1

I sit in the back of Dad’s car, bopping my head to The Beatles’ Revolution and hum quietly while reading over my notes for today’s math test.

2

Lunch with Val, Eugene, Michelle, Kayla, Chris, and Nick, talking about our favorite movie, Forrest Gump, until Val interrupts with how nervous she is about applying to high school.  We finish lunch in silence.

3

Let f(x) = -2X2 + 4X + 6…That is the question that has plagued me all day.  On my math test, I made the answer positive instead of negative, the minor mistake that will cost me my A.

4

On this beautiful, unseasonably warm afternoon, I am glad to be outside reading my favorite Matheson stories on the wooden cutout in the giant oak by the dining room window, but worries that I may not be accepted to The Academy interrupt my leisure.

5

For Christmas, my friends and I exchange gifts.  Val gives me a stuffed flamingo. I put right it right next to the unicorn on the lace covered brown bench that oversees my room.

6

We have received your application for admission testing to The Academy for Allied Health and Biomedical Sciences. Your test will be on January 28, 2008.

7

In gym class, Val holds her hand as if she is in pain, but she refuses to show it to anyone, not even me, her best friend.

8

Val has a circular scar on her hand that looks like a burn mark.  She insists that she is just clumsy and she fell.

9

This kid next to me at The Academy admission testing is breathing so loudly I can’t concentrate.

10



I glide my paintbrush through the orange paint and onto the canvas.  I don’t know what I’m painting, but I know I need to paint.

11

Math class is miserable.  Not only did I get an 86 on the test that I thought I aced, but Val started crying hysterically, until Ms. Endolf sent her to the school counselor.

12

Michelle and Kayla are mad at Val for acting so strangely.  They refuse to speak to our friend.  I refuse to join their charade.  I know she’s acting strangely for a reason.

13

I come home to find my mother crying…happy tears.  She tells me that I passed my admission test with a proud ear-to-ear grin on her face. The next step in the admission process is an interview with The Academy on March 1.

14

I bead a few bracelets before going to sleep.  I feel guilty, like I should be studying or preparing for my interview, but I just don’t want to.

15

Val pulls me into the coat cubby during homeroom, the dark circles under her eyes barely visible from the faint light in the  dimly lit room.  She tells me how her father has abused her and her sisters this past year and swears me to secrecy

16

How can I help my best friend and her sisters? Can I help my best friend and her sisters?  Can I help my best friend?

17

I go to the veteran’s home where I’d been volunteering for a while and see my favorite veteran, Ray.  He tells me not to get old.

18

“Why do you want to go to The Academy?”  Ms. Ferris, my Academy interviewer, asks.  I stare at her blankly for a moment before responding.

19

When Val comes to school with more bruises, I break my promise and tell my parents.

20

I slowly open my report card to reveal a B in math…my first B ever.  I take a puff of my inhaler.

21

The old home phone rings; I assume it will be the Academy with an admission decision. “Help me, Morissa!”  Val screams into the phone.  I gesture to my mother who grabs the car keys, as we race to the door.

22

Spring break.  My family and I go to Hershey Park in Pennsylvania to celebrate my being one of forty students admitted to The Academy.

23

DYFS goes to Val’s house after her older sister tries to commit suicide by overdosing on pain pills.

24

Lunch is so quiet with Eugene, Michelle, Kayla, Chris, and Nick.

25

I got an 84 on my math test today.  I smile.

26

Val returns to school but sits at a different lunch table.  She has no more bruises, but her eyes are still red.

27

My gown flows as I march down the church aisle to receive my certificate of completion from St. John Vianney.

28

I stare at the screen of the my new HP computer as I scratch the back of the $15 iTunes card my grandparents gifted to me. As I begin to type in OKGO’s Here It Goes Again, as the first song I purchase, I change my mind and type in The Beatles’ Revolution.

29

I relax outside alternating between reading Stephen King and beading on my twirling chair as I now do every relaxing summer day.

30

Went to the shore.  Won a giant yellow bee stuffed animal.  I am the skeeball champion!

31

This is so embarrassing.  I don’t know how to open my locker.  In all my years of private school, home school, and Catholic school, I’ve never had a locker until entering The Academy.  Mrs. Bow laughs as she teaches me how to operate a locker.

32

Holding a brain is a lot different than I thought it would be.  It is mushier and lighter than I imagined.

33

“Ever see Forrest Gump?” my new friend, Ruchir, asks at lunch, as I mush the jelly on my sandwich.

