Before we were
Christians,
Muslims,
Jews,
Hindus,
Sikhs,
we were all human.
The funny thing is that we still are
We have just forgotten it...
We are all human,
regardless of religion and race
If you can't accept this simple concept even
say good bye to globalization
and internalization
and be in your comfort zone...
safe and sound...

Philosophical epistemology strumming adventures
Albeit, coherent mental decoding stratifications structured
Supposedly our world rests in our minds, revolving knowledge
An entwine of conceptual abstract flowing within oneself
The mind in the “I” the “I” a reality lived in my experiences
George of Leontini, a mine mind approving solipsism exploring innatism
Imaginative insights that nothing exists, the secrets secreting secrets
The knowledge behind the veils that remains un-communicated
A reverse of normality and known existences, moral disposition
Hypothesis of depersonalizations, adventures of self internalization
Justifications for what lies outside the Medulla Oblongata
Skepticism and just alternatives to western philosophy
Subjective unapproved experiences only robust in one’s mind
Descartes abstraction of inner experiences, reciprocated paradigm
Intuitively, perceived lived formulations of "Cogito Ergo Sum"
Psychological conscious undoubted individualistic thoughts
Berkley explored perspectives that physicality is an embodiment of the mind
The mind a decoding visualizer, that encompass the non-existent
An idealism marriage of ‘metaphysical’ and epistemological philosophy
The intense esoteric “dualism” verses the fiery “monism” reality
Mind boggling differentiated truths bleeding with blinking unresolvable hypothesis
The jiggered methodological, streamlining the un -logic sequential beats

Drawing upon the core of my being, I muster up the strength to survive.
Stepping into another plane of existence; one in which I have no capacity to resist toxicity; I am vulnerable.
A juggernaut lies at the end of the daylight hours; soft in temper and yet scourging in it’s pronouncements.
This is a being with no malicious intent; a sentinel guarding the sacred caliber of a spirit under divine instruction.

Darkness pervades in the form of light; I can sense a façade of purity within the confines of my bones.
This fortress that I have traversed into is infected with a murky haze looming just above the skies.
Escape is my only option; if I remain here it will be my demise.
When the juggernaut arrives, trepidation will electrify my soul; it will animate me.

Fear consumes me with every waking second I’m in it’s midst.
-This gargantuan being understands-
Empathy cannot save me however, once the utterances of ancient spirit inflict scathing wounds upon me in the name of humanity.
Attempting to rescue me from the tumult of the planet does not obscure the pain and heartache of compassionate words.

Wisdom lies within this walking tome; statue-esque maiden.
I have used my discernment as a bulwark; protection from wounds of sensitivity lies in detachment from myself.
I have come to realize that supplication does have a purpose.
-To plea with the remnants of a long forgotten world-

I am overwhelmed with euphoria when I realize that my fears have been nothing but stymie.
Fleeting in nature; they whispered to me of my incapacity to reach the heart of a relic growing wiser by the minute.
There is no judgment to be passed and I have been emancipated from the shackles of a foreshadowing past.
It leads to my genesis; the day when I shall be lifted up past all my iniquity.

Until that day, I await the metamorphosis of an ailing planet.
The Juggernaut does have a purpose.
This maiden shall be a beacon amongst the tumult of the seasons.
I shall look to her as a guide and honesty is what shall pervade from her lips.

In trueness she shall bestow her utterances upon me.
Like the sweetest honey, her words will befall my eardrums.
Internalization spurs a chemical reaction within me.
I am changing.

I have been enveloped by blinding rays of light.
The darkness is no match for the spiritual sinew that I possess.
I am growing by the second… I am growing prayer by prayer.
-Amen-

By Iridescently Efflorescent

Drawing upon the core of my being, I muster up the strength to survive.
Stepping into another plane of existence; one in which I have no capacity to resist toxicity; I am vulnerable.
A juggernaut lies at the end of the daylight hours; soft in temper and yet scourging in it’s pronouncements.
This is a being with no malicious intent; a sentinel guarding the sacred caliber of a spirit under divine instruction.

Darkness pervades in the form of light; I can sense a façade of purity within the confines of my bones.
This fortress that I have traversed into is infected with a murky haze looming just above the skies.
Escape is my only option; if I remain here it will be my demise.
When the juggernaut arrives, trepidation will electrify my soul; it will animate me.

