*** trafficking – the trafficking and debasement of souls; Drug trafficking – the trafficking of substances that debase the body.  Here compared you will find the prevalence, impact, and rehabilitation processes associated with *** and shrug trafficking.  Respective clientele, demographics, and locales that these types of trafficking touch will be revealed in order enlighten you to their world-wide prevalence. The physical, emotional, spiritual, and psychological impact of lifestyles that result from these two types of trafficking will be detailed to etch vividly an image of just how far-reaching the impact of these two activities is. Light will be shed upon the rehab processes that lead to recovery from each.
                 According to UnoDC.org, the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, the use of illicit drugs has remained in a stable trend, with approximately the same number of people using illicit drugs each year. This trend has continued for a number of years. Upon examining the world drug report, written by UnoDC.org, production of several drugs exhibit particularly interesting trends. ***** production for example fell and spiked in a somewhat predictable patter from 1990 until 2010. When this data is graphed a reasonable medium appears for all the years, revealing that ***** production has stayed around an average production of roughly 200,000 hectares annually. Likewise, coca cultivation pictures an interesting trend. From 1990 to 2010 coca production appeared to be almost identical each year, and with little to no rise or fall in production, there is a similar trend in its being trafficked.  
Nefarious: Merchant of Souls is a documentary that was released in 2012 by Exodus Cry Its producers and researchers saw firsthand the atrocities of the *** trafficking industry. The film crew interviewed former pimps and prostitutes, spoke to traffickers, the families of the trafficked and to individuals still actively engaged in three sides of the *** trade referring to currently employed pimps and prostitutes as well as those who purchased ***. The researchers and producers interviewed eastern European gang members and took a trip to Amsterdam’s red-light district – home of legal prostitution. They journeyed to Los Angeles and saw the glamorized side of the dark issue of *** trade.
According to Nefarious, the number of humans trafficked for the purpose of providing ****** services is on a shockingly steep rise. In a matter of a few years, *** trafficking rose from the third largest criminal enterprise to the second. It is second only to drug trafficking and is vying for the position as top criminal enterprise in the world. It is encroaching upon that position far more speedily than any authority or decent human being would care to acknowledge.  A survey taken in 2010 by DART (the drug awareness resistance training program) revealed that 21.8 million people aged 12 and older had taken an illicit drug in the previous month. In 2010 it was estimated that between 153 and 300 million people had used an illicit drug at least once in the previous year. These statistics fail to take into account the impact that this usage has on the lives of the families of drug users. Neither do these statistics reveal the extent to which drug users lifestyles are impacted by drugs. However, nearly  every single human trafficked for ****** purposes is completely and utterly enveloped in the lifestyle of prostitution and the violent world of being prostituted. In Nefarious a shocking statistic is revealed. Approximately ten percent of the entire human population of earth has been trafficked. Both human and drug trafficking are prevalent across the globe. Human trafficking occurs in 161 of 192 countries. Illicit drugs are trafficked in every country that has laws that deem substances unlawful. There are little to no race, religion, ethnicity, or age restrictions on who can and is trafficked for use of ***, but drugs are far more limited by age and ethnicity in their use.
Drug trafficking, though similar to *** trafficking in many ways, is in no way as substantial a damaging force to the mind, soul, and spirit as the world of *** trafficking  is in terms of the critical and dangerous force it exhibits in the emotional, physical, psychological, and spiritual  impact it has on young girls. Both drugs and *** trafficking have some influence in all of these respective areas. The primary area in which people are affected by drug use is the physical. Drug users’ health declines, they become physically or psychologically dependent, and they may develop diseases from sharing of needles or lack of inhibitions that lead to *** with an infected individual. Drugs may, in some rare cases, lead to psychoses and mental disorders. They may cause brain damage, which is both physically and mentally damaging. Drugs may even set one’s heart and soul in a place that they are more susceptible to lies or truth. They alter spiritual state for some individuals, but only mildly. However, *** trafficking victims are impacted majorly and in their entirety as a person. In all aspects of the physical, mental, and spiritual, *** trafficking victims are consumed by *** trafficking. In Nefarious it is revealed that In order to “break” *** trafficking victims they are profusely beaten, and are psychologically toyed with to create a twisted trust and dependence on their various handlers. They are repeatedly *****, and are examined like cattle by those who wish to buy women. They are imprisoned in dark rooms and not allowed to leave unless told to do so. They are bedridden and forced to ******* themselves. After being broken in ways described above and sold to a ****, girls are forced every day to meet certain quotas of customers and cash flow. If they do not meet these they are beaten even more. They lay in bed sometimes a week at a time to recover physically enough to usefully return to their “job”.  Through this hellish ordeal, their soul, self-worth and identity are being attacked by circumstances that devalue them. They become like animals.
*** trafficking victims become dependent on their environment for normalcy. This is so true for some individuals that even though they have been rescued from the lifestyle, they return.  This is not because the *** trafficking victims enjoys the lifestyle of prostitution, and it is not because they want to. Instead, it is because they think they can be nothing more than a *******. The *** trafficking victim, in this case, believes that they need to settle into the numb and thoughtless mind state that they develop when broken. Returning to prostitution does not evidence an addiction. In contrast, it is the cry of a soul that is desperately trying to cope. They do this in order to feel as if they can survive.  
The rehab processes for *** and drug trafficking differ greatly in commitment and length, but are similar in that they both require physical and psychological rehabilitation.  Drug rehabilitation programs typically consist of twelve-step programs or something similar. They last a number of months, or occasionally a few years. They allow individuals counsel and encouragement, and they attempt to, by abstinence, exorcise an addicted individual’s addiction. *** trafficking rehabilitation requires the re-creation of an individual. Self-worth must be reconstructed. The spirit must be healed in order to allow for psychological healing. Prostitutes are not addicted to prostitution, but prostitution produces dependence in that the prostituted crave normalcy. This dependence must be killed. Successfully rehabilitating women from this forced lifestyle requires lifelong commitment and endless resources. It requires passionate fanatics, people who will pour their life into changing the lives of others, because only the incurable fanatic can wreak havoc on the tragedy of human trafficking. Any short-term effort to rehabilitate a *** trafficking victim is doomed to failure. The degree to which the brokenness of *** trafficking victims becomes ingrained in them is so extreme that it takes a lifetime to reshape their lives.
While researching *** trafficking in order to accurately produce Nefarious, the researchers and producers of Nefarious became convicted by facts that they collected. The evidence they collected speaks to the fact that *** trafficking does not just attack the body; it attacks the entire being, and in far worse ways than drugs ever could. Varied races and ages are prostituted and / or consume drugs. The impact of both of *** and drug trafficking is severe, but much more so severe in the case of human trafficking. The rehab process for human trafficking is much more in depth and is testament to the horror and degree of psychological, mental, and emotional disfigurement, as well as acclimation to a horrible situation to the point that horror becomes normal – a new definition of addiction. Human trafficking is an atrocity that is far more horrendous and prevalent than imaginable. It is far more destructive than drug trafficking. Drug trafficking is one of the most destructive forces in this generation.  Surely consuming drugs is one of the most horrid things we can do to our bodies, but what about consuming souls? *** trafficking consumes souls, hearts, minds and bodies. It splits, fragments, debases, brutalizes, obliterates, murders, rapes, molests, destroys, and dehumanizes the prostituted.  Drug trafficking attacks the body the soul, and sometimes the mind, but in much milder ways.

