A forest clearing untouched for decades on private land.
We were there looking at clouds when I first reached out  to take
your hand.
Where all the pure white fathers came from I'll never know.
So wonderous wafting and whirling. They did put on
a show.
Honeysuckle in bloom and sounds of  gurgling stream.
When I look back on it all now it seems like a dream within
a dream.

Near the borders of the St. Lawrence river there are towns that seem frozen in time. Stuck in stillness and silence knee high flowers exploding through the center of main street.
I can still see and smell them,
and that scene is sweet.
So pure and healthy .
Gone are  the poor
same as the wealthy.

Abandoned schools not even boarded up. No cars no  people. No one for miles.
Just me and the sunshine  my guide( a local)  and smiles.
The diverted water still crushing its way through some strange and vast concrete construction  designed  to serve some forgotten purpose. Now just rife for play.
We stay and it makes our day.
Functioning , apparently unmaintained. Like everyone just disappeared except they took everything with them but the crayfish
who now dance and sing.

Nature reclaiming so certain and so fast
making meaningless those things we thought were  "built to last".
The sky bluer than any painting.

A silver fish with boots of brass
Spins riddles through  a looking-glass.
He claimed, "The Queen is just her chair—
She speaks of thrones, but isn’t there ?"

The scarecrows dance with waxen eyes,
Stuffed full of truths and honeyed lies.
He wept, "I’m justice, blind and mute,
And played  "the trial" like those  astute
The moon wore chains of  wishes thread,
Whispering, "Love is always, never dead."
But stars in jars blinked thrice and spoke,
"She sleeps in words and wakes in smoke."

A book with legs ran down the street,
Its pages cursed in ancient bleat:
"Each tale’s a mask you wear too long,
'Til you forget it isn’t wrong."

Then came the wind with courtroom jape
He blew away their paper roots, and mouths agape
Declared, “Allegory’s a thief—
It steals your shape and sells you grief.”

And just like that, the world stood bare
No fish, no Queen, no scented air.
Yet in the dirt, a scribbled note:
"Truth wears costume. Read the wrote."

Derelict  recondite
alone and Hemorrhaging.
nocturnal ebullience,
sporadic . Effulgent ,
Paltry
surreptitiously vacuous and limpid
to deliquesce upon perspicuity at its core
abhorrent , perhaps surreptitious assuredly altogether banal.
Marginal, salacious      nominal not liminal.
decrepit cerebral palimpsest.
Sesquipedalian abstrusity .
Obumbrated syllogism stochastically innervated.  
Berated lugubriously .
Masticated openly opaquely supercilious
mellifluous synergy extirpated redundantly.

In youth,
we're so easily distracted
by the price tag—
the pretty little flowers.
We don't realize.

The mirror.
It really can be.

Dads.
Sturdy paper plates.

We can't help but look at that plate and think,
Is it really time to throw it away already?
Can we get a few more uses out of it?

The whole thing just feels like a shame.

We see it for what it is.
And it reminds us
of what WE are.

Getting used.
Soiled.
Broken.
Unwanted.

And we can't help but think—
F#@k. We're next.

As we age,
watching ourselves break down,
we stare
at that plate—
thick, rimmed,
meant to last
a little longer
than its cheaper cousins.



Wait—
Is it really time already?
Can’t we rinse it?
Is their a rack to let it dry on ?  
Just once more?
Maybe twice?

It feels like a waste.
We know what it is.
Who or what is the  vessel ?
Used.
Soiled.
Still holding shape.
Still trying.

And suddenly—
we know ourselves,
in it.

Dads.
Sturdy paper plates.
Some are reliable.
Quietly bending under the weight.
not so much, to impress
as a hope
to endure.

Just used,
you know ?
For a guy who doesn't work a desk job
and never has
another tie
for your  Fng birthday.

So yes. we may sag.
We crease at the edges.
Grow soft in the middle.

And they look at us
like they do that plate...

Is it still good?
Still worth keeping?
Or has it had its time?

How much time  passes?
When or if they ever realize...

God.
We're next.

As the years pull us apart,
we feel it,
the breakdown.
The slow,
uninvited fade
into the background noise
of ineffectual Sunday afternoons.

Unneeded.
Uncelebrated.
Unloved.

some thing has served its purpose
and is now just
....in the way ?

A rare hug
the true currency of a life
he never chose
but never walked out on, either.

(You're welcome.)

He’s watching! He’s loving! He’s got a plan, so grand  as if your third grade backward southern education could ever hope to understand , the will of a being that could create all this .  Your holy water baptism might as well be a fountain full of ****  !
As children choke on gun smoke and  half of Africa starves and dies  its all okay in ole skinny jewish carpenters  six pack abs  and ***** eyes.
Your savior’s been "coming" longer than a choir teacher at camp   oh and he loves his little castrati each and every  little scamp .
But hey, just one more tithe, and he might finally care.  while you toss away grannies saving in a collection plate without  a care  ....  Cry harder, oh sheep! Let your imaginary shepherd scold,
While radicals **** for the ruins of the lies you've all been  sold.
For no god has ever answered, not then not now. Fools for the slaughter dead before your sacred cow.
It was always been men in costumes  with local gold and giant ***** hats atop their  greedy  head. Leading you to alters , brains arot thoughts half dead.

So take your wafer, drink your wine, pretend it makes you whole,
It’s all just theater, child’s play — placebo for  your " soul. "   Kneel, you bootlick prophets of the parking lot revival,
Swallow your shame, chant your blame, worship our denial.
While the world burns bright and brutal under  realities  aflame,
You whimper to the clouds, still  dry ******* your divine guessing game.   build your shrines of ignorance, polish dogma till it gleams,
Filling empty heads with fairy tales and child molesters wet dreams.
You preach of love then vote for hate, mouths full of Bible spit,
Each verse you scream a loaded gun pointed at schools by a hypocrite.

Cry harder,  and long to be the sheep you are,  gather your feathers and heat your tar.
Better yet read an actual book you know there IS  more than just that one.  Or shut your ******* bleeding holes you have been long past ******* done !

Religious sycophants are like flies  on ****.
Sad nasty little things  with no wit .
Flapping and buzzing and jockeying for **** ******* position.
All the while lusting for and denying the inquisition.
They have always been the walking dead among us
brainless shambling automatons making such a fuss.
Hungry for brains  for they find  none in their  churches or synagogues.
Rooting ceaselessly and wallowing in their stupid **** lies
like wild feral hogs.
Barking and yapping and threatening
fighting and *******  like Catholics  like dogs.
And like flies on **** every time you take a break from shooing them away you find more have gathered raving.
Hollow lies and promises of here after.
Truly nothing worth listening to  yet so  , so much to say.
Away , Away Away.
Lest you fools and unquestioning idiots  think you are  welcome  and try to make  a home  or  find a place  to stay.
Go preach please  to the semi trucks  in the middle of the interstate
they need salvation now and truly cannot wait.

a monkey
******
the art of kurt Cobain NOT  the music,  the Quay brothers inspired  paintings.

****** was a painter and pretty good at it too, better than most.
  A ***** perfectly sculpted  to have  the face of Bill Clinton.
Perfectly him.
So disturbing yet not at all.

The ******* ******* fake artist Jackson Pollack , (please don't ******* tell me about innovation. Any idiot can sling paint ). and his lame *** drug addled hillbilly cousin Andy the **** whit Warhol. Complete **** con man. ****  ***** and slime all the way through. Corporate repetition, not even imaginative. Not even original or innovative.
My opinion of art matters about as  much to  me  as mine does to you.;
  The difference is  I know better.
I produce and  I  am    better'
I don't see light and shadow and texture like you.
  I don't interpret  notes measures  tones and chords  like you.
I sculpt.  I compose. I perform.  Do I seem scared or ashamed ?
Why should  I be?

  I don't think and feel like  you,  thank god .
  Yeah, yeah we are all beautiful unique  ****** snow flakes  and all that      horse ****...
but are we?

