Skyrim, Land for Nords
Filled with Mead and Honningbrew
Singing with blood and cords
Disagreeing to their Divines and Lords

But raging with war and Talos Blessed
Destroying the empire, liberating Skyrim
Once Again

But a nightmare appears
"DRAGONS! DRAGONS!" a filthy Nord say
Running away pityfully as the Myths slays

A man stays
A nordic lad
Tough like Talos
***** as a rag
The tongue of the ancients
Shouting, stealing the souls of the Myths

It's the Dragonborn
It's back
Since centuries
And has came
To Unlegend the Myths
Once Again

Take me back to the 90’s -
where we cared less, but loved more.
here, we’re glorified for our past -
where we went out and played Real Games, OUTSIDE.
before the time flew by,
before the new millennium crept in while we were sleeping;
altering the basis of what tender, love, and care really was.

We grew up with very little household rules.
because we understood the consequences that would ensue had we not followed the ones that were already in place.
society had rules. and still do, to this day.
we grew up embellished in love -
no matter the race,
no matter straight, or gay.
we grew up knowing, never to judge.

TV actually taught us things.
cartoons where we’d learn math, or English in the songs we sang.
late nights risking it all because we were supposed to be in be,
but “All That” came on and all that mattered was that we watch the latest episode.

We didn’t have twitter.
We didn’t have facebook, who was mark?
Myspace wasn’t even in its beginning stages.
snapchat didn't even have a place to start.
instead, we might’ve had AIM.
or, we might’ve borrowed our parents’ usernames.

We never knew what X-box was,
playstation 1 was just starting to blossom.
Nintendo was our heart,
sad now it’s like - fossils.
and computer games ruled/
of course, after - our homework was done;
or maybe we used computer games to help with our homework.
numbers munchers, word munchers, math blaster;
teachers lasted. because we loved them,
they knew what we wanted without even asking.
they made things happen...
school was more than boring lectures,
recess was a thing.
like, 30 to 40 minutes of “play time”, to give rest to our brains...

90’s movies:
- “The Hackers”
-”Disclosure”
-”Enemy Of State.” was life.
-”Space Jam.” ...
OH, SPACE JAM. how badly I wanted to be Like Mike!
everyday, trying to brush up on my skills -
sadly, they’d never take flight.
but, as a 90’s kid, imagination was like 90 percent of our life.
“Dream it, Wish it, Do it.”
Be, IT!

Be, It!
hide and seek, how I never wanted to.
had to make yourselves practically invisible for ten minutes max;
or just long enough to catch a break and make a dash for base.
TAG! you’re it.
if you couldn't quite make it.
catch me if you can...
Ahh, games we played as kids.
make you wanna be there again.

90’s. Friends.
Savage like Ben,
But Strong Riders.
Every boy wanted a girl like Topanga. she was strong, and a rider.
we was learning life through the lifestyle of “boy meets world.”
Just so like, we could be ready -
when the boy meets world,
and then boy meets girl,
and girl have kid,
and the kid grows up -
And in the world he lives...

In the world he lives...

This world,
the current one.
the one the hosts our once great nation.
the one that is smoke and mirrors.
the one that was meant to be a great creation.
yet somehow, somewhere, we’ve all changed the meaning of our existence to chastising and hating, each other.

Hating each other.
got me constantly questioning, “Where Is The Love?”
freedom is not free.
the cost is actually more expensive now.
bodies fall on average, about every 3 months.
Whites **** blacks , but blacks also, **** us.
and All Lives Matter -
I'm not sure why they only chant that black ones do,
if they only say black lives matter when a white man shoots...

Take me back to the 90’s.
where things weren't as bad.
Take me back to the 90’s.
where I was young and,
less sad.

Take me back to the 90’s;
we’re having fun meant having fun.
take me back to the 90’s;
where disagreeing with someone, didn't mean you grab a gun.

Take me back to the 90’s;
the perfect era to raise kids in...
Take me back to the 90’s;
at least there,
the world SEEMED innocent.

