ever since Eve bit that apple, if she'da left that apple on the apple tree
Nah, that ain't how it went down and
songs about it don't change it none.

But, maybe this is me interrupted... in my meander.

What if, nothing is immaterial,
as an idea, it can't go wrong,
and Murphy's law, obeyed, is good, all the time.
If nothing can go wrong, it won't.
Ask the pilot flying by faith in his checklist.

What if,
asking for help helps?
Was that a message? A touch by an angel?
Spirit, the idea? An answered prayer?

Are you familiar with its role in reality?
Something makes these bubbles spin, y'know.

Ignoring is bliss, nay,
No more,
precisely, nevermore,
quoth the raven, shall the man who can read
be locked away from all the stories,
telling eventualities that
men, wombed and un,
have told and tested for ever, it seems,

Stop
striving for perfection and let patience have her way witcha,

whatcha learn can change the world.

Look back. Good news from a far country come our way.
Grandpa made some sense and we built a fort, of pillows

Did you eve know
A teeny weeny meany;
Who alway carried a grudge?
He let his physique
Turn him away from fun
And so he refused to budge.
It’s like his body
Totally resided in just
That one small patch of his skin.
He sang that tune
To himself, in his own mind,
Words and music, again and again.

Don’t hang around with size queens!
They never have made much sense.
They don’t have your heart in mind.
Their minds need a really good rinse.
People should love you only because
For yourself in and out of bed.
If the important thing is **** size
There’s not much going on in their heads.

There really are people
Who don't care about feelings
Who will only go after one thing.
Flip them some coin
And say them when they mature
They should use the money give you a ring.
If they haven’t learned
To use their minUscule minds
That everybody has some worth.
Then they are the fools,
Probably won’t ever change,
And you are the salt of the earth.

I MIND him well, he was a quare ould chap,
Come like meself from swate ould Erin's sod;
He hired me wanst to help his harvest in-
The crops was fine that summer, praised be God!

He found us, Rosie, Mickie, an' meself,
Just landed in the emigration shed;
Meself was tyin' on their bits of clothes;
Their mother-rest her tender sowl!-was dead.

It's not meself can say of what she died:
But 'twas the year the praties felt the rain,
An' rotted in the soil; an' just to dhraw
The breath of life was one long hungry pain.

If we wor haythens in a furrin land,
Not in a country grand in Christian pride,
Faith, then a man might have the face to say
'Twas of stharvation me poor Sheila died.

But whin the parish docthor come at last,
Whin death was like a sun-burst in her eyes-
They looked straight into Heaven-an' her ears
Wor deaf to the poor children's hungry cries,

He touched the bones stretched on the mouldy sthraw:
'She's gone!' he says, and drew a solemn frown;
'I fear, my man, she's dead.' 'Of what?' says I.
He coughed, and says, 'She's let her system down!'

'An' that's God's truth!' says I, an' felt about
To touch her dawney hand, for all looked dark;
An' in me hunger-bleached, shmall-beatin' heart,
I felt the kindlin' of a burnin'spark.

'O by me sowl, that is the holy truth!
There's Rosie's cheek has kept a dimple still,
An' Mickie's eyes are bright-the craythur there
Died that the weeny ones might eat their fill.'

An' whin they spread the daisies thick an' white
Above her head that wanst lay on me breast,
I had no tears, but took the childher's hands,
An' says, 'We'll lave the mother to her rest.'

An' och! the sod was green that summer's day,
An' rainbows crossed the low hills, blue an' fair;
But black an' foul the blighted furrows stretched,
An' sent their cruel poison through the air.

An' all was quiet-on the sunny sides
Of hedge an' ditch the stharvin' craythurs lay,
An' thim as lacked the rint from empty walls
Of little cabins wapin' turned away.

God's curse lay heavy on the poor ould sod,
An' whin upon her increase His right hand
Fell with'ringly, there samed no bit of blue
For Hope to shine through on the sthricken land.

No facthory chimblys shmoked agin the sky.
No mines yawned on the hills so full an' rich;
A man whose praties failed had nought to do
But fold his hands an' die down in a ditch.

A flame rose up widin me feeble heart,
Whin, passin' through me cabin's hingeless dure,
I saw the mark of Sheila's coffin in
The grey dust on the empty earthen flure.

I lifted Rosie's face betwixt me hands;
Says I, 'Me girleen, you an' **** an' me
Must lave the green ould sod an' look for food
In thim strange countries far beyant the sea.'

An' so it chanced, whin landed on the sthreet,
Ould Dolan, rowlin' a quare ould shay
Came there to hire a man to save his wheat,
An' hired meself and Mickie by the day.

'An' bring the girleen, Pat,' he says, an' looked
At Rosie, lanin' up agin me knee;
'The wife will be right plaised to see the child,
The weeney shamrock from beyant the sea.