We find multiple ways to disconnect
Where business and technology intersect
We kick one another for cash
When we need equilibrium for our economy
Our morals disintegrate to ash
And we trade away our autonomy
But we don't dare reflect
Instead we disconnect
We turn people into symbols and numbers
So we can more comfortably slumber
After causing heartbreaking pain
Through bureaucratic chains
Because face to face
Our heart will race
And we'll examine our submerged morals
That lie in the depths with the coral
But our reflection is too much to bear
So we cowardly choose not to care
The only way we can feel ecstatic
Is to turn people into demographics

The Internet connects us
But also satisfies lust
And imitates human contact
Which has a negative impact
The feeling leaves us sated
And we don't feel the need to change
Our armor becomes plated
And we shoot arrows from long range
Because we don't like the idea of being one another
We get used to the idea of not seeing one another
We disconnect so we don't have to try
We disconnect so we can slowly die

The ****** disconnection continues
As we find more violent avenues
We utilize fatal instruments
To ****** without the sense
Of physically feeling
The life we're stealing
We stabbed one another with swords
Until the bullets soared
But we still needed more
So we disconnected further
And became satellite searchers
Studying people through actions
Defining them by faction
We don't have any interest in their personality or flaws
All we're concerned with is if they're breaking the law
The law we wrote to tip the scales
The law that makes us too big to fail

A husband leaves his wife
Disconnecting from her life
She's left with a child
To raise in the wild
Until a drone drops a bomb
On the struggling single mom
She's not an investor
So we'll just harvest her worthless life
Who'll be her protector
When she's near someone we don't like?
We **** her from our computer
That's the way we casually mute her

We carefully cultivated a disconnect
To treat one another like insects
This mentality will infect
Until we interject
Once we finally reflect
Love will connect

It's a long walk,
the way that women are,
and I've already lost miles
to the races.
Try appealing to a youthful
star, have 'em throw money
to the wayside.

I was howlin'
like some horrid wind.
I was prowlin',
bayside,

sick of the **** I was sittin' in.

I was a wizard,

baby,

I was a blizzard
blowin'
through your front door.


I try, I try,
I try, I try,
now put me on trial,

baby,

you can't fake style!

It's not a mask,
and it's not just a past
but something more.
And I'll be able to tell
just what that is
as soon as I
figure all
The above my brow
considerations.
The ones that we
crawl towards,

the delicacies that
you spit at me,

you spit them from your
mouth; young,
European tongue,
look at what you've done!

Why?
Why so profound?
Why,
just act petty,
demographics
don't stop me.
Why?
Why so profound?
Why,
just be pretty instead,
demographics don't stop me.

The enthusiasm of ***** Gobé and Maria Paloma Fuentes is palpable. Riding high on the initial success of their summer collection of children’s clothes, the two French business graduates are planning their next sales moves, both online and through multi-brand boutiques.

The chic edge-to-edge jackets, Bermuda shorts and berets would probably look at home on the rails of Printemps or Galeries Lafayette. Yet their start-up company, Mini Bobi, is not based in Paris. It is in Suzhou, a couple of hours’ drive from Shanghai.

The two Skema alumnae are among the growing number of French graduates who are looking for their first job in China. One catalyst has been the rush of European business schools to establish campuses in China, run joint degree programmes with Chinese universities and set up internship programmes in Beijing and Shanghai.

What is more, the growth in the Chinese economy, together with the low cost of entry in cities such as Shanghai, has resonated with graduates worldwide who want to be entrepreneurs.

The real advantage of China, though, is simply the scale, says Ms Fuentes. “The opportunities are much more attractive here than in France. If you come up with a new idea it will be really big.”

