drunk again at 3 a.m. at the end of my 2nd bottle
of wine, I have typed from a dozen to 15 pages of
poesy
an old man
maddened for the flesh of young girls in this
dwindling twilight
liver gone
kidneys going
pancrea pooped
top-floor blood pressure
while all the fear of the wasted years
laughs between my toes
no woman will live with me
no Florence Nightingale to watch the
Johnny Carson show with
if I have a stroke I will lay here for six
days, my three cats hungrily ripping the flesh
from my elbows, wrists, head
the radio playing classical music ...
I promised myself never to write old man poems
but this one's funny, you see, excusable, be-
cause I've long gone past using myself and there's
still more left
here at 3 a.m. I am going to take this sheet from
the typer
pour another glass and
insert
make love to the fresh new whiteness
maybe get lucky
again
first for
me
later
for you.
from "All's Normal Here" - 1985

Hear Ye, Hear Ye!

I have never been one to do things usual,
wet down and reusable
straight up delusional,
sometimes confusing all,
******* useable.

So juvenile.


Between you and me,
this girl is overly irreverent,
open book intelligent,
in need of saving reverend,
whose arrogant,
most relevant.
I'm typically benevolent.
It's evident I'm heaven sent,

REPENT!

I'm unsusceptible to rules,
except on days like April Fool's.
I'm orthodox, I kid,
you wish.
Unorthodox, reborn,Jewish

Foolish.


I have never been one to do things usual,
Chained up? Refuseable,
tied down and doable,
funked up and beautiful,
French words excusable,
the next line unsuitable.

As molecules of cellophane and plastic plate mix with cheesy mire of microwaveable dinner, I make excuse in my mind and apologize to my already over-compromised liver. It's simpler this way, or at least excusable for this moment. 56 dead in Garland, Texas, I think I can be thankful a tornado has not turned my world upside down, whilst biting down on tv dinner rations. Still I think, can 2015 end any faster? These last few days counting down and the microwave's digital display bleeping, sludge discriminating who shall be taken. It's all so guarded and circumspect. Please, if there be an element of good, may the new year know it.

Are only the tools of the trade
To swinging ***** and easy Janes
Like these now attempting to muffle their shouts
In the purple suburban evening where God knows
Only all the neighbors are striving to listen;
A couple of loveless friends *******
Each other out of breath and full of big plans—

And now I’m sure that we can,
Just listen to her moan!
A man once told me I’ve got to give it to her
To stick a son in there.
I might ask, but there’s no need now to beg
Because we deserve it too much.
Our dry spell is all wet tonight;
Are those the cries of a baby I hear,
Or our bedsprings squeaking?—

It only hurts a little when he gets this excited
But instances are excusable
*** folds in memory
And ****** success caresses forms into forms
I know she will be beautiful
Her beauty will come to her as easily as it passed me by
I am not sad, neither
And the sweat, his sweat drips from his naked chin onto mine—

I tell mom and dad that’s fine,
I want another brother.
They make noises in their room
Which are so loud they keep me awake.
So they decided to make them after dinner,
When I am trying to read.
Sometimes I listen to them very carefully, but
Then I have nightmares of
Them hurting each other.
They are making noises now;
Something not good is happening.

Four life-size lipsticks jive, they
groove in tune with costumed comrades:
the monstrous tapeworm, unfitting for even
a family of whales, head held high like
homemade dragons on Chinese New Year, or
the bald man decked out in navy felt, garb
saturated with plastic spoons he
needs to get laid.

But the lipsticks in their red, red heels, with
human eyeholes hidden behind fabric, which
shows the blend of castor & chemicals, what hue:
dark crimson or barracuda berry?

They wear but a fraction of the common ingredients
used for dressing up,
makeup as the encore.
It stains the lips,
the coffee rims around the country,
the chests of restricted lovers.
Let us celebrate the metaphor of makeup
on this festus day--where it’s excusable to act out
the fantasies of being not
ourselves.