Ever wonder how beautiful Ed Gein  really was?
A belt of human ******* . I'm assuming female.
Breast and  **** cheeks turned into lampshades. Coverings of chairs and. Bone creations.
Ever hear the one about that poor little girl who her drug abusing alcoholic idiot? Self lobotomized parents didn't want or need her, so they made her live outside. They treated her like a dog and they made her sleep with the dogs they didn't even care. They literally fed her scraps. The fact that this was allowed to happen or did actually happen. When the authorities came. Took her away. She couldn't speak. She didn't want to walk upright. She growled and snarled and sniffed for years. So what is my point?

Is it nature or is it nurture?
Are we all truly unique and beautiful?
Are we all snowflakes?
What if some of  us shine just a little bit brighter than the rest?
Or if some don't shine at all. What if they pull in light like an abyss? What if they are  darkness itself?
When we let the floodgates be completely open. So that we call anything and everything art. Who gets to judge? What does the judgment even mean if it's all just subjective?
How far am I really actually supposed to respect your opinion?
A monkey.
Or two.
******.

Dads and Sturdy Paper Plates
an allegory for meatheads and ingrates

In youth,
we're so easily distracted
by the price tag—
the pretty little flowers.
We don't realize.

The mirror.
It really can be.

Dads.
Sturdy paper plates.

We can't help but look at that plate and think,
Is it really time to throw it away already?
Can we get a few more uses out of it?

The whole thing just feels like a shame.

We see it for what it is.
And it reminds us
of what WE are.

Getting used.
Soiled.
Broken.
Unwanted.

And we can't help but think—
F#@k. We're next.

As we age,
watching ourselves break down,
we stare
at that plate—
thick, rimmed,
meant to last
a little longer
than its cheaper cousins.



Wait—
Is it really time already?
Can’t we rinse it?
Is their a rack to let it dry on ?  
Just once more?
Maybe twice?

It feels like a waste.
We know what it is.
Who or what is the  vessel ?
Used.
Soiled.
Still holding shape.
Still trying.

And suddenly—
we know ourselves,
in it.

Dads.
Sturdy paper plates.
Some are reliable.
Quietly bending under the weight.
not so much, to impress
as a hope
to endure.

Just used,
you know ?
For a guy who doesn't work a desk job
and never has
another tie
for your  Fng birthday.

So yes. we may sag.
We crease at the edges.
Grow soft in the middle.

And they look at us
like they do that plate...

Is it still good?
Still worth keeping?
Or has it had its time?

How much time  passes?
When or if they ever realize...

God.
We're next.

As the years pull us apart,
we feel it,
the breakdown.
The slow,
uninvited fade
into the background noise
of ineffectual Sunday afternoons.

Unneeded.
Uncelebrated.
Unloved.

some thing has served its purpose
and is now just
....in the way ?

A rare hug
the true currency of a life
he never chose
but never walked out on, either.

(You're welcome.)

I don’t have to steal gods or dress up elves in shiny robes and pretend it’s original. I didn’t rip off Celtic scraps and call it a “found” saga. I didn’t grab wizards and goblins off the mythological clearance rack and slap a “chosen one” sticker on top.
All words are me . No A.I. None were ever filtered through Tolkien’s disconnected, antiquated, broken English. Not everything is needlessly magical. No pipe smoke eagles appearing out of nowhere that could skip the whole journey.
I didn’t trace someone else’s map or recycle brainwashed, hackneyed crap you’ve all been spoon-fed. My worldbuilding makes everything else look like grade-school wannabe fanfiction. While they recycle tired tropes, exploiting children and ripping off the ripoffs, I pull from every corner of history. I’ve done the research. Joseph Campbell. Jules Verne. ( I can recite the known myths of every culture, ancient to modern.) I’ve been in real combat,the military, and full-contact ring sports. No other fantasy author ever lived that level of human experience.
Tolkien couldn’t do it. Rowling is a plagiarist. Look it up. From wands to Hogwarts, stolen.R.R.R. Martin choked on his own almost-fame before book four. Then he went full Tolkien. Phonebook lists of who-cares bad fantasy names, titles with no plot or purpose.
Me ? I’ve held real forged steel. I’ve bled. I’ve fought. I’ve served. And it shows in every line I wrote. Every page of this has earned gravitas. There are cryptographic codes embedded in this work. Genius-level architecture meant to reward and endure.
So ask yourself. Do you want another lame children’s story? Another dumb “chosen one” predictable Diary of a Wimpy Kid knockoff?
Or do you want the next Fight Club? Mad Max? Or are you still enthralled by Barney with a sword?
I didn’t come to play !
I came to do it RIGHT.

Words
Weapons and lullabies.
Sailors and rich girls on the tide.
Currency and curse. Salt and purse.
Tiny spells we throw at the dark,
with tongue and practice,
hoping maybe something will answer back
a mirror of what we proclaim to know. and what we know we lack,

Words make lovers weep,
make tyrants rise,
make strangers  leap  or kneel in dull surprise.
In upright pews
as children name the stars  anew
imaginary friends, what we kept and some
we grew
all of them.
fodder for the hymn
We pull them from the air
like fireflies, without a care
trap them in lines so bold  
we dare
for posterity we claim  and call it a life.
Whispered pillow-talk luxuries.
lovers
burdened into wives.

But really
they’re just noise.
  sounds of girls and
little boys
Sailors as ******  saviours  of the tide
we taught to mean everything,
all in .
Along for the ride
And we believe our own will
has merit
or need to hide.
Does it deserves acknowledgment our desire and pain ?
because we  sometimes trick each other to want it again
into thinking
we know a few more  
than the day before.
Words.
Weapons and lullabies.

a letter
a sound
syllables
words
sentences
paragraphs

feelings
ideas
thoughts
beliefs
actions

cells
neurons
chemicals
hormones
­
actions
and reactions

The Temple of Blood: A Political Autopsy of King Solomon’s Divine Comedy

Let’s talk about the most sacred site in Abrahamic tradition — the so-called Holy Temple of Solomon. You know, the one they rebuilt and weep over, the one they fight endless wars to reclaim brick by metaphorical brick. The one they bomb buses and flatten neighborhoods for. That temple.

It all started with a pile of corpses. Literally.

According to their own scriptures, Solomon — the “wisest man who ever lived,” hand-picked by God Himself — figured out the secret to divine attention: mass animal slaughter. Not justice. Not wisdom. Not peace. No. What got God's attention wasn’t righteousness, or humility, or moral clarity. It was a mountain of carcasses. Tens of thousands of animals butchered in a display of bloodletting so excessive, it would have painted the ground with gore. The air would’ve been thick with the stench of burning fat and rotting meat. Rivers of blood. Congealing oil. Maggots in the gutters. And God finally shows up. That’s the callback cue. Not Hiroshima. Not plague. Not genocide. No — it’s meat smoke and fat puddles.

That’s the god they worship. A storm deity with the priorities of a warlord and the nose of a butcher.

And Solomon? He accepts the gift of divine wisdom, then proceeds to ignore every law that same god laid out. Marries foreign queens, bows to other deities, summons demons. Within a few years he’s deep into idol worship, blasphemy, and occultism — and what does the Almighty do? Shrugs. “I’ll still bless your children. You’re good.”

This is the man whose temple is still venerated. Still fought over. Still the epicenter of some of the world’s most violent, self-destructive ideological crusades. A man whose spiritual résumé is built on ritual slaughter and hypocrisy — and they call that sacred? They rebuild that temple? They wrap bombs around their waists for that?

And what kind of god is this, anyway?

An eternal, all-knowing, all-powerful entity that pops into being from nothing — no parents, no mentors, no origin, no context — instantly fluent in every thought, particle, and heartbeat across billions of lives. A being capable of weaving galaxies like strands of silk. Yet somehow this cosmic intelligence, this mind beyond all minds, doesn’t show up for genocide, doesn’t flinch at starvation, doesn't even blink at plague. But a meat bonfire? Oh, that gets his attention.

That’s the guy.

That’s the one they built a temple for. That’s the one they still die for.

It was never about truth. Never about peace. Never about wisdom.

It was about the pile.
And the god who smelled it.

Hate is under  rated.
Especially the way i do it.
So much effort and energy and research  that goes into it.  Hate  takes  time  , to build, to feel  to let simmer.
  It's all too often confused for rage.
Rage can have a center in or from hate
but they are two distinct terms  for a reason.