The Mini Bobi clothing range, which combines Parisian style with the stretchy materials and copious waistbands needed by the increasing number of obese children in China’s cities, was the brainchild of Ms Gobé.

After studying fashion and business in Lille and Shanghai, Ms Gobé completed a gap year in the US and decided to write her thesis on the plus-size market.

“In this thesis I made a comparison between the market in the US and China. [Previously] I wasn’t aware of this market,” she says, adding that in China there are 120m obese children under the age of 18.

In the city of Shanghai more than 18 per cent of children at primary school are overweight — the same percentage as in the US, she says. “I was surprised when I realised [this was the case],” she says.

Enthusiasm for all things Chinese spreads well beyond entrepreneurs, says Nick Sanders, director of the Masters in International Business at Grenoble Graduate School of Business. Of the section of the MIB class that spent a year in Beijing, many are enthusiastic about working there.

“Ninety per cent of them actually want to stay in China,” says Mr Sanders, although practically, only between a quarter and a third will get their first job on graduation in the country. A further 50 per cent will be employed working with China in some capacity, adds Mr Sanders.

“They tend to be employed where there needs to be an understanding between China and another country.”

Entrepreneur Matthieu David-Experton, an Essec graduate, who also studied for a second degree at the Guanghua school at Peking University, is now on his second business venture in China — he sold the first, a packaged gift business, after 18 months.

His three-year-old market research company, Daxue Consulting, has offices in Beijing and Shanghai, with a third office planned in Hong Kong. It has 15 employees but by the end of the year he plans to have a staff of 20 and revenues of Rmb7m ($1.1m).

“What I have always done in China is take a model that works well in Europe, then adapt it.” Most of his clients to date have been international companies looking for information on the China market — western nursing home groups, eager to take advantage of the changing Chinese demographics, have been strong clients. That is changing. “Chinese companies are now looking for better information on their

competitors.”

For Mr David-Experton there are clear advantages to working in China, particularly the flexibility and speed to market. Products can be designed and developed in just a few days, he says. “I had the feeling you couldn’t get these things done in this timescale in Europe.” It means entrepreneurs can get a product to market without having to raise too much money, he adds.

But he warns that the Chinese business environment is not plain sailing. “They [prospective entrepreneurs] need to come here and see what is happening. A lot of people come here with ideas that don’t fit with the market.”

It is a message echoed by Manmeet Singh, senior affiliate lecturer at EMLyon Business School, who has worked in China for the past 13 years. “This market has a learning curve, it has a learning curve for everybody. Even the 50-year-old chief executives of multinationals have a learning curve. They can come here and get their **** kicked.”

European entrepreneurs are taking a double risk he says: starting a business and setting up in an alien environment.

He also warns that much of the “low-hanging fruit” available to French entrepreneurs a few years ago no longer exists. He cites the example of those who want to set up a wine importing business in China: now the tables are turned and Chinese companies are buying vineyards around the world.

But there are some positive elements about China for European entrepreneurs, he says.

“There’s a lot of money available in the market for the right product. They [the Chinese] are agnostic on the origins of their entrepreneurs.”

And the enthusiasm for start-up careers in China are still strong among French business students, he says. “A good 10 per cent of the class [in China] approach me with ideas.”

Mr Singh is heavily involved in Shanghai’s Chinaccelerator, which gives support to both Chinese and international entrepreneurs. Though popular in the US and Europe, incubators are more novel in China.

It was following Skema Business School’s tie-up with a local Suzhou incubator in 2013 that the founders of Mini Bobi decided to locate their company there. Now they are distributing their range of 30 China-manufactured clothing items in Hangzhou and Suzhou as well as Shanghai.

With a monthly income so far of around Rmb3,000, the founders are looking to wider distribution to increase sales and are now selling online through Taobao, China’s answer to Amazon or eBay, founded by the Alibaba Group. They are also talking to schools about designing more generous-sized school uniforms.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney

Seduced
by the
school
shooter
singing
siren
songs
of
shotgun
blows
to the heart beat 
of the wet American dream.

It's the human interest
horror allegory
The hero doesn't even get
15 minutes

But the shadow has
got a gun fetish
Counting bullets as 
They're counting blessings,
numbered 1-27
3x his pump action 

Light 'em up
***** 'em out 

Some head-sick self-entitled 
monster in a mask
on a mission of mass destruction
Cashed in on their
little tax deductions

The most sacred snuffed out
before the light could become them

It's the darkness that dominates
As the dragon *******
Witch inside
The mind
displacing emotions
away from the art of 
living 
loving 
and losing

You're the submissive
Ascend the divine madness
or find yourself in shackles
in the machinery. 

Humming
hypnotizing
hymns 
of conformity 

Another one's lost his mind
Descended
And the scapegoat 
is mental illness

We all know, 
The media is the medium
is the message
The subliminal secret passage
to the shared skewed subconscious
Planting ideas of bloodshed
Like evidence in the 
Bodies of specific demographics 