This is not a good poem
it is merely a collection
of scattered thoughts
that match my disorganized mind

I came home
You were one of the few people
That I secretly hoped to see

Next thing I remember
I was holding your hand
needing you to hold mine too
hands on your chest
purple dress shirt
A summer full of pent up
attraction
(for me)
(for you? Probably not)
finally
put to action
Recklessly and carelessly

I valued the friendship
the innocent connection
of our similarities
tears of laughter
and mutual respect
and now this event
has caused me some
uncertainty

It was passionate
Maybe I don't regret it
Probably I regret not remembering
How it even happened in the first place

What did I do?
I closed my eyes
the world disappeared
and when I opened them
I was looking at you
my lips inches from yours
I discovered that
you are a good kisser

be flattered that I chose you
It doesn't happen often
know that I am still
quite fond of you
And sometimes my thoughts
Travel to that drunken night once a year
when everything is excusable
and I was happy just to be with you
and even happier that you chose me too

The image isn't reflected
It is backwards,
Upside down.
A mirror -
In reality clear glass.
Alternative ending,
Like a nightmare
Everything is the same
But with hidden motive.
With clear vision
The two are obviously
Opposite.
The truth is buried
Behind lies.
If only the hiding place
Had been found
But the hand had reached
And turned the light out.

Stumbling through the dark
The idea of home seems
Comforting
The delusions which cloud the mind
Fill the emptiness
And answers the questions
Creating artificial light.
Easy enough
To mistake the small circle of heat
Which radiates from a bulb
With the encompassment
Of a roaring fire
When you never before
Experienced - warmth.
Desperately seeking,
The compromise seems
Excusable.
The only regret is this -
Blinded and tainted
The true flame,
Invisible
Because a glow had cloaked
The darkness,
Was not found sooner.

He curses, angered as hell,
She shrugs, ready to swell,
But then pretend to melt,
And put on a ****** of well,
A technique she so manages to pelt,
But he saw beyond this belt,
Her eyes dances with the usual rhythm of hurt,
But with her, love meant no worries
For there's no ornament for beauty like happiness,
Hers was this unimpeachable dirt,
A prideful youth, that's only strong to hurt,
But she knew he might tear under distress,
Drink til ****** to depress himself,
Then pull the plug to express himself,
But she love him under all those stress,
To his heart she had forcibly pressed,
Just enough to have it eventually seize,
Still he had kept to this filthy source,
But she cast out all excusable remorse
For her, there's no love without forgiveness
To err was human; to forgive..... That's Divine
Those who dream by light were mindful of things
That escape those who dreamed at night
For her, it was beyond this very light,
It couldn't be bittersweet without the fights,
She had loved him with a love more than nights,
Till it became sleepless nights and daily fights.

That was us,
Till we felt apart,
Our arms waving and our lives apart,
Distance befriended us,
Miles stretched between us and the joy of our hearts,
Hate came between me and the deed of my hands,
Then again it strike me hard upon the head,
That I vowed till death do us part,
But it wasn't death that did us part,
It was me, my choices that
Made everything stinks from the start
I played our hearts both ways,
I thoughtfully turned away,
Left you for those perilous games,
But your heart never went astray
It became broken, till betrayed,
Forgive me
For not knowing my wants,
For being so angry with you,
Let us rewrite this story,
I now know my wants,
That's to love and be loved solely by you
Come, live in my heart and pay no rent
Take your rightful place, you always meant
In truth, I need you because I love you
You made me want to change, likely repent
You never once mind the games I play
You handled them without delay
Casting each out with a gentle sway,
Till you broke my walls apart
And hit me softly upon the heart,
Till I wish we were never apart.....

Being eaten alive cannot be
that terrible. It was a tempting idea,
as I thought on the vultures
that wait there upon the fence.
As I thought on the beaks
snapping at my ventricles, claws
grasping with taloned ferocity deep
into the pit of my stomach.
It cannot be so bad.
Inside the bar, I sip
on scotch and soda
I was out with a woman;
an older beaut that led me
in magnificent circles
of conversation till
I found myself drunk and
without a word to say. Slightly
later in the evening I
ran into an old flame that
I never wished had gone
out. --Yet as they do,
so did she--
This vulture was stunning
in the lamplight of the
plaza, asking me over a drink
how I came to have this woman out,
in all this time without one.
Boredom was my only answer.
Its tendency to draw me in,
with an excusable neglect to
realize the futility of such sport.
She knew, merely in the look she
gave me. She knew the ***** secret of the
skin that grasps and yearns for that almighty friction.
She knew, for indeed she played the
game well enough. Many men have found
her since me, and many more would
seek her out and find her, until I was
merely a tally on the mark. But she
knew that moment, over scotch and soda,
how bad the vultures had me, she
knew that moment, sitting there upon the fence,
that she led the charge.
She never said a word, finished her drink,
took a dance with a man I'll never know.
The woman I came with stormed home,
enraged over something I'll never know,
and the world danced around me to
a tune of which I'll never know.
Instead, I sat over another scotch and soda
and wondered how
bad it could possibly be
to be eaten alive.

