Today, I had the most toxic of experiences, where ego and entitlement buried behind the cause most pressing of our concerns; showed itself with deliberate obfuscation. It spat upon me.
Not meant to name it specific. No, now it isn’t time.
I have confronted, stared down the violent use of hypocrisy repeatedly, for this is what the monied, the mobbed and miscreant pass between each other of tactic; up allegiance to misconstrue, as a skewed, scatter pattern. A conceit commonly uses by ordained crime against the heart; those with unjust influence drain the life’s blood. The insincere bloated Dia-tribal-schism seeks to rile, to exploit the message of the true.
It did wring me out today, and there again, I regain in the refrain only due to repeating a cycle to heal by resilience, the strength in my care for the humane remains. Rising among the despots amongst us, it cannot diminish cause, but where allowed.
Forsaking the essence of honor
The greatest crimes are committed by disloyalty. Those who have nothing more than deceit make the most gains by disgrace of the sacred. You cannot get to the truth without going straight through the cackle of cowards and their voices can cause irreparable harm to the conscientious objector. An extenuating circumstance done over and again will make the fact disputable for those who have the resource to play off, they can pay 12 lying voices to disdain the victim until at last they are called criminal…..
Madam of the Asset
It was the way she wanted it, the warrant she wanted exhumed from the matter. Fact was irrespective in her mind at that time and when the lie drew blood, she was sickly pleasured. Like a tattoo’s tool, an ornament on Bubby’s soul; the long lost cousin.
The undone friend
Never to release the thing or purge she was left with those times when she was by herself or with him, the man who came in between when tapped and stretched the thing to cumbersome proportions, getting the in-sects
all too willing to further taint and swarm, like a church gossip mill making sandwiches in the open sun; attracting the oft of kind to feed.
What principal could have produced, how it would have by design, predicated the good tiding rather than oppose the greater extent?
I came with mind full of promise and bounty dispensed a specific higher calling the clipping of their will halted this defined intent.
These messes are covered over and irreverent chides cloud these points of light, for a time..
I muster up all the pity of the fool’s victory when I cut my ideal from the work and renew path to completion because only the truth will realize;
the other portrayal runs for cover.
We are just trying to get out from under the midst of the wrong controls with the standing we are all susceptible; though a sum is worth more to some than others.
Torment of the asset
Seems you can get anyone conceivable to do anything, until they are found out, and then it is always drastic last fail.
The assets on a losing streak more willing now to do whatever it takes to make it break.
She was found out walking through-out, attempting the victim for casting directors or lead officers in this life. She could not bring down the heart, this blood, the mark.
It is a world of humble steps and with them you can still manage to catch despair from hands of a former friend who knows someone who wants the better of you, and they are willing, behind eight ball… To have you undone.
Those moments you show so much life in your eyes would be the biggest mistake in envy.
They always owe someone, and though you find at times you’re disillusioned, you remember there is a whole lot of come-up on and you pretty much can’t see until you are on top of it.
Just a bit too late and you are sent reeling, remember this; resilience is a finely tuned dark minor cord that we bend our ear to because what moves us is not what is used to.
I felt ease when the wind blew me down. I felt in pieces drenched in a cut of rain; I fell to portions. My sides let out, and when morning became, I recur.
I may not give up!
I’ve forgiven in my own ; far and away.
The vantage of those in parts that never come together in their own will, still and are pictorial as broken cups; water poured, then trickles escaping through cracks to spread onto table lost by atmosphere. Synapses, taking stride but the hand won’t move. A thought that can’t get passed.The soul won’t abide the waste.
So she like them remain in fracture until further from self.
Disillusion all en mass, together create an apparition of completeness.
A smaller child, the inner who believes to see a landscape shown through in reflecting glass, an attempt to walk into that which he distinguishes. Forehead stopped still, till eyes see through the actual partitioned portions of blocked life.
The innocent stretches before the knowledge of pain . In what is, and after.
alright and not at all
Alright, not al all Sun Oct 17th, 2010
The weight I’ve perceived..my angst in thought my babbling head ..the plague of reference.
Shaking the mud from the inside out… but this dirt doesn’t come off.
Could I parade the onslaught of children (INSIDE HERE) { Points at the head,} they carry dandelions and ferns in hand on their way to the river.
the babes are in song, yes these little girls and boys are smoking cigarettes, crushing, and cussing up a storm.
It’s a miracle I’m with you here at all
I guess they didn’t get out in time, and they have turned on me…….
The knowledge I drink, from this dirty cup of frozen hostile words, and forced smiles, still echos a Bearing of likeness to sweetness and yearning.. to be me again, whoever I am.
It only takes one occurrence and in my case several, to burden the heart to extents where those children run through-out .. and the laughter becomes a jeer or a brow’s beat.
The seeming cavalcade of bodies passing, chewing unripe fruit. they are still racing, believing to be impervious to where they now preside onward from. entrenched in memories in the confines of my mentality;
where arranged as installations they take on specific shapes. I hear the, “Oh the Ahh,” the doubters, the portrayers, the insistent and resistant. The display of the last pure kiss from my true love. the things that we do with the knowledge of loss.
all the bitterness which begins as hope, and can’t release in time.
There is only one adult, and she is the sitter inside of me. she counts up the kids and makes sure all of them are accounted for, and she is just trying to keep it all together if you know what I mean. She does so enjoy directing the children around my love’s display. though it makes me weak, I must say it is the only comfort these days. This is the thought that makes it all right and not at all
NAR 3/29/07
Altitude
I heard a woman’s voice scream from out of my window , “It my birthday.”
Her friend said, “It’s her birthday.”
Further away down the street cars whistle by an approaching voice says,
“It’s your birthday, Happy birthday.”
“Thank you ,” She said
I had an idea started as a scream scratched it down before it was gone
Imprinted a character sketch of this song, her name a muse, I call her altitude.
And it’s her birthday
She is high up on an airplane flight now , and the borders and cliffs look like slices of cake
In the turbulent place between ground and air, things seem as she’d like them
The choppy clouds rattle change her course just a wince
She will land in time to see the candles melt in the surface of cool white icing, on her birthday
“Happy Birthday”
“Thank you,” she said.
NAR 1996
Vision Of Doubt
The obsession offers pensive aggression; in turn to do.Here is the quota for the plenty: here is to kicking out of time after the spoils are left in path. It doesn’t matter. Oh, you matter, you wouldn’t believe how much; but I feel the hard distinguishable feature and it does not bring what is needed. To rest assure my own entirety, those silent strings will echo as the fingers snap and make motion; after this. I can hum the melody. This instrument is not necessary to convey the simple notion of my origin of this as of yet uncompleted song.
I don’t know what to say to you or what to put in words or whys.
I could enterprise my stories and they would come alive; they come alive.
But I want to create ease. Yesterday I wanted to challenge; fighting the oppressor of us all. In return, I found the pain of plight.
Tomorrow I cannot say where my attention should be only that it is overwhelming and I’m working to purification as an excuse to strip away the agony of hurt till I’m 8 years old again.
Something will surely come of it. Yes, something.
I will be puny at moments and thusly all of its mass and some. Still, it is not me nor any longer. Just as soon as I complete the next word it will change and be eerily similar and I will feel deterred and requited, finding resolution in hand, and then I’m clueless to the origins.
This is another fatality she said: my head is a hospital and the staff is scarce. My thoughts are in line wounded, waiting, waning, fading in uncomfortable chairs; unattended to, at least until the day shift returns and these thoughts find bearing to assistance.
N.A.R FEB 2008