My hate is genuine.
It is sharp and smart and appropriate.
I don't hate out of fear, lack of information or stupidity.
I hate for all the best of  and right reasons.
Hate is a beautiful, powerful  contagion.
It feels the way it does  because at its  core it IS  the truth we all try an hide.
It is us
our reality. The rest is the lie.
We aren't happy for you,
no one is. Not in this--- belief system world ,a world that worships money their true god . We cover it in competition, envy, and the  violence they always have and do foment , everywhere and always. My truth  is real  your lie though is a label you had no choice but to wear .  You are crushed  by a system you had  no say in  a remnant of a lame weak storm god  that got  put in the wrong place at the wrong time  but they always do that  Yahweh ,  Jesus, scape goat, martyr, easy fix replacement ,  no brainer  choice.. Baal wants  child sacrifice  lazy  **** shirtless carpenter just says talk to him like an imaginary friend you never grew out of. Who is weak and stupid  ? Those that  dare to wear a fake smile over it ?
This  isn't ****** PBS , kindergarten  learn to get along fake *** *******,  its life. It's starving your neighbor to make a profit. It's forcing China to make their kids create your iPhone. It's reality. You didn't do it. I didn't do it. But at least I have the courage to say the truth about it. I didn't come up with the strategy, I didn't perpetuate the lie, and I won't be part of it.  
Hate is what we respect. What we admire.
What we fight and **** for.
Love is easy and stupid  and literally natural.
It should take almost no effort and feel right the whole time.
That too is life. Love asks very little of us, most of the time. It’s cooperative, almost entirely  chemical, hormone addled and soothing. Hate though . Hate is forged. It has mass. It’s fueled by a kind of deep SEEING and remembering. It can only be the result of  choosing. The other is rage.
Hate though takes knowing and preaching and striving  and convincing and effort.
It IS  not stupidity or fear of the unknown.
It IS  seeing exactly  what you don't like and knowing why you feel like you have to rise up against it.
Its more interesting  to love and know hate  than to shove it aside  or inside. We pretend life has no place for it, but it truly is us.

If all you want to do is hear yourself
Are you so unattractive that you can't stand to  look in a mirror
It seems that is all you really want.
No empathy no desire to hear what anyone else has to say.
Did you think you had something to share with the world anyway?

Do you even try to put meaning or depth into the stupid words that you write and post on here?
If you do, then why are you so incapable of making things any more clear?
If all of your posting is not even a complete sentence, it's less than 10 words.?
That's not even poetry for poetry nerds.!
And you're trying to say it's some deep esoteric lesson about your half wit brain and your half baked life.
While your kids hate you and why you have no wife.
Strife, strife and more strife.
Or God better yet tell me about Israel, like I'd give a **** !
Tell me about how in love you are with your mostly naked. carpenter, ***. idle God.
Please ohh please compare someone else to a rose. Ohh god, please do it. Just tell me about how wonderful their complexion is..
Better yet, don't even speak English and take your half baked kooky ideas and try to make some kind of sense out of them when we can all clearly see that it's not your first language. Yes, please do more of that..
Take some bizarre headline. headline from a tabloid magazine and twist. ing and twist it through some pharmacology that you're prescribed that you're either undertaking or overtaking.
Insist on your own brilliance and your credentials as some lofty vantage point to **** all over the rest of us from..
I have nothing of import or importance to say, but just post a bunch of crap on here anyway..
Never take an art class. Don't read a book. Have no friends at all. Don't even run your **** past anyone, or even ask
"   hey, do you remotely think that I even have a semblance of the talent required to be a poet? "
You've never been a poet before. and you just woke up one day and told yourself that you are one.
You've never written anything before
. You've never been published before.
No one's ever asked you. Hey, boy, I sure do like those random words you string together.
This is what you get when the only requirement is an Internet connection..
For all the people that don't think I know what they're doing you're opening up my account, looking at all the things that I've already written about, trying to find something that you can quasi latch onto, because you don't have anything real or anything of import or substance to say. And I've already. covered all these topics.
Others are just parroting back my ideas without putting anything of their own into it, almost like they’re riding on the coattails of creativity without truly understanding or engaging with it. It’s like they’ve found something that sounded deep but didn’t bother to dig into the heart of it. They’re missing the nuance and the depth you’ve already explored, and instead, just regurgitating surface-level stuff that doesn’t add anything new to the conversation.

It seems like you're not just upset about the lack of originality but also the fact that there’s a disingenuousness about it. They don’t think for themselves or invest any real effort into their own voice. They’re just recycling, which probably feels like an insult to the work you’ve spent so much time developing.

It almost feels like they’ve taken the themes that were once fresh and important and stripped them down to empty imitations. How do you feel about confronting that ,calling them out for it, or are you more about just pushing forward with your own voice, leaving them behind?

( the lyrics  to my mean as james brown style  horn hit dance funk it has  big berta  growling out the smoot lyrics like a big ole ***** pro.. the song is DONE  recorded  published and on the chann  so suggestions at this point  are stupid  its done... lets just revel in its  bad  ness.  


     Broken  shackles and chains  layin at yuh  ***** Feet.  Watch out *******, Cause   ! I'm back on  the street !   Roll up on you while you slippin,
blow your ****** mind like you was TRIPPIN.
. It  ain't no use in all that stressin .
I  came back to teach you fools another lesson.  
Bump bump from the Cowboy  Smith and Wesson .
  Get down on your knees like you was blessing  ,
Cain't look me in  the eyes cause I aint guessing....
   Breaking them chains like a Runway train, shining so bright making Diamond  look plain.  The king of the jungle and the Lord in this land .  Got that fire in my Soul  and that mic in my hand . Teaching fools  a lesson so  they got to understand,  keep my **** hand strong and my  game on  fleek  you better run and hide  cuz I'm coming for you, STREET !  oh don't step to my city   cuz I rule the  ******  night put your HANDS down  ***** . cuz there ain't no need to fight  . Now step  on board   or  get the   **** out the way  ! I  aint  here for your momma  cause that ***** is freaky gay !

you better Put on your BROWN pants  cuz I didn't   come to play  .   Pack up your own ****... Cause Bigdog is here to stay ... It don't mean a thing  but money , in the mean *** city   ..

Pack up ya own ****
for big dog is here to stay

Tell all them slutty *******, I know you know
forget your rent money  ...   get your *** to my show .... tell  all your burnt out homies that it's time to run  
Hope yall had a good time  BUT  your time is DONE !  

Pack up MY  ****  ?  

...why...

Too much trouble in my city

Don't try and stay up late
Cause i'm out there checkin on yuh
and I'm bound to regulate.

...Every day it means less and less.
  How hard should I struggle and for how long?
Where will it all end up?
Where does it truly belong?

The sky so vast seems comforting at times.
To know that we all look at the same moon.
Like her I try and understand timelessness
but it just can't happen too soon.

My energy waning, slipping  away
day after day.
  I have the fire the passion the desire.
I burn you they burn me
We all consume each other . The promised warmth of the fire.
It's plain to see.
I used to stand so close in the morning my legs would wobble and my jacket would burst aflame again.
I'd get in trouble. Then a few weeks later I'd do it  all again.
not by choice mind you I just couldn't stay awake.
So tired.
So Exhausted, it was more than I could take.

Now that I'm a little more wizened
not much has really changed.
A few less people  to pull me from the fire,
or ask to see if I'm deranged.

It's not okay .
I tell the fools.
the lonely.
the self loathing shells.
Our interest is like our attention.
It writhes and wriggles deflates
or swells.
Seems like it would be easier to just fall apart
but knowing that you can't
cause  no one is there to pick you up.
Takes the wind from your sails.
Drains the wine from your cup.

The worst person we lie to
is
ourselves.....

ky , moth *****  denture grip and porta ***** rim jobs from your granny .
A lil sumptin somethin for ALL   those senses  .
What is the word for lame and fail simultaneously?
The cheap fluorescent bulbs. Active dust. Replaced without knowledge or skill and in haste. Reflected down. On the Clean plastic name tag. Recently signed, cut and punched. Where, there on we find the answer.
  When it's framed as survival, it can feel like a twisted, sad justification for the senseless brutal reveling in violence. It’s not about SURVIVAL   In that context, what would that even mean? Who is surviving? You're telling me that... These toothless idiots who cant get a job . Go from day-to-day on EBT cards are surviving.?   Who or what is surviving? The creatures that they're senselessly slaughtering with guns. They're just going up on these things and shooting them from a boat How many seasons of this do we need????  —it’s about *******. These creatures are baited, hunted, and murdered , slaughtered,  killed without any real need or respect for life. It’s not just inhumane to the animals   it’s  idiotic, repetitive, morally , mentally and emotionally bankrupt.