'We've got a tidy place, the saints be praised!
As nice a farm as ever brogan trod.
A hundered acres-us as never owned
Land big enough to make a lark a sod.'

'Bedad,' says I, 'I heerd them over there
Tell how the goold was lyin' in the sthreet,
An' guineas in the very mud that sthuck
To the ould brogans on a poor man's feet.'

'Begorra, Pat,' says Dolan, 'may ould Nick
Fly off wid thim rapscallions, schaming rogues,
An' sind thim thrampin' purgatory's flure
Wid red hot guineas in their polished brogues!'

'Och, thin,' says I, 'meself agrees to that!'
Ould Dolan smiled wid eyes so bright an' grey;
Says he, 'Kape up yer heart; I never kew
Since I come out a single hungry day.

'But thin I left the crowded city sthreets-
Th'are men galore to toil in thim an' die;
Meself wint wid me axe to cut a home
In the green woods beneath the clear, swate sky.

'I did that same; an' God be praised this day!
Plenty sits smilin' by me own dear dure;
An' in them years I never wanst have seen
A famished child creep tremblin' on me flure.'

I listened to ould Dolan's honest words:
That's twenty years ago this very spring,
An' **** is married, an' me Rosie wears
A swateheart's little shinin' goulden ring.

'Twould make yer heart lape just to take a look
At the green fields upon me own big farm;
An' God be praised! all men may have the same
That owns an axe an' has a strong right arm!

Yo _,
Hoping all is well as sugary sweet flowing going more like honey beeing;
you---- and---- too-uly have been so how do we like to say so, romp rompy and we just don't know X'actly as is, as it might appear though let us hope it's not too rhymey or schemey with Pop Pomp Pompey on and in too deeply into those ity bity incy weeny little commentary boxery's!!

If you don't get my follow ups to Heaven Made'r and or Garlic Please they are in draft form which I may poem-alize live copy dat roger over and over or not. I'm going out about it never mind worrying about yourself, but before or later don't worry so much we all here are so under staffed it's one of those scarcity things we need to promote to keep all you potentially dangerous and certainly crazy types safe. We've myopically studied humanity and yes those aliens have been helping too for well let's just say here cause I'm to say not so much about it, but I've already been chipped as spared with a tag of 'IDKy'. My Mom was told as a child it might be curse but I feel now with my spare free pass I'm feeling lucky and so gamble ramble rolly and once I found out it actually rhymed with Holy so who Holy knowly's? Okay my apologies and I'm overly busy you know the staff scarcity thing though we try to usually depersonalize for both the guilty and innocent as well one as you as far as we can tell are innocent yet and charges have been brought against you, but don't get your hopes up quite yet!!!

So if you would like to consult with a lawyer we are fine by this we'd understand but understand this we do not have public funds on that scarcity list for defending such kinds of non-nonsensical indefensible, but of psychiatrist and getting locked up for this we could turn you in or give ya' a long set of lists...

And we try to promote optimism firstly especially moslty up-frontly; but know see here steer clear of what we just might need a little bit more clarity therein thereoutward IDK peeps are saying all kinds of crazy things out there we're trying very hard at keeping you safe from all those other's now. I think they call themselves all kinds of crazy things like 'One Another', then they say 'All's ya' need is Love" but see then they've got all kinds of other deep rooted kinds of mix-ups within for next thing you know ya', we have finally figure this much. They seem so contradictory, we've butchered and tortured the best specimens we could and too some even helped with every bit and like too all kinds of crazy things they call us conformists!! We have not got that one figured out yet but new techies well ya know we stole some of their genetics fore if you just keep them reigned in on just a precise tether we have got a bit done with them. Well they are coming soon can't say when with chips that make silicon again dark ages at last, well then as I was saying the new algorithmics and transprogramizations might be able to be downloaded in. Now yes the stuff we have now and we're building servers and storage what they say of Gods House Many Mansions, well we don't know what crazies think they think they think they believe somehow they actually can do anything at all but we have got this thing that fits what they call Gods House we think on the small tip end of the needle ya, as they say JC, Pop's little one, all these mansions just one son. Anyway said something about us being like trying to get a camel though the eye of that thing. But wowza we got a barn load of that House of God stuff on the small end remember and they pretty safe we's moling around underground and along with a little nuclear waste and all the kinds of formats and types of files well if they were barns on grounds oh what a city!! We think perhaps a metaphorical thing we might be able to some how use it then they say we are abusing it. Well to say this for the new humanity and like that "Jeweled City" coming down for their own good looking over them it will be. We have our special agents everywhere, from a handful of string puppeteer players but don't worry the aliens say most of the genes did what they were supposed to. So we might be getting close to pulling this off. Well, these thing now are like what they say about this thing they call 'God'. It's like it knows no country, race, religious affiliations or associations, secular or non those work we have found about the same way. Currencies, politics they all make pretty good mindful fences and we like that stuff it's all in your head, because there are some still trying figure this stuff too, about some kind of connection from the mind to or from the heart and which way we just don't get the technical details. All we really know is that when this heart matter comes up our systems nearly crash. So as far as we can tell we still pushing hard that EMC squared energy matter to crazy people, crazy enough keeps theirs minds busy with stuff dig!! This oh, how this the beautiful kicker still scares the living 'um we'll just call it crap here. For if this ever goes public you know the scarcity promotional plan and shortness of staff, well it might save us some editing and save energy from servers trying to catch stuff that might upset and make unruly those same people we do all we can for. But you never know we're just not so sure so too we let them selves go on with maybe 'Mother' needs to cleanse herself... we like to leave room for a few contingency things.

