-Te amo
-Cuanto me amas?
-Muchísimo
-Cuanto es muchisimo?
-No tienes idea
-Si, pero dime cuanto?
-Te amo tanto que sin ti no puedo vivir. Sin ti no hay vida en mi. Sin ti me moriría.  Sin ti no soy completo. Te quiero tanto que haría todo lo posible para que estés feliz. Te quiero mas que a mi Playstation xp

-I love you
-How much do you love me?
-A lot
-How much is a lot?
-You have no idea
-Yes, but tell me how much?
-I love you so much that I can't live without you. without you, there is no life in me. without you I'd die. Without you I'm not complete. I love you so much that I'd do anything to make you happy. I love you more than my Playstation xp

Who has the keys to this Wednesday night?
I wanna ******* drive, I'll take the exit
               off I-90
  and these bloodshot eyes
  they won't slow me down
  or catch up until bar time.

Greyscale cityscape--it's blurred out size
               can dissemble time
and make a smudge out of our plights.

Not asking questions.
I won't need to lie
if I just keep quiet.

               Not gonna slow
                                     me down.
                  Not this time.

Door to the weekend has started creaking
and leaking light.
But my threshold's high
and we're not on foreign ground.

Dim reflection in your shouting eyes
calls for some more time
so it's one more round
and keep running for a place that's high.

Not gonna stop until these blurring lights
               and my X'd out eyes
can make a streak out of my sight.

No further questions.
I don't mean to pry.
So I'll just keep quiet.

               Deal is, you've gotta
                                     hide                  
                           me tonight.

Let's pitch the keys to this Wednesday night
and ditch this beat-up ride. Let's make our exit.
               Torch these bridges,
             flee through rainy night.
              They can't stop us now
             or catch up until bar time.

i promise to write a few of these conversational style
poems, as with a direct addressee,
but you have to take into consideration
something that just happened to me...
i'm part of the generation that grew with the
skeleton of Facebook...
the infamous Microsoft chat-rooms...
and you might consider the next thing i'll write
as a well calculated error, the magpie
warned me just after i finished the Ernie bench
poem... the magpie warned me that i'd
fuel jealousy, that i'd feed it when i'd post
a poem of such intricate calibre on a website
which we all innocently joined,
i was one of the very second wave of those
initiated... the people who entered university...
a "friend" of mine introduced me,
as was with all the internet experience,
looking for a chat room for random conversation
it seemed like a sensible alternative...
we were all wrong... with this last poem,
i didn't re-post it... you end seeing ghosts of people
you once knew... the smart ones have already
unfriended you before you had a chance to
state why all this **** going on in the soul was
dragging you down... the competitive aspirations
of everyone... but such competitive aspirations are
great when you're in it together, and are only
competing for school grades... not for sending photographs
from holidays, or who you're with...
and there's a theological element in what i have to said:
the son of man? the jealous child of the old
testament, the wrathful child,
the child that was to teach men that pyramids were
a bad idea, until everyone knew enough science
to admire the Eiffel tower, and get a miniature Eiffel
on their mantelpiece, i.e. a worthy construction,
a celebration of people, not a person...
fair enough if they put an observation point on top
of Giza... and a restaurant in one of the burial
chambers... i did spend a lot of time looking
at the encryption of Hebrew - which illuminated me
to look into the Latin version of the dynamic,
and how it can sometimes also be understood
as to why English nuances the tetragrammaton to
never bother with adding diacritical marks on letters...
why and y are the same... this is what the
tetragrammaton illuminated...
but you see... the transition into Christianity is very
far from illuminating at the moment...
given that i'm digression from the main point,
the everyday reason why i kept my Facebook
account intact, but will not post anything more on it,
because, at some point, i knew these people,
from numbering above 300 friends (a misnomer of
contacts) i shrank it to 92, a random number...
what i noticed was indeed what everyone was doing:
harsh editing, which hid behind it the complexity
of my probing with anything Christian in my life...
by imitation i mean everything except for
enforcing the ultimate sacrifice, which is basically
Christ's misunderstanding of original sin...
he didn't have to go through either self-laceration
or induced-laceration by others...
the original sin, as i already stated was something
to do with male genital mutilation and female
genital mutilation, which, more eloquently
translates into what philosophers discuss in the
realm of the Essence, i.e. the omni- affix and
the suspected qualities (which when coupled to
Essence, gives us the Essences, a necessary
plurality, akin to Existences), which gives us
the mono- affix of supposed qualities -
i use suspected qualities attributed to the Essences
as the basis of not knowing and the wisdom
of mysticism - thus making something
suspect with something supposed is easier to
consider, because presuppositions are non-compatible
with what's already proposed, presuppositions
are more akin to the end-result of philosophy:
Wittgenstein's propositions.
as far as i know, i have just embarked into the realm
of respectable anonymity, a realm of certain
maturity - where the idea of a chat room is only
noted from the perspective: i'm using casual,
sometimes random conversation to engage with the
art, to better it... which is why, as it might be
the case, i might write a personal message to
anyone appreciating my work, i do so with
a maturity of having reached the age of 30,
an tested the safe waters of the internet...
to mention that one episode of the x files
season 5, episode 11, "**** the switch" -
what i noticed back then is that the idea of such an
a.i., constructed from many viruses, actually
attacked anyone watching ******* sites...
which would mean that there was a dualism
involved in it... as the basis of a love between
two people... no other type of websites were attacked
at the genesis of the internet... none...
not even those Microsoft chat-rooms where paedophiles
eventually prowled... i believe this a.i.
phenomenon did exist, but it was completely
disappeared into middle-age of the two subjects
who made their lives artificial in the digital matrix...
meaning they couldn't synthesise beyond
a necessary tier of life... the nonchalance of old age,
the calm hope of death in suffering...
this a.i. symbiosis of male and female was violent
due to a violent death... and hence a violent
prescription to want this carnal love akin
to computer viruses emerging primarily from
******* sites... all those complex sheets
of data from this episode, in the old computers
Windows 98 were pop-ups from ******* sites...
all that complex data for creating the a.i. duality
ended with the first computers having problems
with people who had foreskins and masturbated
(because that's what ******* enables),
and given the origin of even the fiction came
from America, and the near absolute use of circumcision
with the coming of the Jews to America
(it's not a conspiracy) - hence the male virus
a circumcised male phallus (a sword without a sheath)
mingled with the uncircumcised female counterpart
to create what western society calls it's supreme
telephone... which is why the Arab culture,
or at least the culture where both parts of the duality
are represented by mutilation... we receive no
benefit of communication on the sale apparent in
western society... you might think it crude...
but with some people sending pictures of their
genitalia to each other... seeing these words will
not really have an impact on your imagination
as to how to use the parts properly.

