It's hot enough to cook an egg in my balls. Beads of sweat everywhere, like I had just gotten out of the shower. The window is open. Inviting air to swoop by and deliver fresh news. The air refuses the invitation. That bitch.

All the desires wished upon will be brought anon.
Careless remarks will be translated into a foreign language.
A web site for soul trading seekers
rants and raves in cozy ears
four walls are the new nine
the meek will inherit a fortune but not the earth
after a long legal dispute-earth will have full custody of fire
a tiny long lasting battery
things will grow where they're not supposed to

This IS

Nietzsche, in Thus Spoke Zarathustra, said we must become a camel (drinking up everything) before we can become a lion, and properly rebel against the strictures of society.

All of us suffer from anosognosia. Yet it's painless and even blisfull.

Union Square Park

Union Square Park home to pigeons, squirreles, bums.
The namesake gives it all away. It's a square. A couple football fields, maybe. And, it's definetly a union of every type of person.
Hipsters walk to and fro. Vintage photographers roam for the perfect shot. The water fountain that looks like a little well is a pigeon's bath as well as a man's main source of water, as he tediously fills a gallon jug.
Luncheners reading books. Kids out of school playing. A hungry man with a dance in his step in search of a bench for what may be today and tomorro's breakfast, lunch and dinner.
And people just passing the time. Wonder what the squirreles think about all of this.

The walk from the upper east side to the upper west side starts with google maps.
No matter I'm incapable or unwilling to follow strict directions. I took the first narrow road
with a promising sign that read:to west side. That's where I'm headed. To the Dakota, where John Lennon used to own several rooms in the opulent building.
It must have been an unpopular road as I was the only traveler.
The winding road got lost between trees and underpasses. If it weren't for the line of cars i wouldve forgotten I was in Manhattan. (or Manhatana, ain't it so Whitman?)
halfway to the upper west side a two-story colonial house made out of stone. Funny how it was in the middle of nowhere. Must have been someone's castle a long time ago. I decided it'd be my fortress. Come what may, Chinese invasion or what not; I got my fortress.

The brick road ends and the city begins again. The grandeur of the buildings parralel to the park is really something. The park itself with all it's grandness,mystery and hidden spots is trumped by the man made structures. Architectural nirvana or as close you'll get to it in the states.

--from union square park

P.S. Money walks all over. Union square is funny though. One of the places you'll find around manhattan that makes you feel ok about counting pennies.
Elsewhere, anywhere really, you gotta believe we're all the same.
He, she or I are no different. Unless, you want to welcome loneliness.

Swaying side to side
smelling of expensive things
(at least I perceive it so)
how long it'd take you to get ready
and walk out the door?
Eros will find you just for the right price.
Walking in stilletos down 5th Ave.
as an inpatient dad waits for it's newborn baby
you pace the streets swearing you're a fair lady
a damsel in disguise under lies a wolf's smile
she's a fox and she trots
in more ways that you'll ever know how
good luck figuring that arubics cube
the simplest things are the easiest to misconstrude

Outside the window
destiny walks the streets
as I lay here.
A dreamer of first degree
Where are you now, Keats?
Didn't you dream the same dream?
Profoundly so.
A lifetime ago I asked.
A century ago you did too;
Aren't we clocks and clouds?

Yea. Plato's answer fits best.
A clokless world is a cloudless one.
Order and aloof. Good and evil
Brothers.
One gets the other's bread.
Conjoined dualities starring at each other.


These dreams or nightmares (ask me when I'm old)
are excites by the two hands
until they're worned.
Destiny keeps walking the streets
finding some way to go
either she finds a White street light
or ima have to go naked out to rescues her from the cold.

NY Reac #1

Baggage saga is a story for another day.

Two hours after my arrival (great flight btw) I have all my luggage. Outside, in the Taxi line, it felt good telling the taxi director my destination; midtown Manhattan.
The Indian taxi driver was nice enough. We didn't speak, however, all the way into Manhattan. The only time was to ask him what the neighborhood by the airport was called. "Asturia." I quickly recognized it may have been a mistake to ask if this was Astoria and let the homie take me in needless circles for more curry money.
The building had a green and wood exterior and elegant staircase. I went in without a problem despire the keyhole in the door. I have with me 4 heavy bags. Ranging from I can lift this to holy fuck. Slowly, painfully I carried all of them to the 5th floor. Success. This is it right? I get to lay down my bones for a bit. Toast something to my arrival at NYC...wrong. Steven's e-mail instructed the keys would be under the mat in apartment 5b. Hmm..no mat, and defintely no keys in 5b. OK well maybe it was a typo he kept on repeating. So I checked the mats in the 5th floor. Apt. 5A had a mat and keys under it. Voila. This must be it.
I walk in with two of my bags and sensed something was not right. Why is there a centerpiece picture of three girls? They must be Steven's friends or one of his roomates. But man why do the same three girls keep on apperaing in pictures in the apartment. And the place is so colorful. After putting 2 and 2 and 2 and 2 together I realized I had just broken into someone's apartment.
I quitely left. Not a trace that a stranger walked in and glanced around. I had not given up yet. I double-checked all te mats in the 5th floor. Then I gave up; awaiting for Steven to text and tell me what's going on. I read and charged my iPhone with the laptop in the narrow hallway as people (all in their early/mid 20s) walked by. Poor guy got kicked out, they must have thought. And then the best news as of yet; they're in the mat outside in the door leading from the street. So, 2 hours in the airport and an hour and a half in the hallway. And that's NYC, it's not easy and even though I knew I was going to get in eventually I realized in this city how looking from the outside in makes all the difference. A plank of wood and human fallacy (damn AA) kept me from immediate satisfaction. But, it's a reminder that amnetities hang by a thread, especially here. One minute you're full of aspirations and ready to love it up and later that day you might be going around town looking for shelter or a place to charge a phone.

I hate Chinese

Are you a clock or a cloud?

And so the Time Has Come of That I am Certain

I will be documenting my travels as best and as often as possible. Maccy broke so the portability and lack of smooth, white keyboard will affect my writing in the most horrific of ways. Sigh.

Held by silver chains is no better.

Weird to be the object of desire

Upon Eros' pedestal

(And aren't they torn, shredded and made into plastic in the end?)

A weird sound comes a ringing- sending a chill

And the dirty words that are transcribed

A nostalgia for the Iron Age and the Scarlett Letter

And for Luther to write laws/rules in the wall

A joy to break them.

And it's easy and easy going

A breeze

And the trees exude ennui into the atmosphere

A rain of "who gives a crap"

And thrills seem boyish

A thing of the bourgeois or the past.

I am him, she, me and them.

And she doesn't know tact.

Irascibly Beautiful

As Lenny and mother reached jouissance I spurted out of my room through the long hallway. I was the fastest, most talented swimmer. Or, for a second, so I thought.

Peering began instantaneously. He swam as fast, without the obvious elegance of my motions.

