Part I


the plateau. the truest of them all. coast line. night spells and even controlled by the dream of meeting again. the ribbon of darker than light in your crown. No region overlooked. Third picnic table to the drive at Half Moon Bay, meet me there, decant my speech there. the table by the restroom block. While the tide is in show me your oyster garden, 3:00p.m. at half-light here in the evilest torments that have been shed.---------------door locked.  The moors. Cow herds and lymph nodes, rancorous afternoon West light and bending roads, the cliffs, a sister, the need to jump. There is nothing as serious as this. There is nothing nor no one that could ever, or would ever on this side come between. Who needs sleep or jokes or snow or rivers or bombs or to turn or be a rat or a fly or ceiling fan or a gurney or a cadaver or piece of cloth or a bed spread or a couch or a game or the flint of a lighter or the bell of a dress; the bell of your dress, yes, perhaps. Having been crushed like orange cigarette light in a pool of Spanish tongues. I feel the heave, the pull; not a yawn but a wired, thread-like twist about my core. Up around the neck it makes the first cut, through the eyes out and into the nostrils down over the left arm, on the inside of the bicep, contorting my length, feigning sleep, and then cutting over my stomach, around and around multiples of times- pulled at the hips and under the groin, across each leg and in-between each nerve, capillary, artery, hair, dot, dimple, muscle, to the toes and in-between them. Wiry dream-like and nervous nightmarish, hellacious plateaus of leapers. Penguin heads and more penguin heads. Startling torment. The evilest of the vile mind. The dance of despair: if feet contorted and bound could move. The beach off Belmont. The hills and the reasons I stared. Caveat after caveat at the heads of letters, on the heads of crowns, and the wrists, and on the palms. Being pulled and signed, and moved away so greatly and so heavily at once in a moment, that even if it were a year or a set of many months it would always be a moment too taking away to be considered an expanse, and it would be too hellacious to be presumptuous. It could only be a shadow over my right shoulder as I write the letters over and again. One after another. Internally I ask if I would even grant a convo with Keats or Yeats or Plath or Hughes? Does mine come close? Does it matter the bellies reddish and cerise giving of pain? Does it have to have many names?


"This is the only Earth," I would say with the bouquet of lilies spread out on the table. Are lilies only for funerals, I would never make or risk or wish this metaphor, even play it like the drawn out notes of a melody unwritten and un-played: my black box and latched, corner of the room saxophone. Top-floor, end of the hall two-room never-ending story, I'm the left side of the bed Chicago and I see pink walls, bathrooms, the two masonite paintings, the Chanel books, the bookshelves, the white desk, the white dresser, you on the left side of the bed in such sentimental woe, **** carpet and tilted blinds, and still the moors and the whispering in the driver's seat in afternoon pasture. Sunset, sunrise, nighttime and bike room writing in other places, apartments, rooms where I inked out fingertips, blights, and moods; nothing ever being so bleak, so eerily woe-like or stoic. Nothing has ever made me so serious.

Put it on the rib, in a t-shirt. Make it a hand and guide it up a set of two skinny legs under a short-sheeted bed in small room and literary Belmont, address included. Trash cans set out morning and night, deck-readied cigarette smoking. Sliding glass door and kitchen fright. Low-lit living room white couch, kaleidoscope, and zoetrope. Spin me right round baby right round. I am my own revenge of toxic night. Attack the skin, the soul, the eyes, the mind, and the lids. The finger lids and their tips. Rot it out. Blearing wild and deafening blow after blow: left side of the bed the both of us, whilst stirs the intrepid hate and ousts each ******* tongue I can bellow and blow.

Last resort lake note in snow bank and my river speak and forest walk. Wrapped in blocks and boxes, Christmas packaging and giant over-sized red ribbons and bows. Shall I mention the bassinet, the stroller, the yard, several rings of gold and silver, several necklaces of black and thread? I draw dagger from box, jagged ended and paper-wrapped in white and amber: lit in candle light and black room shadow-kept and sleeping partisan unforgettable forever. Do I mention Hawaii, my mother dying, invisible ligatures and the unveiling of the sweat and horror? Villainous and frightening, the breath as a bleat or heart-beat and matchstick stirring slightly every friends' woe and tantrum of their spirit.