Fear consumes me with every waking second I’m in it’s midst.
-This gargantuan being understands-
Empathy cannot save me however, once the utterances of ancient spirit inflict scathing wounds upon me in the name of humanity.
Attempting to rescue me from the tumult of the planet does not obscure the pain and heartache of compassionate words.

Wisdom lies within this walking tome; statue-esque maiden.
I have used my discernment as a bulwark; protection from wounds of sensitivity lies in detachment from myself.
I have come to realize that supplication does have a purpose.
-To plea with the remnants of a long forgotten world-

I am overwhelmed with euphoria when I realize that my fears have been nothing but stymie.
Fleeting in nature; they whispered to me of my incapacity to reach the heart of a relic growing wiser by the minute.
There is no judgment to be passed and I have been emancipated from the shackles of a foreshadowing past.
It leads to my genesis; the day when I shall be lifted up past all my iniquity.

Until that day, I await the metamorphosis of an ailing planet.
The Juggernaut does have a purpose.
This maiden shall be a beacon amongst the tumult of the seasons.
I shall look to her as a guide and honesty is what shall pervade from her lips.

In trueness she shall bestow her utterances upon me.
Like the sweetest honey, her words will befall my eardrums.
Internalization spurs a chemical reaction within me.
I am changing.

I have been enveloped by blinding rays of light.
The darkness is no match for the spiritual sinew that I possess.
I am growing by the second… I am growing prayer by prayer.
-Amen-

By Iridescently Efflorescent

On the surface:
Porcelain skin,
lightly freckled face.
Long auburn hair.
Brown and green flecked eyes.
5'9, thick thighs, tight waist.
This is the girl you fell in love with.
The girl in front of you.
Just what you can see and feel and hold.
You did not fall in love with what is underlying.
Numb to most, angry with others.
Careful.. Never one to rush things.
A fan of perspectives.
An interest in different characteristics.
Curious about every little thing.
Inquisitive, kind.
A raging internalization of anger and frustration
and sadness.
Foundation ready to give out but she wont let it.
She patches up each new crack.
Lost her mind long ago
but never faltering her grip on reality.
It's tattooed on her.
She can't escape the harsh truths.
One being, people only see the surfaces.
Never digging even the slightest.
She's seen many lives lost before it was their time.
She's given up long ago.
Taught herself;
No one can be saved if they wont help themselves first.
Removed herself from
they who claw at the ankles
of people to be dragged down alongside them.
She holds her head up high when she feels herself sinking.
All alone, right beside you.
Always there when she's needed.
Never to have anyone hold her hand
or tell her she's strong.
She doesn't need to be told.
She knows that to survive what she has,
she must be anything but weak.
She will laugh in the face of the antagonist,
smile and ask how their day was, truly curious.
But you only see the surface.
She's just a pretty face.

When I was younger, and chat rooms were relatively new
I would bring up the topic of suicide. Sometimes,
contemplating the reaction my death would get from others
I would lie on my bed, sobbing.
It was just a mental exercise
to soothe myself
with the thought of my own death.
I saw this internalization of conflicts as the ideal approach--
mortality, akin to a train-line I could exit at any stop.
Where you pull the chord determines context for your plot.
I try not to romanticize suicide or see it as a solution; suicide is simply a neutral alternative to life, which is full of painful and pleasurable experiences.

Fingers on the strings
Singing the songs of heaven
Flying between clouds with our wings
Amused at this holy creation

"If only it was real"
From an old brain
"Why, does it lack the feel?"
From a fresh brain

Internalization of concepts
Painting our life with your brush
The idea of fear or even dare and courage
The infiltration of the human touch

Through the lenses of a child once in a while
When all we knew was just dream
Never questioning the impossibilities
When all we knew was just jump and swim

Corruption of our mind
Living with all these lies
These human and his kind
Unfortunately, this is just life

But once in a while through the lenses of a child
When all we knew was just dream
Never questioning the impossibilities
We could just jump and swim

The restrictions
From age and from family
The limitations
From ourselves or some other entity

Through the lenses of a child
When thoughts were pure and untouched
When all we did was just dream
Let’s jump and live the life of impossible just for a moment
For every moment...

Within the midst of your lies,
Hiding among the corner
Of your drifting eyes.

I stand surprised,
Activated by what’s lost
Awoken by the cost.

These cold blooded veins
Warming to your pains
Attempting to hide your fear
Of doing man right.

