Your battle already won

Attack like the fire

And be still as a

Mountain

Funny girl

Funny, I never thought of a machine as “being.”

The end was in sight.

Shelley be damned

Ozymandius had won

in the end.

Not knowing

Not knowing or not being aware

are so different

from

your not wanting to know

The Masters of War had Ventriloquists

It wasn’t even winter yet, as autumn held her ground. Weaker men were torn asunder as angels prevailed where blind men feared to speak. You could not fess up nor deny, those wild werewolf times 

Where wolvens roamed the crest like crazy heathcliff

Heather of Moorland Farms befriended the mysterious Maxine. Who wore clogs. A cord skirt. Long straight hair like Marcia Brady but a sway like West Side Story.
The colors of the continent were committed to a shell of their former shelves – the Russian tea cozy. Sore spot of etiquette.

I wasn’t proud when I said my family was like Prince of tides just alarmed 

 

“Those who hammer their guns into plowshares will plow for those who do not.” Thomas Jefferson, President of the United States, Founder of the University of Virginia, the one slave owner of the group who was unanimously asked to write the preamble for the Constitution, known as the Declaration of Independence. 
Now You may ask how could a slave owner write such beautiful words as we the people 

In order to form a more perfect union 

ESTABLISH JUSTICE

INSURE DOMESTIC TRANQUILITY

PROVIDE FOR THE COMMON DEFENCE 

PROMOTE GENERAL WELFARE 

AND 

SECURE 

THE BLESSINGS OF

LIBERTY TO OURSELVES

and our Posterity…


Our children 

The seventh generation 

The future

Certainly no one wants to witness nuclear fallout. Not from a bunker not from an underground silo, middleman earth safe house for world leaders and cryogenic windbags. I’d rather we be taken out by that thing on the other side of the sun than the flash we’ve all dreaded since watching the day after  on a school night in 1983.

Today in history 

I wake up thinking I miss those days as the now-wild parrots make their flight across the Pasadena sky.

Then, with faint tv news in background, I think of the news those good old days held and how just like me, my parents went through the day with a great deal of anxiety.

Now, to survive and thrive, those are the hard things. The easy thing is to not make others suffer for your feelings. To try to force some change in perspective to adjust the out of wack world, if that change is in your own head. You can think one thing that will not make this headache from the head injury of last night (more dangerous after near fatal beating in February) go away but could help with that breakthrough of getting through the day and somehow not just floundering.
1972. The news. Not so good. Depending on the fate, the date and the late breaking story.

Race to the bottom 

He was aquatic 

She, nomadic 

  • Theirs, a Predestined affinity 
  • for perishing

Refer unsung heroes
ever since 

then,

I knew mine was 

a life 

word bullons 

crude 

Contraband hush puppies 

Heroin””””””(filled) burritos 

Snuggling  so you don’t  (to?) have sharp objects on you when your spouse 

With That I think I’ll 

  • Preordained misery
  • Already knew 
  • Always, 
  • that 

Chironectes minimum

of South America


Ominous Rex

The ambient creature 

within its own midst 

Manages 

to kill 

the 

vulnerable 

Parts of itself 

So there is no more 

weakness 

for what is yet to come 

ㅠ.ㅠ

Took the moon from you

Like it was a curtain

lifted 

so you could see

your adoring fans again 

My love

He was her Quasimodo 

she was his bat in a belfry 
They were all they needed 

in life 

that was one realization

she could have  

used  20 years ago 

Katnandu

I don’t have much left 

to so or do  

So i might aS 

a precautionary measure —-

A counter-feasibility study on God 

Because all tend to agree 

Microwaves  are necessary 

evils

Now it’s not just the great but termites bite 

#Was it truly 

after all

A little chilly 

before the thaw 

  • She called 
  • He answered



This was 

just 

there.


the way 

it was 

As you were 

far away 

by the tine 

We showed up

Interactive narrative toss send off story 

A girl and a boy

Begin 

The poem 

a prelude 

mྂoྂrྂeྂ from Ojai, oh!

Then, shots were fired…

Four dead in Ohio

Matthew Matthews  takes a couple of steps forward in a nonaggressive manner, but that’s not what Roland sees.


The Graph: Math of Story, pt. 2

“No bones. Not even a knee cap.”

 

 

 

 

As if knee caps are a different currency altogether, and, if that were the case, I should have a buried treasure full of gold somewhere, risk-free, in the desert.

I’ve been watching Breaking Bad in consecutive order, an anomoly for me other than “Lost,” “Deadwood” and

to gorge on one season a while back; I saw a middle episode of Breaking Bad (the one in season 3 where the twins are buying body armor from a semi-fucktard redneck in semi-trailer, but I knew everything (pretty much) that I needed to know. I think I watched that in a motel in the midwest or was is South somewhere on location and half asleep, and I can’t remember when that was exactly, but now I have made it to the gun pulled on protege and sensei, student and teacher, grasshopper and master, season 4 episode 12 or 11 or something, but either way, it’s been a bad season for Walt.

I don’t

feel as obsessed as I did

 

when I dreamt I was in Deadwood (because I woke up bleeding

 

Then, there’s Mad Men, which I watched on Netflix from the beginning and that show holds up but can be watched as a one-off, and you get the story of the man, in a Greek tragedy kind of way. Breaking Bad kind of unfolds. More disturbingly, Breaking Bad kind of unfolds in a strange parallel universe I like to call the entertainment industry which is in fact owned by the German Multinational that, on paper, owns the Laundry/Meth Lab and Chicken/Chile HQ, based on conference calls privy to, dimensions of difficulty it takes to function in the ‘real’ world, whatever that is, I still am not sure and all the signs are telling me I should be.

Yet, this I know, I know how to tell a story. The math of story is a graph that must move downward spiral to be ripped usunder to go where no man has thought to plunder to be redeemed and taken to the place unimagined, beyond and beholden, all the nipping at the heels of and chasing with shadows has stopped, but the signs point nowhere, are quite deceptively evoking payment of some kind and this should be no bones, not even knee caps, but something else entirely.