Dear Miss *,
We regret to inform you that unfortunately at this time we do not have space for you at our company.
Yours,
Xxxx xxxxxxxx

Dear Miss *,
We regret to inform you that unfortunately at this time we cannot offer you a place with our company as you are under qualified.
Yours ** xxxxx

Dear Miss *,
Thank you for your application. We regret to inform you that you are over-qualified for the position.
Yours,  xxxxxxx ***

Dear Miss *,
I don’t think so love. This isn’t even a letter, this is my managerial position on you handing me your cv.
Cheers, bahbye now

Dear Miss *,
This isn’t really a letter either, but despite how un-pc this is, we can’t hire you due to your gender.
Thanks anyway, save your paper.

Dear Miss *,
Thank you for your application, unfortunately we had stronger applicants.
Yours, etc.,  aaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaa

Dear Miss *,
Thank you for your application. Unfortunately we are not hiring at the moment even though we had advertised the job you applied for.
Yours, xxxxxxxxx xxxxx

Dear Miss *,
We had left it between you and another applicant, and couldn’t decide so we flipped a coin, and she won. You’re a lovely girl though.
Yours, fffffff ffff fffff

Dear Miss *,
I refer to your claim for Jobseekers Benefit/Assistance at VVVVVV’s CCCCCC local office. Jobseekers Benefit/Assistance claims are subject to periodic review, consequently, I would appreciate if you would attend this office for interview on the 31/17/78 and bring the following :
1. Proof of Identity (i.e. Passport or Driving Licence or Long version of your Birth Certificate)
2.  Proof of Residency (e.g. Letter from landlord/ Rent Book/ Lease/ Mortgage Receipt/ Letter from Parents + Household Bill)
3. Written Proof of recent job applications and replies.
4. Proof of job applications made through FAS
5. FAS courses applied for.
6. A copy of your Curriculum Vitae (CV): unemployed from
7. If your spouse/partner is an adult dependent on your claim, please bring his/her GNIB and Passport/Travel Documents.
Failure to respond to this letter may lead to suspension or disallowance of claim.
Yours sincerely,
* *
Local Officer

Now that people are becoming more aware of my poetic efforts, interests are being expressed regarding the background of my poetry - in addition, to my spiritual muse. One never knows exactly when the Spirit of God will move on your soul; fortunately I was paying a little bit of attention, one cold winter night...

I've been a member of the IT (Information Technology) community since June of 1981, a profession that constantly tries to turn you into a slave from an employee. Rarely did I ever bring home work; sometimes it was unavoidable, given arbitrary deadlines and poor managerial planning. After dinner on this particular night, I had spread out the pages of computer 'source code' across the entire kitchen table, while attempting to solve a logic problem. ('Source Code' is the logic written by a computer programmer, in a given computer language, that addresses a specific business function. The term is equivalent to a computer 'program'.)

Once I had spent roughly 90 minutes struggling to solve the issue at hand, I treated myself to a mental break. I noticed the gentle reflection of moonlight on the window and decided that I would step outside onto my breezeway for some fresh air. The evening sky that night was a magnificient sight, like many other times. Absent were the visible presence of clouds and the stars seemed noticeably brighter. Taking in this grand view, I let my mind wander, temporarily forgetting about the thousand lines of computer code awaiting me. Gazing upwards, I was quietly reminded of God's promise to Abraham - that his offspring would be as numerous as the stars. I also contemplated why God had designed the heavens to demonstrate His existence.

When the coldness of the winter night started to permeate my body, it was time to terminate my break. Stepping back into my warm home, my brain was re-energized and thankful for the brief, mental hiatus. Trying to re-focus on my work became difficult, as phrases of poem snippets bombarded my soul as "shooting stars". I had been writing haikus and senryus for several years, but not 'traditional' poetry. So to move on, I grabbed a blank piece of paper and started writing, capturing the poem's concept. At the time, I did not recognize or fully appreciate what had transpired. This was my first non-haiku poem written by me; it would be over a year later before I thought to publish my first book.