Lobster-legged, waiting, sifting through the sea shore at the sea line, the bright tyrannosaurs in mahogany, in maple, and in twine over throw rose meadow over-looks, honey-brimming and warehouse built terrariums in the underbelly of the ravine, twist and turn: road bending, hollowing, in and out and in and out, forever, the everlasting and too fastidious driving towards; and it's but what .2 miles? I sign my name but I'll never get out. I am mocked and musing at tortoise speed. Headless while improvising. Purring at any example of continue or extremity or coolness of mind, meddling, or temptation. I rock, bellowing. Talk, sending shivers up my spine. I'm cramped, and one thousand fore-words and after words that split like a million large chunks of spit, grime, and *****; **** and more ****. I might even be standing now. I could be a candle, in England, a kingdom, in Palo Alto, a rook in St. Petersburg. Mottled by giants or sleepless nights, I could be the Eiffel Tower or the Statue of Liberty, a heated marble flower or the figure dying to be carved out. I'm veering off highways, I'm belittling myself: this heathen of the unforgettable, the bog man and bow-tied vagrant of dross falsification and dross despair. I am at the sea shore, tide-righted and tongue-tide, bilingual, and multi-inhibited by sweat, spit, quaffs of sea salt, lake water, and the like. Rotten wergild ridden- stitched of a poor man's ringworm and his tattered top hat and knee-holed trousers. I'm at the sea shore, with the cucumbers dying, the rain coming in sideways, the drifts and the sandbars twisting and turning. I'm at the sea shore with the light house bruise-bending the sweet ships of victory out backwards into the backwaters of a mislead moonlight; guitars playing, beeps disappearing, pianos swept like black coffees on green walled night clubs, arenose and eroding, grainy and distraught, bleeding and well, just bleeding.






I'm at the sea shore, the coastline calling. I've got rocks in my pockets, ******* and two lines left in the letter. I’m at the sea shore, my mouth is a ghost. I've seen nothing but darkness. I'm at the seashore, second picnic table, bench facing the squat and gobble, the tin roof and riled weir near the roadside. .2 and I'm still here with my bouquet wading and waiting. I'm at the sea shore and there's nobody here. My inches are growing shorter by the second, cold, whet by the sunset, its moon men, their heavy claws and bi-laws overthrowing and throwing me out. The thorns stick. The tyrannosaurs scream. I'm at the sea shore, plateau, left bedside to write three more letters. Sign my name and there's nobody here.

I'm at the sea shore: here are my lips, my palms (both of them facing up), here are my legs (twine and all), my torso, and my head shooting sideways. I'm at the seashore and this is my grave, this is my purposeful calotype, my hide and go seek, my show and tell, my forever. .2 and forever and never ending. I was just one dream away come and keep me. I'm at the sea shore come and see me and seam me. I'm without nothing, the sky has drifted, the sea is leaving, my seat is a matchbox and I'm all wound up. The snow settling, the ice box and its glory taken for granted. I'm at the sea shore and there's nobody here. The room with its white sets of furniture, the lilies, the Chanel, the masonite paintings, the bed, your ribbon of darker on light, the throw rug **** carpet, pink walled sister's room, and the couch at the top of the stairs. I'm at the sea shore, my windows opened wide, my skin thrown with threat, rhinoceri, reddish bruises bent of cerise staled sunsets. I'm at the sea shore and there's nobody here. I'm at the plateau and there isn't a single ship. There are the rocks below and I'm counting. My caveats all implored and my goodbyes written. I'm in my bed and the sleep never set in. I'm name dropping God and there's nobody there. I'm in a chair with my hands on a keyboard, listening to Danish throb-rock, horse-riding into candle light on a wicked wedding of wild words and teary-eyed gazes and gazers. Bent by the rocking and the torment, the wild and the weird, the horror and everything horrifying. There is this shadow looking over my shoulder. I'm all alone but I feel like you're here.



Part II




I wake up in Panama. The axe there. Sleeping on the floors in the guest bedroom, the floor of the garden shed, the choir closet, the rut of dirt at the end of the flower bed; just a towel, grayish-blue, alone, lawnmower at my side, and sky blue setting all around. I was a family man. No I just taste bits of dirt watching a quiet and contrary feeling of cool limestone wrap over and about my arms and my legs. Lungs battered by snapping tongues, and ancient conversations; I think it was the Malaysian Express. Mom quieted. Sister quieted. Father wept. And is still weeping. Never have I heard such horrifying and un-kindly words.-----------------------It's going to take giant steel cavernous explorations of the nose, brain cell after brain cell quartered, giant ******* quaffs of alcohol, harboring false lanterns and even worse chemicals. Inhalations and more inhalations. I'm going to need to leap, flight, drop into bodies of waters from air planes and swallow capsules of psychotropics, sedatives beyond recalcitrance. I'm requiring shock treatments and shock values. Periodic elements and galvanized steel drums. Malevolence and more malevolence. Forest walks, and why am I still in Panama. I don't want to talk, to sleep, to dream, to play stale-mating games of chess, checkers, Monopoly, or anything Risk involving. I can't sleep, eat, treaty or retreat. I'm wickeded by temptations of grandeur and threats of anomaly, widening only in proverb and swept only by opposing endeavors. Horrified, enveloped, pictured and persuaded by the evilest of haunts, spirits, and match head weeping women. I can't even open my mouth without hearing voices anymore. The colors are beginning to be enormous and I still can't swim. I couldn't drown with my ears open if I kept my nose dry and my mouth full of a plane ticket and first class beanstalk to elysian fields. It's pervasive and I'm purveyed. It's unquantifiable. It's the epitomizing and the epitome. I have my epaulets set for turbulent battles though I still can't fend off night. Speak and I might remember. Hear and it's second rite. Sea attacks, oceans roaring, lakes swallowing me whole. Grand bodies of waters and faces and arms appendages, crowns and more crowns and more crowns and more crowns and more crowns and I'm still shaking, and I'm still just a button. And I still can't sleep. And I'm still waiting.