What many believe to be a cosmic miracle is a 5k sprint toward the uterus.

"fleeting moment in a floating world."

Inisde a Dogfish

Bathroom Plastic Flower



I Love Lamp

The Half Eyed Diaries

Love is something we use to believe in before repetition kicked in. I am more in love with the poets and the undiscovered word than her, you, him, them. The changing landscape on my heart is a dessert; baron and cold. A wasteland. As in life, there are the thrill seekers. Who live to seek to conquer the wild, unexplored, the mysterious yonder.
I stare at them. My mask in full display, clownish even. Big red smile and white paint and yet I am rewarded. Thus, becomes the beggar's banquet. A higher conscious, if it can be called that, requires for a funny type of punishment. A metamorphic slap in the hand without any long term effects on the great fun it all is. Empty and meaningless fun. Substance abuse

Everything in the room was shinny and wet. Translucent and cold fixtures adorned the wide room. Souls roamed around this void space. They looked lost, slippery and thirsty.
The investigator said they came from the poster mounted on the left wall

Clean

The clean blue boy
riding on his bike
Ring a ding a ling
Zooms passer by

None the matter he's blue
It'll always be
Shame deep inside
At his heart; different shade of gray

He never spoke to a stranger
Scented candles on his locker
Next to Fabian's fables.


x x x

Where's the original you?
I don't recognize this intake
Remember the old boxes on the wooden floor
Packed memories

I used to like you much better
When you burned at the stake
And I rescued you and gave you a place to stay
Now, you ask not to leave

In the stream No. 573

A long time ago
A couple days ago;
You used to make me shine
The light flickers on and off
Compliments that burn inside
As you look around the familiar room
Search. Search for someone to hang on to
You never read the sign.
Welcome. Welcome to my desolate room.
View from the windows are my eyes
Starring back at you.
Isn't it what you wanted. Finally get to see what I do.
Lost inside my pyramid. My labyrinth. My maze. My bookshelf of riddles.
Put here to confuse.
And it's you, it's you. All up to you.
And have you ever. Have you ever seen a bird?
Seen a bird grin? Mocking your grounded thoughts.
Who'll pull the trigger? Can't buy what you sell.
Disfigured centrifuge in your brain.
Stop. Stop to communicate.
It's like that and this but I don't care.
Go out the back door and run to what you know.
Sad, sad flightless bird.

Wishing is for Dreamers

and dreaming is for sleepers. That's why people with insomnia are so zany. They're living out their dreams in the real world. Must be awesome.

I used to have nightmares. Do all kids have nightmares? Or was I just a pussy? Never had a nightmare after watching Titanic. That movie was such a life changer. Not enough ships/things sink nowadays. Where's the next generation going to get their love stories from?

April is always a slow month. Creatively, spiritually, metaphysically...it's just soo slow. In fact, I have a theory; girls, animals, gheys named April tend to be slow, full of allergies, weird weather (is it going to rain or not April?! Fuck!!)

At least Virginia is trying to have a month long celebration of Confederacy appreciation. I guess the Confederacy was a "big deal" back in 18k something but they failed because they loved black people so much they wanted to keep them really close. It was just one of those unhealthy relash where one becomes the property of someone else. I traveled back in time...zoom zoom voom goom hoom jum. And I was in the Confederacy, I guess Virginia. It was nice. I can see why Virginia is for lovers. I brought my MacBook, in order to document my excursion. Tocqueville didn't have a MacBook to my knowledge. I knew I had an advantage. I had the option of vlogging, blogging, making sweet infographics that don't mean anything but make me look like I know some shit, show my tweeps, facers and the online community my work and go viral for 15 minutes. Tocquesville is rolling in his grave, the old bastard never saw an iPod, I thought.
But, I couldn't find a WiiFi connection. I know the South is mainly white, backward thinking ratards but not even one coffee house with some WiiFi?? That's when I knew things were about to become weird. After glommed the situation in which it was impossible to connect to the InterWebs, I realized how fucking useless computers are. Like a TV without HD or a girl with no tits and/nor ass.
It was hot and the air was still. It smelled like 18k-something. I sat under an apple orchard and wished I had the ability to retain all the history bullshit I read throughout the years. But, the past was all the more present and surprising for the unlearned traveler. The stillness and silence under the apple orchard was getting me hungry or horny. I wasen't sure. I never knew how to distinguish those two feelings since I was a tween going through puberty. Ever since, every time I am hungry I am horny. And every time I am horny I become hungry. It worked out in the end. Mixing food with sexual pleasure and vice versa is the perfect compliment. So, I was getting horny/hungry. I picked an apple and felt proud. I had finally done something with my hands. This is how a hard-working blue-collar man feels like every day. I clicked on the conspicuously named folder "Boring Files" and opened my On-The-Go Porn Mixtape 2010. Three more hours of battery life; that's plenty of time, I thought. I opened King Dong and Mary Jane. The reviews were mostly inviting and had an up-and-coming (no pun) cast. Naturally, King Dong was played a black gentleman who was well endowed. Mary Jane was played by a white lolita, cute by porn standards. 18k something didn't seem all that bad anymore. Until, I had the displeasure of meeting Mill Captain Joe or Cpt Joe ride by and hear Mary Jane scream fro dear life. He galloped on over to what he thought was a maiden's cries for help. I instantly recognized Cpt Joe had never seen a white bitch get boned by a black guy. I tilted the screen over so he check it out and gave a sly grin. I had never seen the expression worn on Joe's face. It was discomoforting to say the least. Kinda made me feel like I was a sick perv for watching porn after having magically time traveled instead of checking out the sites and talking to the locals. I guess i knew Hollywood would eventually make a movie about it. So, why go through the trouble?
After catching his breath, Joe asked, "What in the devils name do you got there boy?! That negro is raping that women in your shinny white box."
"Yeah he sure is giving it to her." I said.
"I reckon you agree with this atrocity?!" Joe said.
"Huh," I was dumbfounded. Felt lousy for watching porn in 18k something but I thought atrocity was a strong word.
"Yeah I can see why some might not like it but damn she's fine, just look...look..damnnn, she's dirty alright."
"I will have you arrested for this immediately!"
"Oh no dude chillax, it's just porn OK. I was just chillin eating an apple, you see I get horny when I am hungry,"
"The rape of a white lady by some lowly negro warrants death, sir."
"Rape? No, no, no you got it all wrong. She totally wants it."
"That's impossible no woman would want to be with such a beast."
"Whoa that's a bit harsh. You know we're going to have a half-African American president one day."
Cpt. Joe's head was literally steaming with furor. It was anger that bordered on comedy.
He steered his horse up the road and rode away.
I put the MacBook to sleep to conserve some battery life and tried to take a nap under the shade of an apple tree. It felt like 30 minutes. I heard trotting and stamping in the far reaches of the road. By the time I came to get up the police chief, soldiers and angry people surrounded me.
"Hey, yall. I am from the future. Just kinda landed here. I love blacks..err I meant I love white people."
They weren't sold. I tried to be as Southern American as I could but their lack culture, stripping the sarcasm, proved hard to imitate. Dumbly I blurbed, "Do yall have a Cracker Barrel In Town?"