She tells them all that she's fine.

She's told everyone it seems. These days, it's all people want to know. And it's not that all of them ask outright - they ask with their eyes, they ask with that sympathetic frown that makes her want to break something. Several somethings, truth be told.

And God, it makes her furious. She is no longer one of two - she's just one. She's fractured, and she's jagged, but she's one. So if they could stop bringing up that pulsating space in her chest, that would be ideal.
It's never easy - learning to breathe when your lungs are full of ash, your eyes full of the past and your heart still triumphant, but no longer whole.

And God, it makes her lonely.

She's been addicted to him for months, for years, but that was excusable then. They were indestructible. The ideal couple. They were sunlight on her hair, they were his resonating laugh.
It only becomes inexcusable when they stand next to each other, but their gazes are averted. Their hands aren't linked. When her hair falls into her face, it stays there. When his collar falls haphazardly, it stays that way.
It only becomes an addiction when she wants to whisper into his ear but no longer can. It only becomes an addiction when she forgets the touch of his hands.

So when they stumble against each other one night, and she fits against him the way that she's always done, and he holds onto her like a drowning man - she lets go for a moment. Their relationship was never built on stable stones. It was built on fire, and it was built on ice, and it was built on a length of time that made sure that one could never think back without the other being present, somewhere. He was always too old for her friends, she too young for his. But they fit together so well. Her head just under his chin, her hands on his shoulder blades.

It only becomes an addiction when they repeat, time and time again. It only becomes an addiction when his lips on hers taste of sin, and when their shared breaths are secrets to be kept.

She tells them all that she's fine.
She tells him that she's fine.
She tells herself that she's fine.
And one of these days, someone might just believe it.

As I enter the doors
I feel this rush of adrenaline
overcoming my body
I take a few steps forward,
Then suddenly stop to take a deep breath
I then start walking again
I keep my pace, with my shoulders broad
And chin high above me
I turn to the left

Oh no! There he is!
The one who I desperately would die for
I can sense his eyes skimming through the hall,
Looking for an excusable reason to be left alone
I quickly turn right down the stairs
Trying to avoid our awkward language
we call silence

Then I see my best friend
The one who I love secretly hate
We exchange hugs
Then leave unsatisfied
I keep still for a few moments
Thinking that I do not belong here
Nor will I ever
I try to make a run for it

But then my head keeps spinning
I don't know what to do
So I just sit down
Take a deep breath
And put on a fake smile
Just like the rest of them!

Prices of keeping
The commodities cold
My meats
Stay in the deli
Meant for family
Later I realized
Someone needy
Had to steal
I have stolen before
Never before for myself
I belonged to disease
And disease needs a cure
And I sell cured meats
Now

In your eyes i see life
One that I want for myself
Your internal light shines bright
While my soul screams for help
I wish to share a life of pure love and happiness
Yet I give off confusion and crabbiness
I pray for the day this rutt will be over
Or at least the pace of pain could move a bit slower
My smile will soon be pasted across my face
Even wider on the day my face is covered with lace
I pray that the time I stretch out my hand
For an intimate ceremony in a far away land
My mind will be right
And my heart would be still
Because you still stop it
An involuntary ****
I may not see clear
But i know this is right
I'm trying to fight my fear
And live for tonight
There are things in the world that are out of my hands
But we can achieve our
objectives/goals/or plans
It's gonna be you and I till the end
I just need to figure out how to begin
To start with a new and improved me
To show off the person I should be
No more sad, somber, and excusable me
It's time for real business
It's time to be the best I can be

So here I am, back where I started, farther gone maybe but not in the right direction.