Demonize
Pack the prisons

Capitalize
And cut the blood losses

Here we are now
Hopeless
It makes for great entertainment

Alone within my emotional wilderness

A reverie along memory lane when, this lviii sea sunned
row man (stills paddles in oarlocks and serenely quizzically,
lackadaisically, and harmoniously drifts) along the slip
stream of time. Awash on his figurative manual navigated
opportunistic prideful quintessential schooner reflects,
regales, and revisits ebbing lapsed instances (fast receding
into the past time, when psychological instability grounded
fragile my self esteem (generated venting, steaming, and
piping hot brickbats). As a newly minted harrumphing,
grubbing, and floundering dada enmeshment (analogous
to a fish caught in a net, hence quickly ricocheting, rabidly
splashing, and sloppily thrashing) predicated my foray
into das fatherhood. Aye experienced nearest approximation
Bing battered, rammed, and torpedoed from glomming
(par for the course riot ting heaps) necessarily imposed
adult responsibility. Such metaphorical motoring across
avast Battle Creek with no landfall in sight, this then nada
so Grand Turk (key in the straw) Otto man continually
snapped, cracked and popped. This human ping-pong
fitbit part player papa felt akin to subjection re: thralldom).
At this juncture in me cross currents of existence I can
harken back to those most exhausting, fatiguing, and
grueling endeavors. Hindsight offers this aging baby
boomer the luxury to cast astern. Retrospective leisurely
trawls along the shoals throes of fatherhood allow,
enable and provide and opportunity to scrutinize per
chance, where arises this on account of the empty nest
syndrome. Ordinarily the wife (i.e. missus to appear
more formal), would caw out my name nonstop….
”Matt”…”Matt”…”Matt”…, but she opted to organize
the cluster of assorted household items at the apart
ment (located in Crum Lynne – Ridley Township),
we hope to move within a fortnight. Thy spouse
volunteered her own mini reprieve by setting order
to the miscellaneous fixings gradually amassed,
appropriated, and gifted thru out the twenty plus
years of marriage, which hodgepodge of personal
possessions downsized whence circumstance dictates
evaluating goods having keepsake meaning versus
anomaly of belongings to be unloaded, repurposed
for someone else, or ordained as unworthy to schlep.
Alone asper like a very brief sabbatical from marriage
finds stillness amidst the white noise of the whirring
fan. Thus, I sit here ruminating how to dredge up
some idea for a poem,  (non) fiction or essay. This
husband became acclimated, conditioned, and em
bossed with a mate a tete for two plus decades,
whereby both thee dos delightful daughters on
Track 742 heading west. Honest to dog, I miss
the role of fatherhood when either off spring
(with an age difference of approximately twenty
five plus months) romped, scampered, and trotted
as toddlers, and upon childhood, thy little girls
found exultant excitement dashing higgledy-
piggledy, hither and yon, to and fro across the
playground as most glorious human indulgence.
Despite the plaintive wail vis a vis Juliet saying
goodnight to Romeo (…parting is such sweet
sorrow) haint pleasurable atoll. Hitherto un
known that during the most vexing, trying,
and quaking bouts when both kin of thy ****
fought like angry cats would there transpire
the occasion of sincere tearfulness ululating
vain warbling. Now a pang of nostalgia arises
when I drive past their happy go lucky stomp
ping turf, or reflect on answering the trumpet
call to chauffer one or thee other to amusement
park, play date, mall, favorite toy store such as
Fivebelow, birthday party, et cetera. Even
certain tunes recalled to mind and/or heard
being broadcast across the audio logical spec
trum a cause for moistened tear ducts. Wince
with sadness also mixed with sigh lent bundled
expostulations of joy. Both progeny metamorphosed
into able bodied, minded and spirited lasses,
whose attainment far exceeded any projections
internally forecast. Initial onset of parent role
found me all thumbs. Prior to begetting two
darling dames, this chap spent disproportionate
number of hours sequestered within some hide
away, which frequently happened to be the
designated bedroom at 324 Level Road, College
Ville, Pennsylvania, 19010. Never did thee major
rit tee days of mine life point to babysitting or
working with that chronological demographics
comprising the adoring blessed innocence,
murmuring newborn obliviousness, that bespoke
penultimate unsullied, utmost virtue necessitating
interaction with tender infants beckoning being
cradled, endearingly fondled, demonstrably easing
fondness gripping heartstrings issue jetblue kinks.
Aye felt pitched headlong into this foreign territory,
and initially experienced utmost awkwardness when
attending, pampering and pulling (albeit gently)
upsy daisy, the nascent hint of autonomy. Remembrance
and recollection of élan, joie de vivire, and yea those
ear splitting threshold of pain screaming tantrums
all boxed into tidy wholesome Zen announcing
nuggets of greater meaningfulness and absolute
value. The above long winded reverie intended and
meant tubby a semi biography, but leave hit up to
his hie n hiss, he went way overboard, and will give
a one line summarization to describe his i.e. yours truly
life sentence fate decreed. He (this Anglophile chipper
chap lived under duress of extreme anxiety, obsessive/
compulsive behavior, panic attacks and essentially
schizoid personality disorder for the greater part
of his life and hard times, which raw bits would
warrant fleshing out to extrapolate how these psychic
pitfalls represented critical factors at various and
sundry turning points in his life.

“If you or someone you know
Has been diagnosed with Parkinson’s . . . ”
You can tell a great deal about UNLV,
My Vegas morning, easy listening
Radio station of choice,
When I first sit down,
Sit down to work in the morning,
One can surmise from the
Target demographics of so dire,
Such sober pronunciamentos, by
DJ Mueller, 91.5 The Source»
Live from UNLV/KUNV
Las Vegas kunv.org/KUNV
The Jazz Lounge with
Frank Mueller, Thursday, 7:00 am-11:00 am.
So don’t say I never
****** your ****--metaphorically speaking—
Herr Mueller, my good friend.
And while we’re on
The subject: WORK.
They never tell you that
Writing is such ******* hard work,
Which explains my need to **** up &
Lubricate the mechanism,
Before I start.
But I digress.