-Lij

There once was a girl called Goldilocks
Who lived in a forest filled with phlox
She did not to have a soul to play with
And in the forest she would often drift

She once became lost, the lonely, little girl
The one with the head full of golden curls
Panicked and scared, she came upon a house
But it appeared that everyone there was out

She helped herself to the food, cold and hot
She tried the chairs until one hit the spot
Too tired to try to make her way back
She hit the sheets to take a nap

Very picky was this lost, lonely tot
Some porridge was too cold, some too hot
Beds too soft or too hard to sleep tight
Only one she found that felt just right

Mama, Papa, and Baby Bear were soon back on arrival
After a long day of fishing for their survival
What? Who had their nose in each of their bowls?
Gone was one porridge that to the brim was full

And who had sat in and broke one of the chairs?
It looked like a human by some strands of golden hair!
Hunters? Oh, no! Could they be on the prowl?
The bears sniffed around and started to growl

Baby Bear was the first to see
The little girl catching some Z's
"Oh, cool!" exclaimed little Baby Bear
"Can we keep her? Can she stay here?"

They all came upon Goldilocks all snug in bed
Papa Bear was now furious and began to see red
"And you call us animals!" he yelled loudly at her
"Who gives you the right?! Where are your manners?!"

Goldilocks woke up with an ear piercing shriek
Facing three hairy bears, she could not speak
Out the house she ran, far enough to see her home near
And that was the last that Goldilocks saw of those bears!

"She was just a scared, little girl", Mama Bear said to her spouse
"We could have stopped her and let her stay in our house!"
Papa Bear, disagreeing with her foolish trust,  swore
"**** it! I told you the last one out locks the door!!!"

"You begin feeding them...they are so clever
You'll never get rid of them. They stick around forever!"
Mama Bear refused to fight, for Papa Bear refused to bend
And that is all there is to the story. THE END!

There was a child went forth every day,
And everything she heard or saw, whether it was perceived with love, dread, hatred, pity…became a part of her
And it may have faded away in moments, or lingered with the day …or remained for years on end, caught in the web of her mind.
The voices became a part of her
And the broken glass and the splintered wood and the tear streaked faces and more than anything else the shouts
The sharp words and the words that weren’t words but blows and the words that turned to shrieks and the words she blocked with her hands and the slamming of the door… and the words she wrote in her journals… and the sobs coming through the crack in the door…. And the desperate cries for help she stifled with her narrow white teeth… were all a part of her.
And so were the laughter and the marker scribbles and the days at the flea market and the dinners in the living room
And so were the picnics in the yard and the games of t-ball, all those were part of her too, but there seemed much less of that.
And her friends began to dwindle one by one, as she grew older
And as she grew older it all grew worse, former friends gave pointed stares and words that stung like poison darts
And everything was closing in, the house, the town, her own emotions
The shouting was worse, the glass wasn’t broken but instead held poison that made the house stink… the stench of sterility and morgues and slow but ceaseless destruction
Her own father slowly filled her soul with a treacherous ocean of words and tears and memories and mistrust, he let her down again and again and again, he watched her fading and helped her along… whether he knew it or not
The man was still breathing, still had a beating heart, but the father was long dead, shredded to bits by his own words and the broken glass and the splintered wood and bottles of poison
The girl was fading swiftly, blocking off her door with silence and books to hide behind
They never questioned the self inflicted bruises since she was clumsy anyway….the dark circles beneath the hollow eyes were never commented upon, the silent tears were never seen… hidden behind glasses and too much hair
She was silent always, not agreeing nor disagreeing, simply hiding.
If she was quiet no one noticed, he didn’t notice, and if he didn’t notice, the words couldn’t hurt
But she wanted to cry out, scream, fight, her head was shouting that this wasn’t right, aren’t fathers supposed to love their daughters not make them bruise their arms and hate themselves? But her heart slammed no no no he can never know how scared we are.
So she bit her lips because bleeding was better than crying and no one noticed the swelling and everyone told her how happy and perfect she was… she faked a smile and bit her lips again
And every night she went home to slamming and shouting and words that bruised like punches
Fat, ****, stupid, useless, worthless, no better than me… the shadows of insults floated behind her eyes, under her skin, manifesting in tears and dark circles and scratches and bruises
She fought and she fought as he tore her apart and every night she stitched herself together
Washed her wounds with her tears and tried her best to sleep.
The shouts and poison were gone when the father left
Leaving the daughter bruised and bleeding and broken and hurting where no one could see
But she stitched herself together
The wounds have time to heal now.
The friends she made would give her new words, the drawings would let her take out her pain and her anger on something other than her skin, the words she wrote were the shouts she never allowed herself
The insults are still there, she has not forgiven the father but without him she would have no pain to pour onto pages like blood from a wound that has yet to scab over and scar, but now there is the laughter and the hands to hold and the new words that remind her of the new memories of grass and sky and smiles and effervescent voices
These are a part of her now too, and they are the things that have kept her going,
And they are the things that will keep her going and going, into a future he claimed she’d never have.