34

I walk down the street pulling my ****-tzu and Maltese in my wagon.  Lester almost jumps out when he sees a terrier twice his size, but I catch him just in time.  It is the scariest moment I have had in a long time.

35

At the veteran’s home, I see Ray and tell him how much I love The Academy.  He smiles and asks if I’d like to sing with him.

36

The phone rings.  It’s my new friend Shannon.  She needs help with our Biomedical Sciences homework.

37

I spend Columbus Day at The Carpet Maven, my parent’s carpet store.  St. John Vianney never gave days off for “made up holidays.”

38

Solve for x in the equation Ln(x)=8…I haven’t been able to get that problem out of my head all day.  That is the problem that earned me the Best in Class Award on my first marking period report card.

39

It’s Sunday.  I walk down Main Street to pick up bagels for my family.  The smiley, bright-eyed girl behind the counter at the bagel shop is Val.  She is a student at Mother Superior High School. She asks if my unicorn is being nice to my flamingo.

40

I look at the flamingo and unicorn on my bench.  They’re fine. I’m okay.  Everybody ‘s alright.   Everything’s good.

I lied by the sea,
far away from the ebb-
uncared, untraceable,
a heap among the mounds.

You came to me first,
And then joined in she,
both squatted by me,
started the play with me.

Never can I forget,
the first caress-
I know not, yours or hers,
but it was like heaven.

Your juvenile dreams,
naive imaginations,
bestowed on my otiose self,
by your seasoned skills.

Grain upon grains,
both made me proud. 
Not conforming to a flaw,
meticulous maven masons.

When your hands tired,
she backed you up. 
While she was ******,
 you tended her to health.

Finally, I stood tall-
an Olympian castle. 
Both were beguiled, 
I would never be happier.  

And, then came the storm,
Satanic vibes infested the air.
I couldn’t fathom what befell,
you were furious, she was crying.

Raised voices, clenched fists,
intimate moments castaway,
I stood a meek witness,
while a relationship was severed.  

Came along the lunar surge,
I was wiped away without a trace.
Both stood distant from the other,
watching me fall, filled with remorse.

How we marvel at possessions, think they make the best impressions;
For with material things we establish a close rapport.
Can’t you see we are infected by this false truth we’ve injected
Into the minds we’ve neglected, directed by commercial lore.
"These things will make you happy,” says the preacher of commercial lore,
Only this and nothing more.

There are nights we sit there spying, through our computer screens buying
Bourbon, books, and onyx watches, razor blades and house décor,
Bright scarfs in brilliant vermilion, cowboy boots coated reptilian,
Stroll through any mall pavilion, civilians went in every store.
Like clockwork we comeback again, millions spent in every store;
We always want something more.

Like in monopoly we aspire, the best estates to acquire,
So other players can look in envy at our great high score.
With the money we’ve been savin’, we want a home in New Haven,
So we sought a market Maven, craving a house on the shore,
A vintage house with wooden dock sitting calmly on the shore.
Can we find one that’s worth more?

Queerly we lust for assets, keep on buying have no regrets.
Are we dumb or blind or numb to keep doing what we abhor?
Statues shackled to cubicles, doped up on pharmaceuticals
****** fingers raw cuticles, we’re bulls for the matador.
He dances us round in circles, pulls the sword the matador
Is the one we all fall for.

But the Maven respectfully will encourage us helpfully,
“Follow your path of senseless sorrow, leave your qualms at the door,
Carry on with inhibition, keep working for that commission,
Please don’t mind your intuition, fruition comes from spending more.”
But like layered lies there’s a pea of truth on the mattress floor;
A princess would wake up sore.

We must move past our gluttony, and join the better company
Of men meek in spirit who act humbly like the days of yore.
Realize that joy stems from passion, not this sorry thing called fashion;
Embrace others with compassion to truly make our hearts soar;
And our souls from out the shadows can truly begin to soar.
Let’s be greedy – nevermore.

How we marvel at possessions, think they make the best impressions;
For with material things we establish a close rapport.
Can’t you see we are infected by this false truth we’ve injected
Into the minds we’ve neglected, directed by commercial lore.
“These things will make you happy,” says the preacher of commercial lore,
Only this and nothing more.

There are nights we sit there spying, through our computer screens buying
Bourbon, books, and onyx watches, razor blades and house décor,
Brilliant scarfs in bright vermilion, cowboy boots coated reptilian,
Stroll through any mall pavilion, civilians shop in every store.
Like clockwork we comeback again, millions spent in every store;
We always want something more.

