I am not really understanding
Why they are drinking, smoking
And dancing in the name of
Happy new year
They are forgetting forgetting
What about ugadi and Pongal?
Do they greet one another
During these Indian festivals?
I am not understanding
I am really bored with
The buzzing sounds
Of cells and land phones
They woke me up and
Said, ’wish you a happy new
Year’, at mid-night
I am not understanding
The artificiality
Of happiness
I can’t be happy
Simply because
It is a new year’s day
I will be happy
If there is a need
To be happy
They are neglecting neglecting
Our culture.
I am not really understanding
Why are they smoking,drinking
Dancing and dancing
I am really not understanding

All too often the question is posed :
What has happened to all of the " Real Men"?
Do they even exist anymore, or have they succumbed to extinction?

And the answer is no. They are still very much alive, just fewer in numbers. These days, if you happen to come across one, chances are you will find him at what, from the outside, appears to be him at his worst. After having been so beaten down by life, that he hardly resembles a man any longer. (Or at least to what your un-natural opinion of a man resembles) This, as a result of standing up for what is decent, fair and moral. You know, being a "Man", while living in a world void of any morality. But do you know?

Do you really have the ability enough to be able to recognize some one for whom and what they really are? Where do your eyes stop when they peer at someone? Do they penetrate through the car window? Past the $20 hair cut? Can they keep going, beyond the glare of jewelry and through the named brand distractions of the accessorized apparel? And even then, past the last line of defense for this facade, the camouflage more commonly referred to as body art. Which, just like any other item one don's for a masquerade, it sole purpose is to distract others from the truth of what little substance lies underneath the skin.

Those aren't real men or in many cases women either. A tattoo, or any other equivalent of artificiality can never be as honest as a Scar can be.
An Emotional Scar does more damage than a superficial one. A wound speaks more of the individual who bears it. Who's suffered the pain which came with it and who is constantly reminded by it. That is what true sense is derived from, Lessons.

However, when it comes to the moral Man's personality,
the world today & the people in it tend to push these types of individuals into corners. These types of "personalities" suffer to hold on to their integrity and pay terrible prices in order to do so. They sacrifice their security, their psychological state of mind & their physical personal comfort for it. And living in this world, for them, is like torture. So many have had the things and the people they fought for, loved and held dear, snatched away from them, just because they do, not what is easy & popular, but what is right. And these days, the difference between those three are worlds apart.

The lethargic effortlessness of life has made men like me, obsolete and replaced us with the self-serving Narcissist. No longer Gods creation  but a new creation of the self. Void of any empathy, understanding, sympathy or human emotion. Synthetic, and machine like, a Frankenstein incarnate. Look around out there and if you have eyes to see with, you will see that humanity has traded who they were born to be, for what is in fashion to be. They have given up the now elusive spirit of the human heart, for the abundant trend of the human ego. Take a closer look, it is like "The Walking Dead" out there. Mindless, heartless, merciless dead things, only doing for them selves. Consuming whatever they can, how ever they can & who ever they can, in order to stay well supplied and well hidden among'st the rest of us. Lying in wait to ambush us, victimizing us, selling us out, draining us like Vampires.
Men and Women like myself, start to feel as though we are the last human beings on earth, being hunted by these consumers. Always weary and uncomfortable. Going through life trying desperately to hold on to that which is real within us, so that decency does not vanish from our lives, by being chewed up and swallowed whole by a dead eyed world gone mad.

A horrible existence. This way of living/surviving is completely unnatural & brings with it a new type of loneliness & attached to that is the worst kind of hopelessness. A dangerous state to be in if one does not keep his wit's about him. And have the given sense enough to know, that If it were not for a God in heaven, there would be no hope at all. No reason to suffer un-popularity or ostracism. No reason to do what is right, over what is convenient . No reason to not just give in to the temptation of an easy life. A life where all that matters is numero-uno. Where everything else and everyone else is just secondary.

I would rather be alone & miserable for the rest of my life, than to be a self-centered, backstabbing, bloodsucking son of a b¡tch like the rest of you out there.

Now, getting back to these "Men" that so many our Women are attracted to. The men that keep letting you down time and time again. The ones who's possessions make them look like they are worth something, whom you so easily swoon over like some kind of hypnotized harlot. My dear sister, eventually those things get stripped away. Either by time or the trial's of life. And then what you are left left with is whatever pathetic thing was hiding underneath.

And that is what you get, for being led by your eye's, your hands, your ears and your selfish little minds.You listen to & are led by, every other part of your body except your heart, which is the Apex O r g a n over all others. Which has been given charge and authority, by The Creator himself over all of those other things you are always so quick to bow down to. And that is a d a m n e d shame. And that is your d a m n e d shame. And it is no one else's fault but your own.

You want to see a mans character or a woman's? Then look for their Scars. They will tell you what kind of survivor they really are. The kind that is self reliant or the kind that feeds off of the flesh of his brother or his sister to survive. The opportunist, The scavenger, The rat.