Internalization taking flight.

Taking into account
All the tension
That has come to pass,
I should have long since

Snap—   —ped

So why am I
Still standing
In one piece?

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to be, Jack wrote to Say I'm sorry, read
his lips, Lay took the lesson that was wrong
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into the bigger Image List Price Value
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a fool is, in *****, a drunkard of monsters,
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knew that one end of the fall was
empty before I started to read to reap
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desert woman's tiny blowing
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Augustine News for the Lustrous 500 - APP

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.

Driving by
These skeleton trees,
All I can really do
Is think and internalize.

As the souls
Surrounding my own
Glisten with vacation feels,
Their voices resound
In a wildly uneven,
Yet ecstatic chorus.

I listen to the awful choir,
But fail to gather my voice.
I can only sit and internalize
The soul that my love denies.

I want to steel this crumbling heart,
But she keeps me from doing so.
Now my heart takes the main part,
Instead of steeling, it lets itself grow.

Ecstatic: laughing with friends, eyes glittering with tones of uncommon euphoria, stomach lined with freshly cut abdominal muscles from evenings full of giggles.  

My system fears the internalization of our past, yet the mind still seeks to betray. Abruptly forces us out of such pleasantry, aiding in tossing vast amounts of gasoline to an already raging fire of hideous, dark, horrifically realistic memories of our past.

The senses sharpen. The flesh is lit on fire, the soul is drenched in a bone chilling saturation of a substance colder than ice. The body shivers with frostbite while the brain blazes, searing until only charred remains survive.

What is felt is inhumane; too painful for a human to endure.

The shimmering reflection of joy once found in my oceanic eyes transforms into endless sorrow, feelings of panic so vivid and so cruel these emotions can only be described as being summoned from the pits of hell.

I remember his dark, unforgiving eyes, as they sweep for head to toe, focusing on my ******* for moments too long.

I remember his warm, tight grasp. The heavy restraints of his hold, my flesh burning from deep imprints of his strong fingers, easily overpowering my small, childish figure.

I remember the feel of his ***** ***** pressing into my side as his hands dig into the soft flesh of my developing hips.

I remember him. I remember you.

A silent echo;
An internalization.
We come to reason.

Though reasons are lies;
A guise among the many.
Don’t hide your treason.

I (a lapsed milquetoast) experienced
a head splitting hellacious hangover.

I tried to be part of Cool And Gang by being "bad"
to the thoroughly good bone, er...
which trend followed me till man hood,
whereby this bloke still a cad
plus the most
embarrassing older hippy dad
where a shaved pierced pate egad
seems to be the latest fad
boot this nonestablishmentarian
feels more content with himself and glad
though as a precocious

whipper snapper of young lad
did act like "Curious George",
which found me late mum
and then octogenarian
widower father quite mad,
especially when breaking
into the liquor cabinet in me ***** pad
and nearly escaped by a scad
dad dull when the hide o me buttocks
whacked more'n a tad.

Though in a ******* party
rock n rolling crowd,
I (a kung foo fighter
beastie boy) felt alone
yea, as this chap looks back
on them daredevil days
(with behaviour bad to the bone
as iterated above),
and dealt with pounding in ma head
that caused me to groan
which mental sounds

of jack hammers
found this current teetotaler to moan
like the ghost of Marley or a whaler, whereby
even whisper down the alley
or over the phone
also affected me skin tone
to become altered
into an unstoppable
red bullish twilight zone
tortured courtesy MALEVOLENT MENTAL Maelstroms -
doggone hounded me while in a drunken stupor

videlicet - I taste a liquor never brewed (214)
courtesy Emily Dickinson
1830 –
1886
I taste a liquor never brewed –
From Tankards scooped in Pearl –
Not all the Frankfort Berries
Yield such an Alcohol!
Inebriate of air – am I –
And Debauchee of Dew –
Reeling – thro' endless summer days –
From inns of molten Blue –
When "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove's door –
When Butterflies – renounce their "drams" –
I shall but drink the more!
Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats –
And Saints – to windows run –
To see the little Tippler
Leaning against the – Sun!

Fiendish and gruesome
phantasmagoric egomaniacal denizens
dwelt deep inside
subterranean uber vault
performed an evil contra dance
haunted psychic landscape
with imaginary (yet realistic)
gargoyle visitations that cast a macabre trance
nocturnal unconscious invaders of the lost Ark
cavorted and gallivanted
disturbed quiescent sleep
with devilish and sinister prance.