It is night. The moon ripening, peeling back his face. Writhing. Seamed by the beauty of the nocturne, his ways made by sun, sky, and stars. Rolled and rampant. Moved across the plateau of the air, and its even and coolly majestic wanton shades of twilight. It heads off mountains, is swept as the plains of beauty, their faces in wild and feral growths. Bent and bolded, indelible and facing off Roman Empires too gladly well in inked and whet tips of bolder hands to soothe them forth.-----------Here in their grand and grandiose furnaces of the heart, whipped tails and tall fables fettered and tarnished in gold’s and lime. Here with their mothers' doting. Here with their Jimi Hendrix and poor poetry and stand-up downtrodden wergild and retardation. I don't give a ****. I could weep for the ***** if they even had hair half as fine as my own. I am real now. Limited by nothing. Served by no worship or warship. My flotilla serves tostadas at full-price. So now we have a game going.-----------------------------------------------------------­------------------------  My cowlick is not Sinatra's and it certainly doesn't beat women. As a matter of factotum and of writ and bylaw. I'm running down words more quickly than the stanza's of Longfellow. I'm moving subtexts like Eliot. I'm rampant and gaining speed. Methamphetamine and five star meats. Alfalfa and pea tendrils. Loves and the lovers I fall over and apart on. Heroes and my fortune over told and ever telling. Moving in arc light and keeping a warm glow.

the fish line caves. the shimmy and the shake. Bluegrass music and big wafting bell tones. snakes and the river, hands on the heads, through the hair; I look straight at the Pacific. I hate plastic flowers, those inanimate stems and machine-processed flesh tones. Waltzing the state divide. I am hooked on the intrepid doom of startling ego. I let it rake into my spine. It's hooves are heavy and singe and bind like manacles all over me. My first, my last, my favorite lover. I'm stalemating in the bathtub. Harnessing Crystal Lite and making rose gardens out of CD inserts and leaf covers. I'm fascinated by magic and gods. Guns and hunters. Thieving and mold, and laundry, and stereotypes, and great stereos, and boom-boxes, and the hi-fi nightlife of Chicago, roasting on a pith and meaty flame, built like a horror story five feet tall and laced with ruggedness and small needles. My skin is a chromium orchid and the grizzly subtext of a Nick Cave tune. I've allowed myself to be over-amplified, to mistake in falsetto and vice versa. To writhe on the heavy metallic reverberations of an altercated palpitation. The heart is the lonely hunted. First the waterproof matchsticks, then the water, the bowie knife, crass grasses and hard-necked pitch-hitters and phony friends; for doing lunch in the park on a frozen pond, I play like I invented blonde and really none of my **** even smells like gold.--------------------- There are the tales of false worship. I heard a street vendor sell a story about Ovid that was worse than local politics. As far as intermittent and esoteric histories go I'm the king of the present, second stage act in the shadow of the sideshow. Tonight I'm greeting the characters with Vaseline. For their love of music and their love of philosophy. For their twilight choirs and their skinny women who wear black antler masks and PVC and polyurethane body suits standing in inner-city gardens chanting. For their chanting. The pacific. For the fish line caves. For the buzzing and the kazoos. For the alfalfa and the three fathers of blue, red, and yellow. For the state of the nation. But still mostly working for the state of equality, more than a room for one’s own.-------------------------------------------------------------­------"Rice milk for all of you." " Kensington and whittled spirits."
(Doppelganger enters stage left)MAN: Prism state, flash of the golden arc. Beastly flowers and teeming woodlands. Heir to the throes and heir to the throng.----------------------------------------------------------­--------------- The sheep meadow press in the house of affection. The terns on my hem or the hide in my beak; all across the steel girder and whipping ******* the windows facing out. The mystery gaze that seers the diplopic eye. Still its opening shunned. I put a cage over it and carry it like a child through Haight-Ashbury. At times I hint that I'm bored, but there is no letting of blood or rattle of hope. When you live with a risk you begin at times to identify with the routes. Above the regional converse, the two on two or the two on four. At times for reasons of sadness but usually its just exhaustion. At times before the come and go gets to you, but usually that is wrong and they get to you first. Lathering up in a small cerulean piece of sky at the end turnabout of a dirt road

My sister,
an annoying blister.
In the depth of my relaxation,
she bombards me with such nonsense and retardation.
Like she's designed to disrupt every source of silence,
while I'm diving in the ****** of my imagination.