Give it a couple of weeks and try not to sweat it too much a bit. But then try to get back with me on this. We have setup a private file here; we respect your privacy but you might want to check the details of fine print on the site here that just keeps a hoing along linking to the indefinite indeed-ly insane rather cool gruelingly cruel more so beyond too colder than natures own ice here which such is ever dear kinder sweeter than the down linking of going to be your bad. However now too understand there are new technologies out there while we are at it if your feeling a bit chilly chilled here now beside all those turn on and off pills and again the bugs are not so clear if they can ever worked out but there are places and they can make it painless, sounds nice right hmmm now ya got me thinking too much again. Susssh's not a word one slip click of mouse here that I don't need meece or even mice just one mouse dig and mine is wired just one little slip click and oh 'ooops your prioritized and if your a unlucky type of fellow we always need a good sporting specimen of public spectacle. Just so you know we don't want 'Gods Children' acting and playing in love, joy, fun or singing not in that counterproductive heartfelt way. The chips are almost ready and for their own good we wouldn't want you to get in the way!!!

I put my hand in the hand of the man from galilee

Or I thought I did, I imagined he would walk with me
and talk with me

and help me fill the darkness behind my eyes,
which i think may have been blind, at one time,

I have memories like that guy, Gold-something
color maybe, Goldfarv? Bloom. Right, my augmentatious savant
looked it up and I sorted what I recalled

Google The Global Brain, where he named a kind of
category of knowability. Memes, he called them.

And I thought, memes mean something more,
not Dawkins's, nor Bloom's, but
these, heteromemes bubbling out my belly button,
look real close.

Fractally featureless by the time a clock could have been imagined,

the point of the story was made, and there is no end in sight.

Pop. Another apocalypse bubble eclipsed by mortality. Whaddyaknow?

What remains when a bubble pops at a positron level,
after the charge is touched and
the tensionpowerloss collapses the bubble?

You should think you know atoms work, like
not a cloud of super positioning, elect-
tric-magi-tech, touch screen at the quantum accounting point,
not that, but
a bubble, powered, one way or another, with a single charge,
Go, that's it.
What an electron does. It goes,
as soon as any sense can be made of it,
oughtaouta hear
ping. No charge, no bubble, but next sure as...

Hell,
somethi' from nuthin must ahapt one time,
but ya'll take no heed, m'fallin angel droppin' in olfren, tricky hybridbast...

Noah was a tellin' Ham the truth found in wines that moved themselves
aright, slurry tongued, but pisstoff

The idea of somethin' goin' south in a family,
that started up again when
ever Noah started drinkin' old wine, sayin' sbetter'n...

Who told you I was naked?

-- aye, ye know, Noah was drunk,
No excuse, but you know.

Things were said, that maybe were forgotten, after a while,

But those father wounds a man imagines worst
are the one's his son's forgot.

The story being told is complicated. See,
the Bible is a lens,
not a map.

It got me much farther than this, should you ever
visit me.
No,
that's not in the stack,
that card's about as relevant as McLuhan's hair of the dog.

Somethin', ain't it?  All them three meter dishes shrunk down
to the size of a spoon, a teeny weeny spoon, a coke spoon,
like on Miami Vice, back when.

Satellite TV changed the desert, fer sher, but 4g, brohan,

that was the trick.
Future, on demand, where outhouses are still de rigueur.

Before you know it, country kids,
too poor for any but outlaw dreams,
can audit courses at MIT,
if somebody
shows him, it can be done, prove t' him
it works, faith can make things happen,
but
happening is sorta hard to nail down to one thing,
until the very last
Planc-sec.  Astrophysics is part of the metagame, fer sher.
But
there's some stuff that takes some patience,

everything that's old is only old, not rotten.