Like in monopoly we aspire, the best estates to acquire,
So other players can look in envy at our great high score.
With the money we’ve been savin’, we want a home in New Haven,
So we sought a market Maven, craving a house on the shore,
A vintage house with wooden dock sitting calmly on the shore.
Can we find one that’s worth more?

Queerly we lust for assets, keep on buying have no regrets.
Are we dumb or blind or numb to keep doing what we abhor?
Statues shackled to cubicles, doped up on pharmaceuticals
****** fingers raw cuticles, we’re bulls for the matador.
He dances us round in circles, pulls the sword the matador
Is the one we all fall for.

But the Maven respectfully will encourage us helpfully,
“Follow your path of senseless sorrow, leave your qualms at the door,
Carry on with inhibition, keep working for that commission,
Please don’t mind your intuition, fruition comes from spending more.”
But like layered lies there’s a pea of truth on the mattress floor;
A princess would wake up sore.

We must move past our gluttony, and join the better company
Of men meek in spirit who act humbly like the days of yore.
Realize that joy stems from passion, not this sorry thing called fashion;
Embrace others with compassion to truly make our hearts soar;
And our souls from out the shadows can truly begin to soar.
Let’s be greedy – nevermore.

******* at tickling the ivories,
at inducing the jet buttons
to chortle, say, in a concerto ;
but I do strum and flirt
with those amazing royal,
88 unrepentant loyal
keys for Jupiter and Saturn,
for Mars and Neptune,
making a blank bland tune
for extraterrestrial beings for fun.

On the cosmic moors
the moon's whirling feet
cease for my discordance.
What a slurred entrance
by F in D major!

Only a novice--an amateur.
I'm no magnificent pianist,
O majestic Mercury.

Summon the stars the search
to lead for a supreme virtuoso,
one of  no incongruent ingenuity
like this dilettante--a pseudo
music polymath, counsels Thebe.

A Mozart, Beethoven, or Bach?

Any of the greats scored above, as well
as geniuses like David and Handel.

Impressario fly! Flee thou away
and go get a classic maven.
Otherwise sleep there forever at Erebus,
never dream of waking up in Eden.

Circuitous world stops: strings break off
at the Earth's axis--
the Sun's panels pause

and darkness' movement begins
its own obscure notes to improvise:

apace demented melody
is released,-- bathos of symphony:
tinny wine of concord
settles on the lees of discord.

Asteroids hooting some ***** calls
when into the grand chrysolite chamber--
in her tailor-made blistering gown--
strolls in the coruscating Venus
in the sturdy arm of jaundiced Uranus,
garbed in his glistening stomacher.

Like a ball, all eyes are bouncing
hither and thither, up and down,

googling and ogling,
once more at them leering,

gaping at the irreplaceable paintings of
da Vinci, Picasso, and Van Gogh
cavorting  upon the weightless walls

to the romantic performance of Strauss
in the palace orchestral of Bacchus.

*** er så yndig med de markerede kindben og
hendes læber er rosarøde i efterårets bløde tryk
man kan næsten skræmmes, når man er observant
men så løber *** der - nede ved stranden og vinden
slår sand op ad hendes smalle ben og nederdelen
flagrer op ad låret, men for første gang skænker ***
det ej en tanke
*** lader sin hud være der, bare for en kort stund i
det øjeblik, *** har kreeret til sig selv
mine øjne brænder, mine negle sitrer *** er smuk lige
dér, når jeg fanger hende i en rus af lykkefølelse
dråber af sved baner vej langs tindingerne
nuancer af rød pryder det barnagtige, porcelænfine ansigt
så griner ***; helt nede fra maven, og lader sin soprane
melodi af stemmebånd svøbe ud og over læberne
helt ustandseligt
dér elskede jeg hende utvivlsomt, ustoppeligt og aldeles
uendeligt, for dér var *** menneske ligesom jeg selv

Love Maven**

In the moonlight of heaven
I see you floating
on notes of no beginning,
no end.
Taking that farm boy’s arm,
going where your feet just wanna go,
going to some ‘natural fun’...
                                                  

Thinking of a life lost
in tones of forest green
and what could have been,
I know what it means
to get down, get down
where there is a lively funky sound.
‘Ipsimama’, ‘ipsimama’.
                                                          

Time, in all dimensions
doesn’t recognize the ‘genius of love
or its love maven.
It just tick tocks,
tick tocks until
‘hiditihi, hipitiho’
‘bohannon’, bohannon’,
the music stops!