My sister,
full of spirit and laughter.
Her jolly heart is something I feel obligated to look after.
My sister,
Although having her endless branches of imagination,
says that I'm her inspiration.

You tell us to
Spread
The
Word
To
End
The
Word

But you mean the word
"*******"

And you think it's mean
Because of
Mental retardation
And how it hurts
Their feelings.


Stop that word.
I won't mind.

Just don't turn around
And call
Him
A
******

We humans have
Lots of silly excuses
All the time
From dusk to dawn
And in all seasons
Whether spring or autumn
And if winter or summer

We always complain for
What we don’t have
Lacking this and that
And so on..

But we never
Count our blessings
Our mind
With no retardation
Our eyes
With no blindness
Our ears
With no deafness
Our tongue
With no dumbness
And our body
With no disability at all

Even though
Most of us
Believe that
We are not talented
And lack so many skills
But we never think
How a disabled person
Got so many vibrant calibers

Some can write
With legs
Some can dance
With one leg
Some can swim
With no legs and arms
Some can paint
With no vision
And all that
Mind blowing talents
With such disabilities
Is something
To learn about

But have we
Ever thought
Why can’t
We have that abilities
And the reason is
We don’t have an urge
To do anything
We have lots of facilities
Around us
And thus we don’t need
To sharp our brains

We live in pleasures
Like in a full swing
And thus
We don’t know
The pain of a
Handicapped
The darkness
Of a blind
The communication barrier
Of a dumb
The hearing impairments
Of a deaf
The financial constraints
Of a poor
And the loneliness
Of an orphan

We humans
Born as ordinary
And thus
No need to think
As extraordinary
We mostly learn from
Our mistakes
And so about the
Urge for it

When we get  
A sincere urge
It results to a
Turning point in life

So why can’t we
Challenge our disability
And make it an ability
Let’s rebound our abilities
To make it a miracle
And enjoy the worthiness of
This graceful life

People are
either,
misread,
misunderstood,
misinterpreted,
or simply
not meant for this
time.
Retardation,
shouldn't be
allowed to exist.
For, putting
limitations on someone
that is amazing in
it's own right.
Is like judging
a
book
by it's cover.
In the real world,
judges
were supposed
to
bring justice
for those
who have been
jacked
off,
in the wrong way.
Somewhere
**** god bad.
Let's make it better.

Extra Extra ...Read all about it!!!..The time for the righteous ***** is dead...You claim Your stature of limitations..But all you got is knowledge...Let me reconstruct the past...That the ones you preaching to don't see...Slavery...to share croppers.. to steal mill workers...Cotton pick en...to bootleg ‘en...to crack rock..**** ‘en...They got Aids from monkeys..So lets give it to all the monkeys..They know to much lets bury the smart ones under all the dummies...Rise up you righteous *** Shabazz..With more medals then Marcus Garvey...but this dispositions is thicker than the stash on Steve Harvey. Cuz the kids they love the Wiz...and all the green he smoke...Forget the yellow brick road...its these white bricks they see as Gold...But you so righteous with black power on Your bumper sticker...And so sweet that your water start to be thicker...then blood...with a hood that attack your own progression..You Been righteous for so long..with hope you feel depression..that you accuse your brother of mental retardation...urban gentrification...when he still live in the same house he did the year before...but you been moved to the east side on the top floor..You righteous *** ***** you been pronounced dead...back when them bombs hit over Bagdad...they waved the white flag..but you just made it easy...cuz you still so righteous...you done Got Fat, Turned Gay...and rallying for pride marches...Cuz you don’t know what else to do...your time is over..Them black cats use to be panthers, now you dress them up...and placed us all in a new minority...just to keep your righteous priority...Are You still looking East, or have you finally excepted the West..

The puzzle is never solved.
They are looked at and pointed at
by children who don't know
that we're supposed to pity them.

Oh Son, Oh Daughter
they have Autism!
Oh, I feel so bad!

The straight jackets and shocks
have turned to stares and mocks.

They didn't to choose to be born this way
a piece of a puzzle that doesn't fit.

We look at them and thank God that its
not us.
Its not me.
But the indifference doesn't work.
We thank God that its not us.

But do we ever feel any empathy?
If you could imagine having a retardation
never really fully understanding anything

A chromosomal abnormality that would
affect your whole life forever.