Olde time religion, at the oldfo'k dayroom,
where the clock runs the whole show.
It's another game show. Saint Bob Barker takes a bow,
and declares the worth of all your eyes behold,

If, if, if you are alucky winner and you arise when I call your name
to come on down
fall on your knees and declare the worth...

pure gamesmanships required here, golf whispers only,
worship, smuch more difficult to aim for than praise.
I agree.
Praise, appraisal, worthyness, worthship, prize,
how do you declare such a thing worthy,

A feeling? What's it worth? Depends. Safe? Priceless. Don't shout.

So we sell walls. We'll be rich and powerful wallbuilding,
citi-zen warriors fed and fattened by those we make
feel safe.

That's the idea. It's worked for years, at least
since
we
capitalized Campbell's bliss and Sagan's billions and billions of stars.

Workers will work for food and a feeling. And Facebook.
They choose, believe what's easiest, they are told,
you are absolutely co-rectallatime, tekayepeel.

There are such wishes being made, on all manner of stars
for happy ever afters. If wishes were asked for, whatif
connecting to the source of haps that are
all happiness can possibly
consist of...
Oh, consist is a sticky, gluten idea stuck in my daily bread.
It's related to resist, desist and the command to stand. Sistere.

This is that bomb, this is a dam buster Jesus H Christ Bomb!

Something's bound on earth to go wrong,
ever since Eve bit that apple, if she'da left that apple on the apple tree
Nah, that ain't how it went down and
songs about it don't change it none.

But, maybe this is me interrupted..
Whatif, nothing is immaterial, as an idea, it can't go wrong,
and Murphy's law, obeyed, is good, all the time.
Ask the pilot. What if,
asking for help helps? Was that a message? A touch by an angel?
Spirit, the idea?
Are you familiar with its role in reality?
Something makes these bubbles spin, y'know.

Ignoring is bliss, nay,
No more,
precisely, nevermore, quotheraven, shall the man who can read
be locked away from all the stories of all the things that
men, wombed and un,
have told and tested for ever, it seems,
when ya stop
striving for perfection and let patience have her way witcha,

whatcha learn can change the world.

Look back. Good news from a far country come our way.

THE DOUBLE moon, one on the high back drop of the west, one on the curve of the river face,
The sky moon of fire and the river moon of water, I am taking these home in a basket, hung on an elbow, such a teeny weeny elbow, in my head.
I saw them last night, a cradle moon, two horns of a moon, such an early hopeful moon, such a child's moon for all young hearts to make a picture of.
The river-I remember this like a picture-the river was the upper twist of a written question mark.
I know now it takes many many years to write a river, a twist of water asking a question.
And white stars moved when the moon moved, and one red star kept burning, and the Big Dipper was almost overhead.

tabitha all grown up, meeting the 120 year old ** ** the clown



tabitha was busy seeing people interested in their previous lives before this one

and ** ** the clown, who was having delusions, through his sudden memory loss

one minute it’s as bright of day, the next it’s gone, and then he would pick up a tabithat doll

and as he held it, he would remember that day, where he favoured tabitha more than the other kids

and wanted to find the family, but didn’t want to be a bother, so endora came into his dream

to walk away from the nursing home and all the care he is given, to travel to sydney australia

to pay a visit to tabitha, and it took him 7 days as he touched down in sydney to find out

wherte tabitha is, and then went into a house, which said tabitha’s den, and saw this attractive twenty something

and thought to himself, he is in the wrong place, but asked, i am looking for a tabitha stevens, the girl

that was the inspiration to the tabitha doll, and at first, tabitha was puzzled, but it came back to her

when he said he was ** ** the clown, and he is now 120 years old, and wants to know tabitha’s secrete

on staying young, and tabitha, said, being a witch can do things to you, and ** ** the clown said, your a what1

tabitha said, a witcortal, well, my dad’s advertising firm hired you, i was just favoured because of my grandma

and this made ** ** really excited, and said, can you tell me, was this doll, a cute little doll meant to talk

and tabitha said, no, it was a coverup, so daddy doesn’t lose your account, it wasn’t daddy’s fault he lost the account,

it was grandmas, but she hates the idea of a witch marrying mortals back then, you should see the other clients

that were trapped by witchcraft, no, you were under a silly spell, and ** **, left and went back to his hotel, and

endora came into his room and put a spell on him, to never have him wake, ever, he will reincarnate into something else

and then endora said to tabitha, yeah i remember that day, when we made you into a doll, but i just killed ** ** the clown, ok

he believes in reincarnation, he won’t suffer, and he will realise, that you did the wrong thing, because, now he knows tabitha

death happens, and i didn’t want ** ** being the mortal out living the witch’s and sam and darrin popped in and tabitha said

how is adam, and adams side was expecting another baby, due in 4 months, and tabitha told one of darrin’s old clients ** ** the clown