Apparitions crept stealthily
into peaceful slumber receptacle
repository, whence illusory landscape of dreams
took place to rejuvenate
exhausted body, mind and spirit triage
rented asunder blissful sleep with a startled fright
cold sweat drenched
nighttime garments and bedding
teeth chattered uncontrollably
heart pounded loudly inside chest
nightmarish phantoms
wrought an awful ghoulish sight.

Mushroom cloud anniversary
triggered frenzied gargantuan hallucination
seventy nine plus years ago today
inauguration into atomic age took place
one country after another sought
to acquire demonic and destruction devices
to maintain self-preservation
in this surreal atomic weapons race
impossible mission to escape the dark threat
that looms and threatens life on earth
one launched missile
spells extermination across entire global space.

No escape from humankind military machines
munitions march mean madness
death by a thousand cuts
flesh deboned courtesy knife
and guaranteed demise to all life
**** sapiens violent history
of bias, intolerance and/or prejudice
characterizes vicious warfare
and chronic species strife
legacy for future,
(and perhaps alien) archeologists,
who will sift thru civilization
debris with delicate as birthing a newborn
with assistance by midwife.

Artifacts buried in a heap
of pulverized and radioactive ash
civilization monuments and hedonistic symbols
gone in a blinding brilliant flash
irksome flotsam and jetsam
spewed into outer space
alien nations light years distant
collect miniscule bits and pieces
offer object lesson as extinction
for beings that become excessively brash.

As a way to bury wounded knees,
free guilt sans
being psychologically trapped,
and wrath of my strict parents,
I imagined awaiting an eternity
for my modified sentence
against being secular humanist
individualist, minimalist, nihilist...,

no way to dodge
fiat decreeing penal solitude
for this rambling future man,
who felt unready to kick the can
on account of violating ban
against abominable illegal mandate
with no way to commute death sentence
for the simple act of voicing opinion

against existence of heavenly gate,
nor hellish underworld
despite religious ****** decreeing penance
spurious pedagogical poetic rant
not the ravings of some half mad lunatic
carefully plotted recitation that springs
from combined teachings of Kant
and jolly old Saint Nick

charges ******* up
per this average don
purportedly flagrantly
decrying and blaspheming
Judeo-Christian paradigm
proselytizing devout believers
with disenchantment blind faith no more
equated with hill of beans upon,

which dogma erected epitomized
by complex edifices via grime
sweat and tears from slave labor,
where usurpation of freedom won
until outspoken spokespersons
risked life and limb
to invalidate the existence
of supreme deity who created life

whether for extra credit
or perhaps on a whim
Adam from whose rib cage
without anesthesia but razor sharp knife
sported Eve with a physique
quite pleasing and trim,
but rather than get lost
in the garden of Eden myth

final seconds of existence tick away
without intent to recant statements
solely acceptable to B'nai B'rith
prompting last words of mine as oy vey
with no regrets - deeming heart
of religion flimsy as pith
thing in the wind or house of cards
vulnerable to blow away.

Though ma mum deceased nineteen and a half plus years ago, and thine papa inching closer toward the inescapable clutch of the grim reaper (when these words typed – he long since passed October 7th, 2020), I revel to be a conscious individual despite the torturous road from those perilous days of yore er rather mine earlier formative pages when the strong armed lance of ignorance jabbed me with toad dull ambivalence evolving from the fusion of two cells after froggy went a courtin.

HANDMADE FROM (the genes of) BOYCE AND HARRIET HARRIS -
(free versatile poetry my atypical mode (modus operandi) at describing, introducing, and decoding myself).

How apropos and divine to stumble (merely by happenstance) across a chance to claim my (virtual) fifteen minute fragments of fame just in the click and nick of time.

Although gainfully unemployed (do to a series of unfortunate events that now finds me receiving social security disability), I can still vividly visualize utter despair and vouchsafe to acquire the requisite trappings emblematic of psychic misfortune.

Indelible, permanent and unfading abysmal damaging domestic dynamics got etched deep upon the memory of this erstwhile individual.

The general gist in the form of quick brush strokes (namely written) of psychologically traumatizing recollection now follows.

I can attest to malevolent mean-spirited objections by my father (and late mother) in regard to my grossly unacceptable attire, deportment and work ethic.