Having to be watched
always having someone taking care of you
you would never have any independence.

Autism seemed to be their name
"he's Autistic"
It wasn't their name.
There is much more to them.

These people used to be tortured
people thought that they had a demon inside of them
that we had to get out.

What we never realized was that
the real demon was us.

retardation, inflammation, all these kids gettin shot up, diabetes nation. earthquake hits, tsunamis rip, solar flare sun, getting our magnetic polar shift on.

been around much to long to believe all the ******* they are trying to run a country on, think it's about time we awaken, come together and form a new united nations.

grew up in an age where blowin **** up made the front page, trading tourism for terrorism, gorilla warfare versus patriotic heroism.

**** the news, i been hit the with the love struck blues, instead spend my time promoting free energy, "Nikola Tesla's technology abolishes slavery"... Last call to end the fed, freedom for eternity; did you hear Britney Spears shaved her head?

i am an apricot,
dried and vacuum-packed amongst chunks of cashew nuts and *******.

i am a cigarette,
wrinkled and cracked with ashes so rank and how the wind whispers my bones away.

i am a stick of magnesium
extingushed halfway -

and i will never burn again
for you have swallowed my spark.

Tingly under the daisies;
   Glassy-eyed, glazed, greasy;
   Shaking, shivering, shuddering,
   Wishing, wandering, whimpering,
   Westernizing—
   Romanizing—
   Constitutionalizing—
   Institutionalizing—
   Perpetually searching
   And dying
   And living,
   Watching Death survive
   And scythe the frolickers,
   The prancers,
   The rompers,
   The merrymakers.
   A rose clamped between his
   Grinning teeth glistens brightly,
   And he dances so joyously.
   “Yes!” say the naysayers,
   Confused are the soothsayers,
   Lost are the cartographers.
   Oh, Utopia!
   The monks are extravagant;
   The meditations are a farce!
   The preachers are beggars
   And swindlers and chargers,
   And Machiavelli fulfills his wishes!
   Babies are stillborn, stabbed, and
   Ritualistically sacrificed,
   And their blood is spilled, drunk,
   Slathered over the ***** man.
   The evangelists scream and lie:
   “You are all predestined to die!”
   Oh, hail Utopia!
   Wedded are the girls to the girls;
   Wedded are the boys to the boys;
   Wedded is Death to Death,
   Life to Life,
   And Life to Death.
   Wedded are the living to the existent.
   And the milking babes are slaughtered
   Ceremoniously,
   Surreptitiously,
   Ostentatiously.
   Oh, hail great Utopia!
   We are all dead and unintelligent:
   Laugh, laugh, Einstein, at your
   Stupidity.
   Laugh, laugh, Temple Grandin at
   Your retardation.
   Laugh, laugh, laugh!
   Look at the sluggard, thou ant;
   Look at the boy, sobbing wolf;
   Aesop was drunk,
   Aristotle was delusional,
   Michelangelo was blind,
   Beethoven could hear,
   Poe was sane.
   And I can't read.
   They ramble,
   I watch.
   They sleep,
   I watch.
   They dream,
   I watch.
   They sleep-talk,
   I watch.
   They scream,
   I watch.
   They choke,
   I watch.
   They suffocate,
   I watch.
   Stone-faced, I stare;
   Raspingly, I breathe;
   Uncontrollably, I twitch;
   Inwardly, I rage.
   I hope you die, I hope you die.
   I hope you bleed, I hope you die.
   I want you begging and crying,
   I want you blubbering at my feet,
   I want you gnashing at my ankles,
   I want you writhing in pain,
   I want your arm twisted off,
   Cracking with the snapping sinews, I want your beating heart in my hands, I want your genitals uprooted and stuffed in your throat, I want your stomach so I can eat the still-digesting food, I want your shrunken head and I want to force my thumbs into your unblinking eyes and I want to tear your face in two and I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die.

Do not be misled
He was the first to act demented
The first mental patient
The first *******
Don't fall for the deception
He was the first two face
The first disgrace
a loveless being without heart
He was the first to be thoughtless
The first to show distaste
The first to fall apart
Do not impersonate the first selfish being
One without reason
With nothing to lose  
Please don't opt to choose
to be his possession
please don't hesitate to learn this lesson
He was the first retardation
An abomination
Cursed for eternity without chance of redemption
Who do you want to reflect
The king of imperfect?
The first serial ******
An ancient killer  
skilled at attack
A personality (after death) that will
never come back
Why would anyone want to be
someone like that?

We forget

We forget those things we said,
How we wouldn't share hidden space.
You're space
My space
Secret bed space...