And the wheels began spinning. Before I knew I was dizzy with confusion. And who really cares? And who will have sympathy for the devil?

Something is telling me I am completely wrong. Being lied to by the cloaks and all the walls.
That I can't see past. There's a drummer, I hear him near. Blazing tune to the righteous path.
I've been lied by my youth. There's no ex deus machina in the end.

I wear this burdened cross for you. Prickly wood against my chest. But, it's your love that gets me through
and willing to search-for your emerald eyes.

I came across Poseidon, he was drunk from your love, telling me he loves you still. Three steps behind your celestial grace.
The drummer is all the time nearer, joined by a 6 string melody. It's not completely right but it's good. It reminds me of you.

Oh oh and the glue that sticks me to you, is all over him now.
And your breath is so sobering. I can't let you close to me.

I pick up my guitar at night in despair. While you're in front of a vanity somewhere-thinking what to wear.
Abondened my your light that once shone white bright. I am lost now in a dark room, why have you forsaken me?
A rare, lonely vagabond of dark seas not leading to no where. Won't you lead me to dry land before I disappear.

Everybody step aside. I;ll climb the sunset stairway on the way to your porcelain noose.
This love is not old or new. Rsvping reservations to a private screening.

Apoplectic People

The counter did just that during the day and slept at night. Breathe, keeping breathing don;t lose your perennial indifference.

Yes, she cried in the classrom. After the lecture, she sang us a song to keep us warm.

Prolix, prolific prolix around the Internet carnival. The constant blogger shouting in the empty echooo.

Ennui, ennui, ennui, ennui until you crash and born and become reborn. And then he'll/we';; be ready to ask where the[irrrrr

Who's that man in the other end of the cup? Starring back at me. Kinetoscope eyes, trying to escape.
And he comes only after everything is drunk. Still icy eyes looking at me when I am done with my drink.
Does he look for something in me? I, in turn, wouldn't want to be his friend. Yet every time he's there, trying, trying to look
in the right place until we become one.

When you;re surrounded by orange, stuck in the war of robots. It takes a lot of juice to get on with the drastic challenges.
And they don't think about the fort. No little boy peeping through the corner under the sheets into the darkness. He;s selling stocks on the night exchange before meeting his whore for coffee.

In the year of the future they'll stop using numbers instead reference points or arbitrary locales resembling the nearest holiday. People will be friendly in an unkind way. All smells will be pleasant. A mesiah will come, whom the Jews will deny, and he shall tweet his peeps his/hers message of peace and fraternity. Later to find out it was an internet credit scam. Sex will be faster and better. Porn will substitute the late shows after the nightly news. Three new sports will be invented all involving animals. Cats will be worshipped in TIbet. Some things will be so cool they can really blow your mind away. Most monkeys will talk and write, primarily for teen magazines. Interspecies dating will be the new "taboo." Lost will have a reunion show 50 years later and explain everything. Making something with your hands will come to mean writing a sweet code for a robot/program. Opera will make a mainstream splash in a big way. Also, letter writing will be cache. George W.H.F. Bush will be president. We'll have the first Indian president shortly after. By this time, evolution would have produces a couple extra fingers for better typing. Most people will have an iHome and an iCar. Corporations will be heavily regulated after the two corporate world wars. The moon will be smaller and closer.

Romans did it again.

Every time we think we've discovered something really cool. You know, this is our thing. There's always a Roman around the corner to remind you otherwise. Romuluuuuusss damn you!!

The origin of pwnage/pwn/pwned/pwnedo-loco ; Ῥώμη meaning bravery, courage.

Stay Tuned. Next week is the moment you've been waiting for. The Discovery Channel in partnership with National Geographic and HP Pavilion invites you into a special journey. A trip where no man has been.

The Discovery Channel presents in Dolby 10.3 Super Digital Sound, 3-D; Into the Wild Side: What is Inside Your Ass.

Journey through the dark passages of your colon, discover new life, explore the unknown. 8 p.m. Eastern time.

This just in. Hot from the newswire, whatdaya say Charlie? Have I told em? Well, I was about to but then you interrupted. ... ..Necktie? Sure, I'll bring it to dinner. We are still on for tonight, aren't we? ... ... .Ah, very well. O yes! This just in.
Scientist have caught the reading gene coming out of the gay genes' plasmic house. Genealogist and book critics are scattering to understand what it all means. Will there be an increase in homo-lit? Will the gays start reading in a collective furor, thus becoming mini-gay geniuses and take over popular culture for good? Will women be crazing for a juicy dickity dick? Will hetero-cocks be quarantined and exploited?

The answers after the break.

Ah, hello there didn't see you come in. Welcome. And, good morning to my Southern Hemisphere audience. And, to you Chinese...for shame. You know what you did! Oh, you know very well. Never knew Shin-Shin had it in her to do such...

Anyway, to the pressing manner this evening, afternoon or morning. There's an epidemic among us. Of biblical, King James version, proportions. A sickness, mental that be, is spreading throughout the great continent of Florida and the United States at large. A madness of sorts that strikes around 12:10 and last until late evening. It's key targets, for some unbeknownst reason are males 18-42, with televisions and/or Internet connections, wireless capabilities and time. This madness is detrimental to society at large and it is trying to decay the fabric of our good-hearted society from within. To achieve this, the March Madness as it has branded itself (it seems the virus/sickness has retained a PR team, a group of corporate lawyers, publicist, stylist and media aggregator. It is to be rendered that this is the first known case of a virus acquiring corporate status. Market watchers had big plans for HIV/AIDS in the late 80s late 90s but little HIV/AIDS decided to go onto third-world countries where hosting a body is cheaper and abundant. Economics, however, are quick to point the niche marketing helped spread their disease but failed to target the most desired demographics which uncoincidentally are males between 18-42. And while cancer has been the IT disease of the decade and has shown to be relentless in its inconvenience and peskiness, it is getting rather old. Critics are already calling the March Madness the disease en vogue. But, If you fall outside the aforementioned range , if you are of the female prerogative, if you align yourself with the gheys, if you are a dog or believe to be special, are special or are related or know Sarah Palin you are safe and you can stop reading this.

Dear Males 18-42, we must stand, altogether now. Dozie, dough, and around we go. After, we must stop being the silent majority. For it is for us, males 18-42 most cool things are invented. Internet; for thou to wachest the sweet porno and play sweet video games and sometimes pwange thou will in poker. Cars; for thou to go fast, in a shiny, aerodynamic rhombus. the iLife; for thou to hear sweet tunes. Let me go as far as the antediluvian, wheel; for thou to create the car and balls to play with. Tits; for thou to play and fondle. Indisputable, air tight argument for why we are the cause to the world's coolest effects. This March Madness is trying to do us in.
First, a waltz. And go. Now, the signs. Roll film... "Hey Doc, How the Heck Do I Know I Have the March Madness?" Starring: Rita Haywood.