Aztec Warrior/redzone 5.30.16

Sitting at a bar
In a palace built by
Nineteenth-century slaves,
And the back of my shirt
Is soaked from the
Hundred degree weather.
I rub my neck,
Wipe the hot perspiration
From it with my hand,
Only to pick up
My glass of beer
And get it's cold sweat
All over my palm.
I ask the bartender
About the nets
Obstructing my view
Of the gold-flaked,
Hundred foot ceilings,
But he doesn't know
Why they're there,
Or just doesn't care
Enough to humor me.
Happy hour prices
Segregate me and my soul
From the charcoal
Suits shuffling past
As they head to
The trains that will
Deliver them to
Their BMWs
So they can drive to
Their wine cellars
And plastic wives.
The history of this place
Is suffocating me,
It's thick in the air,
As are the dialects
Of dozens of states,
Shouting to each other
Or to themselves
Or to god.
I pay our tab
And dive into
A red line train
Like a CVS syringe
Into a ******'s arm,
And rush away from
the city's heart
With the other cells,
Through tunnels buried
Beneath the birth and death
Of the American scream.
If I fall asleep,
I'll never wake up,
The dream will replace
The reality I've created.
The steady thrum of
The train croons to me,
But the acidic stench
Of July humanity
Keeps me locked
In this scenario.
The darkness flees
As we breach the
Border of daylight.
Jetskis on the Potomac
Remind me of what
I don't know.
Dreaded beards
On weathered sacks
Of human decay
Perched on plastic seats
Remind me of what
I've painted as real
In my underexposed brain.
I'm exhausted,
All my water has
Evaporated, risen,
And I'm a Little drunk.
My eyelids are heavy,
And move like
Hurricane barriers.
Open:
Same scene,
Different passengers.
Closed:
Spiral staircases
Of neon fibres,
A religious maven
Spitting his canon,
Fleeting images of
Hardwired memories
I've grown old
Trying to erase.
Open:
He's staring right at us.
The man in the
Periwinkle shirt
And the bronze
Kmart tie.
His sweat shines
Like young paint
On an Oldsmobile,
His double chin
Is tanned to
The color of his tie,
And he knows too much.
He knows more than I do,
More than I can take.
His eyes shine
With the knowledge,
The stupid grin
Plastered on his
Greasy face
Knocks me out.
Closed:
The sky is vast,
And unscathed by jealous clouds.
The crystal clear water holds me up,
Its pressure on my back
Is as refreshing as it is comforting.
Max and Andy splash and laugh to my left.
The pond water in my ears
Distorts their sounds,
But the mushrooms in my blood
Explain them.
Jesse is coming,
Doing well at keeping his cigarette dry,
Swimming with one arm.
I feel something unlock inside me,
Forget it's June,
That I'm floating
In this lake
For the first
And last time,
That I'm still
In Rhode Island,
That the love
Of my life
Is in Virginia,
I forget my limbs,
My hair,
My skin,
My ****,
My heartbeat,
The stellar iron in my blood,
And as the water fills my lungs,
As the shouts commence
And sight fades,
I am reborn,
I am the microbes I am swallowing,
I am the glow of the nearest star
Glinting off the rippling surface,
I am the sand beneath me,
I am the air pushing the pine needles,
I am alive,
I am open:
I am still on a train
In Washington DC
And this ******* guy
Knows too much.
His lips are wet with it.
It's written in the part
Of his thinning hair,
In the way he's thumbing
the pages
Of the book he isn't reading.
I can't contain the shout,
The burst of wasted pride,
The "*******!"
The "What do you see that's so ******* interesting?!"
I can feel Ali's hand
And the eyes of
All the passengers in the car
Fall upon me,
And the pressure
Caves in my skull.
From my sunken face:
"I'm a reasonable man, get off my case."
"I'm a reasonable man, get off my case."
"I'm a reasonable man, get off my case."

Tænk dig
at stå der og se det smukkeste i verden, når du stirrer tomt i kolde vandpytter.
Fordi du ikke kender til andet.
Tænk dig
at efteråret sidder i dine krageben. Dit betonsind.
Dit vinylhjerte føles palperet af kulde,
at du har skadedyr i maven.
Tænk dig
at være anopsi-(tist) og alt du ønsker er at være en aerobe
der lever af kaffekunst; men dit sind søber i inkurabel mercury
Du inficeres af revolutionære misbrugere af forandring.
Tænk at du ikke kan andet
end at lade fremmedlegemerne borer i dit sind
Tænk at være et segment af dig selv
at dit deoxyribonucleic er forkert.
At gå staccato rundt.
Tænk dig at forsvinde.