With eyes clenched
Legs spread
Arms up ahead
strong forces leading you to my base,
You remove my lace
To caress my delicacy with your face


But how do we forget!?
how do we forget time lovingly shared
Forget about all the feelings barred
Forget  all the notes read

The wind she says i must for this is nothing,
But lust...
But how do i forget, when forgetting to forget is the only direction of my thoughts indiscretion

Have i failed to mention
the tension?....
My mind plays scenes that cause wobble to my knees.

"Please i yell, i want her to ring my bell!"
I want her ***** to grind against my groin.
i wanna be the keeper to her speaker...
I'll turn down the treble to feel her body's trembles.
I wanna be the assumption of her eruption.
The misconception of her detention.
The undetected of whom she's elected to spread her infectious pleasures, at our own leisure.
I wanna taste the treasure of her box, plot the scenes and dot dot dot


I'm sick of having to dine with her body in mind
When my eyes forever see her splendor would she dare render her body mine,
so i may dine amongst her divine beauty that protruds through my heart..

No! how dare i question this silly expectation of retardation.
This woman wants so much more of me, everything im to selfish to give.
Let and forget seems to be the polar opposite of the ridiculoisness of my wants and needs.

How do i forget!!!???
How do you forget!!??
What is it to forget the tragic magic of our secret love affair especially the intensity of moments barred.

... how do we forget... ??

dark musty I am attracted, opposite poles,
a moth to the absence of light,
my mushroom blooms
the deepest shade of azure
awakening here, molding at the spore,
the leafs and paper and rat droppings
echo down the causeway,
the red rusted gutter escape flows into
nothingness behind me, I hate you; so obese,
rotund like a dimorphism of rubenesquery and retardation,
bent beyond shape,
borrowed against ****,
I’ll collect the interest someday, maybe today,
or perhaps we’ll continue on smiling as we have
knowing that I pulled the last vestiges of your humanity,
shorn and weeping,
from your carcass years ago.

You are mine.

my inspiration
      and worldly alligation

      seems gone
like a vivid eluscation

       writings in thin air
                as mindful retardation

slivered like a broken mirror
     of lost fantastication

my mind feels empty
    my mind feels blank
        like bound for a fall

        my body feels drained
           like sunk in a tank
             of nothing at all

The process is to accept
The progressive retardation
Wrought by chemicals
A necessary adjustment
Reevaluating meaning
Value and worth
There comes a point when realization dawns
The point where intellects breaks down to the base line of ignorance
Where attachment is severed
The process takes everything away from you
But not before draining it dry of anything worth having
And so the grandest theft
Becomes
The most glorious gift
Of nothing
(This is not easy to understand or comprehend,
It is the  chemicals patient handiwork that allows eyes to see
To see and ears to hear
To hear
Without their scientifically regulated tutelage there are very very few methods that work in the 21st century that give them that side car joy ride straight the ribbon of BEING into to prayer closet of Nievana
Those of us who aren't willing to give up the things we attach to
The very things through which we define our selves, our souls, our minds, our hearts and our spirits
Drop them, move on a live without
When you realize you are living without, drip dmsomething else
It is the most difficult thing in the world
Yet by the end of the pilgrimage it has become too easy
Happiness is with nothing
Nothing is a clean slate for your imagination to create upon
This is heaven - wants nothing to do with the world
Process of chemicals and lack of sleep
It's a good thing
Though they who follow the path  will be laughed at and scorned
By people who will never understand them
White trash bad *** and Rhoads scholar on the same page
"How can they live if not like us?"
You keep living, it's your calling
We are called to the realm of the supernatural
Where we will create our own heavens
Songs, stories,books , interactive movies we may never die
But if we do we know what we left behind
I wii not find I difficult to close my eyes
Having created in such a grand scale
Albeit with chemicals and ignorance guiding my way

I found it deceiving
Plain white tees walking down the lane
With a hum on their mouths
And a jump in their stride
****
Ducklings they were

I found it deceiving
Choral tunes chiming on the radio
With an "ahh" at the start
And an "ooh" at the end
****
Advertisements they were

I found it deceiving
Cold wind blowing in my direction
With my heart shivering
And my soul trembling
****
Its the horror movie

I found it deceiving
It started with a friendly tone
Like "Hey how are you"
And "Oh, how cute"
****
Its a whole **** retardation

I find it deceiving
It went with some letters
Which then made words
And then made sentences
****
What (not) a rambling this is!