But thankfully, there is a God. One God.
And there always will be. And so the rest of the world can go on doing what it does, and taking what it can.
But it will never get what it wants, not from me. My individuality is my soul and it is held together not with pride, or greed, or vanity, but with integrity. And that belongs to Him. And when it is inevitably brought back to him, it will be brought to him intact, un-molested &
Immovable-

There was a certain depth
To my love for you,
And an artificiality
To everything else.


F.Z.**N

You know how when
You put a kettle on a stove,
Maybe for tea
Or something else maybe
You get the kettle
To put on the stove
And you put water in it
From the tap
Or if you're in
The inner city
Then maybe from
A jug
From cvs
Or rite aid
I don't know which is closer
To your kettle
That you're putting the
Water in
To put on the stove
But the tap smells funny
And tastes like minerals
And artificiality
So if you have a bit of money, Maybe an on-tap
Filter or brita
You turn the little
**** on the front
Of the oven
And you hear
The distressed, hurried
Sound of a component
Desperately trying
To do its job
It seems like forever
But it's just a couple
Seconds
The spark catches
The gas
And glorious blue
Energy leaps out
And causes
Instant condensation
On the side of the
Kettle you've filled
With water
And put on the stove
And then
Primordial chemistry
As old as old
Changes ****
Around inside
No time
For a chem lesson
Just listen
And then after a few minutes
A blast of
Piping hot
Shrill
Pure energy
Explodes out of the top
In an earsplitting
Harried call
To you to let you
Know the kettle
You put on the stove
Is now ready
For you.
All that pressure,
From so much activity,
Before you even
Turned the heat on
You walked around
Gathering materials
And moving about
And all the calories
You burn thinking
About it
And then the
Thermal activity
Which is breathtaking
In its simple
But ever so complicated
Perfect order
And predictability
And all of this simply
Amazing process
Culminates
In one constant,
High energy geyser
Of released pressure.
This is equivalent
To the results
Of one thought
About you.
What a life
As a kettle.
Yea.

an ****** calligraphy
of hallucinated images
gesture to the posturings
of omitted consciousness
the preoccupations
that puncture the ‘rational’ thought
of a false corporeality
and rely on an artificiality
to produce a reality
writes of the pagan haunts
of silver ****** ghosts
of fantastic rumors
of acquired futuristic loathing
where cognitive disturbances are
the reconnaissance of a fragmented mind
seeking an evacuation to the past
screams at the monuments of
immediate dismissal of everything
not of their transmission

Did you check within your dream?
Are you hiding in your sleep?
Has this world become surreal?
Follow me

Bless the night
Bless the sky
Bless the woman who conceived this child

Bless the tide
Bless every lie
Bless he who lets his imagination run wild

You judge me for my judgment upon right and wrong
But what is good and what is bad?
Nothing
Neutrality
What is cast as good through the mass is later protested against in majority for the wrong choice.
Wrong again.
Eyes sinking in deep thought
The blackness you carry has been a burden not only to yourself
Your past is circling you and all you do is cry
You replace the beauty of nature with artificiality
Like the flowers in your vase which once required care
Now cast into a world of no restrain or effort

You say you understand
But do you really?
Or are you yet again simply judging my thoughts based upon the facts you know about both you and I?

The grass you lie upon will later burn you and cause you to lose what is known to man as 'sanity'. In the future you will rest upon dreams, rely upon liars, welcome the unworthy, lift your servants, free the captives and live what you have thought impossible.
Be thankful I am tired for my mind is restricted to a line of thought so thin that once concentration is lost, there is no return.

there were a few (fairly) successful techniques i used

to erase you.

one day

she may leave,

so

let me share a few.



unfortunately,

the whole ordeal wasn't as easy as sending you to my recycle bin

or backspacing your name out of my chest.

i couldn't paint over the dark alleys in my heart that you had

graffitied with your naked body,

nor could i sell any of the useless crap you left inside me on ebay.

what idiot wants to buy someone else's used compliments or broken promises??

whatever,

online shopping is overrated anyways.



so,

back to heart break...

let's begin with the

obvious.

i deleted you on

facebook,

how could we be "friends"

when seeing your name

was like force-feeding myself

a fresh slice of pain?

i erased your number.

i refuse to be the pathetic drunk

who sexts at three am,

reminiscing on all the good times

i thought we had.

"babeee, rememb er thast one

timse, when we madske love

underf the stasrs..."

so not my style,

must always remain classy,

even when the tornado

seems to heading straight for

your heart,

and the flying **** never seems to stop.

yes, the world may be falling apart,

but you always have the power to

smile.

remember that after the storm,

everything will be rebuilt

stronger.



i burned all of the 1,000 letters you never wrote

and all of the "I love yous" i never read (but in my head)

until

the ash of yesterday

became flames that could

guide me into tomorrow

unscathed.

in less poetic terms,

i stopped thinking about every *******

sweet thing you had ever said to me

and started focusing on other people's

words, namely my own.

6 months later, I am able to

hear the sound of your voice

without cringing.

