NOTE: after our accident when I was recovering in Craig Hospital, CO, six-months-post-trauma by April '86 [I was 16], I wememba my utter confusion like Confucius trying to speek pig Latin: my weary Pop sitting down with me on the lower level, the snow blowing fiercely, no sun on that day to give us warmth; Pops told me about our accident - I didn't have a clue, normal when anyone has that much damage to the cranium... and what could I do? Fait accompli: two of us passed-away: one, DOA to Seventh-Heaven; the other, had to experience Hell on earth: cold, proud, cowardly, verbelly-abusive-whorizontalites whose thots are their excrement, who refuse to look at where they go. Scary thot, but yay!! This, too, shall pass away: everything passes into THREE realms, two of which are eternal. Choose.
God will not do it for U.S.
" ... what do these three words mean to you, Jaybird, upstairs, beyond the clouds, prolonging the requisite of loveliness which you bequeath to Seventh-Heaven by your zealous zealotry??" sed I, sighing. "And tell me, my dear, my psychotropic-UFO-alphabet, how far-away must you be that you couldn't come down and... and... gimme one, simple, kiss every night, clinging-to-straws?? O the poverty-of-intellect without you is a whole, germ-warfare narrative, a deluxe example of the art of imitation."
"And limitation, sweetheart," her compassion was utterly tangible like her life. "Our present enjoyment is but short lived, a gracious revelation from Almighty God to the gravity of the opaque graveyard; like Pascal, spiritual culture for the future: you also have a ministry which is providential to your growth and determination, you ineffable charmer you."
the invasion of fascination...
"See, realizing the liberation of the logical may just as well become the internal: original love comes only from the first place, from Home Base," as she pointed her precious, insightfull thumb toward the Great Beyond. "The tender, architecture of love," she whispered, "is almost like acting on a promise: for like the flying-buttresses of the Gothic Chartres, true love needs support from above." Janet was slowly advancing through the Roses... as I dropped my mouth and graduated from B.S. "Just like the game of - " she made me face her with a rough-turn-of-the-cheek, to defy her, to dare her, as I rushed to get the blankets off. "Polotics..." withat, she threw her head back and made the most requesting laugh, as if she dared anyone to sever this celebrated day, as if she was most capable of 'carpe diem'; gracefully taking my hands, she placed them on her face. "Fill me up withe kindness you're distinguished for," laughing, touching my nose. "Like the song of songs." Mouthing slowly, "Yes, God makes the skeleton to hold the soul, yet, He puts two indelible faces to capture our rolexxx Upstairs HintHint," caressing my visage withe passion unmatched by anyone I yet knew, she turned around to look at the field of roses and nodded. "Gotta run, gotta catch the Son. See you soon, lover. I love you... and guard jealously your relationship withe Trinity," slowly disappearing in the mist of Mary.
And this pretty wonderful girl, floating away, whom I loved far beyond this cheep-o URL, these ending words, the outstanding character was almost out the obscure door; she spread open her eyes wide as huge, merciful as the sky in her soft, blue waves, big and strong as the feet of God, flowed onto me, never stopping, ever obliterating my week-end resistance in the laundry tomb. Nope. Never, ever free from the recurring, encroaching Tides of earth. I still hate to do laundry...
"Each with an attraction," she whispered from far away. "An inclination of drama, tranquility, desire and passion between..." pointing at me, at herself. We reached-out our hands, as the touch silently, slowly slipped away like Michelangelo's masterpiece. Almost outta sight, precious honeybee. Almost outta sight.
In my rush to hold on to the one I love, to surrender under her imperishable beauty which is the trial of my extinguished existence, I, the totally-together-blackhead with intense angst, could not grasp what was not there, as my arms, reaching-out, fell back on themselves like trying to crave a shadow in our usurped, poignant monster-mash-crash.
Yes, she is quite capable of holding me weightless, in this state of the Mobius strip, the War-Of-The-Superbikes (Nina Hagen - a kick-some-ass punker song, circa '83ish); succeeding in the revolution, but not really gittin' anywhere, not really knowing anybody and not really caring if you're an iconoclasm... till we perish in the empty language of our carefully, regurgitated reputations following our rehearsal on stage. Everybody, not a single soul ain't, is under the sentence of a stunning death. That made me feel happy. EFF-icaciousness!!! coolinary school, dude.