This forced swinging from high to low
with emotion as my rope;
Perhaps but to fall, the ebb and flow
of a drama of a grand scope:

-

Midnight and the moons resounding note
waning like memories of her caress,
Then-
"Thy soul be sundered; thy life 'tis smote-
Your love 'twas simply in jest!"
Fearfully I cried under a frightful duress-
"Who art thou, wicked seraph! Fiend indeed!!
Why, why should you call my distress?
In my hour of loss, my hour of need?"
It then said, 'Thy know, thy soul I read-
Blasphemer! Defiler of a chaste life!
Sin tis your cover, desire your breed,
To be covetous of anothers wife!"
Furious was my speech - "Take thy seraphic knife,
Let us clash, I shall not fall!
Thou art simply a portent of strife;
Thou hast no honor, no higher call!"
Claimed I, "Thou art not in God's thrall!
Thou art a menace black and seedy,
To come before me with such gall,
to come before a man so needy!"
A horrible visage then arose before me,
Terrifying! This angel of doom-
The moon 'twas struck, lay bleeding-
It's light red, fading soon...
A soul of the darkest gloom,
This being 'twas not ordained!
Beneath the light of the hemorrhaging moon,
I saw what it seeked to gain!
This monster, it fed off of pain,
I cried, "Thou art surely craven!
Thy knife hast many stains,
But how art thou so boldly brazen?
Perhaps hailing from some deathly haven,
or heaven tormented, I know thy measure!
I do know ye, sinful, lust-torn maven,
Forsake sustenance from my pleasure!
Be gone! Shatter thy earthly tether!
Back!" I shrieked- "Away from this plane!"
Whether Angel sent, or Devil, whether
Freudian delusion or Jobs game!
Love and sin art not the same!
So cast off of me your burdened guilt-
Love blooms wildly, it's vines my veins,
And from stronger feelings 'tis built!
I shall not be cursed by passions blame,
and my love shall never wilt!

de to små streger skriger
i mine øjne
havde jeg været forsigtig,
taget hvert skridt på æggeskaller og
tænkt lange tanker,
ville jeg løbe videre ubekymret
i dette sekund og
danse i nattens lys

men nu
nu, har jeg solens stråler
i maven
det smager bittert
som om det ikke passer ind

de lyseblå dråber fra mine øjne
er krystalklare
de skærer i mit sind og
hvisker hvad jeg skal gøre

de hvide vægge er kolde
jeg ser min sorte pedicure og
nu matcher den farven indeni
jeg burde være tom

men
jeg fortsætter i ungdommens
lange baner
jeg tegner blomster på blankt
papir og
jeg smiler samtidig

Everybody open ya eyes 
Cause the world is full of lies 
No saprize media got ya 
Following peeps you don't even know 
Say bro they slamming ya like bones 
They stay coming prone with the drones 
They watching you watching me watching he 
I know its confusing but its a spiritual fusion 
Dr Jekyll vs Mr Hide homicides cover daily 
And the enemy stays concealed 
While the minorities get hit the bill Capitol Hill
Ain't never been real.
Its no more sunny days or rainy days 
Just nothing darkness across the skies 
Once again open ya eyes and realize 
They don't care about you 
Or success ya go through 
They just want you 
To be a robotized chipped and off in order 
Pay attention to the pecking order 
It goes one for the show two for the money 
Three for the dummy four ya wrapped up like a mummy mentally tryna see 
What the **** can ya do to feed ya family 
But the **** just gets worse from.religion to stool pigeons 
What the hell ya thinkin? 
Jesus even said expose the wicked 
But pastors use the bible as a meal.ticket 
I'm sick of it the ******* they spreading 
Its Armageddon 
Am strapped you strapped? 
Voluminous ammunition my ambitions 
Is to tare the machine 
To shreds its social stratification 
Indoctrination from.education 
Got us in a confined hesitation 
In a tight situation you waiting 
And they making laws with mild debating 
And I'll be sitting wait for themto 
Come knock at the door
Blast them with my c4 *******
Revolution is the only solutions 
We got to spread the knowledge
From.the mothers fathers sons to daughters 
I'm the maven 
Telling you be vigilant to the 
Pecking order