The feelings are familiar and difficult to numb.

Shame, loneliness, self-loathing, hopelessness, defeat.

The wine and xanax don’t cut it and I know in the long run, they’re making it worse.

But when you tell yourself you want to die, any coping mechanism can seem excusable.

Excuses are a pillar of addiction: “anything to get through another day”.

And every day does feel like something to get through, something to dread.

Getting out of bed is never easy and I lack motivation because I lack hope.

Without hope It's hard to motivate yourself to change.

If you don’t believe that you’ll ever love yourself or your life, that you’ll ever be happy, that you’ll ever find someone you love, who will love you and you can be happy with; it’s hard to see the point.
Why make the effort in vain? Because you may not be worth it, and life may never feel worth it.

Life has never been bad to me, yet it’s always felt like more of a struggle then a reward.

I don’t know how to interact with people, especially not sober and I’m not even sure how to function sober anymore.

I told myself I’d get help after the breakup, but I continue to put everything off till “tomorrow”.

Now that I am alone, there isn’t anyone else to blame. I’m the reason there’s dishes in the sink, I’m the reason I blacked out last night, I’m the reason I keep buying blow every weekend, drinking every day and taking xanax every night. I’m the problem, it’s always been me, and I’ve always known that.

It’s tiring, life is tiring, because I’m tiring, and this is my life. I’m stuck with me and it ******* *****.

“It’ll pass, everything does”, that’s what I tell myself for comfort, but sometimes that doesn’t feel very comforting. Knowing that I want it all to pass, makes me wonder what’s the point of going through it at all.

I feel like a loser.

Like I’ve already failed at life and I’m only 28. I feel like I failed at it a long time ago, like everything was over before it ever really began, like I threw in the towel instead of giving it a fight.

And I’ve just been falling ever since.

I don’t honestly believe that’ll ever end; I don’t think I’ll ever land. Like all that lies before me is a void and what I should be concerned with is how comfortably I plummet.

I’m bitter too. It’s hard to be happy for people when you feel miserable. I don’t want people to hurt, but sometimes it’s hard to appreciate the success and happiness of others when you feel like such a **** show. The contrast exacerbates the pain.

I’m also tired of pretending I’m okay, of smiling and telling people I’m fine. I’m not, I can’t remember a time I ever was, I’m constantly on the verge of a breakdown and I think about killing myself routinely.

I googled ******* myself today, not because I was looking for an answer, to be honest I don’t fully understand why I searched it, why I continue to search “I want to **** myself”. I know what will come up, the same things that always do: suicide hotline numbers that I never call. I think it’s because I want help but also don’t. I’m afraid of the invasion, the finality of reaching out once, or if, I do.

I often feel like the only things I have supporting me are the alcohol and drugs and that without them I’ll fall, even though I know they’re dragging me down. I’m aware this is partly my addiction tricking my mind, but I am truly terrified to go without them; that I will crumble, and everyone will see all the parts of me I’ve been trying so hard not to look at myself.  

Sometimes I visualize jumping off the Jacque cartier bridge.
I used to visualize the same thing with the metro; me jumping, how’d it feel, how much time before I’d die, the image of my body crushed and splattered, on the window in the front, then trampled over and shredded underneath. When I was feeling really low, sometimes, I’d visualize bashing my head into a brick wall until my skull caved in and my brain was mush. It sounds grotesque, it is, but sometimes those thoughts bring me some form of calm that I’m not sure how to understand or explain.

But I also think about going to the bridge just so someone can save me, so I’ll be forced to get help without asking for it.

Although I do tell people I need help, when I get drunk and far too often. It’s actually very embarrassing and not usually helpful at all. I pass a point where I just cry to anyone and tell them how sad I am, how anxious, that I want to **** myself, I tell them all about my problems and about private things that have happened to me or embarrassing things I’ve done. I tell them all the things I never want anyone to know when I’m sober.

Then I sober up. I regret it, I feel ashamed and embarrassed and then a couple of days later I do it all again: a never-ending cycle of self-torment.

Shame is a heavy feeling; it can crush you.

It has crushed me, although I try to remember that I’ve crawled parts of myself out from under it before.