I subsequently held-up my hand signifying my courageous, incredible love for her, like Red Skelton does at the end, as I wept: a painful passion so rightly condensed as to put us in subsequent vulgarity, yet, so quietly circumferenced touched me, as an overwhelming torrent of rain gushed from my blue eyes, like you know without a doubt that's TheEnd of her terrificableness and, now, you must gaze at the lifeless, languid photography to seize upon the artificial, unweeded-garden-of-youth; in my exile and my reward for skipping class, the staunch skwares grind me away in slovenly servility and re-tardiness in my Sargasso Sea...
When I had been reduced to virtual impotence in spite of the tomb and the yearning for her is virulent, I screamed across the many miles, “THAT'S IT???" sobbing. "I wanted us to experience the fullness of gratuitous flight without aircraft, girl, wrapped in each others arms, written by a magnanimous madman!! You’re truly soft and august like the ornate elegance of the Divine, highly-sophisticated-entertainment not found on earth, incredibly so, like the vivid, fertile lands spread-out before us, quiet as a painting of the Loire that enveloped us in your swimwear, conducive to intellectual intercourse of the silvery anchor moored to me: to love you, to touch you, to wonder for eternity about the epic dynasty which was before me, the unfolding like a quilt-sooo-warmNsaucy… and now you’re DEAD??? S’up withat???"
"Sweetheart," she sed turning. "What does this geometry equation add up to: a²+b²=see²??Eternity with me. What does this Latin phrase mean? Sic transit gloria mundi nil? Eternity with me. Again, what does this mean? Summum bonum? Eternity with me. And, believe-you-me, baby, we'll make lottsa babies."
Ha. That's my girl. I just remembered some poetry I had written yeeers ago and... "I'd like to share a PEACE-O-POETRY with you before you go back, dear," she dried my eyes.
ONLY FOOLS USE FOSSIL FUELS:
There's a fairly huge spider
in some wee corner of my brain,
yet, it only redeems to hide her
when the rings upon my fingers
and the thing in the closet lingers
if vain seems to die for...
Yet, come to me, silly girly
and close your eyes;
lemme steal away with you
into the Northern Lights...
where I forever can preserve
and harvest your Milky Way.
And our sardonic, satirical smiles went forever...
<TheEnd>
God will not do it for U.S.
" ... what do these three words mean to you, Jaybird, upstairs, beyond the clouds, prolonging the requisite of loveliness which you bequeath to Seventh-Heaven by your zealous zealotry??" sed I, sighing. "And tell me, my dear, my psychotropic-UFO-alphabet, how far-away must you be that you couldn't come down and... and... gimme one, simple, kiss every night, clinging-to-straws?? O the poverty-of-intellect without you is a whole, germ-warfare narrative, a deluxe example of the art of imitation."
"And limitation, sweetheart," her compassion was utterly tangible like her life. "Our present enjoyment is but short lived, a gracious revelation from Almighty God to the gravity of the opaque graveyard; like Pascal, spiritual culture for the future: you also have a ministry which is providential to your growth and determination, you ineffable charmer you."
the invasion of fascination...
"See, realizing the liberation of the logical may just as well become the internal: original love comes only from the first place, from Home Base," as she pointed her precious, insightfull thumb toward the Great Beyond. "The tender, architecture of love," she whispered, "is almost like acting on a promise: for like the flying-buttresses of the Gothic Chartres, true love needs support from above." Janet was slowly advancing through the Roses... as I dropped my mouth and graduated from B.S. "Just like the game of - " she made me face her with a rough-turn-of-the-cheek, to defy her, to dare her, as I rushed to get the blankets off. "Polotics..." withat, she threw her head back and made the most requesting laugh, as if she dared anyone to sever this celebrated day, as if she was most capable of 'carpe diem'; gracefully taking my hands, she placed them on her face. "Fill me up withe kindness you're distinguished for," laughing, touching my nose. "Like the song of songs." Mouthing slowly, "Yes, God makes the skeleton to hold the soul, yet, He puts two indelible faces to capture our rolexxx Upstairs HintHint," caressing my visage withe passion unmatched by anyone I yet knew, she turned around to look at the field of roses and nodded. "Gotta run, gotta catch the Son. See you soon, lover. I love you... and guard jealously your relationship withe Trinity," slowly disappearing in the mist of Mary.
