Actual lesson notes on life
left for your evaluation
if you read on,
is your time, in attentive state, reading state,
narrow beam
focus, military grade - worth spending here?

Attention to the details that fit the picture,
it seems my kind
learns in caves, by nature,
we crawl into deep dark places
and live freely until we die and leave
but traces of the we entranced here now.

Come and see, as the word of god,
bade me begin or be ******.

The advisor chuckled, an actual gulp-chortle
while saying in his most complexmental way,
I love your use of the word
******.

I went away convinced, this was the way
to now,
you reading into the book of life the part
that proves your worth is not
found in your tolerating Proust,
but denying my worth is measured
on you sense of the worth, given proper
pro-nuncial prowess at play, say
with the arrogance of elliot… in the Magicians
on TV, not the waste land, good
lord, who would besmirch the genius
at the top of curios arts charts

tip\top pop the bubble, boiling brew of elders
grown knowing all along
trees have souls,
in shady groves
where others did evil,
vain repletion's, expletive

- ecall newsome, trump the ***** queen
deleted.

Sometimes i fear
that my poems don't make sense
but then again
neither do my thoughts
and then i realize
we are all just trying
to make sense of it all

i scroll through the contacts on my phone
and realise there is no one i can call
nobody i can text
people ive had for 7 years
maybe more
their care for me has gone void
and i can sense it
can't you see?
it's all superficial  
every conversation
every look
it is all superficial
and i can blame anyone and anything for it
but none of that will change the truth and none of it
will gift me a new outcome

so now i sit alone
in a void room and i wonder
who will notice
who will care
when i am all but gone

for they will notice when i take my last breath
but nobody notices the moments before
not from afar

Before, I couldn’t see you
I would write about your eyes
Your smile
Your hair
All cliche, all flat
I couldn’t write
How I tried
Now I see you...

I see a green mantis
I see your freckled patina in that photo with the perfect light
I see you engaging the waiter in conversation
I see your long limbs loosely crossed
Cradling your herbal tea and segmenting your orange
I see you

The soft nape of your neck is in my dreams

I see you swimming ahead in the river,
I see your joy in that, and remember me needing to turn back
I see us crouched on the railway sleeper,
The last of the sun crossing us
While the washing up waits
The beer dries on our lips
We sit looking back at your home

I see the young and sexless person you told me about
Your nose in a book on the family holiday

I see the flicker of self-doubt
the slow rising tear that doesn’t spill over
being all things,
mother, worker, friend, lover

I see all the things you are not
that I projected onto you
Now I see you

The simple blessedness meme-complex, I bet,
what is the state of blessed, as in:
have
a blesst
day?

Voltaire, he right there, he say define y'toims t'
convoice wit me we share some air, y'know.

Peacemaker, is the primary integral role of the
being process I formed in.

Childhood drama at 2020 Common Sensed Media Low
sense making in terms of words designated,
subconsciously through designer sneezers,

say, did you hear? Does that banner still wave, o'er
the land of the free and the brave?
Are there homes for unwanted children in your town,
or do you have a town because you have a prison now,
good jobs, kids graduate highschool,
easy, union, we *** 'em guard jobs,
all kinds of jobs, prisons, boy,

a big one, can revive the real estate market in a town.

I.
You say that there is nothing
To live for,
There is nothing
To achieve.

All is broken here,
There is nowhere to go,
All ways are not dear,
One can only scream, oh!

There are weak shadows of the fog,
There is hate, there are crimes,
There is all this human smog,
There is no sense to our lives.

II.
But I tell you that there is a better,
More wonderful and sunny world,
Where like soft songs, like a short meter,
We can fly, and this is not the last word.

I can tell you that this world remains,
This is on this... such dark earth,
On these streets without stairs
And heaven, if you still breath...

And if you still ask me where...
Where to go, how to have a life...
I will tell you that you can go there,
To yourself to find how rife

Not to be!

III.
And, there is also another world
No one alive has been there so far,
Neither Socrates, who was bald
Nor Plato, and any Judith Shklar!

No one was there and back again,
This is another air, another form of life,
And no one knows the time and when
One has to go there to fly, not strife...

No one knows but everybody’s so wise...
What we see here is real but material,
It is all teeming and brutal disguise,
But there are things there – unfamiliar

We are with them...

IV.
...yet.
Go straight.
It’s a net.

It is a bet!
Pascal’s freight.
Warm, wet...

The eternal bed.
Nothing left.
All left.

V.
You have no concept when you are born,
But when you die, much more is driven:
You see the light when the heaven is sworn,
You see the darkness when the hell is given.

Although during a life you often see nothing...
Like a bee, like a candle, like a batwing.
Like funny moray eels, we have to swim,
And funny is life, and later life is dim.

And, yes, a human being is a moth
That flies to the fire of the candle...
It is you and me, we are such both,
But in life we all want a bright spangle!


17.4.2021, night