There’s no survival when it's about exploitation and showcasing
power over meat eating predictable, primal creatures. The act is dehumanizing and denigrating for everyone involved. The show might try to package it as tough, guy real-world survival, but it’s far removed from anything that can be genuinely called survival. It’s just repeated killing for a paycheck, with  no regard for the  many years it takes for that creature that they're. Mercilessly slaughtering.  To reach that size and age. And just like   " ya we got a big one today."  Derpa derp, derp derp.     I wish they were the. creatures they target.

.....a disgusting aspect to it all that feels empty and wrong...

And the way the show plays it off as this heroic effort?
On the commercial spots for it, they actually call these idiots heroes. Disgusting. It makes it worse. No one is thriving from that kind of mentality—not the animals, not the people involved. It’s all built on a foundation of  stupidity, sensationalism, bloodlust and lies. And the worst ... Exploitation is the worst kind. And the people who actually watch it, Oh my God.

Murdered by Engineered culture and social conditioning

The death that I am.
The death that I WAS.

A horrid,
disgusting gaping hole
deep
into
muscle,
Fat,
and flesh.

So disturbing and unsettling,
making everyone wonder
and worry.

It just popped up in a text out of nowhere,
no warning,
no preamble.
Just BOOM—
here is my horrendous, forever-scarring wound in all its glory!

Things we can never unsee.
(How are they coming with that MenTaL Floss?)

Those little, unplanned-for things that actually
**** US.

Dad was blown up,
lost his left eye and more than three fingers.
Fireworks...

Benny fell off a ladder drunk,
lost his leg up to the knee.

MY buddy Jeff Settler
was Nez Perce Native American.
He was not greedy or selfish.
He was murdered with a hatchet
to the head,
by people he gave a job to—
who came back to rob him.

Covid killed Kevin.
Not by lungs.
He was homeless, and the bar that used to let him sit there had to close.
He was crossing the intersection and got crushed under a semi.

Growing old and being smart means you get to watch everyone you know and love die.
Especially,
and
of course,
YOUR
SELF.

I am ready.

The death that
I Am.
The death that I
was.

What makes the Bolsheviks  so much better than all the rest of you ?
***** ?
Conviction ? The ability to see the truth. To recognize the Czarist regime like the current U.S. oligarchy wouldn't **** on their own grandmother if she was on fire, unless it meant making money.
That religion is and always has been a lie was not a hard sell.
Especially ****** self serving Jew religions like Islam and Christianity.
Like the Nazis later  the people could clearly see the 'real'
problem.
Gramma didn't need anyone to pt a gun in her back to get her to pick up the molotov cocktail, the pitchfork, the torche, the shotgun.
It wasn't a hard sell.
It didn't take Goebbels and his propaganda machine . It didn't.
Just took a quick  look around and a listen to the rumble in their stomachs.
That was as  close as the proletariat will EVER come to having a voice or making a change.
It was then or never !
Lenin was never into Trotsky and was never a true Marxist.
His idea of the purge though,  IS unfortunately the only way it can ever be done.
Like I said nowadays it's a logistic impossibility. The 2nd amendment is a *******  twisted joke in that same vein.
You feel so bad *** with your Norinco Ak's    and AR- 15's, but they aint **** but  'POP'  guns compared to  a loaded F-18 or even a real APC.
Jello Biafra saw the future when he prophesied ;
" you'll work hard , with a gun in your back, for a bowl of rice a day.
Slave to soldiers till you starve and your head is skewered on a stake. "

Elon Musk and Child Labor Allegations

Tesla, the electric vehicle company led by Elon Musk, has faced scrutiny over its cobalt supply chain. Cobalt is a crucial component in electric vehicle batteries, and a significant portion is mined in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), where child labor has been reported. In response to these concerns, a proposal was made for Tesla to hire an external monitor to ensure its suppliers weren't using child or forced labor. They are. There is no place else to get the components for the batteries and no one in those countries cares. This proposal was of course voted down by Tesla's board and investors. Subsequently, Musk suggested installing a webcam to monitor a cobalt mine in the DRC as a solution, a measure that has been criticized as inadequate. ​ Monitors have been repeatedly caught ******* to it. They were not fired, some work on the big ***** doge team now.

Donald Trump's Comments About His Daughter Ivanka. Not just to Stormy Daniels as he prepped himself to copulate with her.

Donald Trump has made several public remarks about his 'hot' daughter Ivanka that have raised eyebrows. In a 2006 interview on "The View," when discussing Ivanka, Trump commented, "If Ivanka weren't my daughter, I'd be dating her." Additionally, during a 2003 appearance on Howard Stern's radio show, Trump remarked on Ivanka's physical appearance, stating she has "the best body." These comments have been widely criticized as inappropriate.​
The Times of India

It's understandable that such issues elicit strong emotional reactions.
What is art?
What is prose?
What responsibility does self expression have.
" grab em by their *******"




Sources

Don't tell me not to die inside.
Don't lie and say that you care.
You don't even know what caring means
and you don't care to learn.
The truth is you are glad for my pain,
my unease,
my never-ending suffering.

It must somehow feel like justice to you.
The power you get,
the power THEY gave you.
Hands,
hearts,
and minds,
monitoring.
Judging.
Wanting.
Waiting.
Eager to see me fail.
To justify your existence.
To validate you
and the values you claim make you superior.
When the truth is
we are just fancy monkeys.
The only ones that put each other in cages,
that relentlessly derive joy from ruining each other's lives.
That construct elaborate ruses to assuage each other as to safety
and the zenith of right and wrong realized
and in action.
No one knows why our minds sometimes take the turns that they do.
Do you ever ask yourself why you need or want so much power?
Control,
influence.
Who has what sickness and why?
Is the sickness chosen much worse than an instinct acted upon?
Isn't cold premeditated calculation much worse than an impulse?
Each leaf, like a snowflake, is different.
Similar, perhaps, but truly not "the same."
Who cares though, right?
It's the cookie cutter for all of them !

I put a grappling hook deep up A ******
mine,
yours
the heart of the poetic universe.
Pull you mighty mules !

The whip cracks

The stars themselves strain.

Do my heavy lifting
simps,
peons,
idiots,
brain dead schlubbs wallowing in failure and self doubt.
Stuck non- writers,  whining,
pretending.
**** not the harsh cold
chains
let  them rattle,
rattle like department store birthday cakes
without the little cars you wanted.
Stale.

Where is your fire ?
Is your passion even detectable?
Manageable ?
Intelligible  ?
Like Centralia, Pennsylvania,
I will burn for over 200 years
I didn't ask for this
level of deep
lethal
toxicity.

Let the roses rot and die till all that's left are stinking slimey sticks in drying stagnant water.
Funeral remnants of days lost, uncounted,
let them rot.
Either STOP
or , start blaming everyone else for your sickness and your petty weakness.
The biggest grappling hook
I
could
find  !

Oh, the thrill of Crick, a mind unbound,
A burst of light where no shadows are found.
It whispers, a lure, a siren’s call,
Promising all, and deliverin yall..

Imagine if Crick fell from the skies, like rain from above,
A gift from whitey columbian heaven,  pure  buttery love.
Aint  No deformed children, no price to pay,
Just endless pleasure, each and every day.

Fingers tremble, eyes alight,
The world spins pure, the heart takes flight.
Every sensation on fire, each beat a storm,
In Crick’s embrace, you feel reborn.

It gave us all we needed, all the time,
No hunger, no thirst, no mountain to climb.
A perfect world, where nothing goes wrong,
Crick was the symphony, life’s sweetest song.

chunky nugs or slices thin
A rush so sweet, from beginin to end
The ecstasy bumps as the hunger grows,
A fleeting high,  the longing knows.