-Does your sense of time and purpose become hazy around the third week of March?
-Having rendered personal hygiene is important; do you stop caring about your health and/ or personal hygiene.
-Do have a certain desire to name your children a namesake including "Qu" "De" "La" "Ja" "Ty" or "Sh"
-Are social connections, talking to people, seeing the sun insignificant?
-Do you lie at night and think about me? (Just curious, that's all)
-How much wood would those small birds chuck if it were able to?

If you answered yes to 73.3 percent of the above then you have the March Madness. May Bilas be with you.

There's been one mighty event, spanning millenniums, that has gelled all creeds, colors, sexes, ethnicities, mammals, reptiles, arthropods,crustaceans, and miscellaneous etc., etc, together into am eco-friendly goo of freedom, equality, and fraternity. (Fun fact: that's where France's motto originates.) In fact, nations, wars, and traditions have been spawned over the greatness that is March Madness.

To understand and truly appreciate March Madness one must know its history as well as the proper way to celebrate the sportif jubilee. Ergo, I present the

"Beginner's Guide to March Madness: A Comprehensive History and its Zany Rituals."

You're surely asking yourself; where the FX does March Madness come from? Is it simply because a bunch of collegiate basketball games are played in March?! And the answer is NO!! This is why you'll be glad you've read this and be ridden of the latent-ignorance cocoon that is/was your March Madness IQ.

The namesake of March Madness originated in a simpler time; Roman Empire times to be exact. March Madness is sportif war, there will be no tomorrow for the hesitant. Damocle's sword looms over each team. No matter whether they're from a fruitful nation(major conference) or a so-so-meh-WTF is Sienna- nation (mid-majors). And heavy lies the crown on the No. 1 seeds (which was the main point of Love & Basketball and Shakepeare's Henry IV). Naturally, our long gone and removed Roman forefathers, being the apt chaps they were, initiated the tournament on the month of war.
Sure, the spring is in bloom, kids are outside playing, the friendly neighbor is gardening the lilies before washing your car (in my head I live in the Andy Griffin Show, leave me alone!) All is bright and well. Err, wrong! March is a time for motherfucking war..ohh yeeahh. March, you see, is a synonym for Mars, the Roman god war.(Ugh, oohh what is it good for? Absolutely everything) What better time to pick up a pointy metal stick and jam it down someone's cavities than the sweet spring time. Surely, dying in good weather is much better than dying in dimly-lit weather. Ah, Romans. So ahead of their time in many barbaric ways.
Now, onto the latter of the namesake; Madness. The MAD from Madness stems from the MAD doctrine, or Mutual Assured Destruction doctrine in which each side has enough power to destroy each other, unleashing a hellish game or a bitter stale mate. A correlation to the unpredictability of the wars/games ahead. The Ness is not merely a suffix but a direct reference to...wait for it....wait some more...the Loch Ness Monster. Which segways into the origin of March Madness and basketball at large.

"When Fortuna Met Hermes"

It was a lovely day in the Scottish highlands. The mist from the loch mystified the surrounding coast. Perfect for a walk. Fortuna, a pretty and lucky girl was on vacation with her parents from Greece. She walked in long deliberate steps along the foggy lake, half bored, half amazed. Around the bend she saw an athletic figure running toward her. It was a young man, whom seemed full of vigor and possessed a naughty twinkle in his eyes. Upon reaching Fortuna, the young man introduced himself as Hermes. The lively stranger intrigued Fortuna. And, beside she was bored. He told her he was a messenger boy and liked to play a lot of sports and illegally cross borders as hobbies. They quickly became infatuated. The summer turned into sleeping by night and sex by the misty loch. (Consequently, Nessie or the Loch Ness Monster, being the scoundrel he is, voyeuristicly peeped from his hiding and thus were the first sighting of Nessie.) They agreed to meet again the next summer and when they did Hermes was unpleasantly surprised by Fortuna's sudden weight gain. He asked why the rotund belly, the almost perfect round figure and she angrily corrected him with the shocking news of the pregnancy. Still, Hermes was surprised by the near-perfect roundness and smoothness of the belly. The baby was expected soon and Hermes assured her he would deliver the baby. How hard can it be; you open your legs, the baby pops out, you give it something to chew on and wam bam thank you mam, he'd say. Finally, the day of reckoning arrived and she laid in a marsh and Hermes proceeded with the technicalities of the pregnancy which consisted of finding a completely chewable object for the baby. She huffed and puffed and after much pain she saw a look of confusion upon Herme's eyes. There was complete silence and the horrible thought struck her; the baby is dead. At which point, still in utter confusion, Hermes held up an orange, spongy object with lines across it. It didn't have eyes, or a mouth, or extremities. The most curious baby. It was perfectly round.
"It's our baby?" Hermes said mindbogglingly,"What do we do with it?" "I don't know but we'll love it all the same?" Fortuna responded.
"Of course, sure we will. But, how do we feed it?" Hermes said.
"Do you think it's cold? Put it in the basket."
As Hermes placed the baby ball into the basket, it slipped and made it sound which Fortuna took it to mean an alternative to a baby's laugh.
"It must liked being bounced," she said. "Bounce it some more."
And the rest is history.

x x x

The Rituals: Celebrating the Madness in A Gentleman's Fashion

Before the first weekend of March Madness is complete it is customary to sacrifice a pair of four-legged animals(doesn't matter which). What's important is to sacrifice two and one to be named Jay and the second Bilas.

An honorable gentleman must watch at least three games per day.
Then, the gent must text, IM, or preferably in-person tell his bros about his bracket and inquire about other bro's bracket.

During the span of March Madness a minimum of 25 wings, 4 hot dogs (turkey OK too), 15 beers, and 6 burgers must be consumed with at least one bro.

Each gent/bro is allocated three unreasonable fights toward a significant other. It's a side effect from the madness and it can't be helped. Loved ones should be understanding through these times.

It is strongly encouraged each gent/bro must write a letter of gratitude/forgiveness to Joe Lunardi before the final game. Not doing so is frowned upon by the society.

Wifes, children, pets, significant others are expected to be ignored and be maintained to perform basic functions.

If a friend wins a pool, said gent/bro must buy a round of bruskies for other bros/gents.

If a bro/gent accomplishes the Madness Trifecta (winning close game, furthering to ultimate victory, blowjob, beer/finger food within reach) said bro/gent should be congratulated and given a pat.

Gent/Bro gets pwnage points if said bro/gent is receiving a BJ and or fondling breast while watching Coach K's teary-eyed press conference after Duke's demise.