"I know where you live", he said,
"so it's best that you'll behave.
Don't get me angry or else,
I'll make you dig your own grave."

"Why are you like that", I said.
"I don't know what wrong I've done."
"You know what it's about", he yelled,
"you've been unfair to my son."

"But Brian is not the talent as you think,
he's insubordinate and mostly rude,
he will probably fail the term,
if he continues in this attitude."

"But isn't it your responsibility
to turn him into a decent being?"
"Education begins at home, you know,
although your kin might be disagreeing."

The sun peeks through my window to a new day

It’s not the end, it’s a new beginning

At first the light burns, from being held in the dark for so long

A voluntary imprisonment

Because that’s what I thought love was

The white light starts to warm up my soul

I smile upward knowing,

This moment was a sign of approval from the universe

I’m finally doing something right.

I go for a run and feel the country breeze run through my hair

I miss the ocean, the place I left to find myself

But now I have found myself

I can smile without the pain

Of missing the one I loved hiding behind my teeth

I confuse myself and continue on running

I don’t want to start over again

I don’t want to repeat the same pain I endured, only

A few short months ago

Why risk getting hurt?

I tell myself never return to the sanctuary again until I’m sure I'm ready

Little did I know the universe was listening to my thoughts,

And disagreeing with me

“Running away, making it to the beach, it was all an adventure

Where’s that sense of adventure that used to spark your heart?”

It died I told him, along with my heart itself

And the breeze brings in a storm as he laughs

“Part of the adventure is not being prepared.”

I return home again and once more sleep, safe and secure in the place I can call home

And the storm passes over

I won’t allow myself to return to the ocean

But a dip in the pool is close enough

All the friendly faces

This is my second home

With that thought I smile

A boy lets me go ahead of him

And lets me jump in the water on his word

Deep under the water I think back and let out too much air

Because I surprise myself,

I felt that tug of adventure seeping back into my heart

I get scared and sprint away from the feelings

Bury them on the surface, contemplate them in my mind

“No, no, NO!” I don’t want this happening again

But he’s so cute!

My mind plays tug-a-war with itself as I play it cool in front of my friends

Hiding my insecurity around him and get lost in a workout routine

The more I try to hide it the more I realize that I can’t lie to myself

So I try to see him

And the universe sends another storm

I was angry at first because I was trying again like he wanted me too

But then I realized I also had to wait

And so I did

Mulling over my thoughts I feel like an idiot as revelations occur in my mind

The sanctuary is not a place,

The sanctuary is not a boy

The sanctuary is my ability to create passion in another’s eye

It is part of me

This thought scares me and I'm glad the universe made me wait

I’m glad the universe made my heart break

All those endless nights I spent

Creating rivers with my eyes

I’m glad for the fear of starting over

And I'm glad he made me return home

Because without all this happening I would’ve never found myself

And I would’ve never returned to the sanctuary

Or found it in the first place

While bearing this in mind

I smile up at the white moon

Then get kissed by the boy who’s making me start over again.