180 days of un-remembering you,

and i finally am free to be me,

the girl/woman who is sitting here

realizing that you are going to learn

from me learning from you.

it's a crazy, beautiful, weird, ****** up process,

right?

this circle of life...





and finally,

i forced myself to

see you.

similar to the

way in which a diabetic child

gazes longingly through the

window of the neighborhood bakery,

all transparency and overly indulgent imagination,

i looked through you enough times

to convince myself you were the perfect

creation,

sweet but not sickeningly so,

**** but not too sour,

a hint of spiciness to aliven the equation and

a little bitterness to sharpen the sensation.

only problem is,

i forgot i was the chef.

seeing you now through clean eyes,

testing your flavor with a mouth sobered by truth,

your taste is still sweet

but a little fake,

Splenda instead of brown sugar.

I detect the artificiality,

is that why she is leaving you?



no matter the cause,

no matter the outcome of this

most painful breakup,

know that one day, you will love again.

you will meet that one person who will

wake you up from the dream

you didn't realize you were living,

that one who will bring breath

to parts of your body you didn't

know existed.

on the blackest of nights, you will walk around

a corner on some random street

in the middle of no where,

and there she will

be,

standing under a street lamp,

smiling up at the midnight sun.

her body will beckon you,

invite you to dance,

and

you must accept the call.

even if you are  scared,

even if your heart is still broken,

even if you think you still belong to the one who

left you,

you must answer to love,

and in return life

will answer to you.

once you allow yourself to fall again,

the hurt will mend,

and your wings will spread,

wider and more ready than ever.



always remember,

you are the only one

holding yourself prisoner.

The old guys
wrote about
the great outdoors
and the beauty of nature,
but, you know,
nature may become
completely inhospitable
sooner than we think,
so I suggest
that we should start
thinking about
the great indoors,
and the beauty of artificiality,
because artificial things
are none other
than nature, transformed,
so maybe
we should go
on adventures
in our own houses
like a modern Thoreau,
who finds the transcendent
in a cup of coffee
or a telephone.

hypocrite
play
noun hyp·o·crite \ˈhi-pə-ˌkrit\
Popularity: Top 1% of lookups
Simple Definition of hypocrite
• : a person who claims or pretends to have certain beliefs about what is right but who behaves in a way that disagrees with those beliefs
<http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/hypocrite>
Full Definition of hypocrite
1. 1 :  a person who puts on a false appearance of virtue or religion
2. 2 :  a person who acts in contradiction to his or her stated beliefs or feelings
hypocrite adjective

H2611
חָנֵף
chânêph
khaw-nafe'
From H2610; soiled (that is, with sin), impious: - hypocrite (-ical).

H120
אָדָם
'âdâm
aw-dawm'
From H119; ruddy, that is, a human being (an individual or the species, mankind, etc.): - X another, + hypocrite, + common sort, X low, man (mean, of low degree), person.

G5273
ὑποκριτής
hupokritēs
hoop-ok-ree-tace'
From G5271; an actor under an assumed character (stage player), that is, (figuratively) a dissembler (“hypocrite”): - hypocrite.

Full Definition of mortal
1. 1 :  causing or having caused death :  fatal <a mortal injury>
2. 2 a :  subject to death <mortal man> b :  possible, conceivable <have done every mortal thing> c :  deadly 3 <waited three mortal hours>
3. 3 :  marked by unrelenting hostility <a mortal enemy>
4. 4 :  marked by great intensity or severity <mortal fear>
5. 5 :  human <mortal limits>
6. 6 :  of, relating to, or connected with death <mortal agony>
natural
play
adjective nat·u·ral \ˈna-chə-rəl, ˈnach-rəl\
Popularity: Top 20% of words
Simple Definition of natural
• : existing in nature and not made or caused by people : coming from nature
• : not having any extra substances or chemicals added : not containing anything artificial
• : usual or expected
Full Definition of natural
1. 1 :  based on an inherent sense of right and wrong <natural justice>
2. 2 a :  being in accordance with or determined by nature b :  having or constituting a classification based on features existing in nature
3. 3 a (1) :  begotten as distinguished from adopted; also :  legitimate (2) :  being a relation by actual consanguinity as distinguished from adoption <natural parents> b :  illegitimate <a natural child>
4. 4 :  having an essential relation with someone or something :  following from the nature of the one in question <his guilt is a natural deduction from the evidence>
5. 5 :  implanted or being as if implanted by nature :  seemingly inborn <a natural talent for art>
6. 7 :  having a specified character by nature <a natural athlete>
7. 8 a :  occurring in conformity with the ordinary course of nature :  not marvelous or supernatural <natural causes> b :  formulated by human reason alone rather than revelation <natural religion> <natural rights> c :  having a normal or usual character <events followed their natural course>
8. 9 :  possessing or exhibiting the higher qualities (as kindliness and affection) of human nature <a noble … brother … ever most kind and natural — Shakespeare>
9. 11 a :  being in a state of nature without spiritual enlightenment :  unregenerate <natural man> b :  living in or as if in a state of nature untouched by the influences of civilization and society
10. 12 a :  having a physical or real existence as contrasted with one that is spiritual, intellectual, or fictitious <a corporation is a legal but not a natural person> b :  of, relating to, or operating in the physical as opposed to the spiritual world <natural laws describe phenomena of the physical universe>
11. 13 a :  closely resembling an original :  true to nature b :  marked by easy simplicity and freedom from artificiality, affectation, or constraint c :  having a form or appearance found in nature