the whole truth, which made grandma **** him, to reenter his next life, full of happiness, and darrin said, how old was that kodger, and

tabitha said 120, and went to his hotel to die, grandma said, and darrin said, i might be a warlock now, but i show a bit of compassion

and endora said, do you believe in god, well god is your mother in law, me, and i did all that to you, to bring on your sense of humour,

sam knew, but hated the plan, but it was my job, ok, ** ** the clown was too old, and feeble, so i made him escape the nursing home

and find tabitha, hex the house and doll with memories of that day, put a weeny spell on tabitha to spill the beans, so he will die peacefully

and he did, and the stevens family had a meal in new york, to celebrate the life of ** ** the clown, even going to his funeral, larry was forced

to go, and there was a big party, as tabitha, was asked to get rid of the tabitha doll, and zap it out of those kids homes, after a man, said, were you

the inspiration to the tabitha, it was flattering, but freaky, so tabitha zapped all the memory of the tabitha dolls, to leave the world with ** ** the clown

and everyone left, and tabitha went back to work, to tell this 45 year old man, he is ned kelly, cause of a dark lobe, and that is the end of ** ** the clown.

Evil
Clinging
Monsters
They haunt you
They scare you
They want to take over your world

They come
Disguised
In
Teeny
Weeny
Packages

Looking harmless
Luring you into their trap
And then they drag you      d
And then they make you f     o
                                               a     w
                                                  l      n
                                                    l
You can't escape
Their menacing grip

You know they're growing
A colony strong
Finding allies
They're out to crush
*You

(sung to "If I Only Had a Brain/Heart/Courage" song from the Wizard of Oz)

I'm a ****** *******,
altho I seem quite merry,
I am always causing strife.
I've a rot for a banana,
But I'd smoke the whole Havana,

if I only had a LIFE!

I just love to cause division,
By other's lives derision,
I'll cause gossip to be rife!
It don't matter! I am toothful,
I don't claim to be that truthful,

If I only had a LIFE!

I would love ta get ta know ya,
But I smoke like Krakatoa,
You could cut it with a knife.
I will put it in my ashtray
And conclude another entry

if I only had a LIFE!

I've no girlfriend, it don't matter,
I'm as loony as a hatter,
I will never have a wife.
I've a teeny weeny shooter,
Can't make love to my computer,

IF I ONLY HAD A LIFE!!


SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/20/2015

THE CHICK in the egg picks at the shell, cracks open one oval world, and enters another oval world.

"Cheep ... cheep ... cheep" is the salutation of the newcomer, the emigrant, the casual at the gates of the new world.

"Cheep ... cheep" ... from oval to oval, sunset to sunset, star to star.

It is at the door of this house, this teeny weeny eggshell exit, it is here men say a riddle and jeer each other: who are you? where do you go from here?

(In the academies many books, at the circus many sacks of peanuts, at the club rooms many cigar butts.)

"Cheep ... cheep" ... from oval to oval, sunset to sunset, star to star.

The double moon, one on the high back drop of the west, one on the curve of the river face,
The sky moon of fire and the river moon of water, I am taking these home in a basket, hung on an elbow, such a teeny weeny elbow, in my head.
I saw them last night, a cradle moon, two horns of a moon, such an early hopeful moon, such a child’s moon for all young hearts to make a picture of.
The river—I remember this like a picture—the river was the upper twist of a written question mark.
I know now it takes many many years to write a river, a twist of water asking a question.
And white stars moved when the moon moved, and one red star kept burning, and the Big Dipper was almost overhead.

Coming undone from the strings in my throat
that say a little too much or a little too little
They don't know their Femalien place,
in this masculine **** race-
So with raw heat boiling from the pit of my genitals
and dew drops glistening on my *******,
is it possible that we females are maybe playing the maleful jest?
At best, could a man see that he takes not
what he owns not
and what he owns not-
Is Everything.
But oh,
no no no no-
no no no no no no no,
you're a big man
with your big purply veined ****
coming out of your ears
and vomiting your man juice from your mouth,
don't you feel like a big man now?
As I slip between your skinny pleats
your manly desire,
your teeny weeny *****,
and swim about the valleys of your frothy tongue-
I'll get the flooding of your wallet
the more I scream "oh yeah baby,
I want you to *** *** ***!"
Yet as so far as real love can be concerned
real love does not exist here and in return
it is rain rain rain.
Heavy ******* rain on the blank canvas of your face.
I'll paint a pretty picture with your blood,
you could stick your detached eyeballs
in the mud
and we'd be happy, if only you lost those ears-
pesky things, I'd rip and tear,
tasty treats, your biggest fear,
to be a deaf and blind man
with a women in your wake-
or in your way-
or leading you-
You are not sure.
But ****
it terrifies you-

To the core.