I also know the reasons I feel shame are socially constructed, that I feel it because I’ve internalized what is acceptable and not acceptable, and that I am the one shaming myself because of this internalization and my fear of others judgements and need for their acceptance.

So, I know that if I’m capable of shaming myself, then I’m capable of learning to forgive myself, to grow myself, to hold my head high, understand where my past actions have come from, know that even though they might not have been okay, it’s not all my fault and I am human and make mistakes and don’t need to feel shame. Because my shame accomplishes nothing.

It doesn’t make me a better person, it doesn’t take back anything I have done, it makes me weak, and vulnerable, depressed and anxious, it belittles me, it allows others to take advantage of me and excuses myself for mistreating me. It enables my addiction and bad habits, it’s a pillar with my excuses, it’s a pillar for my excuses.

SO **** SHAME.

IM OKAY
IM GREAT
IM ******* AWESOME
I WILL SUCCEED

Unfortunately, it’s not that easy… if my problems could be solved by me typing out my thoughts, well than maybe I’d be less ******. But for now, my invisible audience, my diary I suppose, will have to do for my venting, because the ferrets don’t seem to listen.

In my time, as knowledge increased,
there was a parable about boiling live frogs.

Many preachers, professional and slave,
confess to using the parable,
to this very day;
even after witnessing the death of frogs,
and the escape of frogs.

If you are one of those, repeaters,
let this itty bitty left behind idea do
true to any with a will to know,
is it so? Must you be true to you?

Think boiling water and lobster.
You know what happens,
lobsters can't jump,
but frogs can, but
not from boiling water.

That parable is a lie. It is not true,
frogs die immediately, nada im  middle
splash croak. Immediate.
- ah but if the heating is so gradual,
- the frogs whole bio-tech goes gaga/

And being wired with super sensitive skin,
the itty bitty bimetalic whorls of magic metal, like the analog in frog skin,
expands, in each itty bitty frog
transistor, analog mercury switch
kinda like, trip wire and a flare, there
surface temperature measured signal
sent, spring
sprung, frog don't cook, but lives to croak
another day.

No excusable uses of the frog slowly cooking are not in actual function, lies.

“Men do not differ much about what things they will call evils; they differ enormously about what evils they will call excusable."

from the Harris-Walz front
where liberal minded socially progressive
electorate doth agonizingly grunt
targeted in crosshairs scoped out
eager and ready to be mortally wounded
courtesy notorious big headed
(and bigoted) infamous
for bearing arms
as if going on a hunt
as attested to him and recorded for all of posterity on March 14, 2019 at 3:05 EDT by Analysis colunist Philip Bump, (a national columnist for The Washington Post; before that he led political coverage for The Atlantic Wire. One of the paper’s most read writers, he focusses on the data behind polls and political rhetoric), he recorded one of the most famous and insightful lines Donald Trump offered on the campaign trail in 2016 came during a stop in Iowa, shortly before that state’s caucuses.
“I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and wouldn’t lose any voters, okay?” Trump said, mimicking firing a gun with his fingers. “It’s, like, incredible.”

"Blast it!!" I am gunning for the glib gal
versus MAGA sugar daddy
gesticulating his arms akimbo,
whose lowball unflattering unprintable
pet phrases for Kamala
indicative of a short, and nasty brute,
whose vile (hints) might be excusable
if he suffered epileptic seizures grand mal
drops names of ruthless dictators as his pal,
who sport trademark coiffed hirsute
allocating, designating, ginning, jumpstarting,
and mandating excessive monetary resources
for his poofed hair courtesy project 2025
and then when confronted becomes immediately mute
and does a spot on rendition of Marcel Marceau
engaging in ******* with a *******.

"Arms akimbo" is an adjective or adverb that means having your hands on your hips with your elbows turned outward. For example, "She stood there akimbo". The word "akimbo" comes from the Middle English phrase in kenebowe, which means "at a sharp angle". The word was first recorded between 1375 and 1425, and may come from the Old Norse phrase i keng boginn, which means "bent into a crook".