Having taken the time to compose this poem, I was blessed by God, for taking time to honor Him. Less than ten minutes later, I solved the problem and enjoyed immense relief; plus I got to spend quality time for the rest of the night with my wife. In addition, I completed my project deadline to my boss' delight and surprise.

'ello little ones with spinning tantrums
join us for roundabout logic with spattering snare drum hits
little is known but all else is shown
greed is implied when famine runs itself dry
feathered hat is also worn quite stylistically

when a painter has it down
when the motions are riveting and somewhat gruesome
the painter laughs heartily with bottom line basics
these basics aren't whatever
they are whenever, correction! excuse me

so don't jump down from your tree yet
so don't tarnish jupiter's rings beforehand
that is saturn in disguise
a method of consumption that is a bit better from time to tick tack

jelly is on my bread tonight
is it off of yours then?
I would count on it if it wasn't my best answer
I would forget without you if I could
but I never do

spinach and sausage mix well
query them further for a hot dog roll with seeds
of the sesame variety
what do you find but bitter taste?
a dessert
inklings of sweetness
and edges of filth

My name is _ and I have an eating disorder.

I am __ years old, five foot-something, 157 lbs, blue eyes, brown hair, & no thigh gap.

I go to the gym five to six days a week.

I have a degree, I work full time in a managerial position, and I have a eating disorder.

You cannot see my bones, you cannot see the space between my thighs, you cannot see the rings underneath my eyes for all the thousands of tears I have cried.

I struggle with something real, something people rarely talked about, no one reveals.

Punishment, self affliction, addiction, no type of healing medical prescription.

I don't eat, I eat, I binge, I drink, I purge, I cry, and still I try.

I try to battle every day, "don't count those **** calories" I say. "You know better" they cry but I remark, "Do I?"

All I know of is to hate, hate myself, my body, a disgusting self image that I formulate.

You see beauty, you see curves.

All I see

Is something that no one deserves. A body of disgust, a fat piece of skin.

As a 157 lbs living a 300 lb within.
- [ ]

Cheap imitations and prestidigitation
A head full of acid and water on the knee

Punch in
Punch out
I'm filing a work related grievance
For managerial negligence
I protest and picket
My picket sign parade along the picket line

Put me in the Warsaw ghetto
Make me wear a star
Put me to work
Until I starve

I want my independent identity
But the in-crowd beckons me to live in anonymity

       -Tommy Johnson

Let me
rephrase this
Letting go ask
my (Big Sis)
Tis the Season
All his letting go
I am confusing myself
My shelf still but stubborn
Born to know the
death Urn
Its been a long time
Thinking how the
world turns

I am not the one to be
letting go
Letting go of
your maid
Letting go of
your
Guilt-free Gardner
But how can
people ever leave
their Mother

I cannot get you
out of my mind
Pineapple upside down
Bent out of shape upside cake
And you know my downside
Always laying on
my left side
Like the right fashion flash
H & M
Of him Hmm_?
I believe
in miracles
The learning process- Go principles
Like the Pinnacle
What a disciple

But I am not your
Raggedy Annie
Oakley
Like your ready
to choke me
I remember you lived in a slum
I'm' the better "Bazooka Chewing"
Gum hum yum
All Graffiti
*******  painter the
whole lump
sum

The Egyptian
Queen Nefertiti
The Sattelite Taurus
Bull Ram
The Mad-men but
the ladies big slam
The first plan
didn't work

Always Plan B
So Brutal darling
Please believe me
When I tell you
I love you
Website Prim and proper
portal
Knowing your place and
All the trademarks
Central Park or
Rockefeller
The Center of attention
The Goodfella detention
Over ice the Skaker
Her beauty marks
The true kiss comeback
bump-**** note
The camelback vote
Presidential Trump
One-day- creation
Two day-letting go
exhaustion

Such maturity
to realize my mission
I didn't have to
overwork
my mind
How General
things can be
Managerial so cordial
Or the materialistic me?
If I sang out all your affairs
Like the Pedigree
Shop until I drop you
Like Gum-drop
HBO I'm the Boho
Mr. Spencer shop
Mess
College drop-out
What am I chop liver
Letting go I don't really no?
What is on the next agenda
to Deliver not Pizza

The breeze sits in your palm.

the sun is a whimpering haze
of orange and white.