so let it rip let it roar let it out hear my soar
My sigh of uncontent, in comes unrelenting
Always seeking more, more, more of me , more push me down,
More why didn’t you, more why haven't you, more why couldn’t you,
I a hypocrite, I know, I know it,
I am the addict who fights, to make it through the night.
I say just one more drink, until the bottles gone.
I say just one more hit, until, we crumple an empty bag.
I say just one more high, as I stick it in my foot, so that no one will see.
I say just one more donut, as we eat the very last one.
I say just one more 5, until, I now I lost my home.
I am a hypocrite, I am also human.
I am a hypocrite, I mess up, makes mistakes I forget.
I am a hypocrite, I only drink on weekends, but you should not smoke ****.
I judge you for sinning different, know why?
I am a hypocrite, I am also human.

I am the single mom, who said I'll never do that,
But when you see your baby cry, it should be why didn’t I.
We don’t know where we will go, we don’t know what lies ahead,
We don’t know what trials await, or what s around the bend.
We don’t know what our futures holds, who will end up holding us,
We don’t love, really, we are human, we know a bit.

We say don’t ****, but an unborn child is just, tissue,
We say don’t do drugs, but please do take this pill.
We say don’t steal, until we are the one who is hungry,
We say don’t ******, until, your family is threatened.
We say don’t covet, this or that, until its you, who has no shoe.
We say don’t lie, until, its you who child's life is in the balance,
We say don’t commit adultery, until, its your, husband you found cheating,
We say don't put anything before our GOD, until, its time to go fishing, (or watch the game.)
We say don’t give in, until, it s your pain, that’s killing you.
We say don’t give up, but please don’t ask me.
We say don’t go hungry, unless you smell too bad,

We say don’t let them , in until, that just so happens,
We say don't take it anymore, it doesn't help.
We say don’t think that way, unless that’s all you have ever heard,
We say don’t let your children, play that game, until that one day.
We say don’t feed your kids junk, but that’s all we can afford,
We say don’t work too hard, life will go by to quickly.
We say, I am not sick, as you sneeze and cough,
We say, I didn’t mean, to as we do it again,
We say, I didn’t mean it that way, but inside we really did,
We say, my undying love, as we give it to someone else,
We say, I'll never hurt you.
I am a hypocrite. I am also human.

We say, I'll always be there for you, yet never answer the phone.
We say I'll always love my child no matter what, until, they say I'm gay,
We say I'll always be truthful, until, the truth just hurts to think,
We say I'll always be listen, when all we did was tell it to others,
We say, I'll help you with anything, and then you ask.
We say, I'll always listen, until we go to talk,
We say I'll help you anytime, except, Tuesday, at 2 o'clock.
We say, I didn’t mean to hurt, you, but we did it anyway,
We say, I'll never leave you, as we walk away,
I am a hypocrite. I am also human.

We say I never drink, except, on weekends, occasionally on Wednesday, but you should not smoke ****.
Why I wonder is **** so terrible, in the minds of those who don’t smoke, but can drink on a regular basis.
Is alcohol better for you than ****. Just putting out an amazing truthful statement.
Alcohol is man made ..and who made ****?

We say I'll never let my kids get involved in drugs, except, the school says I have too because he has too much energy.
We say I'll never make my kid, angry, but as A PARENT, we should that is our job.
We say I'll never be that mom, who lets their kids, smoke, cigarettes, as we puff away.
We say I'll never judge them, unless of course they did ____.
I am a hypocrite. I am also human.

I say I'll never trust again, as we pick a stranger up.
I say I'll never love again, like that, until we go all in, yet again.
I say I'll never forget, and what was it that happened again?
I say I'll never be mad about this, until, they spill it one more time.
I say I'll never hit again, but they made me so so so mad.
I say that I am a Christian, but can hurt my children behind closed doors.
I say that I am a Christian, but I will, cut down every other religion.
I say that I am a Christian, yet I swear like a sailor, or worse.
I say that I am a Christian, as I come to church hungover.
(side note, guess what JESUS LOVES, even after we mess up…..continually)
I say that I am a Christian, as I look down my nose, at those with tattoos.
I say that I am a Christian, but I won't look my neighbor in the eye.
I say that I am a Christian, but please don’t ask me, for help.
I say that I am a Christian, as I lock, my door, to hide, from others.
I say that I am a Christian, as in my mind, I am not really caring about what you are going through.
I say that I am a Christian, as I forget to read my BIBLE everyday.
I say that I am a Christian, as I forget to pray, for anyone.
I say that I am a Christian, although I never go to church.
I say that I am a Christian, but I can never spare a dollar, for the offering.
I say that I am a Christian, I judge every new person who comes to my church.
I say that I am a Christian, as I play with the devils toys.
I say that I am a Christian, as I pretend to be what others see.
I say that I am a Christian, as I talk ***** to a friend.
I say that I am a Christian, as I sell pills, when no one sees.
I say that I am a Christian, as I light up my pipe.
I say that I am a Christian, as I tell my kids to go away.
I say that I am a Christian, as I tell you, I love you, to your face.
I say that I am a Christian, as I gossip about what I know you did.
I say that I am a Christian, as I show up to church as late as I want.
I say that I am a Christian, as I never will, associate with those people.
I say I am a hypocrite. I know that I am human. I know a loving GOD.
I SAY I am a hypocrite. I know that I make mistakes. I know a forgiving GOD.
I say I am a hypocrite. I know I did it again. I know a merciful GOD.
I SAY I am a hypocrite. I know I lied to them. I know a faithful GOD.