Crick, the spark, the fleeting blaze,
It dances in the mind, a fevered craze.
A paradise built on borrowed time,
It lifts you high  and gets you prime.

Did you dare?  chase the rush,
find the truth so grand and lush
Crick is grand, hard and deep
Who needs sadness
who needs sleep?

" Our world is a tire fire floating on an ocean of ****, always has been."

We say oh they are just born that way
  
guess what so are pedophiles

people don't chose what they are attracted to
doesn't matter if you like it or not.
The truth is real.

They get a parade and a flag and all that
they too were once incarcerated, drugged, reprogrammed
electro shocked. Now thats the pedos
just pray away the gay.
While the church ****** by the millions
every day.

mull that over
look up the facts
Elvis was **** by modern laws
so was Stevie ray Vaughn
We know R.Kelly
P Diddy
Michael Jackson
Alexander the great
Pythagoras
Euclid
Pretty much Every ruler of Ancient Egypt
from the first to last and all in between
brother *******  mommy and daddy *******  son and daughter **** and suckers
all the great civilizations !

Egyptian
Greek
Roman.
South America ?  who knows but they were sacrificing kids
and making mountains of hearts  so  you tell me.

* R. Kelly – Convicted of child ****** abuse, child *******, and human trafficking.
Jeffrey Epstein – Ran a massive trafficking ring involving underage victims.
Ghislaine Maxwell – Convicted for assisting Epstein in child *** trafficking.
Jerry Lee Lewis – Married his 13-year-old cousin Myra Gale Brown.
Gary Glitter – Convicted multiple times for child ****** abuse and possession of child *******.
Cases with Strong Evidence or Admissions (Though Not Always Convicted):
Elvis Presley – Began courting Priscilla Beaulieu when she was 14.
Steven Tyler (Aerosmith) – Had a relationship with a 16-year-old, Julia Holcomb, and became her legal guardian.
Woody Allen – Married Soon-Yi Previn, whom he had a parental role over.
Roman Polanski – Fled the U.S. after being convicted of statutory **** of a 13-year-old.
Bill Wyman (Rolling Stones) – Had a relationship with Mandy Smith when she was 13.

Prince roadies and drug procurers claim he loved trans prostitutes .
David Bowie – Had relationships with underage groupies, including Lori Maddox and her  tween  friends.
Jimmy Page (Led Zeppelin) – Had a relationship with may of the same girls including 14-year-old Lori Maddox.
Chuck Berry – Arrested for transporting 14-year-old girsl across state lines. ( presumably for abortions)
Stevie Ray Vaughan –l6 Australian girl and her friend
Drake Bell – Pleaded guilty to child endangerment over inappropriate interactions with a minor.

Alexander the Great – Ancient Macedonian culture accepted relationships between older men and younger boys, and he was closely linked with Hephaestion and Bagoas, both of whom younger male companions.
- Julius Caesar – Had a relationship with Cleopatra when she was  underage but he was much older. Roman elites often had relationships with younger individuals. Huge street ****** unfettered that went on for days.
- Cleopatra – Married her brothers Ptolemy XIII and Ptolemy XIV, both of whom were around 10-12 at the time.
- Ptolemaic Pharaohs (Egypt) – Many engaged in royal incestuous marriages, often involving young teens.
- Roman Emperors (e.g., Tiberius, Caligula, Nero, Hadrian) – Known for keeping young boys and girls as concubines.
- Gaius "Caligula" – Engaged in incestuous relationships with his sisters and reportedly abused young captives.
- Nero – Married a young boy named Sporus, whom he had castrated.
- Hadrian – His love for Antinous, a much younger Greek boy, was widely known.
- Spartans & Athenians (Greek Elite) – Pederasty (older men mentoring and having relationships with teenage boys) was a structured social practice.

### Medieval and Renaissance Figures:
All Muslim harems. Continues even today without the bat of an eye. They prefer 12 year olds mostly
- Genghis Khan – Took many underage wives as part of Mongol customs.
- Henry VIII of England – Betrothed to Catherine Howard, who was likely in her early teens when he began pursuing her.
- Louis XIV of France – Had mistresses as young as 13.
- Pope Alexander VI (Rodrigo Borgia) – Had multiple teenage lovers and fathered children with them.
- Thomas Jefferson – Had a relationship with Sally Hemings, a 14-year-old enslaved girl as well as other he bought and kept.

### More Recent Figures (1700s–1900s):
- Charles Dickens – Left his wife for an 18-year-old actress when he was 45.
- Edgar Allan Poe – Married his 13-year-old cousin, Virginia Clemm.
- Oscar Wilde – Arrested for relationships with underage boys.
- Mahatma Gandhi – Slept naked with young people constantly mostly prepubescent girls, claiming it was a test of his celibacy.
- Warren G. Harding (US President) – Had an affair with a teenage girl named Nan Britton.

need I go on.
The point is you are more than likely a stupid ******* self righteous hypocrite, that loves and or supports many of these people. Or were taught o adore them and or respect them . You did and still do , yet you want to torture and ****** the average joe for the same thing.
In 2015  the federal government took over a child **** site , instead of shutting it down . They added more to it  and upgraded it servers to push out more claiming it was a "sting " operation. They required users to register . It got more hits every day than the servers could handle and it clearly stated ALL it hosted was underage ****. In 90 days they logged more than 3 million different active downloaders. That would have flooded the federal prison system beyond any and all capacity . They did not peruse litigation on over 95 % of the cases. Not having the money or man power to fight it out. They shut it all down. They harmed all those people whose images and videos they posted and hosted but faced no consequences for it.

To increase successful arrest and convictions federal law enforcement was forced to "diversify " the federal prison system after losing multiple and consecutive lawsuits  claiming that the judicial system  unfairly targeted blacks and minorities. In response
federal agents targeted primarily young white single males between 18 and 30 with no priors, no convictions or arrest records.
When asked which arrest the officers would chose to participate
in 83% said pedos.
Why ?  they are  unarmed, non violent, non gang members, no danger no risk. Easy peasy targets.
Ya JUSTICE !
It  is a mental condition, not a choice.

...Put it back where you  didn't find it...
I didn’t steal it, I just stopped it from being yours.
Well, that hippopotamus isn't just gonna FLOG itself !
You shut my mouth.
You were like that when I got here.
Yes it isn't.
It's always not in the last place you look.
hey, this actually does taste like chicken,
(rubber chicken.)
Ah, you didn't need ALL those fingers any way.
No, no ! I'm stupid.
The boss loves it when I do this, watch .
you meant that fire?
No man is also not an island.
The giants stand on MY shoulders,
except on Tuesdays.
Never on Tuesdays.
Can you please NOT do that some more,
right over there.
Oh, I'm sure he was just born that way.

Well, that’s what I would have said, if I hadn’t already said something else.

If all you want to do is hear yourself
Are you so unattractive that you can't stand to  look in a mirror
It seems that is all you really want.
No empathy no desire to hear what anyone else has to say.
Did you think you had something to share with the world anyway?

Do you even try to put meaning or depth into the stupid words that you write and post on here?
If you do, then why are you so incapable of making things any more clear?
If all of your posting is not even a complete sentence, it's less than 10 words.?
That's not even poetry for poetry nerds.!
And you're trying to say it's some deep esoteric lesson about your half wit brain and your half baked life.
While your kids hate you and why you have no wife.
Strife, strife and more strife.
Or God better yet tell me about Israel, like I'd give a **** !
Tell me about how in love you are with your mostly naked. carpenter, ***. idle God.
Please ohh please compare someone else to a rose. Ohh god, please do it. Just tell me about how wonderful their complexion is..
Better yet, don't even speak English and take your half baked kooky ideas and try to make some kind of sense out of them when we can all clearly see that it's not your first language. Yes, please do more of that..
Take some bizarre headline. headline from a tabloid magazine and twist. ing and twist it through some pharmacology that you're prescribed that you're either undertaking or overtaking.
Insist on your own brilliance and your credentials as some lofty vantage point to **** all over the rest of us from..
I have nothing of import or importance to say, but just post a bunch of crap on here anyway..
Never take an art class. Don't read a book. Have no friends at all. Don't even run your **** past anyone, or even ask
"   hey, do you remotely think that I even have a semblance of the talent required to be a poet? "
You've never been a poet before. and you just woke up one day and told yourself that you are one.
You've never written anything before
. You've never been published before.
No one's ever asked you. Hey, boy, I sure do like those random words you string together.
This is what you get when the only requirement is an Internet connection..