It has been a while since we
have been to church.

We twine our hands together,
Perched like birds on a row of knees.


the crooked pews, aquamarine stained glass windows

the empty space swirling around our panting bodies
in great whorls,

father david spewing forth the gospel, we speak in unison
thanks be to god in the highest, have peace to his people on earth.

Beforehand, we had a family lunch
in the fast food court of the local mall
my father had his name tag, his hat,
his managerial shirt and company-approved trousers,
and the same plate of food he has
consumed for eleven years,

we chew methodically,
enjoy the four-part silence,

glance shiftily at intervals,

let the words hang,
never leap,
off our tongues.

My father is a brave man, defeat is in his posture,
but never his spirit,

he has spent years of his life
in fast food courts, barely daring
to move an inch
for our sake

now he has shrunk into himself,
a man for all men. He sits, patiently.

listen, listen to me,
what I do,
I do for my family,
to let his last sigh be one of relief,

to salvage my mother and father's
hidden grief, to hold it
close to my heart, and let them know that
I understand.

We stop by a cherry orchard,
little Knopp's farm where every item
is home-made.
I strain the very tip of my fingers

to reach that dark purple cluster
of cherries that are warmed by the sun,
and taste like the earth,

it is a hawk and tumbleweed sort of a day.

my brother drapes the weight of his body
over the tree branches, my mother
is on tiptoe on ***** buckets to rip the berries
from the stem,
I watch them both and bristle, struck
by their loveliness.

I heard someone utter the words,
"Sober is just another word for thirsty."

And I did not believe her.

Until my throat started itching,
the moment I stopped the stitching
of molecules that altered me,
turned me around,
I had been treading backwards.
My body ached with vacancy,
my hands trembled with an appetite
that played the part of
of my hands on the wheel.

It is an agonizing contradiction,
to be weighed down by nothing,
every drop that plunged into my mouth,
every plume that escaped
the narrow path to my lungs
was a nail in my soles,
keeping me firm to the ground,
I became stagnant,
only dipping under the influence
to ask for what I thought
was needed assistance.

My temporarily
stainless bloodstream
bred venomous ideas
while the darkest parts of me quivered
with insatiable hunger,
and made a show of it
with my fluttering fingertips.

I had dreamt
on nearly every day of the week
with my eyes open,
of clawing my out of this
canyon of flesh
I had been trapped inside of,
the echoes of an empty heart
were enough
to keep me awake for days,
witnessing a continuum,
of sunset,
sunrise,
sunset,
sunrise,
yet the sky never brightened.

The darkness was addictive,
I became a ****** for the murky,
and I have been buried.

Underneath habits
that stifle me.

Smoke that leaves my lungs
no room
for new air.

There is an invisible layer
of soot
caked onto my skin
falling from my nights spent
drunk and unaware
of which direction
I was growing.

My odometer
slowly screams
for me to stop,
to reverse,
begin again.

My shower head works hard.
It tries to bathe me in rebirth.
The shampoo bottle whispers
with its shape,
asks me to sing again.
Why did I stop singing?

Because I no longer enjoyed the sound of my voice.
I stopped believing in it.
Drenched in half truths
and uncut delusions,
my tongue was poison.

I had denied the beautiful methods
of me.
And employed the ugly.
I gave a managerial promotions
to the mean
the spitting mad
and the angry
slices of my heart.

But I will dig through
these concrete slabs
of toxic routines.

And I will take back my beauty
and revive my love.
And become who I am,
climbing out of who I have been.