When is it OK for a bro/gent to miss a marquee game? Never. Failure to comply could result in bro-demotion or gent-exclusion.

Although watching sweet basketball games is to the utmost importance. Eye exercises, aerobics, cardio, and stretching are encouraged for maximum viewing pleasure.

Aphorisms

-When something itches, scratch it.

-The Boomerang Five:

Luke, John, Jacob, Matthew and Paul were a pound each. During dawn they would come out of their hiding spot, which no one knew where they were. Some said caves, others space, some said they hid in plain sight. No one theory was liable enough to sustain proof and find where they lived when they came out to play. The five boys where always together. They were jolly, happy

-sum can be put right: but only by going back till you find the error and working it afresh from that point, never by simply going on. Evil can be undone, but it cannot 'develop' into good

Dear Marko or should I say Dear #235735 A23,

Congratulations. Mazel tov. Today is that day that will be considered the first day of the rest of your life. Everything will change. First, you will grow a beard. Following the well groomed face carpet, you'll begin a newfound affinity for turtles and first edition mid century erotic novels. Then, naturally, you'll become flagellant and take cold showers in the wee of the night with your turtles. It's all part of growing up.
You are now a proud member of the American work force. A force to be reckoned with, in it's heyday anyway. And more importantly you're part of a gang, a gang of medical accountants. I strongly belief, with every fiber of my loins, one day HBO will make a movie a la Band of Brothers but titled Band of Accountants or perchance Tax deductions and Receivables.
You were always a judicious counter. There was a twinkle in your eye and a giggle/moan in your lips every time you counted. I knew then and I am proud of you now. You've always loved to count and account. You fucking love that shit. And I love that you love that shit.
Some will make the case your nature (of the Jap gene) made you predisposed to being an accountant. While it is a valid point, we must not disregard nurture. I remember your calculator. Old BetsytronT1400. I remember the day in middle school when BetsytronT1400 ran out of batteries and you wept as it laid in your hands in the cafeteria (you were so happy when you learned she was solar powered). Although, BetsytronT1400 is no longer with us, I belief she is in a better place and she'll be with you whenever you count.

A blessed, merry March 14.

First, I am glad to be able to share this most joyous of days with blogger, my Mac and my mind. And of course Jasmine the kitty cat. Some years ago today in an unknown country Pi was born. Pi Day it's not a made up holiday to celebrate a made up number that does some neat-o tricks for mathematicians. I like to think of Pi Day as a celebration of human achievement. Just marvel how far we've come. 3.14 was not always there and neither was March nor the day 14. Boiling it down further, at it's most skeletal, human beings couldn't even express emotions and thoughts. Now, near the summit and around the goat corral of the mountain of human achievement, we have accumulated figures, words, syntax, logic, etc., to devote a day to the number 3.14 aptly celebrated March 14, making it in the top 4 cleverest holidays.
So...how can one celebrate Pi? Personally during Pi day I amount everything to 3.14 exactly. For instance, I will wake up at 3;14 p.m. and have some apple pie as my meal. Each of my spoken sentences will be 3.14 words. I will go to the bathroom 3.14 times. And so in that fashion I will celebrate Pi Day. Each of us, however, celebrates/mourns differently. There is no fault in celebrating by woefully in one's room. Crunched up in a little ball while whispering 3.14 to yourself.

Yeah, I know...Chef Peen's Adventures

(Dear Myself, I hope all is in order and you, meaning I, are doing well. Regretfully, but not much so, it's taken this long to draft a porno. It has not occurred to me that this wonderful medium of animalistic expression is a spring of inspiration for any aspiring aesthete/writer/producer/soloist/loner/animal lover/INternet sensation.
Without further adieu, I giveth; Chef Peen.

[Background: Chef Pino Peen is a dutiful gastronome. At night he cooks artisanal pizzas, pastas and macaroni and cheese for his guest among other haute-Italian fare. Peen's simple existence of cooking and serving the hot product into hungry mouths is mired by only one conundrum; his pensive, David-esque, ivory good looks. His gastronomical creations were of the first order. Fine food for any foodie but they must have him. His graceful, composed body was the most delicious item a la carte.]

Scene: Peene's Sausage Restaurant. 11 p.m. The crowd thins as closing time approaches. It was busy for a Wednesday. Chef Pino Peen is in the kitchen. He's trying to make the perfect chorizo.

Chef Peen: Ahk! I'll never make the perfect chorizo. It's tasting the same to me. I must have a second opinion.
(He peeps into the restaurant. Only an elderly couple eating in the far corner and a young girl eating while reading a book)

Chef Peen: "Perfecto. I will go to the old couple." Seniors are forward and honest, Peen thought.

Chef Peen: Scuzzi, can you taste this chorizo and tell me if it's to your liking.

Old Couple? WHAT? SPEAK UP

Chef Peen: Can you please taste my chorizo and tell me if it's good.

Old Couple? WHAT? Take your shorts off?

Chef Peen couldn't communicate with the hearing-challenged couple and decided to ask his last patron, the bodacious red-head eating and reading by herself.

Chef Peen: Buonasera signorina, I am Chef Peen I am sorry to interrupt you during your leisure but I need your help.

Red-Head: Oh, wow I love your food. It's so mmm mmmm yummy. It's an orgasm, I mean pleasure to meet you. I am Cookie.

Chef Peen: Grazie! It's my pleasure to please such a pretty signorina with my cocking, eh-sorry how you say...cooking.

Cookie: Your artis-anal pizzas are my favorite. But they're a real enema for my firm figure. I can't stop though.

Chef Peen: Cookie, I need you to taste this chorizo and tell me how to make it better.

Cookie takes a small bite of the chorizo Chef Peen gives her.

Cookie: It's good. But I know which chorizo is mmmlicious and how to make it better.

Chef Peen: Oh! dimmi please.

Cookie: Oh, no you give me.

Cookie proceeds to unzip Peen's pants and eats his chorizo.

Cookie: And the secret ingredient to make this mmmlicious chorizo perfect is to add a cookie.

Chef Peen: Ahk! of course. Just add cookies.