And this pretty wonderful girl, floating away, whom I loved far beyond this cheep-o URL, these ending words, the outstanding character was almost out the obscure door; she spread open her eyes wide as huge, merciful as the sky in her soft, blue waves, big and strong as the feet of God, flowed onto me, never stopping, ever obliterating my week-end resistance in the laundry tomb. Nope. Never, ever free from the recurring, encroaching Tides of earth. I still hate to do laundry...
"Each with an attraction," she whispered from far away. "An inclination of drama, tranquility, desire and passion between..." pointing at me, at herself. We reached-out our hands, as the touch silently, slowly slipped away like Michelangelo's masterpiece. Almost outta sight, precious honeybee. Almost outta sight.
In my rush to hold on to the one I love, to surrender under her imperishable beauty which is the trial of my extinguished existence, I, the totally-together-blackhead with intense angst, could not grasp what was not there, as my arms, reaching-out, fell back on themselves like trying to crave a shadow in our usurped, poignant monster-mash-crash.
Yes, she is quite capable of holding me weightless, in this state of the Mobius strip, the War-Of-The-Superbikes (Nina Hagen - a kick-some-ass punker song, circa '83ish); succeeding in the revolution, but not really gittin' anywhere, not really knowing anybody and not really caring if you're an iconoclasm... till we perish in the empty language of our carefully, regurgitated reputations following our rehearsal on stage. Everybody, not a single soul ain't, is under the sentence of a stunning death. That made me feel happy. EFF-icaciousness!!! coolinary school, dude.
I subsequently held-up my hand signifying my courageous, incredible love for her, like Red Skelton does at the end, as I wept: a painful passion so rightly condensed as to put us in subsequent vulgarity, yet, so quietly circumferenced touched me, as an overwhelming torrent of rain gushed from my blue eyes, like you know without a doubt that's TheEnd of her terrificableness and, now, you must gaze at the lifeless, languid photography to seize upon the artificial, unweeded-garden-of-youth; in my exile and my reward for skipping class, the staunch skwares grind me away in slovenly servility and re-tardiness in my Sargasso Sea...
When I had been reduced to virtual impotence in spite of the tomb and the yearning for her is virulent, I screamed across the many miles, “THAT'S IT???" sobbing. "I wanted us to experience the fullness of gratuitous flight without aircraft, girl, wrapped in each others arms, written by a magnanimous madman!! You’re truly soft and august like the ornate elegance of the Divine, highly-sophisticated-entertainment not found on earth, incredibly so, like the vivid, fertile lands spread-out before us, quiet as a painting of the Loire that enveloped us in your swimwear, conducive to intellectual intercourse of the silvery anchor moored to me: to love you, to touch you, to wonder for eternity about the epic dynasty which was before me, the unfolding like a quilt-sooo-warmNsaucy… and now you’re DEAD??? S’up withat???"
"Sweetheart," she sed turning. "What does this geometry equation add up to: a²+b²=see²??Eternity with me. What does this Latin phrase mean? Sic transit gloria mundi nil? Eternity with me. Again, what does this mean? Summum bonum? Eternity with me. And, believe-you-me, baby, we'll make lottsa babies."
Ha. That's my girl. I just remembered some poetry I had written yeeers ago and... "I'd like to share a PEACE-O-POETRY with you before you go back, dear," she dried my eyes.
ONLY FOOLS USE FOSSIL FUELS:
There's a fairly huge spider
in some wee corner of my brain,
yet, it only redeems to hide her
when the rings upon my fingers
and the thing in the closet lingers
if vain seems to die for...
Yet, come to me, silly girly
and close your eyes;
lemme steal away with you
into the Northern Lights...
where I forever can preserve
and harvest your Milky Way.
And our sardonic, satirical smiles went forever...
<TheEnd>