p.s. Windows 2000 and XP also...
               hardware? E-machine computers...
Apple was always immune to viruses...
                mainly because it did have a gaming
  capacity, and all hackers are gaming enthusiasts,
using much of gaming code to play games on
infrastructure codes of banks, shops and other such things.

I was once like you I ran a computer & on that computer I ran Windows. Until one day when it got The Blue Screen of Death then I went searching & you know what I found.... I found Linux & I accepted Linux as my savior for my computer needs. I took my computer from the fiery pits of computer hell & had it resurrected by the all knowing ALL seeing power of Linux! Ever since that day I have never paid for software.


MS-DOS,95, XP, Vista & 7 I have no use for you now as I I'm free & open source ONLY!!!

Now how many of you have seen the light & are willing to accept Linux as your savior for computer needs?

To herself, she was perfect, how could anybody resist?

Of course men, boys, guys from all over, would be lined up, all for her attention.

Right........?

OF COURSE. :)

She worked so ******* her body during winter, just to be noticed on hot summer beaches.

She always did her hair, her makeup, her nails, always had the best outfits.

After all, she was a beauty.

Wouldn't you agree.......?

DUH!! Xp

Only.............time passed...and couples of all types appeared.

I'm beautiful, she thought, I'm special.

Surly, my man will come, someone to love ME <3.

Men came.....but not for love.

For ***.

She was *** material,
after all look at the effort she put forth into her looks, we know what she wants.........,.... the D!! XD

Only, she wished they had stayed.... she wished they had loved HER.

The real her. v.v

The her she so deeply hated herself.

Surly somebody will like me.

Definitely, right?


If no one does, its okay because she knows the feeling all too well.

But every morning, she wakes up and looks in the mirror to see an eager, smiling ready face and the bruises.

The memories are nothing but a distant nightmare, coated in sugar.

Coated in the thousand voices in her head telling her,
it never happened,
your beautiful,
everyone is jealous of you,
your perfect,
your special.
Well at least to me.......:*

This is why she loves herself, because no one EVER will....<\3

I've been taking hormones for right around three years now, and I know it isn't long in contrast to the length of adventures others have had, but I'd like to describe what it's been like here on this side. I haven't made many other queer friends as I have this fearful feeling of dread that my inclusion into the community depends on the dedication I commit to being a walking means to the end society has deemed fit the only end in store for me. Folk like me, I think -- imagine at least -- get their breadth of emotion choked in the fall between spokes of the wheel. I retain, that within the other is another other, deeper still beneath the tired paradigms, mired lower in pain and shame til the next.

