Phal'omey

He, Lium, Infidel. It teased him to speechlessness, for the tongue is truly mightier; and he was a pacifist in rational interactions. Ataraxis illuded him but was alluded to through increasingly sparse flashes of wind like moments that could not be caught, nor held, and were gone. Past and passed over, before he could feel them, take note of, notice of them. The battle for his soul was arduous like a firefighter para-dropping into the thick of things. Arborous. He was, inside him, a kiln. Shattering dreams, making things hard; sometimes beautifully. Pumping blood that was truly red when full of je ne sais qua and then blue again once exhausted. His inherited lion-heart inherently moved him. Proudly. Driven, tidal, lunar. Interchangeably guided by and set adrift by things beyond his senses. As if tugged at. He could feel it sometimes. When frightened. Or enlightened. Bright, brilliant, boastfully so. Yet his lacking in wisdom found him the reaper of sows. Fool-ish. Forgotten wrongs left unrighted one could suppose. Divine justice, karma, one or all of those. The past is alive and i'mortal. Constant. In repose. Its in motion, an ocean, it ebbs and it flows.  Ripples and butterfly effects coincide and intersect, illuminating poetic justice which takes concentrated effort to neglect. 2222 vision caught in 4D retro-spectacles. Fee. Fi. Faux is fashionable. Far from conformist, his laugh lasting past blasting through gravity. Not once to look back did he. What would he see? Hypocrisy. And the perils of being. God in threes. Thinking so much. Differently. Rather rascally rose he, literally, and metaphorically to the occasion. Timely solitude bred him needed introspection. The cure of his ails, his serum, confection. He floated Pftfall-esque to Mars and then back. The curious conject coyly, they coin conflicting conjectures. Jesters. Infect-ers. Producing poison to infect herds of heards. To hear their own voices give they themselves lectures. In truth they are twisters. Weapons their best words. Construedlers conscrewing. Cons. Screwing. Cons. Crude. Enemies molding the mass attitudes. He escaped them. Broke free, no longer their slave. To maintain their illusion they must make him behave. He has been circling some time now in an infamous infinity, a symbolic orbit. Each day lives in infamy. Metamorphasisic. Some say there will come a day when he shall shed the cocoon. Now to them is not too soon. For long enough to have misses, fits resembling longing. Seen scenes of exclusively sunny sides of the world contrasted by that ever dark side of the moon. Observers have taken notice, desiring to know this, to be audience to his witness. Started asking, raising questions. Discussion groups, detective and objective. Eagerly awaiting are these. Each passing day as if it were the night of and they require the results of an election. Wanting the word of a man who sought and found a thought taught extinct. This thing called solace. They ask themselves impatiently, “why does not he just call on us?” They thinking up reasons to distress and distrust. Despising controversy, the scandal outweighing the perks of isolation, perhaps thought he, after careful calculative consideration, it is time I be coming back, from this extended vacation. Lium A. Loneman began to plan. A man is social naturally. Amongst others he has to be, at the same time a self-teacher. A creature, who once glimpsing a potential resolves forever then that he's destined to reach her. He was eager to share, to give away his wealth, he himself. Not to store up were his energies. Of his qualities being afraid was not one of he's. Opportunities un-seized? Elderlies tell of these regrettably. With people of good will on Earth, who needs to shut the cellar door? Peace to them, forever more.

Matthew 18:22

You are a piece
Where do we begin to begin again?
When I close my eyes I can almost feel
Like nothing
You changed it all
After all this insanity.
Am I gonna be an optimist?
The rubble of our sins
Crashes into me
And I
____
Into you

Tumbled and crumbled
Walls piled high
Accumulation
Could see
Desolation
From space
Apparition
Crossed
'cross my heart
Left
Coping
We died

Rose
Scarlet red
Petals fall
To the floor
Riding
Like gravity
Angelic
Warfare
Powers
Principalities
Will we
Rise again?

It is through giving that we receive. These seconds are chances. Gifts we are given. I try to receive them. But the past, with its pain, is proving hard not to live in.  Four hundred and ninety times I'm told to forgive you. This hole in my heart has a will to be filled, a task I intend to see through. Still though, at times, as if frozen. I get nowhere. Lacking real progression. Stuck. Hesitation. There is wisdom in this lesson. I oft unwittingly am victim of my own imagination. Parinoid delusions. Internal manifestations. My fear is falling prey again, my pride is so defensive. Being the focus of manipulations is emotionally expensive.

                                                                        I am

Finding myself
              haunted,
                  by this monster,
                          your creation.
Yet thanking you,
               all the same,
                   for this painful education.

The Saur Us

A life without the likes I of you² see
Appears mirageously comparable to a desert once a sea
Profoundly destitute existance would be
Barren, bare, badlandishly wasted
I'd thirst thirstily for more
Of tastes fore fast tasted

Rather I’m an ocean formerly desperate, in dispair
Till you rained sunset lullabies, soothing waves of repair
What once was a waste
Cavernous and spacious
You filled full with affection
A void vastly capacious.