I say I am a hypocrite. How can I be? How can I be, ? How can I be?
How can I be anything but human?
I know I try. I know I've tried. I know this, I know you've cried.
How can I not be a hypocrite. I quit again. It was so hard.

We say I'll never let my kids do that, except we do.
We say I'll never do that, then we did,
We say I'll never say that to my child, until, one day we did,
We say I'll never hit a woman, until, that day, she said something, I didn’t like so I did.
We say I'll never go all night without. And yet we did.
We say I'll never have a man who loves me, and then we find one, and we don’t know how.
We say I'll never be mean or hurtful, and yet that’s all we do,
We say I'll never tell, and yet from your mouth it comes,
We say I'll never become an addict, until I first shot up,
We say I'll never smoke cigarettes, until that first hit,
We say I'll never drink, my mom, did , no way, until your at college far away.
We say I'll never take from another person, until, its their husband you take from them,
We say I'll never use, until that one, at that one party, just that one time,

We say we need to slow down, as we rush on by,
We say we need to take our time, as we look for the short cut,
We say we need to look closer, until, that’s all we see is screen,
We say we need to dig deeper, yet there's nothing left to dig with,
We say we need a helper, until, its someone who helps us, we turn away,
We say we need a lover, until, the loving becomes too much,
We say we need more time with our family, and it’s the thing we most avoid.
We say we need more family's , but there's no time, we work too hard, have nothing left to dig with, we are busy with . Working to pay the bills to support our families (at minimum wage) when the price on everything has GONE UP. Who? What? When ? How? Will we ever, if we never.
Anyone know the answer…. I didn’t think so , but I know the One who does.
I am a hypocrite. I am also human.

I've had trouble wrapping Christmas gifts;
it has always been your job to do this ***** work.
I work to get the Christmas bonus,
we do the shopping,
you do the wrapping.
Plain as day.

But you left me, and I had to do all the work by myself. And so
I made a list of steps in the new skill I have mastered:

1. Unroll the gift wrapper. Spread it. Cover all bases. Never adore the design and adornments; it will be ripped anyway.

2.  Put the gift in the middle of the paper. Estimate how much paper are you willing to save or spend and waste.

3. Tape the ends. Put tape wherever. Don't try to hide the tapes. Secrets are meant to be revealed anyway. TIP: The more you put tape, the uglier your gift wrap will be. You think tapes will mend loose ends but it will simply destroy the aesthetic value of your gift.

4. Fold and tape. Tape and fold. Design it however you like. Origami the **** out of it. It will be destroyed anyway.

5. Put the gift card. Write with your best handwriting. With a smile swathed on your face. Add a dash of artificiality. No matter what you put here, this will not merit anything; It will not be read anyway.

Four Christmases you have been wrapping those gifts. Now that I have
wrapped some this year, I'm pretty sure why you've left. Plain as day.

*PS Wait for the gift I am sending you over. I wrapped it just for you.

Maybe after sighting
Each other buck naked
That ends the fighting
About whose is bigger
Or whose are real.
There ceases to be a trigger
Of envy, or competition,
As being clothes free
One is in no position
To hide behind frippery.

It is difficult to be snobbish
About your fabric and style
When all you are wearing
Is a sun hat and a smile.
Acting like you are a ****
Of taut body and shape
Wearing nothing but a sock
Makes you a target of japes
About getting over yourself
And maybe even getting real.
It really is that kind of situation;
That basic kind of reality deal.

Most of what is artificiality
Disappears when you’re ****.
It gets easier to face reality
And much harder to be rude.
We quickly see that we are
We are sisters and brothers
And we do not need to live
By rules of fathers and mothers.
They were taught to be afraid
Of body parts called ‘naughty bits’;
Words like ‘nasty’ and ‘stop that!’
You adults can say, ‘I want none of it.
I’m through with thinking my crotch
Is something evil, sick and twisted.
Take my genitalia out of the book
Where you have sinfulness listed.
I exist as nature has made me
And it is wrong of you to correct
The natural person as I was born
Being a ***** is just a side-effect
Of being raised by people who
Were never raised quite right.
Maybe if everyone were ****
That would end the need to fight.