Signs was giving since the beginning 
Of mans existence 
Too.much money in the world 
To be having pestilences 
While ya straddling the fence 
I'm get tense 
Clutched ******* I'm far from.weak 
While they playimg hide and seek 
I'm the meek 
Tryna to inherit but they taking 
Civil rights away 
So how can I pray for better days? 
Its seems the holier I get 
The more sin seems to fit 
Into these business world 
Immutable bylaws 
No love for the poor its wicked
Sadistic 
Say they got the solution 
But steadily shooting 
Down freedom fighters and truth writers 
Even got wires 
On wire everything ya say is recorded 
Aliens exported then imported 
Invoked all the constitutional rights 
They say white is right 
And black is still wack? From 
The media spinning that ******* 
Too keep ya high on 
Suckas more confused 
Than a ball.passing through 
Ping pong hit the cheech n chong 
To pass by memories 
Enemies don't get a chance to see me 
Frown bow down 
This is the new order from coast to coast 
Border to border 
Pay attention to the peck'in order 
Word!!!

Jeg ofre mig hele tiden
jeg giver mig selv til folk
som kun giver halvt tilbage
Kan du tage min arbejdsvagt? Ja
Vil du med i byen og 2 dage i streg? Ja
Vil du besøge mig og så spiser vi sammen? Ja
Din flis-jakke er hæslig, skal jeg lave en ny? Ja
Denne konstante cirkel
af ting jeg skal, gøre og nå
den gør mig sindssyg
Jeg vil hellere ligge i min seng  
føle spændingerne forlade min krop
og mærke hvor øm den egentlig er
af at jeg har glemt at lytte til mig selv
Jeg vil hellere se på skyer
eller bare på himlen
om den er lyserød, med skyer på eller blå
Jeg vil hellere trække vejret dybt
helt ned i lungerne, helt ned i maven
og mærke den friske luft inde i mig
Tankerne i mit hoved danser disco
og jeg er ikke selv inviteret
men det er ikke som at gå i byen
ikke som 2-dage-i-streg-bytur  
mere som en konstant orkan
hvor mit ydre er orkanens rolige øje
for hvordan kan du være så rolig, Maria?
Jeg ved det ikke
Jo det ved jeg
Har ikke haft tid til at tænke over det
fordi der er en ny ofring at bringe
Ingen tid til eftertanke
eller fortanke
Før jeg ved af det er cirklen startet igen
Forfra eller bagfra
Det er det med cirkler
lige meget hvor den starter
så vil den nå hele vejen rundt
Ingen tid til eftertanke

*(Marolle)

piano, portraits, pyres
milking the celestial wellspring
notes, have and have-nots, halfed
alms, imperfect time
exchanged for dignity..a
knee takes score,
chant resounds, the portraits speaks
its crown, robbed of maven grace
defaced by scorn... reborn in
a pyres burn, a pianos key
and  the composer's fear
of obscurity

det kan mærkes i maven og hjertet
det gør ondt som bare fanden
det kommer i jag og forsvinder langsomt
denne tomme følelse af noget
der burde være der men ikke er
denne tomme følelse af savn
til noget man ikke kan sætte en finger på
savn af selskab, savn af kram,
savn af nogen der mærker på min sjæl
savner ikke den overfladiske socialisation
hvor jeg pænt sidder og lytter
for sådan er jeg opdraget
”bla bla bla, mine problemer bla bla bla,
men hvordan har du det egentlig, Maria?”
min svar er altid ”det har jeg ikke tænkt over”
for det har jeg ikke, det er ikke en løgn
har travlt med at få styr på alt det lort
som folk bliver ved med at læsse af på mig
alle deres problemer med boligselskaber,
mennesker de ikke kan lide, pengeproblemer,
drengeproblemer, arbejdsproblemer,
skoleproblemer, venneproblemer
jeg er træt
og det er først når jeg er alene
at jeg kan mærke hvordan jeg har det
mærke mig selv og mærke ensomheden
mærke min sjæl  
og den skræmmer mig
jeg ved ikke hvem jeg skal sige det til
eller hvordan jeg skal forklare det
”hej, jeg har det ad helvede til,
der er en klump af kaos, ensomhed og
noget andet ubeskriveligt der trykker
inde i min mave”
for hvad ville folk ikke tænke
Maria er altid glad, *** vil altid lytte
*** smiler frejdigt og laver hendes ting
men sådan er jeg slet ikke
jeg er i stykker

*(Marolle)

sometimes when i think about being skinny
i get worried that if i ever do
i'll be one of those ugly skinny girls
instead of one of the pretty ones
and that would be terrible
i mean
isn't the object of the game
to be the highest
in demand
and if that doesn't work out
what do i do?
get fat again?
shoplift my features from a twisted magazine
in the media maven's fist?
yeah, that's a good idea.