Just in case you haven’t noticed,
In case you had not been taking heed, CNN:
There’s an exciting new, radical ******,
Left-wing personage & presence
Making a play for the main room,
Center stage, center ring
Global Palace & Amphitheater.
I refer, of course to
Pope Francis:
Media-savvy, media mensch,
Crafting his own image,
Playing to the masses,
Choosing the namesake--
Francesco—right outta the gate,
Zip outta some Franco Zeffirelli
“Brother Sun, Sister Moon,”
Saint Francis di Assisi,
Talent show.
Born Jorge Mario Bergoglio,
In Buenos Aires, Argentina,
He worked briefly as a
Chemical technician
(Read: “bomb maker”)
& Nightclub bouncer
(Read: “sadist”)
Before resuming
Seminary studies, 1969.
(Tribute PSA: October 29, 1969: Happy 40th Birthday to a Radical Idea! Bill Duvall, SRI computer room. Late 1960s, the evening of October 29, 1969 the first data travelled between two nodes of the ARPANET, a key ancestor of the Internet.)
Pope Francis is a master at technology,
As any aspiring Global Wizard must be.
He has a special web site:
“Papal Bulls & Other *******.” Palabras del Papa Francisco - News.va www.news.va/es/source/vatican-va Translate this page PAPA FRANCISCO. AUDIENCIA GENERAL Miércoles 13 de mayo de 2015. [Multimedia]. Queridos . . .

Francis: Pope in Rome,
Signing international treaties again.
The Holy See himself—that
Wacky Argentinian--
One of many Lefty Cardinals,
Pulls off upset ordination in
Vatican City, God’s little 110 acres,
Our world’s smallest city & sovereign state,
Patrolled by a wacky-striped
Swiss Wackenhut Swat Team,
The Vatican: former playground for Nero,
**** Command Central for Caligula,
Construct of Mussolini’s $92 million
(More than $1 billion in today’s
Ever more worthless,
Ever more inflation soaring money!)
Lateran hush money,
Vatican monopoly money,
Seed money for colonial expansion,
Il Duce signing on behalf of
King Victor Emmanuel III,
Remembered today
Mainly for his short stature, &
Exile to Alexandria, Egypt,
Where he died and was buried.
“Vic the Man,” as he was known
Here in the Principality of Monaco,
“Vic the Man in Monte Carlo.”
But I digress.

Just the other day, Pope Francis
Signed another international treaty,
Recognizing Palestinian statehood,
Generating praise from Palestinians, &
Criticism from Israelis, who said:
“The move does not advance peace efforts.”
“Even this Philo-Semitic pope,
This pope who cares about the Jews,
Even he doesn’t get it,” said
David Horovitz, Editor,
The Times of Israel,
Which is what one would expect from
The guy who wrote the book:
A Little Too Close to God,
Still Life with Bombers:
Israel in the Age of Terrorism . . .

It is tempting to ignore the
Sheer ego, the colossal megalomania
That is Jorge Mario Bergoglio,
Truly a personage of great moral suasion,
Whether he’s cleaning the feet of the homeless,
Dialing up strangers for late-night chats or
Convincing the self-described atheist,
Raúl Castro to give Catholicism a second look . . .
This pope who took the name of a
Nature-loving pauper,
This Pope in Rome,
Francis:  Transformative,
Revolutionary gust.
Pontiff, from Latin: “a bridge,”
Spanning the God-Man divide.
We are talking about a brotherhood,
That survived both Borgia & Medici,
And other assorted kink-fests for centuries.
Just what bizarre peccadillo
Required the resignation of
Benedict XVI, in itself, a
2,000-year first?
Francis:  the first Jesuit Pope.
Francis: the first Pope from America.
Francis: “The circumstances surrounding
Benedict's decision to step down
Will titillate scholars and the journalists alike,
For many years to come,
Given his resignation came so soon
After the “VATI-LEAKS” revelations:
Vatican bank corruption,
Pederast-priest cover-ups, &
Other ignominious fiascos
Requiring significant damage control.

One would think that an institution
With their own royal observatory,
The Papal See’s inter-galactic,
Night-vision telescope, Mount Graham,
Southeast of Tucson, Arizona,
Could steer clear of faulty stars.

They say we are free.
Free to bark, if no one listens.
Free to scribble, if no one prints.
Free to inhale, if it doesn’t cost too much.

This is not anthem.
This is not lament.
This is autopsy.

Let the ink blister the page
for those whose stories
were throttled before sunrise.
Let the silence rupture into
a thunderclap of what should have been...


Judas of the Womb

Her name was reduced to a whisper.
Her death, a technicality.

She died of sepsis? No!
She died of legislation—
the sanctified paralysis of law.

Izabela.
Thirty years haunted by patriarchy.
Twenty-two weeks into a doomed gestation.
One human life overwritten
by a cluster of cells wrapped in legalese.

“They’ll wait until it dies,” she wrote,
"Or I will."
She did.

The state shrugged.
Three men in coats clutched
their degrees like shields.
Guilty, but not too guilty.
Penalized, but not inconvenienced.

And somewhere behind a mahogany desk,
a BBC editor ticked the
"Do Not Disturb Poland" box.
Because truth, like radiation,
is best contained to domestic fallout.


The Jester Beheaded by Branding

He made them laugh.
He made them uncomfortable.
Then he made them look at themselves.
That was the mistake.

He survived presidents.
But not the quarterly earnings report.

The axe did not fall.
It slid.

No cancellation. Just de-prioritization.
No outrage. Just polite press releases
and quiet exits.

The revolution will not be televised.
It was tested poorly with key demographics.


Soft Guillotines

Not fire.
Just foam padding and soft lighting.