I seldom indulge in letter writing
Because I consider it
To be a cold and illusory
Means of communication.
I will only send someone a letter
If I'm certain it's going to serve
A definite functional purpose,
Such as that which I'm
Scrupulously concocting at present
Indisputably does.
It's not that I incline
Towards excessive premeditation;
Its rather that I have to subject
My thoughts and emotions
To quasi-military discipline,
As pandemonium is the sole alternative.
I'm the compensatory man par excellence.
                                                              
Deliberation, in my case,
Is a means to an end,
But scarcely by any means,
An end in itself.
This letter possesses not one,
But two, designs.
On one hand, its aim is edification.
Besides that, I plan to include it
In the literary project upon which
I'm presently engaged,
With your permission of course.
Contrary to what you have suspected
In the past,
I never intend to trivialise intimacy
By distilling it into art.
On the contrary, I seek
To apotheosise the same.
                                                              
You see...I lack the necessary
Emotional vitality to do justice
To people and events
That are precious to me;
I am forced, therefore,
To at a later date call
On emotive reserves
Contained within my unconscious
In order to transform
The aforesaid into literary monuments.
You once said that my feelings
Had been interred under six feet
Of lifeless abstractions;
As true as this might be,
The abstractions in question
Come from without
Rather than within me:
                                                              
My youthful spontaneity
Many mistrustfully identified
With self-satisfied inconsiderateness
(A standard case of fallacious reasoning),
And I was consequently
The frequent victim
Of somewhat draconic cerebrations.
I tremble now
In the face of hyperconsciousness.
I've manufactured a mentality,
Riddled with deliberation,
Cankerous with irony;
Still, in its fragility,
Not to say, artificiality,
It can, with supreme facility,
Be wrenched aside to expose
The touch-paper tenderness within.
                                                              
With characteristic extremism,
I've taken ratiocination
To its very limits,
But I've acquainted myself with,
Nay, embraced my antagonist
Only in order to more effectively throttle him.
Being a survivor of the protracted passage
Through the morass of nihilism,
Found deep within
"the hell of my inner being,"
I am more than qualified to say this:
There is no way out
Of the prison of ceaseless sophistry.
There are many things I have left to say,
But I shall only have begun to exist in earnest
When these are far behind me,
In fact, so far as to be all but imperceptible.
                                                              
I long for the time
When I shall have compensated to my satisfaction.
I never desired intellectuality; it was ****** upon me.
Everything I ever dreaded being, I've become
Everything I ever desired to be, I've become.
I'm the sum total of a lifetime's
Fears and fantasies,
Both wish-fulfillment
And dread-consummation incarnate.
I long for the time
When I shall have compensated to my satisfaction.
I never desired intellectuality; it was ****** upon me.  
I'm the sum total of a lifetime's
Fears and fantasies,
Both wish-fulfillment
And dread-consummation incarnate.
I'm the compensatory man par excellence.

It is a replicable dialectic

that swirls in my mind

like a spiral of cigarette smoke

covering fluctuations

of diffused expanses

of transferable hallucinated images

relying on an artificial artificiality

to generate a reality

one that amplifies a calisthenics

of maximized reduction

in the blank vacuum of space

allows those sophistication’s

where there is a scrutiny

of exclusions

that may perhaps betray

the concepts of others

those correlatives

of our own creative interirority

where a mind may repeal a transgression

for it is breakfast in the time

of the Wizard Pig

I foster an incremental relation to the cosmos, enticed regularly by its indefiniteness and appeal.
Its evolutions, innate behaviors, and formidable sciences are recompense for earth’s meager discrepancies.
I often engage in the caprice to dismount much dissatisfaction by the constancy of riveting celestial events.
These beings possess no artificiality.
Its prophetic order, ornate and stupendous architectural facets have allowed a crescendo of dispositional hysteria.

Prosaic imprecations are deduced from its auxiliary wherewithal.
There is no contrition in immersing in enthrallment nor is there fickleness in trust.

Magnificent bodies orbit in finesse and probability, achieving universality and control.

Though these incitements are exponentially cheering, my origin is but connoted in despondency.

Usurpers and ill-suited vandals proliferated by the intemperance of the Ptolemaic discipline.
Rustics, miscreants and idle minds misdirected by less virtuous planetary derision.
My cognitive severity asserted by ominous consummation.

Oh how these preponderant truths confine me unfortunate.

Soliloquy is but an affliction amidst this era of anachronistic reign.
Grandiose passivity is intolerable at this time.

I plan to dichotomize my adamant fate from precepts and conditions anew.
The deposition of malfeasant kings will be sought.

Ploys I have already configured; propagation is near to instigation.

I will exhort my ascent to prime eminence.
The stars will sanction me to a rightful end.

Time Volume: 1
I’m eating up the hours
one by one.
Blink.
Click.
Blink.
another screen,
more non-words
Blink.
Click.
Just letters.
Click
9000 more words
blink
and more time.
Click.
To be forgotten.


Learning to forget
The melting *** cast a boy and I ran outside,
A slime soaked goblin, a monster from the pit
Lobbing clods of mud at a harmonic sky
Whirring with dragonflies and lolloping bees.

Sun and rain prepared a day on a different earth
Where there was life in the monkey puzzles,
And scuttling battle grounds that
hid hundred-handers beneath concrete slabs.  
Gravel churned up tiny black dragons,
rotten logs, fortresses of tiny fiends.