What if you don't want to be saved
You want to live outside the box
And you would rather the bubble be popped
Not have to claim ignorance
Living in the naïve land
Of innocence

Its tempting
And sometimes its a better option
But reality should not be an illusion
Racism and freedom
Class divided systems
To chase the dream
Or see reason

Where are the black barbie's
And who's your boss at managerial
Minority controlling normality
Scapegoats and state treason
Sacrificial lambs of the season
Corporate crimes with no repercussions

Why is black history
A month set aside
Equality or special treatment
Raising awareness or reinforcing difference?

Conform to standards
Tick box rules and regulations
Invasions of privacy
For your health and safety
Treated like guilty suspects
Looking to incriminate

Social norms and subjective realities
Powers of authority
Puppets of the same ideologies
Filtered through hierachies
And you become a product of the system

A convenient but replaceable minion

Holding *** when the muscle requires some effort directs attention to the lower body away from the eyes and the head area which is the normal place of reflection.
It makes me think of releasing it and of the bathroom and toilet to do so, as if I was constructing a plan to carry out.
The other muscles used to concentrate can be relaxed as the new concentration is on the bladder area.
Yet this pulls the attention to the seat if seated, like placing attention on the foundation of the meditation posture.
The focus spreads to the thighs and solar plexus.
Finally to the back of the head, but with pressure that will not allow anything to replace it.
The management mind states next that the task at hand is more pressing than bladder release.
And I remember all the times I've had to hold my *** and the places and situations that precipitated them.
I start to tell myself that I'm suffering needlessly as if I was being bullied by my situation.
Thus the parts of the body actually take the center of the personality over other parts of the body.
The managerial aspect will offer motherly comfort to the childlike personality of holding ***.
I start to go into wishful dream mentality just like holding *** while in the early hours of the morning trying to still sleep.
And the attention is tranquilized back to reflection with the hold tucked away in the background of the mind, reflection aspect now being more parental in nature.
What is transcendence? is sort of a moronic question, and I notice my words start to be more bullyish.
This question is rather asking is there a particle of transcendence?
No, it is a function of frequencies of the body.
Consciousness can be the essential aspect of transcending, but no more than consciousness is the essential of concentration.
Tranquility and insight, just as taught, happens, without attention on tranquility, and without tranquility within attention.

Stilted lingerie that fashions a kneaded traipse between trap-door destiny of double-take simultagnosia is a harder fright to outfox that even the most ghoulish amicable maskirovka of a throttled sapience beleaguered by the tropes of a tattermedalion class of Scarface vigor in the face of benighted tomes of a cruised palindrome of efficacy bromides flickering on the outskirts of esoteric thrones of catapults droning on about the listless squalor of philandering phronesis of ecdysiast *** in the cyprian hedges of limited wealth bemoaning the poverty of deprivation because of whiskers through feline sight languid in the remedial dances of captaincy snuck between the edges of destiny cordial only to Home Alone. We must sneak through the verdant pacification of an accordion grimace flanged by the eked snide spite of termagants of termination ruined by the future flickering into past distance because of spartan brutish mannequins of pasteurization glimpsing the thanatousia of death vindicated by vengeance brazen with a Colorado snare of a pinned etiolation of marauders of corsairs that only brave the delusion when the eternity is a trick-or-treat truth and dare consummated on the flimsy agape lychgates of constraints in flair that damage the ragged hypostasized engine of a blinkered hubris belonging to an anointed rigmarole fashioned into the pottery of fungible metamorphosis rather than frangible pulverization that scrapes through liturgy with abnegation rather than relishing plumage beyond the apes of apish planetary scares.