No jail.
Just "violated community guidelines."

No riot gear.
Just Terms of Service.

They won’t stop you.
They’ll just stop broadcasting you.
They’ll hide you in the cellar of the algorithm,
behind un-skippable ads and SEO oblivion.

Your words are welcome—
as long as they sell soap.
Your outrage is valid—
if it fits in a drop-down menu.


The Global Echo

Warsaw, Manhattan, Manila, Paris.
Different names for the same soft boot.
The same velvet rope
around the neck
of the narrative.

They don’t ban the voices.
They dilute them.
Filter them.
Render them un-shareable,
un-searchable, un-fundable.

We live in a marketplace of ideas,
where truth competes
with cat videos and loses.


The Hollowing

When liberty must pass through a monetization filter,
it is not liberty.

When satire must first clear advertising compliance,
it is not satire.

When journalism fears its own clicks,
when editors redact themselves,
when profit margins call the morning meetings—
we are not in a democracy...

We are in a theme park of tolerated dissent.


The Sliver of Soil

But still—yes, still.

There are cracks in the concrete,
uncatalogued by surveillance,
unpolished by PR.

In those fractures, we gather.
Not to shout—but to build.
Not to trend—but to outlast.

We will forge our voices into chisels.
We will scratch our stories into steel.
We will be inconvenient.
Unprofitable.
Relentless.

So write what they won’t publish.
Speak what they won’t air.
Sing the verses
that sour their brand strategy.

And if we rise, not in hashtags,
But in habit—
not in virality, but in volume—
not in fury, but in fidelity—

then liberty may yet bloom.
Not fast.
Not free.
But truly ours.

As an avid golfer, Nashville resident Victoria Kopyar couldn’t find fashionable-but-functional clothing she wanted to sport on the fairway.

Tapping into her background in retail merchandising, product development and sourcing, Kopyar decided to take the matter into her own hands and launched women’s golf and activewear label VK Sport.

“When I was looking at the market, I saw there were a lot of men’s pink shirts, not a lot of print and pattern and not a lot of styling to it. …I really felt nothing was flattering the female figure and I wanted something that fit me well,” Kopyar said.

The first collection launched in August 2015 with golf retailer Golfsmith.com. Kopyar expects sales will be 10 times higher in the first full year in business as she zeroes in on growing VK Sport’s e-commerce website, expanding the collection at independent golf pro shops across the country and reaching new demographics such as the collegiate market. Locally, VK Sport is sold at Belle Meade Country Club and Hillwood Country Club.

Launching VK Sport marked a career switch for Kopyar, whose resume includes corporate positions with U.S. Bank, Target, Dollar General and Gibson Guitar. She didn’t pick up golf as a hobby until she had a summer off work in between jobs at U.S. Bank and Target.

“My dad told me (golf is) a great up-and-coming place for women to do business, there is a lot of opportunity and it’s a lifetime sport," Kopyar said. "So I went out and bought clubs, took some lessons and I fell in love with golf."

In 2014, Kopyar started developing the VK Sport brand on weekends and nights. The following year, she decided to leave the corporate world behind to work full-time on the clothing line. The launch of VK Sport coincided with Nashville's rising reputation as a fashion hub for everything from custom dresses to high-end denim and handmade leather goods.

Her goal for VK Sport is to target fashion-forward women with her key demographic between the ages of 25 to 60 years old. According to the National Golf Foundation, 24 percent of the 24.1 million golfers in the U.S. were women in 2015. Millennials represented the largest group among the 2.2 million beginner golfers last year.

The VK Sport apparel, which is made from technical fabrics with anti-wick and sun-protective properties, includes colorful and printed dresses, skorts, pants, shorts, polos, tank tops and more. Features include anti-slip bands in the skirts and shorts, cutaway sleeves, nine-inch deep pockets, zipper details, mandarin collars, ruched fabric at the buttons and lace features.

Kopyar described it as a high-end brand with price points ranging from $90 for a skort to $110 for pants and $85 for polos.

“We’re a fashion brand," Kopyar said. "We take what’s happening on the runways in New York and Milan and take that and bring it into the functionality of golf wear and/or regular street wear."

VK Sport has been self-funded so far, but Kopyar plans to take on investors as she grows the business. She hopes to capture a piece of the multi-billion dollar athleisure market by positioning the brand as activewear for both golfers and non-golfers.

“I see us as a lifestyle brand," Kopyar said. "Not only are you functional in golf but you can wear it in your everyday lifestyle, whether you’re at the nineteenth hole having lunch with the girls or out picking up your kids at school or running to Target or a coffee meeting."Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

This divided society
putting most of us in poverty
but can't do nothing 'bout it
cause the computer cuts us too neatly
Still upholding the divinity of Austrian economic theories
when for the last hundred years
the rise of the dollars been all about
demographics & behavioral science
Capital is nothing more than a natural resource
I don't care that you got there first
The aquifer runs wide
please don't poison mine
Profit is nothing but an unpaid cost of labor
Cause I agreed to a certain pay
I must work the rest of my hours as a Wage Slave
Yeah, you could say it was consensual
but don't have much choice
when I got mouths to feed, a checklist of other needs,
and no extra dough to risk buying
exclusivity rights to plunder a piece of Earth

Human Beings: We call ourselves advanced
when we never been closer to death  

Human Beings: We fear the government
while proprietors with most control grab up more

Human Beings: I get more joy buying things today
than playing with the things I bought yesterday

Human Beings: Millennial pessimists, riding out the apocalypse
instead of promulgating progress

In misplaced demographics, an underlying figure
Gets lost in the middle of double-helixed bound’ry lines
Dissolving past parameters, confounding to the mind,
A deadlocked debate decides if pain or love is bigger
It’s like the world’s hardest riddle, answers buried deftly
That no savant or prodigy is able to surmise
And the truth does differ from what words can now describe.