I've done some dumb things in my life
thats one of the reasons there is no wife
too much talk of poo for women
all this pretty stupid grinning
need a kick up the *** real bad
or a pointy finger when I'm sad
set myself on fire because thats what I like
fell through the ice while riding my bike
ironed a shirt while I was wearing it
got a huge blister on my weeny ***
one day went fishing and got in a flap
caught a nice carp on a lump of cat crap
got my **** stuck in a cracked toilet seat
that took a lump out ooh painful but neat
said to the doctor" when I'm done yelling,
get rid of the pain, but please leave the swelling!"
one thing I do enjoy is a laugh
but that is no good for my epitaph
for a donkey like me my final hurrah
reads here lies Jeremy.... a ******* Too Far

I crept up to the rocking chair
Perched beside my bedroom door,
Pressed my ear up to the wood
Waiting for daddy's snores,

Silence in heaps,
Between discounted sheep,
Blared into the darkness,

Until, an eye-squeezing roar
Shook the entire first floor,
Following my tiptoes across the carpet.

Down the hall and to the left
And quickly up the stairs

(Swiftly, I went
In my flighty ascent -
Should goblins follow,
Me - unawares),

I burst into the attic
Heart naively in panic -
Back evened with the sturdy door,

The attic, at last!
The window ahead,
And beyond it,
I could only imagine.

--

Daddy told me once,
From behind billows of smoke,
That the more I dreamt
The more things awoke,

I dreamt of a dragon
In bed that night,
So, with the stars, up high
Should be a dragon in flight,

I threw open the curtains,
Soul, a wish-filled flagon,
Breath held tight
To behold my...lizard?

--

An itty bitty
Teeny weeny
Green,

(and somewhat, brownish)

Thing,

Crawled across
My window sill
Lacking all his
Dragon things,

His dragon hue,
And dragon size,
Everything
Dragon-wise,

I plopped down to
The floor beneath
The window,
And I took a seat,

I watched that little
Dragonette -
Slowly trying
To just forget,

The dragon I had come to see
Hadn't cared enough to come see me,

Then that lizard did a crazy thing -
Popped up his head -
Showin' a big pink thing!

I wasn't sure what sounds lizards made
So, I moved up close
('cause I wasn't afraid!)

Eye to eye,
I leaned in close,
Then that thing jumped forward
And bit my nose!

...

*I'm pretty sure he liked me.

See the young one's shining face
Freshly joined the human race
Chubby cheeks and wrinkled ***
Flailing arms and little tum

A life of learning lays ahead
But rest for now your weeny head
What this miracle will be, who knows
With his tiny hands and feet and snotty nose

Stop your mewling now be calm
You're coming to no harm
I'll hold you for a little while
Although your shrieks do cause alarm

Why choose now, oh little one
To exercise those fearsome lungs
And then projectile squirt
Green ***** on my nice clean shirt

I'll hand you back, you look much better
In your mother's arms
I feel I am immune alas
To your supposed charms

Quiet now, would I hold?
If you don't mind I will refrain
If I may be so bold

Left with an odour, a downright smell
I must confess
I don't do babies very well

What relief, they've gone away
Give me a dog any day

I have a micropenis...
And it really doesn't ****
As much as I thought it would
Mainly cause no girl wants
An imaginary ***** going anywhere
Near them, I mean they have ******
For that.

So I'm suing every ***** company
For making products that promote
A false sense of self worth and an
Incredibly over-inflated beauty standard
That is all but impossible to ever live up
To: basically anything larger than 0.5cm
is up for grabs.
(Except mine-- which is never grabbed)

Wanna hear a sexist double standard?
Girls have the "itty bitty ***** committee"
But guys have no "teeny weeny peeny task force"
Le sigh~ ***** to ****
Or to never at all

o                                          
                          o                                                                ­                                          o
                                                               ­                                                                 ­  o
I'm a weeny fish                                                I could try blowing lots of bubbles
In a big blue scary sea                                      That would surely show'em
If I don't do something pretty soon                  Or maybe I should think a while
No-one's going to notice me                             And write a little poem

                          
                                ­    I'm a little flat fish
                                    A frightened little sole
                                    The sea is way too big for me
                                     I want to live in a bowl

Were I a whale, cartoon or
otherwise,

I would be for giving as good as I take,

and,
think, subject ob service
auto shifts,
if you know auto, yourself.
think
teeny weeny plankton by the ton
feed
me
as I cruise sans-effort, sans-trep
idation
egone into ideation,

you would be crazy as hello-happys
with no good bye

were you to agree to think with me,

is this your pa
in my belly?

Ambergris, remember this,

some aromas, sweet perfuma, you can't believe, sans
gnose blowing

during the withdrawals from 6 o'clock news

and recovery from Bernays Virii.