Full-time job
As a part-time lover
A fool fueled
By the feuds
That burns like the passion
Of a manic mad man
That manages to unmask
Conspiracies
Of secrecy
All the while
Spiraling
In delusion
Self-persecution
Trading sanity
For a truth
With no proof
Spewing his views
Over youtube
While you tune in
To a frequency
That frequently
Misses the point

The bigger picture
Is hard to see
When nit-pickers
Like I
Scrutinize the details
Then tell whats missing
With the audacity
Of a man with the capacity
To think critically
I mimic cynic critics
Then complain
When my views
Are challenged
Im challenged
Mentally
My retardation
Will eventually
Get the best of me
Hopefully
Before the worst of me
Becomes
The norm

This poem
Seems scatterbrained
Because my metaphors
Rarely connect
In the way
The reader
Is supposed to incept
I'd accept my defeat
In my attempt
TO prove my point
Except
I hate showing
What you'd expect

So as our     dwindles
To the sound
Of my favorite instrumental
As I write about
Myself
Hopefully
You'll see the bigger picture
Unlike me

... I just realized
I forgot to put love
Before the word dwindle
In the last stanza
And ****** up this constantly
Rhyming poem
To point out
The small details

And as a final
Desperate attempt
To redeem myself
I'll selfishly
Forget you again
And end
On a note
As a notice
That reconnects my first thought
Of how
Unbalanced my time is devoted

'Education' these days

Is about 'pure' information

And by information

I mean presenting facts verbatim

And by pure i mean it's taken

As truth with no contemplation


That behind all this initiation

Is nothing  more than total indoctrination

Into cookie-cutter patriotic nations



I mean even the word information

Is unsettling with reiteration

Think of it

like this

Information
In-formation

IN. FORMATION.

Conspiracy? Could be.

Though that is another story.

For now lets call it coincidental consideration.

To keep in mind what's lacking

In a cold calculated system of education



I ask you and i beg

Where's the social validation

That everyone is different

In the way they treat a situation

That people are so vast and varied when it comes to inspiration

And still we wonder why kids in school

Get bullied, beaten and mistaken

Treated by their peers as some kind of social retardation

By other young minds bored and rampart with frustration

From a system failing day by day

Generation by generation

I mean is it no surprise from a society with a hellebent  fixation

Upon competition

Survival of fittest

And human exploitation?


Of mantra screaming profit, selfishness, and lack of real cooperation


Nature over nurture and people under nations


That leave us standing divided and alone amongst as sea of potential collaboration?


And yet we're told to sing our anthems of patriotic proclamations

That we live in lands of freedom, justice, love and consideration.

So please believe me when i see

Your sense of self worth and participation

As something lacking emergent notions

When it's simply in-formation

What we need is real change via total non-cooperation

And to rest assured that our minds, and our childrens mind, and future generations

Are part of real solutions

And also full of inspiration


To take hold of our own thoughts

And redefine the importance

Of something we've all lost

Called self education

So please don't simply repeat after me

Don't seek my words as your savior or salvation

Just find your version of what it means to simply be

And forget what others see

As being in-formation

Look down.

I'm taking a drink tonight {just like every night}
One sip for me one sip for you
My little one
Do you feel the buzz yet, poppet?
Is your heart beating faster like mine is?
Let's have another glass//shot//bottle,
Maybe that will make things better.
Make things better for you, darling,
    That’s all I want
That's why I'm sending you away
    Pulling you out of me, where you should be
(Don't worry,
            I won't look at you when they put you in the trashcan)
The savior-trashcan rescuing you from
The downs syndrome that might have been
  [excuse me while I take a hit]
The retardation that might have been
  [excuse me while I do a line]
The angry disposition that might have been
  [excuse me while I take him in]
Oh, my little cabbage,
        Either thou, or I, or both must go
See, looky there, we have a little
  Shakespearean tale of our own
      Isn’t that nice?
Either thou, or I, or both must go
And no, I am not ready
As much as I crave the sound of
            the flatline,
I have no craving for MINE right now.
So drink, drink up and hold it in, little poppet
Drink from the poison of my blood
Drink up
Enjoy, darling little one.

Look up.

“Forgive her,
She knows not what she does,”
Cries the Martyr in defense of the Being that
Mangled, tortured, ***** her of
Everything.
“She Knows Not what she has done.”

Tangled hair
Black eyeliner smudged across a high cheekbone
Brown eyes dull as filers
Chipped red nail polish - bleeding moons; hearts.
Ragged edged nails
Collar bone prominent
Perfume of ***, blood, sweat -baby powder
pervades the unmoving air
Deep kiss, longer tastes.
Bloodied lips, chin, and neck.
Pheromones twice as high.

Adjusted attitude; Displaced emotion
Shut down - short cuts
Wounds on bones
Lesions on the toughest muscle
on the mind

Black hair sweetly slicked; pulled.
dark side of the moon- shaded eyes
lips full and pink-
Therapy in ink.
Water falling out of mouths.
Limbs intertwined; two end, two begin.
Musical sounds, bells laugh; caught
swallowed, spread.