The Butler Model of Tourism

I come back year after year
cracked black valise, busted zipper
spring-shot lobby divans drained of color,

to press crisp bills into Monte’s hand
come up for air from the tortoise shell
of his thread bare uniform, ease myself

down on a sagging mattress
wait for the clatter of ancient bones
his creaking cart and shuffling feet

to recede into absolute silence down
the dimly lit hall, broken only by a spate
of conversation between the couple

I can just make out in the water
stained fresco above the bed
two of them lost in a heated row

as if I couldn’t hear their bald appraisals
shockingly frank in this flocked walled room
with musty corners and milky windows

disagreeing only on the degree of my
progression through the dismal stages of
“The Butler Model of Tourism”

him making a half-hearted case for
Rejuvenation, the woman straddling
the thin line between Stagnation and Decline.

Don't flatter yourself. You aren't any special a human being. But, I fail to explain this to my heart, for it beats at an opposite tune to my disagreeing. I have had conversations with it, deep and intense. It refuses to budge and has a strong defence. I rest my case every single day, for I am a poor Prosecutor. The Judge, my mind holds its hands up, every single time.
Guess, the heart wants what it wants.
Court dismissed.

I think that a Bar-B-Q is an extension of a guys manliness.
Or manhood.
Now before all of you start disagreeing with me,
listen to this blondes logic.

When a man goes to purchase a grill
There are many factors a man has to take into consideration.
And they are, in this order, as follow:

1. Propane vs. Charcoal and Charcoal Fluid

2. The size of the grill

3. Rotisserie?

4. Accessories

5. Bar-B-Q covers


Let us take each consideration in turn.

Propane vs. Charcoal and Charcoal Fluid.

Propane men:

Some men want instant gratification.  Twist a **** or two, push a button here and instant heat.  Give it a few minutes to build to the right temperature and BAM!  In with the meat.  Once done, turn a **** or two and walk away.  No muss.  No fuss.

Charcoal men:

Other men are more inclined to take their time.  savor the experience.  They enjoy watching the flames build and turn into a glowing bed of meat searing heat.  When everything is just right, they gently place the meat.  They stand gaurd over it.  Tending to it.  Every once in a while poking it to test if it's ready.  These same men will sometimes sit snuggled around the glowing embers afterwards.  Watching the heat fade and cool.  Then they will ask their woman they had served  "How'd you like your steak babe?"

Charcoal Fluid And Men:

Some men should never be allowed near a Bar-B-Q that requires something to stimulate the flames.  It always ends in disaster and or injury.

Size Of The Bar-B-Q:

O.K.  Now this is a touchy subject for most men.  It has been known to cause envy, jealousy and has broken up a marriage or two.  Men think bigger is better.

When buying a Bar-B-Q , a man thinks about; cooking area, the possible need for side burners, portability, and the all important factor of presentation.  That's right.  How will it look to the neighbors and guests?  Will they be properly impressed with it? Also, can it handle the extra meat when company comes over?  Heaven forbid it should let him down and make him look foolish.

Rotisserie:

This is an important decision.  Does having your meat spin make it better?  I think that this is more of an individual decision.

Accessories:

Now we have reached a critical point.  How to accessorize.  Of course, every man needs the right equipment to ensure success.  And all of the tools need to have a long reach and be durable.
Tongs, fork, knife, spatula, basting brush.
Some men even splurge and go for a flavor injector.  Now that's a man who cares about his meat.

Bar-B-Q Cover:

Finally we reach the last consideration a man has to make.  To cover or not to cover?

Men!  Always, with out fail, should cover.  It is for their own protection.  And it shows you care.

Thank you.

It's ok, go ahead and be a hater
hate on me, i'll see you later
lately i have been a debater
debating with the one creator

creating a brand new being
be aware of what you're seeing
see me as your mind freeing
free me from the disagreeing

disagreements of failure falling
fall away and hear your calling
call to you to stop brawling
brawlers always continue crawling