They promised to level you up
After a six month grind.
Took a ball point pen
kept your eyes on the macguffin.
but there's still rats in the basement
never made enough Rupees
To trade in this wooden sword
no matter how many teeth
or claws you trade in
You're still stuck behind a register
or mopping up XP from the local wildlife's viscera

During your daily quest
turning in the farmers daughter
you noticed a woman promptly positioned in your way.
Some bandits killed her father
and she just stuck around
Until you hit the local tavern
and drank too much whiskey
you ran off to fetch her some pearls
then while digging for CLAMS
You met a pirate man
Who asked you to steal back his map.
while you were finding his buried treasure
you happened to find a letter that
forced you into a coffee shop
and here you sit.

always fell for the macguffin
Now you caught the most obvious one.
Always running around, trading pelts for clues
But they just kept you busy so you never traveled out of town.
if you ever headed out

You'd be slaying more than dragons
there's more than princesses to set free
out here in the big world.
your next quest is self actualization
go Sattle up on that griffin.
and head to the farthest town.
You don't know how to make the gold right now

but if you stay here.
how are you gonna find out?

Everything here
glows with
meaning, history,
allegory, antiquity,
and
worldliness.

Jet lag keeps
me windows
95. a sleep,
upgrade to
XP or higher
so the world
won't have to
pause & buffer.

"I go to Nature to be soothed and healed and to have my senses put in order".
- John Burroughs


Part I

When the time was right, he does not hesitate to follow the path, “I've been waiting for this moment a very long time" he says.
Just himself, a Sage XP fly rod, a Golden Prince reel and a selection of March Browns and Slate Drakes. Its a special morning, Autumn 60s, overcast skies and lowlights.


The pathway bends past tall Sugar Maples, Old Stone fences, a Groundhog or two, trout lilies and mountain laurel. Its right here, that his fondest memories reside.
He had come at last to transcend the idea of coming back to the river for a greater purpose. A purpose that makes life worth living, a milestone, his own personal mark on this special place.
The sound of the river is in earshot now. A Chipping Sparrow sounds the alarm and all of Neversinks inhabitance are now on notice….human approaching.


As he reaches the river bank he's transported to a memory of his Granddad. The times when they fished this stretch of the river together.
His Grandfather told him about a time when fly fisherman and fly tiers honored Neversink and made it famous.


We always fished until it was dark. Granddad would light the lantern and we’d walk and talk all the way home. I often felt encouraged that just knowing the importance of this place, brought me luck.

Part II

"So by now, you're probably wondering who I am." "My name is Tom, Tom Murphy." "As a child, I came here each summer to spend time with my grandparents in the town of Roscoe, NY. When I graduated high school, I still came here from time to time whenever I had a college break as an Agronomy major at Cornell. I've always loved this place. It's always been near and dear to my heart."


The very next morning, Tom makes his way down the pathway to the river again. A nice steady Breeze was blowing through the trees, and that's when he heard it again. It's almost as if someone was speaking through the trees and wind. There it was again, this time calling out a whispering "tight lines." This was the very same voice that Tom heard as a child when his Grandfather took him to the river from the very first time.


A light rain began to fall, and Tom took cover under a large hemlock tree. Thunder sounded off in the distance, and everything in the forest was dead silent. As Tom peered across the river, he spotted movement in the adjacent Forest. A second later, a figure appeared on the bank of the river. An older man probably in his late sixties dressed in a top hat and coat, a split bamboo fly rod, and a German Shorthair Pointer by his side. Tom called out, " Good morning, sir. How are you?"

Do not settle for mediocrity, but rather reinvent extraordinaire through words and actions, meaningful experiences, and with those whom choose to understand. Not simply the world found in hand, but instead the world not seen through the eyes of ignorance. Choose not to stifle your knowledge and seek out the catalysis of change. Find that which fuels your passion and grab it with every fiber of your being. Conquer the world under your feet and reach for perfection. Question authority and always ask why not for personal gain but to gain personality and perspective. Celebrate the lows and the highs, and take the time to enjoy the morning’s warmth on your face. Love everyone no matter their differences and love yourself because you are unlike anyone else. Know humility and you will find peace. And when you cant hear yourself think, just scream until the world listens. Fear nothing not to be fearless but to be able to stand when everyone else cowers. Inspire through example rather then with the intention for action. Smile because people smile back. And when all else fails, always remember the revolution starts in the mind, and ends in the hand. xp

i wish i could ******* like a stephen king once in a while, but then my imagination sometimes gets a kick in the **** from delusional thinking, this the antidote to "a lack of imagination," this the artistic equivalence to a magician's trick, the illusionary works of sawing a woman in half; the many times i spilled some whisky on it... it happens... it happens so automatically that it's sometimes terrifying; now to find that cognitive anchor... ah, here it is: i.*

th- following l-tt-rs hav- b--om- -isabl--

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on my k-yboar-,
h-n- th- hyph-nation.