3:19 a.m. in the afternoon

For me, the night owl, late-night creeper super hero (if you will) it's the late afternoon. Logistically translating into an eight hour sleepdecathon.I don't really miss most of the morning. I miss the morning sunlight. I think, it's the best sunlight of the day. Kinda miss having these things peeps call "purpose" ,"goals," and "orientation."
I mean, how bad can it be? I defeated ennui, which was the least fave of my feelings/moods. It's chill, some would say, to be a numb walking and eating bag of parts. Like a zombie. And, I love zombies. Zombies have a job though and that's to drone aimlessly and eat some brain. Maybe I can be head-zombie bro and drone around getting some head. Perhaps, the larger point I'm excellently eluding to is purpose and destination is important. Whereas, now, I am lost somewhere in or near or around the airport. Going to different places is exciting, yet, nerving in its own way. I've chilled with myself for 22.5 years so I know most of my nuances and the unknown has always been inviting. Kinda miss the wet mornings. A new day promised. It's beautiful but what the fuck happens during the night. The morning is always cool/slightly damp. They, presumably tenured scientist, suggest we sweat, exude liquids through the night maybe the world/universe does a similar night-time sweating activity. I don't miss the tired feeling under your eyes. Your face feeling heavy and every motion is deliberate and must be well-thought to be executed correctly. Makes me wonder if babies go through the same excruciating process for trivial, everyday activities. I also don't miss the walk. The walk through the mire toward the bathroom. If and when I start working the steps leading to my bathroom might do me in. Perchance, unemployment is a subconscious exercise of survival. Well, better not mess with mother, mother evolution that is, that's what Freud always said. Wait not wam-bam thank you mam Freud I meant crazy-boy Darwin. He was quick with a joke or a light if you smoked, his eulogy recollected.\\\

I've been to a funeral before.

For being 22, my experience with death has been sparse, even mythical. I hear about it, I'm aware of it but never really getting close to me in any significant degree.

Now, just moments away from the shocking announcement; I sense the rumination process a younger or childish me wouldn't be able to do. The initial announcement produces panic, denial, pleas for it not to be true. I uttered the cliche, 'oh my god' when my mother woke me to nervously say; Pancho is dead.

The sounds, smells are all familiar and the world outside my window keeps turning, while a family griefs. Now, I chew over what little I know about the particulars, process it, and chew it again. The at-large ideas of death are too big for an amateur to digest.

What to say about it now? Other than it's at the door, for all of us. One day you're fine the next you're not. That it is life. And our life, our reality will not persist. The grand glimpse we call our life is worth living for ourselves, playing it your way as to not have regrets when one day you don't wake up.

Melancholic sentiments don't seem weak at this moment. As I look at my own healthy skin, I feel feeble and futile. Yet, these electronic words, while at the mercy of Blogger's existence, look everlasting and strong.

Yes, you, you just sit around and ask for ashtrays, can't you reach?
I see you kiss her on the cheek ev'rytime she gives a speech
With her picture books of the pyramid
And her postcards of Billy the Kid
(Why must everybody bow?)
You better talk to her 'bout it
You're her lover now.

Now you stand here while your finger's goin' up my sleeve
An' you, just what do you do anyway? Ain't there nothin' you can say?
She'll be standin' on the bar soon
With a fish head an' a harpoon
An' a fake beard plastered on her brow
You'd better do somethin' quick
She's your lover now.

contd...

Long ago- a many years gone
when I was fresh and young

I couldn't speak of holy war

just the crusades in the history books
-a telling time of barbarisms and men on hooks

All jocose words replaced with extremist verbiage
every day words now; jihadist, al-qaida, far-off countries, laws and injustices
- I will never face.

And I suppose this is our diction
to be learned well, recited for clear-minded dictums

And wishing for a far-out time is all I can do
yet, can't turn on my back on the ugly truth

It lives in the now and foreseeable future
It is and it will be as it is

Enchanted with romantics
Not for long it's 1863

T.S Eliot

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are

So the strange man taught you new capabilities. Places inside you didn't know were there. Perceptions you didn't perceive. Colors you couldn't see. And after all it is simple. The mystery is found and lost every day.

Valentine's Day

"A love match? What antediluvian ideas you have! Who speaks of love in our days? " said the ambassador's wife.

With the creation of Google Buzz it's safe to say we (directly/willingly or indirectly) entered the age of Googlement. It's own ecosystem with no reliance on outside forces to entertain, inform and work.

Sleeping Slightly

After, way after all we are like Severin
--seeking pleasure
Kicked in the ground

Far Away from the Grind

Turn the knob, open the door
forgotten youth smell
Bright skies a white cloud
baby blue toy car
Hiding in the garden's brush
Chasing roses
Happy

Hey, YoutTube!

Rectangular Pandora/ crazy as a fox/ forgetful Madea or is it Midas' touch?/
LOL@ They're all famous now, for a short while/ Socialist fame but the earthquake is faster/
Ancient and new/ Let me look back to the future and past/ It's there/ Distorted and amplified for the mob/
Five stars, forgiving or forgetting/ Hip or with it, cant you get it?/ And getting it is getting nothing at all/
Tornado of words and croons/ Meows and heads/ I just cant recall all because of your dark spell/

Dorian Symptom

I starred for a long time/ For a long time, bliss.
Marie is a portrait/ love is a canvas

The more I starred/the more I saw
The feeling was gone

It's not fair/ How -
the more I look/ the magic is gone

I see Marie's smudges
and she grows uglier by the day

She's the Mannequin

Healthy and young (no really knows how old)
We hear your stiletto song
Every time- she leaves
With every hair in place, her scarf and leather coat
She's a sad song, she's a sad love song
Every time she goes
So damn sure- a walking mannequin of the party
Her walk and talk-makes us, we believe and want to sing
Far, far away I scent her perfection
As the walking mannequin goes

Post-Revival

The little boy thought in music
The world was so easy, wasn't it? Back then when the street lights were all green. The melody made sense and e.q.m everything was explained, he just said "look there, the proof is yours."
You don't got to be Italian to make a naked sculpture. Now, now is not real, he used to say. Impassioned, brave youth where are you sleeping in the castle? Doesn't he remember how the mind was New York and Paris; alive, complex and free.
The wind is so cruel, ain't it? Growing up isn't what it should be. I think I'll go back now to the burned back pages, we concluded.

I see her smile / through her invisible veil/
her dark eye shadow/ glaring in the mirror

lovely and plain/ Gemini/ her reflection in the mirror
dark-magic allure

When she was born/ the Magi was there/
A starfish around her neck

A black, silk dress to wear/
Oh, creature, creature of desire

Smile, Mona, smile
glittering dead eyes of captivating despair

When I see you smile/ I don't got to think
Because I know then what poetry means/

Staring in your tan skin
You got the Mona Lisa blues/

But who really really cares?
It's your love and symmetry

They came to picture and see
So smile desire forever.

I feel her coming

Look at the moon babe
Don't it shine bright the night
Look at the moon babe
Shunning the star's bright light

Just like this pain lady
Whipping across the night
Don't be afraid to let me
Guide you through the pale, white moon light

The Piper stays clean lady
Why'd you treat him so bad?
The adagio tune of the stars plays like green, acid rain
Please, swivel your dancing head and stay.

We forgive and forget to hold each other
White, naked, smooth and wet
Remember we used to care?
Isn't it funny babe, isn't the moon light funny babe

Forever pale white moon light
Through the field of crickets - I hear her
coming across the room
No, I can't- No I can't leave her behind

Forever and more
A distant guitar is strung
I'm left soulless and alone when she's gone
I just can't- I just can't lose her love

Day and night
Celestial heavens or abyss black reef
I believe, I believe- I hear her walk
When she came my way, that night under the pale white moon light


x x x

Pink glowing morning reflecting in the sea
The frozen hour gone to past with your lips and kiss
Look at the ocean, look at the ocean
Dark, deep mystery
Just like my longing love lady
That rings true in my heart when we meet.