I had a sword in my hand, I was noble.
Defender of the realm, scourge until tea,
The hero of worlds
everyone else couldn’t see.


Time volume 2**
Excalibur was stuck fast
When the new branches fell
Click.
the tips of my fingers are beginning to rot.
Blink.
Click.
If only I could
blink
stop the second
click
See the world behind glass.
blink
and dance out of time.
Click.
This snow globe,
Is not the Antarctic.


Artificiality in Imagination
Turning my back on time and space with
Bottled brains, ***** mist, powdered thought
I chiselled into old pathways.
I carved a silk road through synapse and nerve
to return to my monsters.

I saw a sickness of colouration
A lynx effect for the sky
tearing punkish streaks into the atmosphere
that were quickly blinked away.
Sunspots, cloudbursts, tussocks, grass,
Paper squares, green, red, purple, pink, blue,
pungent smoke, bugs, ripples, shivers,
polka dots and blank spots.
A storm-cloudy stomach.

The perspective of a head plastered to the soil again
saw thing for what they were,
a tiny amazon thought lost to rationality.
My heart thumped for a fear and joy
in a way forgotten by time.


Time Volume 3
Why is it called wasted when it is time well spent?
Click.
my god, my eyes hurt.
Click.
Just 9000 more words.
Click.
What would I give for a pretty girl sat under a tree.  
Click.
search * (pretty girl sat under tree)
Click.
She’s hot.
Click.
So is she.
Click.
… could always.
Click.
don’t be stupid.
Click.
Just 9000 more words.


Fantasy for a Counterpoint
I questioned what’s real when she blinked at me
and stopped existing  when she closed her eyes.
No one taught us to write in blood,
Tattoo our names into each other’s skin,
Leaving claw marks for the world not to see.

Whatever you drew was Van Gough
Whatever you said was Keats,
Whatever bruise you left was Tyson’s.

The outer layers of or skin are dead,
It’s funny whatever you touch on a person,
Is already dead.

Just before our love got lost
I noticed a thread break away from the braid
Around your head,
a small incongruity,
That made your hair a mess.

Love became what it was when you said you were
‘as constant as the northern star’,
And I replied, ‘yes - always in the dark’.


Time Volume 4
This is progress for my sake,
Just in time.
Blink.
Time is money.
Click
Time flies.
Blink
A stich in time
Click
This is a paradigm of nothing time.
Click
I’ve got so much time.
Click
And so little time to waste.
Blink
I’m a long time dead.


Hope for a handful of dust
Eventually I will while away these lonely hours.

What black rocks stir while we sleep?
What prayers rumble still, among old stones?
Do they speak the eternal city and glow civilised blue -
Or burn timeless black?

Does the probing ivy find us out
And the blunt head of a worm investigate
our most intimate parts?

Or does a spectre rise from the soil
To live under children’s beds?

When is the point that death
Becomes something breath-taking -
And the brook, my brown blood,
The dead leaves my skin,

Is it fantasy
to put something
where nothing should be?

The soft earth will **** me in
And give my brittle bones
To worms and crows
What stirs beneath the stones,
may always be worms and crows

With you on that high sunny hill, the air
Smells like cheap baked goods
Spilling their scent across a whole city block
Through some Dunkin' Donuts kitchen window:
The fierce artificiality of donuts
On a lazy Sunday morning
When all the neighborhood kids come out running
Straight from there beds at 7:30, adorning the early light
And all I want to do, jack-*** eighteen-year-old that I am,
Is sleep. That screeching though, and then
The smell of those baked goods, leeching upstairs,
Having spread here now too like some sort of a plague...
That smell
Wafting up from the donut box, which is now cooling...
The steps
Creak under my each heavy stride, and even
Three cups of coffee later, my smiles at those screeching kids
Are still forced; my donut sits
Heavily in my stomach, like a rock.
Yes, the air smells just like that.
Up there on that hill.
With you.
My stomach hurts, that stone still
Sifting violently through my large intestine.
I take another bite-- that artificiality is so enchanting
That I'll probably have to **** like eight times later.
O, sweet porcelain!
Come to me!

Dear "adults",
I hate it when you look down on those of us in high school,
As if there's some sort of unspoken rule
That the time we spend in such a place
Is supposed to be sublime.

"Stop complaining."
I'm sorry, I assumed that when you asked about my day
I wasn't supposed to mask what I say
And tell you that everything is swell.

To what extent will you dismiss my discontent
Toward the discipline with hardly any discipline nowadays?

"You'll miss it. Just wait until you get into the real world."
The "real world"?
Why, suddenly, is my world not real enough for you?
From all I've been through in my life,
High school has presented me with the most strife, and so
Since when is a bit of resentment
Unjustified?

The nerve you pride
Yourself in having, presuming
That there is any amount of artificiality in my reality
Is infuriatingly consuming.

How can you think we could make any sense
Of the difficulties surrounding anything but what we've experienced?
This I cannot comprehend.
But maybe you want us to pretend?