Nonetheless, a sense of righteous vindictiveness manifested itself thru attendant Pyrrhic victories.

Back in those days I (a married grown adult male and considerably past the age of rebelling against authoritarianism - and also their one and only not so prodigal son) poorly wore the mantle and staff of supposed maturity.

Lack of compliance and obeisance with regulations and rules of the Harris household (mainly thru being in constant denial to conform, maintaining emotional detachment and estrangement and evincing little or no concern for other family members) brewed, festered and lied dormant during prepubescence.

The pressure and tension between and betwixt genetic kinfolk (so palpable one could sense an indomitable barrier), would rank as successfully dysfunctional way before such nom de guerre became in vogue.

Fury and wrath became markedly and noticeably pronounced once exiting the storied four walls of high school.

The venomous barrage and fusillade spewed forth from off parental tongues at an exponential rate and on a par to feeling the stinging cudgel of a horsewhip.

Out of fear and timidity, I consequently and silently absorbed cruel treatment.

Neither the eldest nor youngest sibling bore witness against the tender spirit of their only brother.

A façade as of a hardened (statue) conveniently adopted.

This embodiment poorly served to fend off the onslaught of incessant anger.

This defense mechanism (identified as passive aggressive by mom) offered miniscule protection as I mentally dodged lobbed insults and affected defiance (in league like poisoned blackened bards and daggers hurled) of said threats and ultimatums.

No matter these bitter pills of blaring character assassination (mine), denunciations, fulminations, incriminations, intimidations, vociferous vocalizations (by said parents), I stood the shifting sands characterizing my ground at playing the deaf mute, which repression and internalization of emotional maelstrom only caused self contamination and manifestation of humiliation.

They (dad and mom) became further angered and inflamed per my total oblivious stance.

This reaction added insult to injury.

Deliverance per tough love lessons amplified to the tune of additional feats at becoming excoriated, ranted and raved against this, that and the other of my habits and nonchalant indifference to pursue work.

Those involuntary, unrehearsed and vicious family chats happened to be replete with heavily exploding and uncorked anger.

That (of course) would be a considerable understatement.

Dad (the de facto, elected and nominal spokesperson for unpleasant chest thumping exclamations - which conveniently took place no earlier than the stroke of midnight - emphatically swore (adrip with dramatic livid rage - like rabid beast) all manner of vulgarity and demanded from this insolent appearing male offspring immediate compliance.

Defiance and fatigue offered him that predictable and usual blank stare upon hearing the kind and lenient sentence to pack bags and GET OUT!

With the dreaded approach of dire and sealed fate (played out in this overactive imagination of mine with dad and mom fiendishly and grotesquely expunging themselves of any last vestige personal belonging), I most anxiously bided my time.

Those next couple weeks forced self-evaluation of Atheism, while I hunkered down in my bedroom.

The recurrent consideration of relinquishing nonestablishmentarian paradigm in favor and lieu with God, miracles and salvation seemed to clash with being this liberal thinker.

As indicated, the tempest and tirade quickly got turned back upon those who so masterfully tormented this second born, whose steadfast stoicism and subservience to a higher power perchance brought a temporary respite.

That hollow deadline, (which happened to be just one of many similar sputtering swearing valuations of love) blithely came and went without incident - no matter expletive filled intense oath to remove self from premises at 324 Level Road) continued to keep pulsating to remain an occupant with kinfolk.

What caused especial ire and wrath to fester (per this apparent ambivalence, indifference and nonchalance for me to take any job - even shoveling **** - particularly within the emotional bedrock and firmament of deceased mother) constituted remembrance and vivid reminder of her father.

My maternal grandfather (Morris - Moshe - Kuritsky) supposedly never paid much heed to regular and steady employment (to support his four children and wife) despite his skill as a harried styled swift tailor.

Hence my mother (Harriet) grew up and lived in utter destitution and poverty.

Mother subsequently reacted with ferocious vindictiveness upon witnessing a near magic transformation of near identical behavior in Matthew - the single heir to the family name.

I avoid alcohol
yet still have a ball
when the bell of inquisitiveness doth call
this mindful male toward productive pursuits
rather than fall
prey to temptations of vice only deliver gall
down the unmarked hall
of future time,
as likened to evade the maul
from some ferocious beast
or an urgent plight to retch
ideally within a toilet stall
perhaps faded splattered by stains on the wall
of other anonymous imbibers - good day y'all.