When I was fifteen I listened to a religion teacher say
“Maybe” there should be a queer holocaust
and I pretended it didn’t hurt me,
the same way I pretended when she said
trans people mutilate their bodies by becoming who they are
when she misgendered Leelah Alcorn
when she called asexuals freaks of nature
when the other queer kid got sent to therapy
for having the audacity to even try to start a GSA
and suggesting that maybe everyone deserves to feel safe here
and my friends
think I’m overreacting
“It’s not a big deal!”
“Get over it!”
“Stop trying to be so special,
you should be expecting it at a Catholic school,
this is just what religion is like”
Is it?
Head down
Head down
Voices down,
you can get expelled for disagreeing with the archdiocese
Whisper in the hallway
about all the girls with pregnancy scares
who believed that
love
was the best contraceptive
Is that what Jose Gomez is teaching us?
No it doesn’t hurt
to watch my friends cry
about boys who yell “******”
down high school hallways
No it doesn’t hurt
when my friend asked me
“what would your kids even call you?”
No it doesn’t hurt
to be like this
Or at least
I can pretend it doesn’t

To this life,
replete in unconnected fragments,
           you are glue,
                       bonding disjointed existence,
                       exhalting impassioned communication,
                       raising love beyond visible heights.
                                       There are no sounds without receiver;

what good are nimble thoughts,
           without the same --- a lover
             with whom to share?
                       Every separation is a link,
                                making closer the rendezvous.
                       Every revelation a mortar,
                                 cementing admiration in opposites.
                                           I need to know

the unknowable you,
            dissimilar as we are,
            routinely disagreeing,
                        reinforcing our mutuality.
                                             O delicious paradox,

delight me,
           in the not knowing
           in the riddles
                     of relationships.
                                          We both appreciate

Carroll's Rules of Jam ---
         Jam tomorrow or jam yesterday,
                      but never jam today.
                                           My trusted ally,

who but we,
           shall prevail against such logic?
           Let's share
                     *six impossible beliefs
                                         before breakfast.

My body listens to my commands.
Back straight, stomach in, legs together.
I have trained it well enough to not sway to the whims of other hands.
The back of my neck has learnt to not tingle at a touch anymore.
The lips don’t quiver when someone says my name.
Boot camp ***** is under control, captain.
No one crosses the line that has been crossed before.
We don’t speak of it,
but the legs did open before they knew how to behave.
With a sneak attack from the side,
And right between my thighs, I found fingers exploring
me like someone walking into the restricted section of the library
with caution and excitement, but all disregard for the rules.
There were no rules then, rather.
My body froze in attention.
I was a pawn and I moved one inch at a time as asked.

My mind led the coup to reclaim the kingdom of my body.
Pleasure remained locked behind doors
And muffled in pillows.
Obedience was learned
when the body woke.
Stay woke, stay woke, stay woke.
I am my own marching band now.
I am my own army.
I fight every day
Defending
Disagreeing
Shoving
Hiding
Covering
Curling in
Curling up
Shouting out
Screaming in.

Fight on, little soldier.
Seek your own pleasure.
But keep your back straight,
your eyes bright,
your laughter in pitch
And your legs closed.

I think I outgrew you a while ago.
We spent seven years close but
everything changes
and I don’t want to fight but
everything changes.

I do feel bad that we don’t talk as much.
Our worlds are too different now
to have anything to talk about.
I know you look down on my
not-an-ivy-league college
but you’re with your peers now
and I’m happy with mine. Yes you’re
brilliant with books. Not so brilliant
with human beings.
You will go on to be more successful than your mother
like she pushed you to be,
but you're still looking for your
happiness.
I’m a little different, a little opposite.
Not so brilliant with books, I’d rather be with my
human beings.
I know in my heart where I’ll find my happiness
one day, and I assure you it will not be
in some grey forty story office building
still wondering why
your ex boyfriend at age seventeen
decided to kiss me under the slide
at the neighborhood park
while he was trying to forget about you.

That doesn’t feel so great for me either
being a rebound.

But at least I’ll have lived my life
and I’ll have no questions or regrets
my garden will be full of flowers.
Let’s keep disagreeing, because
I won’t let myself become so
angry.

I'm sick of not being able to write.
I'm sick of meaningless violence in the world.
I'm sick of people needing someone to blame.
I'm sick of meaningless debates.
I'm sick of pettiness in the human race.
I'm sick of people not supporting each other.
I'm sick of people wishing others to be held back.
I'm sick of my friends dying.
I'm sick of money.
I'm sick of the presidential election.
I'm sick of these pretend Poli-sci majors.
I'm sick of humans disagreeing with each other just because they can.
I'm sick of my TV show's being cancelled.
I'm sick of negativity being the way of the world.
I'm sick of the people I love being unwilling to take a chance.
I'm sick of To Keep You Alive being unpublished.
I'm sick of being stuck on Keep Me Alive.
I'm sick of death.