Greenly you stormed positively down on to me
Colorful charged clouds broadcasting immortality
Cleansing the slovenly
Refreshing as Irish spring
Than Leprechanic rainbow gold
More wealth do you bring

An erudite man need I not be to see
That no ersatz charlatan could ever replace thee
I mean not to upbraid you
For you’re fairest and most fair
A delicate flower ‘mongst gross weeds
Of this I’m well aware

Is it not sage to assume you beyond all reproach?
Know you not me a lame horse pulling uphill your stagecoach?
More than willing be assured
Less than a bale in my affrays
Yet pull away everyday I will
Doubt not what justly this says

I’d maim any man who would dare to defame
That whom I’ll grant (grace willing) with my name
Deserving of abundance
Past present and lately
Laizee faire will prevail
Fear not penury

I impart on to you, these words truly true:
I’m done with the invective, far better due are you.
Once achaic and barbaric
Now brilliant I am back
Never to revert again
Never you to lack

Know exempli gratia: I’ll love you post post-mortem
Id est, ours is immortal; ¡Vida sin tu define boredom!
Es verdad mi amor
A Spanish/ing fact my love
In waring times of atrocity
You’re my peaceful dove

Which is precisely why I refuse to refute
That life without you would be obsolute.

on

That new shit that you got is overdue. I've got the realist on my mind. Fuck the other guy. Can even get a chance to decide. That's just something. They know. Forces and voices distort this. Stunt man mid metamorphosis. What is this? Selfishness. She steals for sure see sells sees shore stores. Moors like Othello can shake spears, get a hello? Donatello was more mellow than the rest o dem turtle fellows. Swell those days when innocence was yet to be misplaced. The time between the then and know one wonders if was wasted.... Another quote, another song, a fork stuck in the road. Another reason to make reflections whilst chilling till the next episode.

erned

It gets a little easier when i make believe that i am in prison
like i put myself there
where i belong for all that i have done
at least this self induced sentence allows me freedom
but at what cost?
long days wallowing
it is sort of funny
how that cliche goes
you really dont know what you have
had
it is gone
far away now
all that time spent wasted
what i would give to have it now
they say dont live in the past
they say dont live for the future
they say to be in the moment
fuck this moment
fuck this
all of this
what is better
am i getting it?
how close am i
how long
how far
how much more

12/14/12

As if a vacuum has sucked all the breath of life out of all of me, worse than drowning, lost in space. I find it hard to fathom, the pain of even the imagining it rocks me to my core. As a father it resonates and echos through my entire body. There is no point in asking questions. We stand at attention. For the children my prayers are happy for I am that for them. For the parents, I am dumb,mute,

because as I put myself in their shoes, I feel shell shocked. like a grenade just exploded in front of my face. I cannot hear anything but high pitched ringing like a banshee screams and my far-off, distant gaze never really focuses on anything at all. I'm a zombie turning around in circles slowly, searching for my baby, who will never come back to me. God help us all.

eye fill 12312

JUMBLED THOUGHTs ARE RUSHING AROUND LIKE LOTS OF LOST ELECTRONS AND PROTONS AND MY AXONS ACT LIKE BYGONES AND LET BE WHAT THEY ARE
modest mouse said it best and indeed there is swimming around in my head and indeed bukowski is pretty good read.
out loud and given that the universe is shaped exactly like the earth ill keep on going in a straight line enough and end up where i were.
my only solace is found in finding the lost and proclaiming it found
i would rather pull a tree up from the ground and turn it upside down that turn over a new leaf
i dont wanna be a clown again
no i dont wanna live this triangle
i dont wanna be a clown now
and i long to carry on
in the beggining we were oh so grand
we started out as something pure and sincere
but now we see the evil within
i cant tell you
whats the reason

Nothing new

nothing coming out of me is what i want to hear. it has upon some reflection come to my attention that nothing i am noting is worthy of mention. it is like i am a scratched cd, like damnaged goods, skipping the same verse, stuck and can't get past. as much as i try the cycle repeats and i lose control to alternatives and proceed to delete any progress:2words task management. in dependent mode. these falling words fill deaf ears like a cup that overflows and spills all over and things get messy. too much. never enough. take this away from me. remote control. i turnover, submit, letting go, pulling off now to the shoulder; im frozen, i shiver, need help, getting so brrrr.... cold.

Bee Haven

Hear,
we go again around and around
closer to lost than ever found
frown
destined to be an inverted clown face
picture perfect
tupac paints a perfect picture
i see no changes
wake up in the morning
ask yourself....
yes it is
no i shouldnt
i really dont know what i went therefore
never ending
with none is more
that life is a bore
im a house on sand
made of straw
no need for puffs
simply exhale
im that first little pig
destined to fail
swine flew
cookoo's nest over
yes im well read
sky high
mars rover
curiosity kills me
gimmie a break
break me off a
peace 
outta my mind
fill me in
im blank
alls a dotted line