In the case of the machine, the price of the alchemy of the bed, so that the gravity of the revolution is a net income to clean a Sodomized Gypsy hidden from a fool, the Latin daughter exploited the knowledge that the unseen thing is a monstrous monster and a drunk man's Topography 1: 1 started to leave in the rain. Reading to **** the mini in socks, leaving the land of perfection in the teeth, waiting for the simple man, the arrival of the beard, the smells, the sister, the crash and the greasy sensation, and a very wet weapon running her birth plan, see, queen, cut, hunting, married, with, cool, corner, corner, leaving, acid, painting, boxes, Ivan, boxing, stripes, country, dings, the Arab West would be a common kind of ghost meat ghosts , ****, Tom Guy, my problem is stress and lack of concentration. "It is not clear, but a few years ago the Italian team went to the 12th century." (2000, 2000, 2000, 2000), 1 July 3500 MW, 1500 better area (2) 2/60 length 2 mm, 3.3 (3000 3000 1500) 2 2501 2100 3000 3000 3000 3000 3000 3000 3000 3000 3000 3000 10 3500 000 10.000 6 (6) (6) 6.000 6.000 4.000 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 (4) (3) mm 200 Components AM May 1550 2 00 19 m 20 kg. Ali, Feb 9, 3, 2215 and image B Dirt and Ag 2501 21 2 501 150 to provide these functions and Carl 23 September 21 21 21 3000 3000 3000 3000 2501 1500 2105 -2000 Twilight 3 / Buddha Colorado Lamar Arthur 2 2/2 2/3000 00/2000 500 200 2000 2000 2000 3000 3000 3000 3000 000 3/15 times SGL 2) 2000 2000 2000 2000 2000 3000 3000 3000 3000 3000 200 200 30 30 Industrial control Colombo, volume 2 Amazon 2050 victory Aristotle. The new cookie 250: 00: 00 (21 hours) or heavy black dog of Gold - 3000 - South Africa - the horizon - and little green - New York, New York -. more than 500 years, Luis does, "St. John's play is not easy." Louis, Louis Louis, Louis Louis Louis Louis, Louis Louis Louis Louis, Louis Louis, Wash St. Louis 500 Cicero, new elections Austin-mon Kappa. To see prove the lima Ein in Ali Kei: 1 deficiencies appear synkhroentrosis. "Afodi Aynar saved all the knowledge of Meiker CHRONICLING from the Italians who like 12 Ormadius languages ​​to meet you." (2000, 2000, 2000), 3500 MW nocturnaem aperuit 1, 1500 Ω, best broker 2/60 Miko 2 mm, 3.3 (3000 3000 1500) 2 2501 2100 3000 3000 3000 3000 3000 3000 3000 3000 3000 3000 3500 20.000 6000) 6.000 6.000 4.000 4 4 4 4 4 200 200 200 19 00 m more than 20 kg ALI, ALI, 3 FEBRUARY 3, 1, 2215 eikoina Kei Kei Bai BRAMA remains y párchei AG 2501 150 21 2 501 23 September Similar negotiations DYO ton 1500 3000 3000 3000 3000 2501 2105 -2000 Lycophos Girls 21 21 21 3/2 Arthur / 2000 2 200 2000 Lamar Colorful voux 2/3000 00 2000 2 200 30 000 3000 3000 0 3000 500 000 3/15 SGL 2000 2000 2000 2000 3000 3000 3000 3000 200 200 30 30 2005 2005 Tomas 2, 2050 Victory Over Amazon (2005) to 2005 1500 1500 Revised Bisch off 500 2100 250 00 00 (21 Orion) Different Planet of Skyler Gold - 3000 - points Africa - Pan but - TIE - Kei GA-IN - New York, New York. rejection of the internalization of the APO 500 Chrono ton of Saint John the Baptist. The Luis attitude is the Holy Spirit in the Pipe. Louis. Louis Luis Louis Luis Cicero, Cicero Luis, Luis Lustan 500 Cicero's good news for Augustine - Kappa

The sharp corners of a door frame,
A body of hesitancy,
The tip of a shoe teetering,
Head caught in the claws of direction.
One wrong step,
And the corners curve,
Becoming an elegant arch,
A glance and a head tilt,
Wondering the source of fear preceding,
Blinded by internalization.
Clarity comes from recognizing
The extended hand
Beckoning from one side of decision.