Fast talking man. Grabbing hands and giving out cards. With his name on it. Of course, he came up to me. He was hungry for my world. It's not good. Look here, in this box is what I know and there I am in stop-motion- visual-effect reality.

Queen Marie my ex best friend. She's gone home. Up to the winter cabin to dwell on the grey morning past. It's all over now/baby blue.

And Marie she dresses and runs away from bed. Pacing fast down the street, leaving some kind of feeling away. The man woke and roared. Marie's pillow laid naked. He picked up a long black hair where she lied. His veins grew blue with contempt, jealousy swimming in his empty head. He couldn't understand how his baby has picked up and left him. (Just like a stupid man, he put on his pants and went hunting after her.)
Out in the cold, blue street, Marie weeped, sitting in a corner, feeling the invisible steel cage all around her.
Dorian walked by sporting a coat and a bit drunk. He called out to Marie to ask her what's wrong.
It's life and life only, she said.
Oh come now, come with me. My debutants know what I need. But, you know got what I want.

And you know, maybe...

God took a shit and down came the land, sea and sky. Now, that Howard Zinn died, who's going to teach us the truth, as the aforementioned.

State of the States

Really hope the Pres. Obama starts off on an ironic/sarcastic ramble for the SOTS or SOS. Something like "If you got $10 medical bill, put yo hands up. If you got $50 medical bill, put yo hands up." "All the cheating Senators, make money."
"Where my Reps. at, where my Reps at? Make nooiiisee."

There's been some criticism that Obama hasn't said something to really grab on to in the rhetorical arena. Lot's of great speeches but aside from Yes, We Can, there hasn't been that single phrase that white, middle America, mainstreamers seem to need to get on the boat for policies that would benefit them.
At this point, it's abundantly clear. Actually, Grand Canyon proportionally clear; the Obama Administration needs a meme. (for those of you who don't know what a meme is, pls go back to 2k4.)
As an experienced Internet browser, I've learned a thing or two on what is/what is not internet famous. The Ins and Outs. What's hip and what's nipped.

Keeping with the hip/nip trend (the Internet loves trends) one thing Obama could do to get some mo-fuckng attention is get pic'ed having a nip slip. (you know nipple slip). Just Google nipple slip. People love nip slips. If anything it's a psychological tell on our need to be teased. Sure, we can see all of Lindsay Lohan's pups but isn't it much sweeter when the puppies play peek-a-boo. I see you. Perfect place for the Obama nip slip...casual slip during bball game.
Next order of business Obama needs is to get a bucket of kittens. By far the most popular word/image on the Internet is pussy (in all its uses). http://icanhascheezburger.com/ has won several Webbies(for some god-forsaken reason) But, what youtube and icanhascfijnidfib prove is people love to see cats/kittens with large captions underneath them. Photoshop and time pending, images will be uploaded. E.g., baby cat looking into camera with it's big eyes. Caption: Me wanty healthcare.
Or, two cats touching noses. Caption: Marriage Equality, plz.

Tweens are really into the Vamp vibe these days. I would've exploited this for political capital a long time ago. As the tweens go the country goes, as they say. So, people like this faux-miserable Vamp look, et al Edward. Obama just needs to deliver this speech with some dark, emo clothes, look a bit constipated, a bit confused, a bit like someone is twisting your balls and sprinkled with a bit of your puppy died a tragic death.

If Obama is serious about leading us to a new era of responsibility then he needs him some tweeps. Old fashion campaigning, friends and human contact is so 2k6. Twitter is the new formal letter. He should be on it constantly, following the hottest trends and updating his tweeps.

(More, maybe)

zephyrhills to sponsor wet t-shirt contest

The water gatherer will sponsor the annual "wet tits around the world" contest.
"We believe that our excellent H2O will really shine and steal the show at wet tits around the world," a spokeswoman said.
"Because of our crisp, clear, non bacterial, non poop water, the resolution on the wet breast will be spectacular. beyond hd.
"
Zephryhills is committed to empowering women through the silent protest that is wet breast. The Co. encourages all women to take a glass of water, champagne, pee, apple juice or cider and splash it onto their breast during the president's state of the union address.
If this doesn't bring equal pay and treatment to women. Nothing will.

Melancholy; I'm not there. (In the stream take 55)

It ain't alright in the my old mind where things get confused with the past and present time.
We cried all day and night through the cold winter. When it was done, it was hard to get through.
And the wailing sounded so good. I was there, when she said believe in the air and care. Years gone she follows the Lord and I don't belong to them or anybody. My foresaken Angel that doesn't hear my cry.

I cry for heaven to hear my call of love once more. One for one, they pardon me I'm not there I'm gone/
The night before, I pleased the gods. Esoteric love for my lady, she won;t believe the kingdom is for her.

And she's gone like the rainbow that shined yesterday, As she's far away, looking at the street lights pass by in the flas of light. Inches by the second away from my hear. When I was there it was alright, when I was gone...

Her Media temptation in the old sea, gives me faith and proclamation
When I told her I was born to love her. I ran and walked slow
I didn't perceive her I was all the way gone.

Ohhh, sweet sun don't compromise for my comfront of stay. Don't' trust the numbers, because I'm not there. I'm gone.
I've been told by the man that's it's not me it's them to carry the weight-I;m shouting I'm gone.

And colors out the spectrum she surprised everyone. Calling for love to each one.

Human After All

So./ lot's of self loathing (without the fear) post-college. Maybe this space will turn into a diary and I can really loathe. /(I'm listening to a song that it's saying something about singing vaginas and tool sheds)?/

I wish I were a better life coach. Maybe Tony Dungy is interested. If my being/soul/spirit/mojo are all one of the same then I'm basically coaching all of them at once. It's a lot to handle. Thats why football, basketball, baseball, other relevant sports. have assistant coaches.

It'd be nice; someone else calling the shots.

I guess that's what some people call religion?

Yuppers.

There's a cold wind behind my back. Weird. Which leads me to believe I should produce a ghost hunter shows. But, what's special about mine is the fact you'd be able to date the ghost. We fnd the ghost of old hotties and rent em' out. Cha-ching, ching chingy.

Learning, much like life, is a futile exercise. Generally, it doesn't matter yet we go do it. Gladly.

Boxes, existential boxes are easy to make.