Don't you forget what has been said.
Smile if it makes you happy.
Uncheck the clutter from the motels mind.
The brightest star -
died millions of years ago.
Wish it away and off it goes.
Colliding in a kaleidoscope
that turns out to be made of cardboard
and ******* dust.

Boxed up. Box cuts.
Walled in.
Fearlessly
vicious.
Mental vacation.
Emotional retardation.
Physical contemplation.
Separate spaces.
Different faces
Never Meet.

Love is a progressively debilitating mental condition of irrational behavior, generated by repetitive occurrence of desired emotion.  All emotions originate simultaneously with personal thought or belief.  Then love associates with some form of a focal point.  Virtually any thought invoking component of existence can be convinced as a focal point including, people, possessions, or even activities.  The intensity and duration of love is typically variable, due to fluctuating emotional arousal.  In-order for emotional stimulation to maintain initial performance levels, over extended duration, exercises must be conducted with the focal point.  Once repetitive supply of euphoric feeling is established retardation of the brain is accelerated, drastically restricting rational thought.  Without the function of rational thought, behavior becomes irregular resulting in rash conclusions.   In case of emergency, ending contact with the target focal point neutralizes personal thoughts and beliefs, eliminating love in theory.

Reflexion can bring depression
When reality is perception
predicated on a view of deception
Leading a manifestations progression

That shatters the complexion
Showing false feelings that lessin'
With the realization, or implication
Your aspirations are now lessons

That leave you less than copacetic
As dissipating is how impressive
You thought you were but pathetic
Is all you are, and so poetic

Is justice, and just this embedded
Is enough to make one emasculated
An epiphany, that's description be
A prescription seen to mask u hated

By the you subliminally traded
When morals and ethics do not
Seem to grow lessons as possessions
Show no imperfections, but got

Ramifications, that stand complaisant
When complacence seems apt
But that impatience, is now a patient
That's not embracin your thought

Until aspirations and inspiration
That was on vacation comes back
With inflation for the duration and is
Stationed threatening to smack

A reality check, as fallacy sets, at
The front door, on the door mat
As Persistent without resistance
As a fiend imprisoned by a crack

Addiction, that conditions the track
Of your life, filling its path
With inept regret u once had swept
Under the carpet for a debt that

Haunts the future, so u adapt
Or stay learning nothing and lack
A vision that helps position what
The collision causing impact

Has now been givin, so just collapse
Or accept the challenge& fight back
So you can disappoint and appoint
A future controlled by u or fact

Is that every hater who laughed
Every person who said u lacked
Can eat the **** given when their vision predicted there isn't a hack

Or given to counter act
The retardation of ur handicap
So my mission, is to take what I'm given, and make a livin that has

Something that pride can intact
Remain, as a brain shows the dead
Can resurrect like a man whose ***
Lets him be ***** after ****** past

Symbolizing that in fact
That a comeback before an end
Is possible and is plausible,
More so than Christ rising again

No I'm not anti religion but when
It's time to be brave, what'll aid you
Is not a multiple layer of prayer cuz
Despair, can only repair and save you

Not Jesus Christ or Buddha in life
Cause respite and redemption
Can only be implicated once infiltrated
Is the integrated affection

That failure uses to comfort you
And lead you to ultimate denial
So you believe the deceived, that convinces u what u achieved is vital

When it's minuscule and limits you
To a pity fool it's pitiful
So it's time to leave a mark, not a ****
Cuz a stink left as a residual

Leaves only a bad smell no visual
Be a man who's original
Don't follow footsteps, and hook left
Like u cook **** for a digital

Scale that weighs the individual
Not just the drugs and it states
That you are exactly what u will be
An expendable person who makes

No difference, cause indifference
Leaves you equal to pigeons
A scrub who only gets love from those who can't get above their addiction

Either that or your in a prison
Built by your bad choices now left
To be a constant reminder of how
You are blinder than a finer kept

Lemming, who gave away an ending
Full of purpose and worth
For possessions with no progression
Givin no lesson, a birth

Made in vain, and when the pain
Strains and stains your life
You'll remain in with the pain
You slowly obtain and might

Be susceptible to sleepless nights
Unprepared for the endless fights
But when insights not a set sight
You relinquish the potential unlike

The one fate expected in spite
Of the ignorance, saying "psyche"
As it takes. The bliss it Gives,
Cuz likes a ***** when despite

The chance given for flight
Glory, greatness but it's height
Is stumped when even Forrest Gump
Succeeded when less than bright

Was he, but resiliency, invites
And provokes a hope that lies
In Every man that believes he can
Execute a plan, that dies

When you accept all the lies
That insist incessantly, ur trail
Will never lead or proceed to a day you'll exceed or hail

So when the greed impales
With desire, and greed, it's salt
Will cost you the dreams you tail
Prognosticating the reason u fail