Trimming the blockbuster wearisome hardihood of plumes of fumigated regal ******* in the softened epigone of whiter masks of screaming scares
The times aplenty of swansong ignorance are a plaid disaster of Twister renegades that spar against the visagist carapace of hearkened live aware of ghosts that fuel the hypocrisy of belligerent mares
Forever stranded through the finifugal heaves of a 32 leaves magician of rollicking base jumps with acidic tatters in King of the World stunts the hirsute body politic is a pump and dump trumpery of livid thrills on the substitution of funk for skunk rather than grooves for humps
Nevertheless the scrappy schlep of a foggy dreary destiny is ablaze with Sergeants blistering through Forest Gump bumps as the alighted 80s returns with a vengeance in empires of victory rather than slippages of slump
Renewed by the litigable menace of oilers ****** with crudity and swimming in the askew verdure of the lewd and **** we bolt through the coltish demiurge of fastened fascination flaming with firebrands of deliberation scampering away in blemishes of profanity too rude
We scrape the legacy of elegant injustice and injury because the flamestun hypocrisy of leprosy caused by time is a rustic blue suede shoe that flummoxes in hibernation because of staggered queues ravishing too much of a screwball to be nailed because black artifacts are always unscrewed
Thanks to teamwork the cosmogony of regalia knows the Montana providence of a lissome liposuction radical in renewal because of the Morrison Hotel rather vacant but always populated with a carpal tunnel of slick oleaginous dramatics for histrionic history likable because the news is a purple hue relishing the paradise of cineaste rundles of candlelit mood
Imagine searing the sunlit halidom of the peak-time grooves of unbuttoned blarney frank and swiveled on sclerotic pretense slippery in fashion only to be ironclad in personas of the whispered woo in termagant liturgy that is a colporteur of genius hinged upon collective suitcases of IOUs blameless because the criminal is always hatched upon a 108 pentagon of newsy gripping footage of managerial flames of a barnstorm beyond booths but never above the scarecrow minister of the voguish tempers of trudgery spawned into the folkspun homely ties and wrinkles of wizened love too Titanic to be used
Parker hobohemia scowls at the punitive warbles of marsupial kingpin southern flashes of hyperborean ramshackle ruins of pooches scampered around like littoral fragments of a cinematic crudity in defeated torpindage blistering with foresight in vengeance because the clockwork hour is amazed but horrified by belligerence in overdosed ledgers of legends amused
Time hearkens that craven radication of rhizogenic demiurge blinking above the sleeping awake ringleaders of sedition enthused because of malapert princes crackling with homage to honed sharpened edges of a double-edged whisper reversal into the antithesis of the heaving red serrated by the vindication of impertinent criminals flustered by the pinpointed genius of the Primarily Blues.
Time sees past the sedative fliction of fictitious mangers on primipara  tunes that the euphoria of the now is the cement of every LP belonging above the charlatans of chavish sutured into a surgical effigy of the whitewashed preeminence of discernment into the discs that surpass the ashen cordiality of permissive and permissible leaky faucets rasping through the headlines because of craters of love becoming glabrous above the halvorked entropy of newsy Newport News living above Virginia in Deep Impact legends tipsy on shipwrecks happening too soon to be  immaculate in any crimson style of an inescapable rhyme scheme trying with clambered witticism to achieve belletrist while escaping capstone filigrees of untouchable Terry Crews.
Flickering whimpers of the scary impenetrable Kansas City brain of the touchy hedges of fumigated marstions of erratic flackeys of breweries enthused in an amazed skullduggery of time slipping on crackles of fizzgigs of clambered retinues of radical roots between a tight avenue and a broadened broadway limping on the cinemas that belong to the truth and not the rickety barnstorm of ostentation encased by bonanzas to pontifical to create a topspin of HappyGilmore erasure in bridewells of roomy litigation in uncomfortable contortions of contacts without lenses to excuse.
In the cavernous spelunk of 1990s crimson bleeding into the  expansive liturgy of the ripples of percolation cornered into diminished vacancy anointed as ritualized contrition craving a tighter grip on the tightest swank that could ever be parlayed into New England madcap screws the hunters of the hunted hypocrisy become the travail of the antagonized epiphany of flackey rice in avaricious retches beyond the squabble of punks in due times for clockwork tickers and tickets swarming with infested blemish
The ridicule of sapience is the knowledgeable manicure of livid lurid hypertrophy in exaggeration of the knowledgeable tongue of the Flemish foundering on seaworthy chemists of menace and muse too suburban to ever be urbane bourgeosie limited rankled rancid rancor of ramshackle rackrent gouges too much of a Beetlejuice excuse.
Rhythm for the fulcate furrows of the hypogeiody of epochs slinkywith aced endeavors for misadventure likened to the greatest oiler in the 1980s terror list is a craven capture of photogenesis in rapture that fastens seatbelts of strawberry deaths of crackles of blinkered hubris accelerated by the twisters of vulcanized culmination blasted for history for headlines in ravines of mastery beyond the persnickety prestidigitation of magic sarcasm in the avalanche of dynasty never nastier than violence vile in acerbic posterization of plumage that is blacker than Rush Hour in the menace of Dennis in fractal philosophy funneled into one brittle muster of height rather than weight in freakish geometries of squirrels battering a home run cast away in fracture