I’ve learned that one can tread life’s forest with a steady course
And with the best of intentions and stark, concerted path
Turn winding bends ambiguous: mistake a birch for ash
So to end the tiring journey in tangent to its source
The nature of the Earth is neither white nor black
It’s more like the palate used when blue becomes grayish sky
But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe

Inside my head there lies a circuit, closed unto itself
So, through this loop I’ve learned to see the difference between
Progress and regression, what has been and has never been,
Is like finding from a deck why each hand differs that is dealt
But the answer matters not, for the circle spins again
It’s kind of like the ocean where the calm and break collides
But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe.

I’ve watched a daunting fog descend upon my clouded eyes
It curbs the hue of ev’rything to darker spectrum shades
So this shroud submerges light until definition fades,
Frustrates the sense of passion; luster steadily subsides
When the mind’s only window is comprised of rippled glass,
It’s like a drunkard’s double vision having not imbibed
But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe.

Each step I take grows even more uncertain than the last
If I could convey to you the shape of this confusion
If I could draw a diagram or picture of delusion
Then you and I might, together, construct and raise a mast
So with to steer life’s wayward ship back toward a purpose
At times, I’m unsure if living’s just learning to survive
So, in this pall, I reach you now, and in you I confide.

Nature can survive without us
But we need nature
Just like you can survive without me
But I can't survive without you
Which renders you first
Tying in with the consequences of actions
And the significance
The biggest shift in demographics
However heart-centred they may be
A political right for me to say go
But you to say no
To outpost your lies
And join a revolution
But you're breaching my civil rights

1.22.

Statistics of
statistics
The precise
revision of
demographics
non-existent

The strange
fabrication of
how polluted
and
misconstrued
thoughts

Is a simple
resolution
to every souls
confusion

Can you count
every written
faith?
Books on who's
opinion?
Individually written
by hands influence
by their brand
named wallets

The waste in produce
in mass production
Selling us ideas of
self-destruction
Spending  less
on life lessons
Not saving up
for
self-reflections

Who's dime
pays for time?
Is it time
deciding time?
Or do dimes define
the meaning of time?
Who's time has it become?
What is time?
Time is? Time was?
Time never really
was ours

Watch the kids play
king of high risk
Compete to
defeat in the
depths of debt

Our inherited regrets
forget to check
on emotional scores
you can't get
a credit for
Give praise to high
interest rates
instead of banking
on your faith
Safely you deposit
selfish values
That lock you in
lucrative hate

Bankrup these
divided ideas
Start to believe
in the people
Let’s invest in
each other
again

Who's next in line?
Last in the back?
Who's at the till?
How do you pay
your grocery
bill?
Do you stress?
Depressed?
Do you pay for change?
Presidents and
Prime ministers
face paper electives
bills that select
how countries develop

Look for the Queen
working in virtual
streets
Trying to be a girl
seen in a magazine
Selling the tales
of fictional fascism
Stacked on the
ranks of fast
fashion

Blessed be
the ******
with their new 
Micheal Kors
Losing themselves
in concrete stores
Designers that dictates
your direction
Consuming ourselves
we go off to
slaughter
Is there a refund
in the
death of a daughter?

Who lies?
Who plots?
Who puts capitol
value on gifts
from God?

Watching
observing
like social outcasts
typical and yet atypical
according to demographics.
Craving ideas concepts facts
that will/do separate us from the herd.

Lost notions of sense
seeking portrayals, refurbishing old ideals
Warping every ounce of self
simply to emulate
some long forgotten concept
which no one will ever truly understand.

The brunt of a joke yes,
The stoic face that removes you from a content moment always.

We see
We accept
Most never understanding
Reading lines casting lies
doing our selves the only justice
Of keeping "them" content

I am not social with you all
I was never to be
I can accept that
I would even claim to understand

I care for,
for some small sake
Yet
"who's?"
is the only question to astound me.
Not the for who or the good golly whys
That are blathered from the lips
of every would be philoso-phile.
More so the
"who is?"
Because in reality so many of us are not

NOT
Stopping to smell the flowers
(for the truth of its meaning)
Breathing
Feeling
Seeing
Listening
Coaching
Questioning
Learning
(or ever truly)
Knowing.
Not even i.
i won't even fathom what it is to be.
Simply out of
Respect,
Awe,
Wonder.

Do we touch sanctity
or does it only grace us with their presence?
If so does
he/she/they/it
have a name?
Could our gift remain solely
in our ability for recognition?

i Question myself in efforts
To obtain procure peruse
not in doubt.
Doubt is a by product of fear.
I shall not fear
Will you
Do they
As hard as we make it

It will forever be ourselves.

So called meritocracy
False illusions of democracy
Labelled by society
To fulfill this prophesy that it has foreseen in me,
What I see is: that I refuse to believe,
this is all I can amount up to be,
Decided on the course of my life,
Based on my colour, culture and class.
Add gender, religion and demographics.
I don't stand a chance.
Are you telling me I can't do this, can't bring myself up?
From where I am constantly belittled,
By stereotypical positions.
An anomalie I aspire to be,
This knowledge I gain will guide me,
I want that day to arrive,
Where you judge me,
Shun me,
Tell me I'm wrong.
Then to see jaws hang open,
To see those stuttering like the ignorant fools they are,
Embarrassed red tinted cheeks,
Shaking heads in disbelief,
"I... I... I'm sorry, I tthought that, it it looked like"
Allow me to bring you back to reality,
Your status and power does not give you the right to judge.
You have a right to your opinion,
But take a look on what you base it upon?