Everything is dead. All round in the cloud are neon lights, shiny things, calling for attention. Bold letters, large cap size BUZZ words for starring like modern art. Re-useable manuscripts of fake papyrus. Ancient to the second. A white-rabbit with wings exploring the white and pink skies, even in the dar; (through a back light). Strained eyes, thirsty mouths from abundance. Too much chokes, starves, Makes you want to run for the hills. Five words; that's all. A wink a smirk, coin flipped coolness. Get it now? It's no. 1 and it will be no. 1. Why wouldn't it be? It sees. It calls. It pleasures. It laughs. It taste. It judges. Chaotic order but there will/ there is order. Hierarchal order.
And she? so aware of other, complete disparaging issues. Jumping from one side to the next. Rubbing elbows, licking feet, blowing kisses to stout men. Au contraire.
And we, fools, keep the balance shifting forward toward the precipice of sweet release and destruction. For a > thousand years, thousand monkeys writing. Something will be right.
Back to those flawless boxes encrusted rhinestone wall paper. Instant metamorphism. No pain, no problem, just talk to the talk. Yes, visuals too. Confirm, RSVP, and conform.

Bright

Things are worse then better.
She's all too quaint and alright .
And the pint indicates i'm out of luck- I was there.

I remember when she and all cared.
Down and down the days mesh into a medieval-war drapery- I was there.
Ennui, ennui down the hourglass as I stare
Nostalgic longs of touch for my muse that was there.

Now the moons and letters changed
I believe she and them don't care
And I go, go by the road I know
But no one is there

There used to be a choir for a new mystic
but I've missed the alchemic caravan
The stars know the answer
And we are all for one. she harrowed me- I was there

Like I've cried the nights gone
Shadows of worst yet fonder times
More static, contagious smiles and sand kingdoms I ruled supreme
-I was there.

It's all diffused as I lift the veil
The father said it's gone and I can't
She's gone like the rainbow that shined yesterday
They've forsaken me- I was there

A coal fire stairway, it's a long time, it's a crime
but i need, I believe it's rightful
to carry on carry on the grind.

Tomorrow is Gay

When your nails and gravity have grown too long; don't hesitate. Wish, wish
wish into the fountain of youth.
I can't move in fear of going somewhere.
Imagining Polynomians garden in fortune and fame.
Silly, I wish I can go back from where I came.
The guards never leave their post.
Left looking like those.

Up and down and down again back to burgundy.
Everybody stands behind me 44th street when the street gets rough.
The joker is there to bluff and the jack to puff.

I believe I've had enough.

They Say the Darkest Hour is Right Before the Dawn

Sounds gaping my mind, like a roosters morning cry.
Starting a new, a new Sunday, a new life.
Blue eyed baby tells me to shhh
Listen and speak quickly.

THe ringing remains. A jingle. A call to the wild.
Meet me in the near future? I say yes, it's only natural.
I'll be wearing my felt hat, looking svelte.
Oh, look at the darkness. Oh, look at the darkness trying to derail my mind.

Well I, go in dancing through barb wire placed in darkness.
Till I find the sun sinking as deep as the love gone twice over.
Ain't that something; when you can't feel someone's lips.

Eros, belongs to me in the rain and snow.
Mine, mine, mine.
They don't know. But, I got everything, I'm an artist. There's no looking back.

Forever True

Épater la bourgeoisie

I walked the with some funny men of God. And the silent morning reminded me of the dark night. Walking across my doorstep, it's here and there and now. A thousand miles ahead. A thousand miles behind. Lenovo called out for some food from his balcony. Isn't bread good enough brother? I'm late for the station. Walking, feeling ugly and worn, taking a breath to lessen the suspense. Another used up 21st century boy. It's all right with me. The pressure taste so good, how I hoped it would. Like shit. Down the street, stopping and going seeing a shadow that's not there. I stepped into my little, wooden boat. Oh Odysseus, yes yes take me down the river....At the end of the green river in a boat house of lights for lover; I travel blindly. For I trust perfect bodies. Forsaken and broken, how I will they see me? Sweet, drowning salvation. Down with the seaweed with the garbage, I'll wait for her.

A fish spoke; there must be someway out of here. "Look here, there's no reason to say and go through all that. Let us follow fate."

Where are my five believers?...You know now fish, I had love in the morning once...it was hard to say goodbye. And you know fish, a girl told me once poetry is writing pretty words for a pretty fantastic world.

And it's not like that is it?

No, nothing new. It's a beautiful dark forest to be walked through a sorrow crutch. A flower bending away from the sun.

Sometimes, in my dreams, I hear shouts calling; defense, defense, defense, defense.

Sometimes...

Floating away all the time. A little further away from that place where the sun shines too bright. Some flowers need darkness to blossom.

A Bonny Lad: Rap Debut, Freestyle

(Scene: The Studio, black hooded sweater on with 3 bandanas on and eating bananas while rapping into microphone.)

It's the naughts which mean nothing

don't confuse it with aught because that don't mean nothing

I got 2010 bitches sayin' they want me

And i tell em I'm married to the game; my second cousin.

She's a bitch but gives me lots of bread

To feed the pigeons and ducks down by the lake.

Yo, I got so much bread-Ima carboload

I bang bang homies and their bitches.

So much fire, I got my own Cialias edition

Sublime Clouds

Smile. Smile at the smiling clouds.

A flock of empty heaven moving softly

somewhere.

Birds join in with the wind and fly, carefree

Knowing a little bit of rain.

A Fruitless Foe

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=122275446&f=1002&sc=igg2

First, it makes us put on extra layers of clothing. Furthering covering our sexiness and genitals. Next, it comes for our warmth. Starting with our extremities and a shivering blow to the face. I've had enough; Mr. Winter. Or should I say...Mrs. Winter. I know. Only a woman scorned can be so cold for such a long time. Even directing its frosty wrath toward the unconnected, happy, humble, decent, small-middle town (we're in the South but we feel much more like Ohio) American, abortion-hating, GOP hugging, tea-bagging aficionados, square-dancing folks of Florida.
Now, its frozen our fruit vis major. I would've never predicted the wintery cescendo ending in fruit genocide. Nature keeps testing us. And we shall protest. Let us all eat a fruit. And if you are fruit, I hope you are not fozen. Don't fret pioneers, for we cannot tarry.
Our cri de coeur will be answered anon.

The Naught Decade

Perhaps, it's the experience of two millenniums. I feel old.

And with age, of course, comes wisdom and superior sexual prowess.

The cub has matured into a lazy, yet spectacular lion.

2010: The Sexy Decade

It seemed just like the other day was 2009. To welcome the new decade, a decade's resolution list is in order. There's big hopes for this decade, it's the bud of youth. Ten years later, I'll be be 32, And probably boring or dead. In no particular order:

1)Attract and forage with older women. It's important to get accustomed to older vagines early on. It's less shocking (or lack thereof) later on.

2) Venture into reality TV...become a star.

3) Remake the jersey shore with a new series titled, Hialeah's Canals

4) Do things, see stuff.

5) Stop world hunger

6) Marry at least twice

7) Learn how the foxtrot to prepare myself for the roaring, bobbed hair 2020s.

8) Bring back the double wink as a suitable way to say hello

9) Fuck at least thrice a week.