I had a panic attack in an American Eagle dressing room recently.
As I sobbed quietly
and begged my racing heart
to please slow the **** down,
I listened to the chatter in the adjacent stalls;
other girls proclaiming their depression because
that top did not come in their size.
My mother stood
on the other side
of the locked door, suggesting
that I just
"stop."

While I struggled to catch my breath,
my mother went out to the floor,
feeling the need to tell the tale
of her poor daughter who lost everything
to the sales clerks and managerial staff.
They brought me water
and a cookie
and cleared out
the dressing room.
It's too bad that my demons didn't really give a ****
about their kind gestures.

Eventually, I was able to **** in air long enough
to call out to my mother and tell her
I needed to go home now, please.
I hid my face from the customers in the store
casting condemning looks in my direction.
I was ashamed, because I knew
everyone else knew
and I never want
people seeing me
like that.
But,
at least we got
a 50% discount.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]

        Henry Kissinger Has Left His Multi-Million-Dollar Apartment

The bodyguards, the security details
The long black cars, the cooing movie stars
The expensive dinner jackets tailored just so
The best cigars, the rarest of champagnes
The jeweled watches and those golden cufflinks
The many underlings awaiting his call
The fawning bishops at the Al Smith dinners
The publishers eager to print his latest screeds
The voice that commanded armies and fleets
And left presidents quivering in fear

The millions of corpses rotting in the sun




I live in the Managerial Age, in a world of "Admin." The greatest evil is not now done in those sordid "dens of crime" that Dickens loved to paint. It is not done even in concentration camps and labour camps. In those we see its final result. But it is conceived and ordered (moved, seconded, carried, and minuted) in clean, carpeted, warmed, and well-lighted offices, by quiet men with white collars and cut fingernails and smooth-shaven cheeks who do not need to raise their voice. Hence, naturally enough, my symbol for Hell is something like the bureaucracy of a police state or the offices of a thoroughly nasty business concern.

              -C. S. Lewis, Preface to *The Screwtape Letters

What an honor to celebrate
Women all over the world to appreciate
Yet we honor that is each yearly round
Hooray is the sound
Women have a achieved in their own right
But throughout history, the world took it light
There progress through determination
The results being their Representation
The proven fact in the women’s illustration
The women proved to the world that they are thinking machines
The strides through many entities
The struggles through many hurdles
It doesn’t matter if it is Scientific, Managerial, Preaching the Gospel or even Performing Arts using Creativity and Dramatics
Capable in any form showing action in prosperity
It was the inspiration of advance
Women simply stepped out to opportunity being their chance
They cut through the Discrimination
The women said no to Condemnation
Their thoughts and spirits was going to be their turn out
This is what achievements is all about
Women are destined in their own Representation
It’s all about inspiration
But perfection being preparation
Women of the world possessing courage through motivation
The Spotlights are all on them
Being an Achiever and Believer
The women are their comforter in establishing as a reliever
Finding truth within false
The Women are the charm being treasures of a good find
Beauty within and soul throughout
Congratulations in being Women’s History Month, now this is their own accomplishment with a purpose to achieve
I leave you with a quote from Serena Williams, “I REALLY THINK A CHAMPION IS DEFINED NOT BY THEIR WINS, BUT BY HOW THEY CAN RECOVER WHEN THEY FAIL”.