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so th- r-ason w-str-n so-i-ty is
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is --u to population siz-

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of s-rious maths an s-rious -h-mistry:
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an- th-n only giv-n bor--om among
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-ompl-x th-ori-s
to b- thrown into a worl- of -istill-ri-s

whisk-y an- vo-ka typos of
form-r -ompl-xiti-s
r-quiring p-rfum-s to say th- l-ast... -st-rs:
sw--t aromati- -h-mistry.

but from th- -r-am worl-:
1. paint s-otlan- with 3 r-- strip-s
2. paint -nglan- with 3 blu- strip-s
3. op-n a win- bottl- with a mat-hsti-k
    an- fin- -arth in th- bottl-: mu--y
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                        7 8 9
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everytime i turn on the computer it says
please update your programs
if its not java or adobe, its another stupid program
who cares if i have games that are nearly 10 years out of date
who cares if i still have Windows XP
If it's not broken dont fix it

I was going to write you an epic poem.
A soliloquy of vibrant, passionate, verbiage.
It was going to woo you off your feet.
Make you float like a falling feather in a light breeze...
indeterminately hovering in the golden light.

I was going to present my epoch to you with gilded wings and valiant trumpeting ostriches, on satin rugs in a grand hall.
Amidst a gathering of your closest friends.
I was going to lay bare my love for you like a plucked flower, opening to greet the sun before it's last gasp. Naked. Unafraid.

But then I remembered...
That for the next 42 minutes it was Happy Hour on Call of Duty Modern Warfare. And if I was smart - I would double down and activate my 2X weapon token...and rack up some serious XP.

So I left the comfort of the soft space our love occupies
And the dreamy pillowy sinews of our collective mind's eye...
And I rained a blood fury down on those dumb ******* like no one has ever done in a multiplayer first-person shooter, ever.
Laughing the entire time.... composing this epic poem for you... while shooting virtual people in the head with my rocket launcher.

Thus, is my true call of duty.

Xxxp xxr xxr
Xxxe xxxxxxxxxxxxss
eventually die
Xxt xxxxxd xp xn x xxxxxxg

It doesn't matter how many poems you write,
and how amazing they are,
ultimately it's all about context--

who you were, and what you represented in that generation.

were you ugly,
were you fat,
were you poor,
were you rich?

did you eat bacon?

did you brush your teeth?

did you smile at children?

did you watch cartoons?


did you flick your testicles 6 times a day like the dr
reccomened?

were there vitamins?

did your lines read like an old Windows XP?

did your lines cause people to spontaneously combust?

do old people enjoy your work?

do mothers hate you?

do people look away in horror?

do you like any of this?

or was
it all just a waste of time

and something to
do because the sun burns your skin

and the beaches close after 5am

I play video games on easy.

Yeah,
I know how some folk will see me,
but now, here’s the thing:

I don’t thrive on challenge.
I grow from knowing
what I’m capable of knowing
and showing all of that
polished up

I get that people see mountains
and climb because they’re there
but me knowing there’s a cafe at the top
with flapjack, tea and Kendal mint cake
seems to make it fair

Better still if a tarmac track
or funicular railway
can get me halfway or more,
I’m all over that,
you just watch me summit

To return to the original sort of analogy:
if I can beat the enigmatic end of level boss
who tosses a second or third energy bar
in the mix
by spamming the same overpowered move over and over,
I’m doing it,
end of

When I stand in the ashes of the beast
whatever it might be
and take loot or XP
that might be not quite as good as on normal or hard
I’m good
I still feel the buzz of winning

If I have to grind repeatedly
and learn intricate enemy routines to evade or parry
and die
and die
and die

It’s not for me.

It could be because I cut my gaming teeth in eighties arcades
where I judged how good a game was
by how far 10p could take me
at a time when 10ps were limited

A forgiving difficulty level was a boon
(Yeah, I’m looking at you Mad Dog McCree
50 flipping *** a go and dead in 30 seconds!)

Anyway...

A little friction in life is fine,
no drama without conflict and all that,
but given the option
to up up, down down
left right, left right
B A Start
my heart will always take it

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

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Th most b autiful j w l our languag  min s

L t us imagin  what a v rbal gap
A loss of this  xc ll nt l tt r would m an
Most consonants would fall into a trap
If th  b autiful “ ” w r  l ft uns  n

This little  xp rim nt will h lp us s  :
Littl  can b  writt n without an “ ”