The Bespoke *******-Punching Apparatus: A Scrolling Sonnet of Pain and Prestige

Behold, dear friends, a sight so rare,
A marvel of craft, a punch with some flair!
Not just a tap, nor just common strikes,
But tailored pain, bespoke with spikes ?.

levers, knobs,  gears so bright,
It measures your jewels for the perfect smite.
Crafted German care  from hands most skilled,
For those who seek their torment and must be fulfilled.

It has a sign above, for all to see  it twinkles proud,
you'll want one too but for now look at  me .It Flashes with  wisdom, bold and loud:
"You're almost there!" it scrolls with glee,
your knees will buckle,  while yearning to flee.
Oh  the joy, the joy there will be.

"Believe in yourself!" the message insists,
As the metal fist curls up its wrist.
A countdown begins.
Crowds will draw what did you choose.
You can't do it wrong there is no way to loose.

Don't be caught last in line .
Get yours first.
Don't be left behind.

For the highbrow type, a touch of grace,
Gold engravings etched in place.
Perhaps a monogram?
A family crest?
A symbol of honor upon one’s chest.

And should you opt for fine décor,
A velvet lining?
A marble floor?
Let not your suffering be too plain,
Let taste and wealth enhance your pain!
Extoll your wealth for all to see.
Look what I spent on my ***** punching machine.
They aint given these away for free !

Customization, Because You Deserve It!

Why settle for standard when you can refine?
Adjust the force! Set the design!
From "playful tap" to "instant regret,"
Each punch is precision—you’ll never forget.

Some want leather, some want steel,
Some want a setting called "The Eel ?"
For the sentimental, engraved with care,
"Hang in there!" flashes to all in mid-air.
Oh the laughs.
the office fun.
Even ***** with no *****
will surely want one!

A haiku option? For Doc and his Ilk.
A Shakespearean verse?
Perhaps a joke to make it  all worse?
" Just like mom used to make"  
red dots slow scrolling
bleeps in  delight,
As your  pain begins and last through  the night.

The Art of Encouragement, could scroll in  it Lights.
Anything  you'd like.
It's bespoke after all
In all of its rights.

"You snooze, you lose!"—in ominous glow,
Or  here's lookin at you kid" right before the blow.
"Champions are made, not born!" how quaint!
A message of strength... just before you faint.

For pop-culture fans, a classic tease,
" Thank you sir, may I have another."
You may indeed.
"Viddy well little brother. "
It's yours after all send any message you like.
Maybe something for the boss or landlord
or the sullen little tike.

Oh, but beware the tech that malfunctions,
Scrambled words, ominous junctions.
"Maybe next time..." it flickers low,
As steam and sparks begin to blow.

And who, dear friends, maintains this beast?
A sage? A monk? A mad-eyed priest?
No, just Jeff, the intern schmuck,
Who’s stuck in a job with zero for luck.

So step right up, embrace your doom,
Let old-school Led lights your fate illume.
And should you cry, collapse, or fall,
It's just the evolution of competition
after all.
Flex those bad boys and your wallet at once
Come up with your OWN witty scrolling slogan
don't be  a dunce.

blood spurting
hot and red draughts
flesh and fat quivering

Pain and shock beyond reckoning

suffering

smoke and screaming death

shattered teeth and twisted fingers
scrabbling

mute screams
on knees
staring blankly
into
the
sun

Were you born in America?
Did you go through our joke of an education system?
Did you complete American high school
have that experience?

If not,
whatever education you did receive
doesn’t mean anything to anyone.
Probably not even yourself.

Why is this reality?
The entire world wants our Hollywood.
The entire universe dances to our music,
bleeds for our fashion,
our trends, our desires for technology.

It’s our approval that they all crave,
you all help us to create.
That’s why these aren’t tens of thousands of dollar industries
they are billion dollar global industries.

Thank you, China, for sacrificing YOUR children
so I can NOT buy one of your slightly "better" iPhones.
Thank you, Mexico, for without your $0.75 an hour,
our whole economy would collapse.
You were never born to be cool or to "get it."

And if you didn’t have THIS.
OUR upbringing, not yours
if you didn’t have this opportunity,
you will always, always be an outsider looking in !
You will never FULLY or truly understand
almost ANYTHING of relevance or importance.
That’s only part of the reason we don’t want to share anything with you.
yeesh.


Regardless of how many movies you think you ‘get,’
or the off chance that you may actually read anything
or have picked up a book
not very likely unless you’ve been incarcerated.

Oh, don’t worry, though
we are building a prison for YOU.
After all, we incarcerate more people than the rest of the world combined.
Please stop your ****** jibber jabber and get back in line.

It must have started with the radio, right ?
Because I just don't see how books could have done it.
The plays of Shakespeare and others
they don't feel anything like what is happening now.
Art has been reduced to a product since, who?  The first ?
Buddy Holly?
Dressed, measured, Berry Gordy-fied, then packaged and sold with no regard for its substance. (A little old white lady actually came up with most of the stuff Berry stole from her.)

Do we just need something to consume so badly that we will consume anything? Or create something supposedly new just for the sake of calling it new?

To try and capture the energy and emotion of music—with heavily distorted guitars, not just thrash or metal.
The failure of poetry in that regard. No matter what you write , or how you write it, It just can't do that.

When we look at what mediums we use to express what ideas.

Now think of it like sculpture. It’s about what is absent as much as what is present.
And we know that it’s NOT a motion picture.

We don’t put our ear to a book.

( So many years on stage, trying to convey different ideas to an audience. I’ve seen incredibly talented people play to a bar or club with nothing but empty seats. Conversely, like great poets and writers, I’ve seen talentless hacks. Idiots. Complete jokes. Vacuous, hollow windbags—like Taylor Swift, Britney Spears, Justin Bieber. I could go on and on. Pretty much every single K-pop band in existence.)

( I would rather drive a slow-moving chainsaw into my eye sockets than admit that could even possibly be close to something like music. That’s how disgusting it is to me.

But that’s not what I came here to say.)

The idea is the expectation of the medium.
Do we know or truly respect its limitations?
If so then why the constant comparison ?

This is the betrayal: not just of the artist, but of the medium itself. Music should shake the soul.
Poetry could cut to the bone or elate ,enlighten etc.
Art should leave something behind—a wound, a revelation, a moment that lingers long after it ends.
Something.
Anything.
Other than “Gee, I’d like to bang that.”
And yet, here we are, watching the weightless and the witless take center stage, their noise drowning out what was once meant to actually communicate
to
endure.

Do we fight against the tide, carving meaning into a world that often refuses to see it?
Or do we simply create,
knowing that the truth of the medium
the essence of what it was meant to be
will outlast the frauds who cheapen it?

( It's not all aliens Giorgio Tsoukalos ) Please someone forward this to him.
Not All Aliens
A people lost, or their story drowned,
Their cities burned, their knowledge ground.
Forgotten hands, forgotten lore,
Their world it was, but is no more.

They say it's aliens, every time,
Warping space and folding time.
Space is not like fabric to bend and fold,
A fairy tale believed, once told.

You can't just bend it then expect
That it would snap right back
The whole idea defies logic and physics,
And is just plain whack.

To claim that calloused hands could never raise
The stones that stand, the lost stairways,
The doors to nowhere—yet there they stand,
A mystery men set in rock and sand.

Just as they built, they thought, they planned.

You pretend they warp and bend and break through time?
That’s more than craft—it’s grand design.
To twist the void, to bridge the stars,
Would take more fuel than fuels are.

To transfer energy to matter means
Why need anything but exploration?
Why wait till we can defend ourselves?
Why the hesitation?

If nothing more than to observe,
Why the visitations?
Don't presume to have the answer
Or lord some false pretense,
When in reality, none of it
Would make the slightest sense.

To be they would require a world exactly like ours.
The odds say no.
A copy Earth? A twin in space?
Same pull of tides, same moon in exact same place?