Behold how great a matter turns, under your
standing and above

and beyond
all a non-liar can imagine having known for sure. Okeh? Wit'me?

I knew this old guy,
one time talked me into daring
the deed, you know, it's hard
for a whale to
let some mind find time,

he said, in code... ditty dum dum and al,
banging on a bulkhead, starboard side:

LSMFT, once prompted me to choose
Lucky Strike, twen'yficent a pack, straights,
for the knowing announced with a note on a pipe,
the smoking lamp is
lighted, or lit (I forgit). It made a good smoke.

That's a whale of a comprefriendable story,
ex
cite ment to provoke a thought you never thught
possible, with no word
to express,
it past the flow, into the the ****** pool.

Life is a whale of a joke, don't you...

care. Okeh. You read, you'll survive.
If you can swallow a whale,

you can know common sense is unforgot,
get it. And with your getting,
get standing under, like a shower, you understand.

Whale of a feeling, eh?

Faygo and ******* **** and a little braded naughty nancy who ain't really named nancy Tom Clansy sheets nasty. ***** nasty. Sheets nasty thats frequent from the New York jogger flopping floppy frogger. She stunk like hose water pan handling cleanly. Oh and touch my weeny weeny from the scene where Scheen bees. Hurt my hind haunches like the stank from the seat where old Ponch sits. Cooties grissle cookies wish, I wished yes betch I ****** up I bet-cha you're a ******* **** that facades as a proof fan because my homie used to use my Moving Van, but ****** I don't know your crow's feet until. Well.Well. Well know until this thesis because I wanted to write how more I **** **** with Rechard Simmons on the Weeknd's Porsche hood with permission because we isn't weight bizz-nitch. I'm itching Oren Ishy Iishi can you open up the crusty crumble, Wait I waxed my *******. ******* waste on bleach. I ******* bleached her *** buster with more catching up then mustard sauce. **** your Oddity I'll grab enough ***** from Fun-yun bags that reak fathered pharamones. Oh. I moaned Oh. Oh. Oh. I moaned.

At the old downtown Theater a curious group of performers appear after closing time , a little after sundown !
The pipes of the grand pipe ***** make the stage their own ...Large ones , tiny ones and gadgets the likes you've never ever known !
Instruments of various heights , shapes and sizes ! Teeny weeny flutes and big oboes answer and call ! Vox humanas sing like the choirs above , Rooga horns from old cars sound off , little blue birds twinkle lovely alms ! Wood Flutes tower sixteen feet high ! Brass trumpets heard from miles around , contra bassoons big enough to blow a man down !
The clap of wooden horses crossing covered bridges , antique telephones and drumhead switches !
Lovely diapasons lead the show , big burly Reeds make the stage their own !!
The mops , buckets , brooms and dust pans dance as the entourage bellows , the music grows louder as the pipers come together !
As all the pipes blow a beautiful song , debonair Sir Console graciously invites you all to sing along !

I love it when
A bright spark
Or a little idea
Pops into my weeny brain.

And for that
Brief
Short
Moment

I feel enlightened,
I feel inspired,
To piece that into
A pretty poem.

Alas,
The thoughts
The brilliant ideas
They go away,
Away from me.

I desperately reach out.
I'm so close,
But yet so far,
Unable to stop them,
I'm helpless again.

These bits and pieces,
These stories in my head,
They slip
Away.

They go
Out of my reach
Out of my mind
Out into the blank cold world unkind.

Long long ago in a lonely lovely hill
When earth was young, handsome and green
Besides the meadow near the curly winding flow
There stood a tree proudly high and spry.

Swaying and dancing in wheezy pleasy breeze
Never was he still, always in a swing.
Not even a speck, not a little flea
Never allowed any, sitting in his spray.

Winder came to hinder, pouring all her snow
Our tree kept fighting, throwing all his snow.
Jutting high he stood, leafy and green
In the midst of an ocean of falling snowy flakes.

Two little sparrows, flying from the north
Searching for a shade in that minacious wind.
Saw the mighty tree, swiftly they descent
Nestled in his branches to save their little lives.

Before they could settle, hurled to the ground
Without any mercy, our dancing prancing tree.
Again they tried, again thrown to ground
Again and again, bereft of any kindness.

Tired and puffing that little sparrow mother
Sprawled on his feet fighting for her breath.
Two tiny pearls rolled from her eyes
Smelted on his foot with her warmth and pain.

Dazed and watching, the mighty tree stood
Feeling all the pain the little creature bear.
Heavy at his heart, Heavy was his branches
Forlorn and silent, melting hefty heart.

The feathery teeny couple, eyed the tree quiet
Perched on his branches, prudent and happy.
Later on that day, picking twigs and leaves
Weaving with care, they made their winsome nest.