"How was school today?"
Oh, it was okay.
I only dealt with misunderstanding,
The pressure of classes being so demanding,
The difficulty of self consciousness
That is amplified each day by bullies' relentlessness.
I only endured mental exhaustion
From switching subjects each hour, without option.
I simply struggled with your expectation
That colleges should long to give me an invitation,
Even though I'm being forced to commit to
A life plan I've made based off the little I've been through.

School is a privilege, we know,
Yet, so is possessing a job.
So why, then, am I a snob,
When you're allowed to 'complain'?

I realize that life could be much worse for me,
And someday high school might seem like a breeze,
But until the day comes when I become aware
That the troubles of high school cannot compare,
Let me have my time to vent, please.

Depth without Labels

The world is changing, ever so vividly described in my subconscious but it's encoding cannot be retrieved; an alternate state that cannot be retrieved; a side of me that cannot be retrieved.

The skies above are blending in with my mind and I am uplifted into the heavens and past the atmosphere, stratosphere, troposphere, mesosphere.... Conscious-sphere.

Layers of my mind, layers of my mind....

Time has stopped in my mind as I await an answer in my heart....Data cannot be retrieved; emotion void and null, noxious pain in my heart -A blood-stained memory is it's root.

Encompassing consolidated eons in my own era, I await a Golden Age where my mind has eliminated threats that are non-existent and yet present in a ghostly form; vestiges.

Blind to the heart of a matter, that strength is derived from, that a solution is obtained through emotional fervency symbolized through reckless flecks, careless mistakes, vivid flaws imprinted on an innocent canvas.

Phantasmagoria; pain is red, emotion blue, and yet contradictions are intertwined; these elements are one in the same.

Pyroclastic eruptions upwards, icebergs falling down from the sky, these elements are headed towards a collision and then ecstasy will cease.... But why....?

Elements of darkness course through my veins; I've been infected by the demons of an unforgotten past.

Foraging for bloodshed, they indulge in another's pain; they hunt for an abscess so they can bite their way in.

My soul is an anomaly that ***** everything in; words have been internalized; an omen is set in my heart.

Pushed six feet under with nails in my wrists, I experience a painful memory and I fear that I might die…….

"Why, oh why? Why, oh why?"

"You've wounded me!".... A death; a wish; a hope.... Life.

For a while I am undead as I roam about in pain, I observe all of the living with a glimmer in their eyes.

Feeling unworthy of prayer, I wish for virtue instead and that the sun will be over the horizon to gaze upon it in peace.

In that day undead vessels will be dissolved, then a vessel of sanctity will arise to take that vessel's place....

A star falls from the heavens and shines iridescent lights; "How will I survive in a world that is so full of hate!?"

Thoughts within me are changing, instead of data I finally feel; a deity lurks within me and artificiality is no more.

Evaluations can be scourging, but my skin is growing back; no longer is it evil, but divinity that courses through my veins.

Butterflies are embracing a warm and airy heart; my shackles have been broken and my love is here instead.

Blessings will ravage those demons then their identities will be revealed; no longer will their hunts be fruitful and they will have to replot their course.

What is my future? Eventualities will never cease; time will be everlasting and passion will be it's core.

My soul is efflorescing, and in time it will be revealed, that The Crag will be my Shelter and it's rivers will be my Shield.

                            To The Demons of An Unforgotten Past,

                                     *By Sanders M. Foulke III

Gutsy words
Facty tones
Make me want to shove your fist in your mouth, because I don’t care about your epic or what you’ve earned.  You’re a kid.  Just a kid,

Smiling, right
Insincere you’re
Defined by a definition of artificiality, there’s a smile over a brand that you sell and you sell it good.  I never would; you never should.

A crowd and
Girlfriend bought
With my looks and my humor. You’re not some gift from god, and if you are I’m more so. But I’m a female and I’m a lab rat.  It’s all I’ll never be.

What a kid
What a hoax
Your eyes are oval and your mouth is oval, like some plastic doll.  I hope you live like them, all the sheep and they never laugh ‘cause they never fall.

Matter of fact
You’re happy dead
Can’t you accept that the world isn’t shaped by those who can say, “You think too much”; the monkeys in their suits who are in such a rush, the people in their cage.

It’s not
It’s not about us being different from one another
It’s not even about me being different from you
I make the world while you go in play in it, or I mess it up
Because you are the world
and I’m just a human, I’m just a girl

Isn’t it ironic?
That you were the trouble maker
I was the good girl
You were once alive
Now you’re a lie
You’re just one lie
You coordinate
And cooperate
I’m irate
I disobey

You just want them and you just want they

But that’s it
Its just it
The world pays attention to all of your ****, just like they do with sitcoms and trash tabloids.  It’s so awful.  And you don’t respect me for being a human being.

But I’m something
I’m everything-
I’m everyone’s rage and somewhere deep where they care
I care
you just care about your picture on a chatroom
with bad music taste
and tight legs and a tight, but

I’m your only black mail
I am the black sheep
and I think

You’ll be that celebrity’s unknown brother; I promise

Sincerely, Freak

Reality
Is a armpit
Without
A deodorant...
Fantasy
Is
The deodorant.