After watching some
of the Democratic National Convention,
mainly the first and second nights,
I felt tears of joy rapture
welling up inside me
after listening to such
brilliant, fantastic, nuances
sounding out monologues
utilizing English language
to maximize stellar oratory,
which lengthy list of speakers follows suit:

On Monday, delegates heard from former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, first lady Jill Biden and the president himself.

Tuesday's session featured addresses from former President Barack Obama, former first lady Michelle Obama, Sen. Bernie Sanders, Illinois Gov. JB Pritzker and others.

Wednesday night heard from former President Bill Clinton, Gov. Josh Shapiro, former Speaker Nancy Pelosi and Walz.

Here's the full speakers list for Thursday:

Minyon Moore, chair of the 2024 Democratic National Convention Committee
Invocation by Everett Kelly, national president of the American Federation of Government Employees, and Imam Muhammad Abdul-Aleem of Masjidullah Mosque of West Oak Lane, Pennsylvania
Presentation of Colors by the Illinois State Police Honor Guard
Pledge of Allegiance by Luna Maring, a 6th grader from Oakland, California
Rep. Veronica Escobar of Texas
Becky Pringle, president of the National Education Association
Randi Weingarten, president of the American Federation of Teachers
Sen. Alex Padilla of California
Marcia Fudge, former secretary of Housing and Urban Development
Rep. Ted W. Lieu of California
Sen. Tammy Baldwin of Wisconsin
Rep. Katherine Clark of Massachusetts, House Democratic Whip
Rep. Joe Neguse of Colorado
Mayor Leonardo Williams of Durham, North Carolina
Rep. Raja Krishnamoorthi of Illinois
Sen. Bob Casey of Pennsylvania
Sen. Elizabeth Warren of Massachusetts
Rep. Jason Crow of Colorado
Rep. Elissa Slotkin of Michigan
Rep. Pat Ryan of New York
Rev. Al Sharpton
Members of the "Central Park Five": Dr. Yusef Salaam, member of the New York City Council, and activists Korey Wise, Raymond Santana and Kevin Richardson
Amy Resner, former prosecutor and friend of Harris
Karrie Delaney, director of Federal Affairs at the ****, Abuse & ****** National Network
Lisa Madigan, former attorney general of Illinois
Marc Morial, president of the National Urban League
Nathan Hornes, former student at Corinthian Colleges
Tristan Snell, former New York State assistant attorney general
Gov. Maura Healey of Massachusetts
Courtney Baldwin, youth organizer and human trafficking survivor
Deb Haaland, secretary of the interior
John Russell, content creator
Rep. Maxwell Frost of Florida
Rep. Colin Allred of Texas
Joint remarks on "A New American Chapter": Anya Cook, Craig Sicknick, Gail DeVore, Juanny Romero and Eric, Christian, and Carter Fitts
National anthem by The Chicks
Kerry Washington
Joint remarks by Meena Harris, Ella Emhoff and Helena Hudlin
D.L. Hughley
Sheriff Chris Swanson of Genesee County, Michigan
Rep. Lucy McBath of Georgia, joined by Abbey Clements of Newton, Connecticut; Kim Rubio of Uvalde, Texas; Melody McFadden of Charleston, South Carolina; and Edgar Vilchez of Chicago.
Gabrielle Giffords, former member of the House
Performance by P!NK
Sen. Mark Kelly of Arizona
Leon Panetta, former secretary of defense
Rep. Ruben Gallego of Arizona
Gov. Gretchen Whitmer of Michigan
Eva Longoria, actress and film producer
Adam Kinzinger, former member of the House
Maya Harris
Gov. Roy Cooper of North Carolina
Vice President Kamala Harris.

Shoot! Thar haint no other candidate
within a bajillion miles
worth celebrating with unbridled fête
cuz the other contestant
(hands down) ranks as ingrate
man dragging fetters shrilly mutters,
the opposition mumbles,
no you don't get away with freedom
them words to ****, cuz
against peace mongers
this republic for liberty,
which country stands under
the grateful dead
someone must liberate
the ship of state
one must steadily operate
even courtesy motley skeleton crew
captained, governed, and trumpeted
by weird Wharton wimp
linkedin to leitmotif reprobate
with lips he doth undulate
poisoning the fresh air
and poll looting the audiological
and visual realm of vulnerable listeners
courtesy radio and television waves.