The dotish dancing tree, spying all their actions
Tussled with tempest, stayed there without motion.
Not a single leaf, not a petty branch
Not even a sigh, he uttered without care.

The pair of lovely birds, huddled in their home
Shared lovely blankets, spreading wings and feathers.
Peeping through his leaves and crimson little branches
He watched the birds slept, with a sense of love.
  
Teeming deep-felt care, bearing flakes and fall
Proud dancing tree, stood there rapt and frozen.
Winter slowly left and the spring was yet to come
The tiny sparrow mother, laid three wonder eggs.

Hugged and rolled in love, day and night in hurry
Feeble tweets and cry, woke the vigilant tree.
Weeny songs of love, doting brush of quills
Tiny goofy beaks, jutted from the nest.

Like a foster father, our tree stood blessed and chilled
Wished to rock and spin, but moved not in the least.
Time kept flying away, spring came dazzling in
Pretty little chicks, learned to flutter and dance.

Rapture spilled around, florets blossomed out
Covered nacarat flowers, stood he shy and blushed.
Chasing flies and bees, singing songs of love
They float around their grandpa, lovely wonder kids.

Swinging salmon fruits, he fed the little birds
Bowing head and pride, with a dancing heart.
The naughty sparrow chicks, poohed on his branches
But the mighty tree, never mind their doodles.

As the wings got stronger, they soared high and far
On the vicinal lands and to the distant shores
Sailing wonder worlds, flying with their dreams
But never forgot to return, for a goodnight sleep.

On to the cerulean sky, not any farewell words
The happy little family, one day flown and gone.
Watching day and night, our doomed dancing tree
Waited for their return, dreadful and as dead.

Sun shed all his splendors to wake and make him happy
Dismal clouds cried, drenching him in showers.
Winter came and poured, covered him in snow
The dancing tree never moved not a single leaf.

From distant snowy clouds chirping sounds he heard
Woken from his slumber, shaking all his snow.
In wheezy pleasy breeze, swayed and danced in glee
Waited for the couple and one more tale of love.

My application's been rejected out of hand 'cause they suspected that it wasn't filled in honestly
well
****** me,
I answered all as best I could
I didn't lie or if I did I hope they won't find out, (touch wood and spit)

They've decided not to let me in, that little clique who know no sin, the little *******, I ought to punch them on their chin or chins or 'chinny chin chins'

But I like pork and I could talk about it all day long, boiled and grilled,
pulled or fried I've tried them all and all the little pigs can do is bawl,
you can't come in
you can't come in,
ha
chin chin's no chinaman you're going in the frying pan.

If I puff a puffle more that tenny weeny matchstick door is firewood
yes
yes
I am that good.

anyone for chops?

is weeny people
having thoughts that
are immense, vast, oversized for their age
for their teeny, picayune bodies

but that isn't the problem

it's the elders not acknowledging them nor their thoughts
it's their need for self destruction  
it's anxiety, depression, Weltschmerz all over again

it's not being enough
but feeling
way too
much

Laying on the ground somewhere
Though I don't really suppose it's the where I am intended to be
Is it, or not?
Music, music, music
And I feel so tiny
Teeny-weeny
The finest flake of sugar
I do not feel my fingertips
Nor the top of my toes
I'm frozen, on a hot summer day
I'm not melting
I do not think I'm here anymore,
Peculiarity fills the cavities
Of my unconsciousness
I am
In a stranger's body, in a stranger's room
On a stranger's fuzzy floor
I hear voices, whispers above the paces
Melodies
I recognize these sounds, their presence
Yet I feel unexistent at that specific time
In this determined place
Drifting, twirling
Hazy hazy day
For a moment,
Just a moment
A glimpse
Then, as small as I am
Ants round up around my crystallized edges
And bring me back
Where my eyes
Fall and fall into a void
Where my ears see popping vivid colors
Blinding
Where something dries itself just under my nose
Where my fingers are in motion again
And the tip of my toe draws circles of vapor on the hose

I sat in the back seat of that car
That very afternoon where the sky decided to show it’s vulnerability
It’s emotion churned drastically occasionally letting out a loud scream
It looked like a rotting ice cream
( I enjoyed staring at the painting the divine artist created , I believed it was just for me , to “blow up” and share to the world what was winding within me)

But in this car I watched your eyes in the teeny weeny mirror
I saw your pain , I saw how you were hit as a child and how your father never knew how to hold you
And I swore my heart almost jumped out of my me , luckily my rib caged it in to allow me to feel eternity a little longer
I made sure that you never saw me watching
That was too intimate for us

- you never knew how to embrace your little girl, maybe that’s why she found pleasure in being embraced by all the boys ( it’s okay now I will heal through my writing and I will not blame you for not knowing how to show me you love me , it’s because your father never knew either.