**the problem is not that girls or guys are ugly and need to be prettier
the problem is on the inside of people's faces
i have begun to realize that this is not all their fault
we are desensitized from a young age
and though we might try to resist
television, facebook, tumblr
flashes us a picture of an unhealthily thin young woman
and tells us to strive to that standard.
even if you mock it
the image is in your head
and you begin to make small comparisons
i don't know if we can change our thinking anymore
people try, it hasn't worked very well
but WE CAN CHANGE the images that are put in our mind
for the people
by the people
rage against the barbie doll machine.

I am the black winged dragon, the empty hearted snake
I am the lord of the rebellion holding America's fate
Subliminal commands are here to keep you in place
In the land of the slaves and the home of the fake
But I am awake!! How much more can I take?
Time to break the wicked nation manifested in hate
Its too late, for me to fail the mission at hand
And I cant pray to the skies of a weatherless land
Red pill...I noticed we are all in a cage
And so I gazed upon my life through the eyes of a sage
I am a maven, a prophet, with a mind full of rage
In the fields of elysium I have noticed my age
Angel with an old soul stuck in this maze...
But I am not done with this story...one last page
I'm in the system...Ebola...sicker than AIDS.
Its time for me to take this flag and set i ablaze
America!!!

Jeg er dårlig til at være vred
Jeg får ondt i maven, når jeg tænker onde tanker
Jeg kan ikke sige, hvad jeg mener, hvis min mening er ondskabsfuld
Jeg går med de vrede ord inden i mig selv
Jeg tænker dem, mener dem, overvejer og omformulerer dem
Jeg slipper dem ikke (måske tør jeg en dag)
Jeg tror det er bedst sådan
Jeg tror ikke nogen får noget ud af mine vrede ord
Jeg kan heldigvis klare at have dem i bur ind til videre
Jeg håber min omtanke holder føringen og lader dummer personer uvidne

Jeg skriver dem måske ned nu. Bare ordene, ikke mere. For ordene er vel ikke onde, før de er i kontekst og til eller om nogen.
Dumme
Uintiligente
Irriterende
Fatsvage
Taber
Et ord så slemt, at jeg ikke har det i mit ordforråd
Tarvelige
Ubetænksomme
Jeg hader dig!

...Illegible signatures scrawled...perturb
the maven.
Of years in the lighting...Bodh Gaya
ceremonial candles looking at the same
four winds.
An earth gone Up...only as You would,
and will have it...alighted withstanding.
Your very presence of consciousness
(which is a mere drop) makes the
Ocean of Consciousness rise...with sheer
volume...God bless you all.

once captain
fore thorn
that soccer
made her
calling such
a crown
then in
Balboa as
she lately
resides a
homophobic and
Gold Pride
hence a
bride and
a southern
school maven  
in heaven.

Cold Sun with calling Raven
Morning soloist in the Cyan school tree haven
Wild berry blush , springtime zephyr maven -
relaying messages o'er crystal oceans of red wire grass
and brunette morning straw

I was born
Into a fake dream brother
Hard to shake them demons
Around me
Cuz laws go everywhere they follow me
Subliminally
I raised my conscious
Now I got Haters feeling nervous
Every time  I preach revolting service
I'm holding back with the gat
Quick to act
Don't be mad at me
They hate me cuz my skin is black
And if at all? I have a ****** downfall
Ill still pick up the pieces
Standing tall fools on the gall
But all I gotta do is make a phone call
My homies answer with no panic
Hey get there guns bring the nation to panic schizophrenic
Cuz the world is so crazyyyy
Yeah I try to sway away from being wicked
But I can't cuz I'm focused on meal tickets
Gotta eat and keep my family Fed
Church hypocrites ain't breaking me no bread
False dreams of a reality
Sun Tzu gave me the recipe
And ingridients secrets of war
Hitting ya back
Listen to the sound of my Mack
As the world's getting colder.
And colder in feelin bolder
This is strictly for my soljaz bitchhhhh


Strictly for my strictly for my strictly strictly for my soljaz
Strictly for my soljaz making cheese


