and the cold grabs you by the As because you've gotten it into your head that time is responsible for everything,
                                                              when it doesn't even exist
and care,

in the end, the cold has its own business; it can come and go when its muscles want,
i saw how the cold invaded india,
after you left, it snowed in every place we thought to go,

the locals went to the buddha to pray for the snow not to melt,
they send the cold back to us
                                               to warm his little hands,

This is how the world grows from the cold and loneliness,
it grows into a lousy monkey,

In the last 500 years, westerners with acid in their fingertips, and
their bellies fermenting liquor, have built boats, airplanes, to take their loneliness around the world,
after that, they molted like snakes


... and love gets stuck in your throat like a fish bone,
you have no choice, you learn to live with the bone in your throat, even
when you kiss, and even when you
f...ly

and what business do hindu peasants have with the cold in the bones of an american, or a canadian,
a frenchman,
when it no longer attracts him to throw himself into the Seine,
but runs to buddha, to
                                    export his loneliness,

... airports are always packed with abandoned solitudes,
who dream of flying,
flying
           even to the moon, to forget about them, like a coat, to forget it somewhere,
somewhere on a stone,
or on a bench in a park in paris,
in a cafe decorated with fresh flowers,
and two cheerful lovers, hand in hand, who sit down, drink coffee, and look each other in the eye,
and, inkognito
the loneliness of the american tourist infiltrates their gaze
either to comfort them, or to scare them,
to make their legs tremble, to bring them to a common denominator,
and here is loneliness and the nitrophor that awakens our hearts,
the only one capable of raising kites in the wind,

an invisible glue,
loneliness is the only one who dreams,
walks through all the corners, wipes the dust,
and even digs to put the frost back into our bones, and again to take it out
like a tooth that hurts


the cold left on a beach
in Cucabaka country, awaits the only sunrise,

only the cold in the bones is still her friend, the fierce loneliness,
**** loneliness,
joyful loneliness,
sad one,
the loneliness of the japanese decorated with sand gardens,
so it's not blue loneliness,
the loneliness of the french is thrown over bridges,
taken to the moulin rouge,
the russian walks her among white birches,
rolls her on white nights, gives her ***** to drink,
the romanian cries after her, what if she leaves him too,

the latin invites Lonellies to dance:
- Señorita, there's still time for one more tango



... when
you are truly alone, not even the cold is with you,
it leaves through your kidneys, it goes to Angelina Jolie's country,
only loneliness crawls on your elbows looking for a mosquito to bite its buttocks,
but even heat can suffocate you when you are born with loneliness in your blood,

all the blame is on your blood type.

who gave it to you?
they say God has blood type zero,
those with blood type A **** loneliness,
what about B, they write to feed it with poems,

there are many kinds of loneliness,
for those who meditate, they say they stay in solitude,
a sort of alcoholic loneliness, only on the other side of the brain,



lights, so many cars, houses, and buildings around you,
you suffocate, but you squirm like a worm in your "maestro" brand bed and complain that you're alone,
some people call that loneliness when they eat or sleep alone, but I say it's not,
it's not,
as long as you have something to eat and somewhere to sleep, you're not alone,
even sleeping on the street, and picking up trash, you're still not alone,

loneliness is when you get on mars (like mat damon) and you use your feces to create chernozem soil, and want want to grow potatoes,

*
loneliness is just a coat you put on when you're cold,
and we shouldn't overlook that the planet is warming,
and the rains are flooding us, the glaciers are melting,
so neither is the cold the same as it used to be, nor is loneliness the same as it used to be.

it's just a coat that only we know how to put on,
how to wear it,
and when, and where,
and yet,
once, without wanting to, without anyone asking us, loneliness was born to unite us with the cold

(and one day you woke up in a cave, alive, with a stone in your hand)

When courteous behavior,
-is demonstrative conception
public display not playing, serious
weform clouds
of knowing anonymous unknew as
we, the not good Babel was proposed
to end, or keep veiled in mystery
until the time prophesied,
new winds, new gyres, old loops

when no closed beneficence loops
are not disclosed, lids left ajar
to sufficient
audience.