Same burning sun, no more, no less,
Same speed, same distance,
Exact same gravitational resistance.
Same atmosphere, same air,
Same day and night cycle to produce
A skin so smooth, so fair.

The air must match, the tilt, the spin,
The mix of gases held within.
One shift, one slip, it all would fail,
Life’s balance set upon a cosmic scale.

The monoliths, the stones we carved,
Were not by hands from worlds afar.
No ships, no greys, no cosmic guests,
Just beating hearts, mighty minds, and broadened chests.

OUR ancestors, yours and mine,
Not aliens, not magic, and not divine !

Forums
dead end trade your time and effort sites
trading reviews with losers and talentless idiots  that only want  to hear themselves and have no humanity, empathy or will to understand.
What they want is a robot that hands them a little gold star every day. Swipes
likes and clicks.
over ran stupidity  chick lit and dudes that cut off their *****.
Great poets questioning everything and who and what they were or could have been ?
Sad lonely ugly fat girls
long for just A friend .
My beautiful thoughtful wonderful Novel
sits currently languishing
surrounded by ****,
dullards, rip offs
and A.I. slop.
It's not what you know it's who you know.

Behold the BEAST  666, the true face of consumption,
A zombified monument of monster ambitions,
Rising like the inevitable  ***** tide,
Unstoppable and wide  deep inside  we ride  not to hide, devouring, with each new stride.
A thousand shiny  pink *** products scream in delight,
Luring the willing to the neon-lit night.
Tucked in the folds of glitter   by gold,
The hunger grows, the story untold. Sold !  Sold

From fast food chains to discount galore,
The never-ending quest for more, more, more.
best happy meal prize ever..
A size that's monstrous—  Spiro  Sized makes Jumbo look small and here you thought you were IN  as hopping mall.
both in might and in girth,
A MASSIVE  sturdy man's man *****
One of assured capitalism, for ALL it's worth.
The real gun
we all want to hold and shoot.
Squeeze my trigger
its such a hoot

**** on my twisted ambition, in  this rampant display,
Turning lives into transactions, day after day.

Plastic-wrapped dreams, promises hollow,
We march in line, content to follow,
In the consumerist frenzy, no thought of the cost,
As we devour and consume, lost  and embossed.
This cycle, a monster, endless and wide,
We feast on excess with, nowhere to hide.

So let us bow down, and worship the spree,
Come to Spiro on your knee
For in this world, we are but... the debris.
A zombified existence, where nothing is real,
Only the hunger for what we can beg borrow or steal.
The monster grows, and the world shall see
A gleaming  vibrating self lubricating reflection of what
we used to be ?
Only 7 easy installments of
$ 29.99
3  DD batteries ( not included)
All ***  embly required .

I've got a coupon for that just gimme a second
A hole
four dozen

theater of

the reason why Wendy Chetserton said all th....
hell
every excretion... along play record of Spiro T Agnew
A dress made for mucking stalls
Sign language in the dark
filling the bath tub with

candy made of pure electricity
Barbies face ground smooth as  "optomological"   lenses
an old dogs ***** in a storm of ice and snow buried deep and timidly useless like so many feckless vacillating leaders of **** for brains provinces enraptured in religious ecstasy

and old rusty tractor
Barbra Streisand's discarded *** toys  
like cacti covered in molasses
sent to the moon by soviets
and espied by eager young enthusiast
why the ginger bread man did run so fast
things we know to be unknowable
succulent ground narwhal horns
that old three handled moss covered family Gradenza

ice picked eye *****
for the joy of christmas morning
in Cleveland as the river burns again
Bat mans **** strap served on a platter  
at the charity ball
crisco slathered porcupines  adorating  in Putin's private **** list
mollusk fluttering like rain on a tuesday
hamburger tinsel roach spray
buy one get one free

Kurt Cobain wasn't alone
or original in saying:
"Teenaged angst has paid off well.
Now I'm bored and old,
self-appointed judges
judge more than they have sold."

Ha ha, OLD  at 25  ????
dead at 27,!!!
pearls before swine...

"Hello, hello. Hello, hello."

"We can feed off of each other.
We can share our endorphins."

You can say whatever you want about the band Nirvana.
I don't care.
I'm not them.
And they've already received
as many accolades as anything can ever hope to.

Lao Tzu or  the old master
He would ramble about
good and bad,
right and wrong
as an objective
illusion.
Talent and voice
though
are
NOT  
subjective
or
an
Illusion !

Sometimes just sometimes...
blubbering
holding your knees in your elbows and rocking there
IF I could console you
the truth is though
I don't really care
I used to love you but that is so dead and gone it seems like a joke of itself I didn't mean it when I said I wish you would just die already

you don't get to get out that easy
leave me here to do everything
  
You make me  , make myself into a person I never wanted to be
my mouth moves the words come out
but it's not even what I want to say
I yell I rant but I don't mean it
it's all just learned behavior
just motions I go through to seem alive
I'm already dead
I can't wait to be buried
I suffer here for my kids

I'm not saying you killed my dreams
they been dead for a long time
a long time

the spring inside the gun
makes that satisfying little sound
just like in the movies

Everyone should  know the greatest lyric written

Oh, potatoes and molasses
If you want some, oh, just ask us
They're warm and soft like puppies and socks
Filled with cream and candy rocks
Oh, potatoes and molasses
They're so much sweeter than algebra class
If your stomach is grumblin' and your mouth starts mumblin'
There's only one thing to keep your brain from crumblin'
Oh, potatoes and molasses
If you can't see 'em, put on your glasses
They're shiny and large like a fisherman's barge
You know you've eaten enough when you start seein' stars
Oh, potatoes and molasses
It's the only thing left on your task list
They're short and stout, they make everyone shout
For potatoes and molasses
For potatoes and-
That's enough!

Are you Japanese  ? is it ?   (1644–1694).  are you trying to impress Matsuo Bashō.. no?  then *** are you doing ?
Shortened (3-5-3)
Words drop fast.
Why count them at all?
No one cares.

Elongated (7-9-7) bletch  god why  pls make it stop  , pls.

Why waste time on this?
Anyone can slap words down.
Skill is not required.

Chaotic (Random Syllables)

Five words here—
now too many in the next
whatever, it’s done ?

Haiku rules are so arbitrary that messing with the syllable count changes nothing.  Yet you lame ***** still  somehow  think It still "counts" somehow. I don't care why.

Haiku is ******* stupid !
obsessing over syllables is the least important part of writing.
Japanese pop  and their attempt at anything other than robotic classical  perfection is unbearable. ( their jazz is great though )
So why do they care about something so stupid and pointless as the number of syllables  when they can't and don't even benefit from it  ?
Outside of haiku, they don’t really matter much unless you’re writing structured poetry or song lyrics in certain styles.
Arbitrary rules like that just stifle the mind and creativity
Anyone can do it it takes literally ZERO talent.
What I did In my work 'Don't quote me on that".
That is brutally difficult, not just hard but time consuming.
Requires research to get the quotes right .
The timing and the nuance of the context.
I bet 99% of you couldn't do what I did there worth a ****  and even if you did try it would only be a weak pathetic copy because, I already used all the best quotes.
Prove me wrong, go ahead and try.
You can't  whereas I could Haiku till I'm blue in the face and it wouldn't help me become a better anything , let alone a better writer or poet.
Why not jam a corkscrew up your nose?
It's about as useful, wanted or productive.

I'm only doing this to make a point ;

  Traditional (Nature Theme)

Raindrops hit the ground,
Counting them—five, then seven—
What a waste of time.

Modern (More Freeform, No Nature)

Syllables don’t mean
a **** thing at all. Yet here
I am, still counting.

Satirical (Mocking the "Deep" Haiku Style)

Oh, great emptiness,
fill my soul with pointless lines.
I have learned nothing.

There you go—proof that anyone can do it, and it takes no effort at all.

My four year old writes better poetry than all of you , it's true .
In my child’s  gwatchy babble,  words are spun,
the secrets is joy, of play,  and of  fun.
Purity is not found in the chase or the climb,
But in the small, simple words that echo through time.
Hooshknee, we say, with a knowing glance,
Shows us the way to our happiest dance.