Yo I can't help but myself
So I keep autos on the self
Just incase of a confrontation
With the cops I mute there conversations
Yeah back to back against nation
Hidden in colors I got ghetto congregation
No hesitatin
We ready for the war to pop
And we ain't our ancestors *****
Well make ya heartbeat stop
I know they wish I stayed in hell
But rap stories will never
Fail thugs prevail sailin like Gail
Through lady liberty
Just justicccce yeah just as
Spin around critics like taz
So y'all can miss with the jazz
How long will my reign last
As the nation of mobsters
Ready to ****** blast duck fast
Cuz we tearing **** switch
Out the clips
Down goes another *****
Look em in the eyes
Before gave em peace
Shot em right between his eyes
Another fool dead
I'm feeling good
Politicians I'm running out the hood
Back into the white house
Stuck in a safe haven
But I'm misbehavin since I got wisdom from a maven
And give it all that ya ******* got
And keep bustin at the racist cops
Fool now drop
Strictly for my strictly for my soljaz
Strictly for my strictly for my soljaz
Strictly for my soljaz making gs

If Pablo Picasso's name doesn't ring a bell, it is indeed a rarity,
Welcome to Malaga, Picasso's birthplace - an unique identity,
Known for his exquisite paintings & sculptures, Picasso is a legend,
That his work is still considered sensational, need not be questioned

As Costa del Sol's capital, Malaga in Spain's Andalusia is a vibrant coastal city,
Lying along a wide bay of the Mediterranean Sea, it constantly bustles with activity,
Excellent weather all-year round, renders it an idyllic tourist haven,
It's mountain geography and sun-drenched beaches - delight for a travel maven

The city is replete with a profusion of museums, daring street art and eateries,
Add to it, centuries-old heritage and beaches, that always hold pleasant memories,
Delightful pedestrianized centers and stunning views add to the city's intrigue,
Casual strolls to several picturesque locales hardly gives room for any fatigue

The hilltop Arab palace fortress of Alcazaba provides panoramic sweeping sea views,
Roman marble pillars & Moorish horseshoe arches add to stunning architectural hues,
The once coastal-facing defense of Plaza de Armas now features beautiful gardens,
Evocative vast courtyards & bubbling fountains yield a pathway that seldom straightens

A Picasso museum visit is unmissable on the itinerary for anyone visiting Malaga,
The stamp of conceptual brilliance seen in the exhibits makes art lovers go gaga,
The manner in which cubism art has been displayed is thoughtfully amazing,
Picasso's  genius is reflected in his works and was perhaps his way of proclaiming

The majestic Cathedral de Malaga is situated right in the historic town's center,
A blend of Gothic, Renaissance & Baroque architectural styles adds to the splendor,
The grand marble staircase and a beautiful assortment of frescoes are a visual treat,
The vast colonaded nave, housing an enormous cedar-wood choir stall, is no mean feat

The Carmen Thyssen Museum is located in an aesthetically renovated 16th-century palace,
It features an unique cocktail of paintings with thematic variations, not in the least hapless,
The almost cartoonish costumbrismo paintings are a throwback to 19th-century Spain myths,
That depicted fiestas, banditry, flamenco, bar-room brawls as if 'twas the work of a jokesmith!

Beaches in Malaga are characterized by dark, long stretches of sand skirted by lofty palm trees,
With boarded promenades, shorefronts are adorned with colorful parasols, wafting in the breeze,
Visitors swarming the beaches can be seen lazing in hammocks while basking in the sunshine,
Having all the trappings of a sunbather's paradise, that can be seen along the entire coastline

Ever experienced walking along a walkway dangling up to 100 meters in the air?
Its Caminito del Rey, pinned along the steep hills of a narrow gorge - indeed rare,
Parts of the route clinging recklessly to the sheer rock face of the gorge are awe-inspiring,
While completely safe, the linear 8-km walk can cause vertigo and culminate in respiring

This walkway was once dubbed the most dangerous hike in Spain - yet, so far from reality,
Multi-layered landscapes encompass reservoirs, mountains, gorges & valleys in totality,
The accompanying guide regales trekkers with the canyon's fascinating history and folklore,
While numerous selfie-worthy clicks of the breath-taking dizzy views, are like never before

Malaga is centric for day trips to Tangier, Morocco and The Rock of Gibraltar,
It is one of the few European cities that experiences a relatively warm winter,
It's coastal location with the Mediterranean Sea wind makes summer less oppressive,
Loaded with history and a multi-layered past, is what makes the city so impressive

Malaga is a typical port city that epitomizes Andalusian lifestyle to the fullest,
The warmth and camaraderie displayed by locals can be experienced at its best,
Streets and by-lanes are always pleasantly crowded with folks in colorful attire,
A wholesome feeling of utmost satisfaction at the trip's end, is for all to aspire