The creak of my bones,

rubbing in disagreement to my

stretching, hoping for relief while

thoughts of murky water mold and

pull apart like  a bowl of warm soup

Relief of a multitude of sorts, my

mind and body

bickering as an old married couple would,

stuck together to the very end

and yet disagreeing on

how much I should sleep

Words begin to have no meaning,

only becoming a soft mumbling of

utter nonsense that should be perfectly clear

like that pond of murky water

It drowns me in hopeless longing

for clarity, a decent night's rest

and relief.

Communication is the backbone of a relationship
Maybe not always about the talk frequency
But more about the authenticity
Communication driven by mutual understanding
Fuels a relationship that is outstanding

Undivided attention
Effective listening
Seeking to understand rather than listening to judge
Seeing with their eyes and not our heads
Respecting feelings and emotions
Finding common ground during disagreement
Disagreeing to agree

Effective communication is the ballast of a relation-ship

I've watched the movies of my ages,
Even those that were before,
I've read books of teenage feelings,
I've read about leprechauns.

The world has become an endless series,
The scenes repeat in every lore,
There's no book that could surprise me,
The same stories in every store.

My eyes are saying they are full of seeing,
They are replete of colours,
Even my mouth is fed of disagreeing,
They both wish to remain closed.

While my eyelids are feignedly sleeping,
While my lips are firmly closed,
The darkness is calling and appealing,
But the movie colours shout.

The films keep shooting everywhere,
Like an ever writing Molière,
But do the plays interest me more,
Or not seeing them anymore?

There are several ways
to cross over to the other side

HUMANS
we spend our existence
disagreeing on what
the other side contains

~FACT~
we all have to go anyway

we all will find out

like an impatient kid
that demands
i want it now
we are too impatient
to wait and see

the universe's ultimate surprise

Love is..

Love is you and me

Love is eating Olive Garden and Pizza Hut
Love is playing call of duty
Love is watching Netflix

Love is working on cars
Love is going to photo shoots
Love is taking each other lunch

Love is back rubs and cuddles
Love is piggy back rides and dancing

Love is fighting for each other
Love is fighting with each other
Love is disagreeing
Love is painful

Love is hard
Love is rewarding

Love is you and me

And love is worth the fight.

Alright, world. It's time to get down to business. It's time to start caring about things that matter again. So take your mind away from all the trivial, superficial things and thing about the important things that change the entire dynamic of global society. I had a class last semester about Marx, Nietzsche and Freud. Those men amaze me. There was a time where there were people like Karl Marx trying to change the world. Forget whether you agree or disagree with his opinions. Whether he was right or wrong, he was convicted. It was his true beliefs. If you don't understand what I'm trying to say, think of Adolf ******. Some people agreed with beliefs of ******, some people didn't. People to this day are still agreeing and disagreeing with the beliefs of ******. Forget about all that. Even he, someone who was considered an awful man, did something. He tried to change the world. Yes, maybe he ended up changing the world for the worse, but the point is that in HIS MIND, he thought he was changing it for good. And after the existance of these people, all that stuff just... stopped. Who do we hear of nowadays who's trying to change the world (regardless of the outcome)? NOBODY. And the people who are doing things to change the world, nobody gives a **** about because people are too entranced with the more important things like What Not to Wear, the Kardashians, Honey Boo-Boo, and people being famous cake-makers. How many great philosophers, poets, psychologists who really care about the public do we hear around in this era? None! Of the few people who do try to make a difference in the world, none of them get recognized. Well, that is besides those celebrities who ***** a school in Africa because it's a good photo opportunity. I want nothing more than to even do the tiniest thing in my life that will make even a slight impact on the world; write a book, publish a philosophical transcript, but I'm starting to feel like there isn't even a point in doing so anymore because despite my efforts, in this shallow society, nobody would even take a glance.