Let us not forget, as you craft and we mold,
That inspiration is fleeting, and life  should be bold.
In the words that they speak, in the sounds that they make,
Lies a purity we often forsake.
For in the small things, the fun and the free,
We find the magic we long to see.
Like us, you really want to be free.

The realm of unfettered youth where words are toys for play,
Where sounds are shaped and colors  do sway,
There came a day when her small voices rang,
Lifting  through the skreegy that the world tried to hang.
Gwatchy, they called, with a wink and a cheer,
A word like a spark that the mind now holds dear
Coolish, neat, a burst of delight,
A dance in the brain for the depths of the night.

And from this dawn, from the chaos and cheer,
Came skreegy, a word that we hold so near
A mark of the messy, the fractured, the torn,
Hooshknee hearts unpolished,  our souls reborn.
Oh, skreegy, they sang, with joy and with glee,
For not all that is broken fails to be free.

Then came Hooshknee, like a riddle in air,
A word that floats weightless, without a care,
A question unasked, a thought undefined,
A call to the unknown, a wonder confined.
Hooshknee, oh hoosh, a whisper so light,
A dance of indecision that ignites the rite.

We, the artists, toil with  might,
Chasing  lost purity’ but lost in the fight
rid the world’s  skreegy grime and restore the lost gleam,
To craft art with dignity, to hold onto the dream.
But the clutter of bias, the weight of our strife,
Dim the beauty of play, and the joy of your life.
That's only a scratch as to why she's so much better. she would school you all, if you'd only let her.

For in your learned bias, we hinder our soul,
Chasing success, we lose the true whole.
For in striving to succeed, you forget how to live,
And we rob our own hearts of what they could give.
But in Gwatchy and skreegy, we find the true key Hoosh , hoosh hoosh with one more Hooshknee
In the mess of the world you all created  we were meant to be free.
Especially a bright beautiful soul with an inner light like hers
Don't be hateful or jealous cause you let yours be poisoned and die
She is the light and the truth and doesn't even have to try.

so much blood on trumps tiny little hands  ,  **** and twice convicted  defamation, bribery and hush money, tax fraud conviction , stolen documents nuclear secrets national security intel,  repeated obstruction of justice, campaign finance violations, inciting insurrection, witness tampering, money laundering, insurance fraud, conspiracy to overturn election results, and the 5 or 6 deaths of January 6th. what a guy making it great again for sure !  pass me the collection plate !  Now we all pay with Tariffs coming and going bleed us dry and starve us while RFK's  brain worm kills us all with the next pandemic  strain. Just drink bleach is what he advised.

When I first got to the tower after the first plane hit, I started performing first aid and shouting orders, trying to get people to snap out of it and lend a hand. No one could have imagined another plane was coming or that the tower was going to come down.

I am not a conspiracy theorist, but the emergency personnel were made to wait, told to hold back until the cameras were rolling. I'm not a little guy, and they couldn't stop me.

I carried one guy out who worked for the Port Authority, Carl Something. His leg was crushed. I tried to help a lady going into cardiac arrest, but I lost her.

Anyway, this is what I wanted to say. I saw them purposely send in more emergency personnel and responders. They just kept forcing more and more in.

Anyone who remembers some of the early, uncut footage knows they sent people in but wouldn't let anyone come back out.

Me and two other big, mean dudes literally punched, tackled, and swung fire extinguishers to fight our way back out.

It was like they knew. Like they wanted the death toll to rack up as high as possible.

If I didn't understand how to push people by their center of gravity, I would have been turned to ash too or buried in it.

That was the second time I was arrested.

Looking back, I guess it was worth it, huh?

In a way.

As I was being cuffed and stuffed, the second plane hit.

...There used to be a time when actual tough guys,
literal bad *** *******, actually walked the street.
I'm not talking about these little wannabe pimps today,
or weak little gang members that gotta have 40 other dudes,
with cheap Chinese tech nines, to make them feel tough.
I'm talking about real tough guys like me and my buddies.
And people would just almost **** their pants when they saw us coming.
They’d know we didn’t need a crew,
we were the kind that made the whole block move.

It's another thing that cell phones completely ruined,
and destroyed all these different parts of our society.
Now when they see us, they take pictures and try,
to use the ****** recognition,
or send it to the police, oh my.
That way they can lock us all up,
pull up our warrants, and make sure we never see the light of day again.
Yet another thing,
cellphones took from us,
just like trust,
just like rust.

These guys were a bar, they set a standard.
And now, what is replacing them?
The diary of a wimpy kid, all grown up.
Some little dork,  coddled *****, ****** *****,
who thought that people running around calling themselves Power Rangers,
wearing spandex, were the real deal.
Some little dweebes that thought those guys were cool.
They're the ones calling all the shots now,
you’ve gotta be kidding me, that’s reality somehow?

Are you serious? That’s the new face of tough?
That's what you got? All these participation trophy boys,
little momma's boys,
never even skinned their knees.
How did you think these guys,
or these types of people,
wouldn’t get eaten alive by sharks like Putin,
and bullies like Trump?
Did you not see that happening?
It’s coming down faster than they can hold on.
But we’re the ones who’re all gone.
Cheap mexican switchblade stickin out his  eye?
Yep thats our guy...

Ask not what your country can do for you,
ask yourself:
Do you feel lucky, punk? Huh, do yuh?

I have a dream that one day,
on the red hills of Georgia,
little black boys and black girls will join hands
with little white boys and white girls
and...What we have here is failure to communicate..

...black lives matter ...like a thief in the night ...
We shall fight them on the beaches, we shall fight them on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender...

Four score and seven years ago
our forefathers brought forth upon this continent
a new nation, conceived in liberty
and dedicated to the proposition that...
...you can't handle the truth  ! ...

The only thing we have to fear...
is one small step for man,
one giant leap for...
weapons of mass destruction.

We hold these truths to be self-evident,
all men are created...
to...  say it. I said, 'I’ve been sayin’ that **** for years.' They deserved to die, and I hope they burn in hell.

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.
Then He said...
I’ll be back.

Thou shalt not...
tear down this wall.
We do these things not because they are easy
but because...
your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my ... eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind."
frankly, my dear, I don’t give a ****.

One nation, under God, indivisible,
with liberty and justice for...
an offer they can't refuse.

Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall
(and ) say hello to my little friend.

We the people, in order to form a more perfect union...
the streets shall flow with the blood of the non-believers.

That is weird, wild stuff, I did not know that...
I think, therefore...
I see dead people...
Houston, we have...
(to) throw the baby out with the bath water..

Life, liberty, and the pursuit of...
A house divided against itself...
With great power comes...
the angel of the Lord, and lo, He said unto them...
Give me liberty, or give me...
Government of the people, by the people, for the people...

To be or not to be...
You talking to me?
You talkin' to me?
Am I funny to you?
Am I a clown to you, do I amuse you...
Don’t count your chickens before they hatch...

I, am your father...

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

come and play, everything's  A okay,
we're on our way to where the air is...

A day that shall live in infamy...

"Why so serious?"
I know you are, but what am I?
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth...
but in the end,
nobody puts Baby in a corner...

**** the torpedoes, full speed ahead!
Give me liberty, or give me...
more cowbell !

Thou shalt not...
live long and prosper!
Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere...
there's no place like home.

I’ll have what she’s having.
Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely...
I am the way, the truth, and the life.
If you want something done right...
speak softly and carry a big stick..

I can't study
don't test
won't pass
If all I eat is dynamite
then why is all I **** BROKEN  Glass.

I died, I didn't die  not.  The juxtaposition of nihilism
I spoke I lied.
All I ever did was lie.
It never mattered , no one ever really cared.
Least of all me.
Why do I think I'm talking at you ?
Who is even helping who ?
How many miles can you walk in my shoe ?
Yep just one, I'm so ****** broke that's all I can afford , Son!



💀   🖤   👹


Stop trying to fit into or succeed in a system that doesn’t care or doesn’t offer real support,
you oft purport .


If I could I'd ask for five minutes alone
with you.
Who knows what I'd do .
But the truth is I'm actually a nice person
somewhere deep inside
or I used to be
I can't seem to find that person sometimes
and I wonder if they still try to find me ?