Flipping tiny pages
She strolls to the table
Apologizing with her quiet eyes.

"Do you need a menu?"
Something on my face tells her
I seem sure of my decision.

There's a hole in her smile
That hangs down to her heart.
"I'll have the chicken fried steak."

I thought I really said, "What's wrong?"
Subserviently, yet sincerely, she is sweet,
Like it's been beaten into her.

"I'll have that right out to you"
Her invisible mental interpreter yelled,
"I wish I could tell you everything."

The order book closes.
Obligations disappear into an apron.
The kitchen draws her in like a space ship.

A hologram of her sadness remains.
Until her lingering spirit is torn by
A gray-hair parade displacing the haze.

Why did I sit next to the bathroom?
Incontinence breeds strange bedfellows,
And I'm feeling more pissy by the minute.

I question my choice of eateries
In demographics, and relevance.
But a 5.89 lunch special trumps pride.

My table in pre-gorge state
Holds electronic slates
And this rigid collection of organizing tools.

Moses' brother shuffles by.
"Is that one of them tablets?"
As I imagine him holding the original ones.

The waitress sidels in, balancing plates
With stuff covered in gravy,
A mis-shapen roll in a basket,

Her reconstructed grin
Not pasted on quite as straight
As the first approach.

The old man displays his yellow teeth
Waiting for her to dismiss herself.
So she does.

"How do ya like that thing," he says.
"It's my brain," I tort.
We fake laugh together.

White coffee cups appear like spring fungus
On every table near me
She is placing and replacing them all

...Again and again
Like she needs a reason
To be nearby.

Then she fills the jellies, and butter pats
Overflowing in make-do bowls heaping
Beyond full, tumbling as little avalanches.

She picks each packet as they fall
In a never-ending fruity fruitless failure
That frames the fabric of her fears.

Through the silhouette of
The antique man
Her hand trembles as she loses faith.

From his wrinkled mouth
Dusty words settled on my head,
"A guy just walked up and shot my son."

His skinny finger pointed like a gun.
"I know how you feel," I offered,
Recently lost my son, too."

His eyes turned from inward to outward.
Patted me on the shoulder.
"Bless you, boy."

"A parent should never see
Their child in a casket."
And he walked away.

I left a $5 tip on a $6 tab,
As if that would lessen her pain,
Or my empathy.

It's never going to change.
It's piled so high
Layers on layers
Strata of disorder
and chaos.
A mess of priorities.
Masses scrambling their way up a staircase
--They never seem to see it shift into a slide--
Entropy expanding
exponentially:
Take a look at the demographics
and the statistics.
Swallow your optimism.  Scoff at brighter days.
Wouldn't it be better if it all just . . .

Ended?

For everything we think we know
     and let's use some
     of those fancy words:
     key demographics, target audiences, potential consumers,
     strategies, theories, 3 I's, 4 P's, 4 C's,
     consultants, coordinators, directors, decision makers,
     sizes, scopes, negotiations, deliverable.
Remember when we first knew
     there was and hopefully remains
     a real reason why we went this way...

                         ... and weather or not you remember, or even realize that
                         reason is real; you can do yourself service.  Just watch your
                         brush-fire breath take form, and your river's senses flow.
                         Do this instead of learning what you think you need to know.

By: Cedric McClester

We’re faced with a contagion
As deadly as the Black Plague
And so it finds us engaged with
The scourge of the modern age
Yesterday we were challenged by
A disease that was spreading
And similarly today it seems
That’s the place we’re heading

One thing I know for sure
It crosses all demographics
And so we search for a cure
A stop light for it’s traffic
Some call it an affliction
Cos’ that’s their frame of mind
But opioid addiction
Is the bane of all mankind

As we attempt to treat it
Because we heed the call
We know to defeat it
That one size won’t fit all
Multiple methodologies
Will have to be employed
Though the ideal is always abstinence
Let’s not get paranoid

There are other approaches
Out there on the horizon
Like medically assisted treatment
That conveniently ties in
To the awful situation
We find ourselves in today
Doctors providing treatment
Is another option they say









Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017.  All rights reserved.

Here, our eyes
be so set on tomorrow
we forget all about today.

Here, we're so progressive
we've run our own head
firmly up our own ***

It is cyclical,
after all.

Though we may be
at times a bastion of Culture
we're also e'er so Cultish,
though not for Jim Jones
at least not anymore
but rather for politics, actors and phones.

With such a spectacle
of utter sensory prostitution,
it's no wonder so many
choke willingly on pollution.

Though I may indeed blaspheme,
I do so only because of what I have seen.
California is not the rule or exception
but rather an epitome of US deception.

As if the person behind the camera,
it films for the demographics
what the directors want to be seen
Nothing more, nothing less, and nothing else.

Ratings are key
so it would seem
and, alas, tragedy
grips us deeper than joy.

California may be home to happy cows,
but what about the people? The workers? The artists?
Is money really a substitute for a fulfilling journey of life?
It seems for some it is, and if that someone is you,
then have we got the property taxes for you.

This, though a rant it may be,
is only a limited perspective of me
fueled by disappointment and irk
though quenched by many a cultural perk.

We may have our head up our *****,
but at least we entertain the doped masses.
We, perhaps, may be hipsters and sensationalist,
but, at the same time, we're among the greatest.

And that's terrifying.