Dunbar designators ding, we think
this
could become mirror neuronically
true…

Monkeys washing yams,
mimesis minds mime watch
studies map mean points in trends
watching work done was, yea, is as
we are
by our very virtue verily true man
knack with sense sharing, good
for most, bad for some, hero,
front and center, fully simultaneous
myelinated dual brain, instant ifey
whenever two or more agree, we
develop a documented ability, us
use, we used to think, words, we say if
is as if was, word users saying words
we obediently define, saying as
speaking used spelled orders
to put dhe, here, I stand,
to where I reach, I defend as
any carnally minded creature may,

- there's the fiction friction, say
- queue the answer, play the theme,
- remind the audience, we already
- know, this pattern, that trait, we seeing
- us as those same protected by standers,
- benefitting from good, despite gritty real,
- glittering like a Trump structure reality TV
2025
It is a fine sunny day in May, high in the Cuyamacas,
far from the mob-ilized defenders of JWST boundaries

on what we all may learn to be a bit in, a particle,
accelerated once past now to then when you read me  

to assure one's self sense reflex
adrenal rush, to remain, alive
and kicking… to remain, resting easy,
atop a cake of congealed lipids
treading water, waiting
good sense

as common senses keep evolving,
as our means for making it increases.

In dreams, she floats on rivers made of light,
With tangerine trees and marmalade skies.
A girl with eyes like kaleidoscopes,
She wanders through a land of cellophane flowers,
Where colours blend and dance in harmony.
The sun, a golden orb, smiles down on her,
As rocking horse people eat marshmallow pies.
She drifts past fields of towering blooms,
Their petals whispering secrets to the wind.
In this surreal world, time stands still,
And newspaper taxis wait by the shore,
To carry her to realms unknown and vast,
Where imagination reigns supreme and free.
Lucy, in the sky with diamonds bright,
A symbol of the wonder in our minds,
She guides us through the labyrinth of dreams,
Where every turn reveals a new delight.

I'm not all that good,
I'm not all that bad,
Maybe one day,
I'm as bad as a person can be,
Maybe on another day,
I'm one of the best you can meet,

Raised in a small town,
Where people gossip
from sun up to sun down,
Brought up poor in a broken
family, only added more,

When I'm out and about,
I get those judgemental stares,
with whispers of, "she's hopeless,
she's beyond repair,

I get worked up so
I purposely give them a reason to
gasp for air,

Of course they all claim to be Christians,
The type that choose clean blue water
to be baptised in,
But I was baptised in muddy water
and I'm glad to say," hey listen up,
I was baptised in muddy water so
I guess that makes me too ***** for
your kind?"

Then I smile to myself because
I know  something they must not,
JESUS WAS BAPTISED IN MUDDY
WATERS, as well.
I imagine it kind of went like this:
Upon meeting Jesus, John said: "I have need to be baptized of thee, and comest thou to me? I imagine Jesus told John it was only right to do so, I can imagine John trying to convince Jesus to at least let him find cleaner waters but Jesus knew so He refused.

You see in the time of Jesus’s baptism, the Jordan river and surrounding areas was no less than now, a river full of muck, *****, muddy, and gross looking, you can’t see two inches into it today nor could you then.

These very people called Christians are the same people who judge so harshly, through the centuries they've compared Jesus's baptism to our own,  with an understandable preference for the clear waters of a Blue Hole over the muddy waters of the Jordan and beyond,

So yeah, I'm all messed up in the head,
Better the head than the heart,
But you've already judged my part.

So if you ever run out stuff to gossip about, just think back and remember,
the small town girl that was baptised in muddy water.
- Author Ven J Arnold / SacredInkedBlood

by which I of course am referring to this keyboard
that i’m writing on now
funny how that works ain’t it
62 minutes until my shift ends
John Prine & the Korean war don’t quite match where I am
clicking pool cues penetrate my headphones
I wonder how many bad games of pool it takes to shake a man’s confidence
by my estimate the answer is never enough
guys that can’t shoot love teaching girls how not to shoot
but the girls don’t usually seem to mind
how very 60’s highschool of it all
maybe Mr. Prine does have something here to say
47 minutes until my shift ends
people trust engineers warns my engineering professor
people trust you to know things he furthers
people trust us to explain
I wish they wouldn’t
tech support & translators for parents & grandparents
people want answers but only when they thought they already knew
40 minutes until my shift ends
pretty good, not bad, I can’t complain
seeing my old highschool teachers at the burrito place where I worked
sinking in the mire of chicken, brown rice, & black beans for minimum wage
ain’t it funny
I can smell the 45 pieces of steak & chicken I grilled when I get home
ain’t it funny
the outrage over the price of guacamole
33 minutes until my shift ends

If swords, in fun,
Go on the run,
We’ll no doubt find
There’s only one.

And rip, it must,
In adult lust,
The tender youth,
With poisoned rust.

And youth returns:
The friction burns
- The bag of bones -
No age concerns.

And both alone
- The sock of bone,
The sated man -
The broken home.

If swords, in fun,
Go on the run,
We’ll no doubt find
There’s only one.