Poem: Others

Leaving the bed is hard;
until pain forces me to.
Leaving the house is hard;
until insanity-driven lonliness
drives me out.
Or hunger.
Days that are the same.
Same as other days which came before.
Days of boredom,
days of constriction.
A noose the perfect metaphor.
Walking in place,
perceptions are not perfect,
peace is not always truth,
and discomfort may be helpful.

All things pass.

We fall down until
we are too old and weak
to pick ourselves up.
When I say "we"
I mean "me,"
but it makes me feel better
to imagine
there are others.

List: 14 Reasons Why Noam Chomsky is a Member of the Illuminati

*Look, I love Noam Chomsky's writings, mind, speeches, and works. Never-the-less, the more I think about him (and the seemingly negligible effect he has had on world politics), the more his words and actions don't quite seem to match up. And so in honor of "Questioning Reality," I bring you*

14 Reasons Why Noam Chomsky is a Member of the Illuminati:

1. He holds a teaching position at a major American Academic Institution (and has for years); MIT, Linguistics Chair. They've got him by the balls!

2. He is the only major public figure who explains the dynamics of modern day World Politics as they really are, clearly and succinctly... Yet no other major public figures act on what he says, even though he is universally recognized as a brilliant academic.

3. Although Chomsky is brilliant at deconstructing and explaining the true motives of Nation-States, The Military, Global Corporate Powers, etc. He is content to write book after book and give explanations to small-audience Public Radio programs; He refuses to join any group who radically fights for change or tenaciously try to spread his message to the greater public (Of course not, it might threaten his position at MIT and invite reprisals from the Powerful Elites he is reporting on).

4. He conducted part of his doctoral research during four years at Harvard University as a Harvard Junior Fellow; A school well-known as a recruiting area for the CIA, Counsel of Foreign Relations, and other Illuminati fronts.

5. Chomsky is often called "The Father of Modern Day Linguistics," a science which has arguably been used more to oppress other nations/peoples than to free them.

6. He has children and relatives whom he loves; These are liabilities which the Illuminati can use to threaten/manipulate him.

7. He often receives undercover police protection, in particular while on the MIT campus, although he says he does not agree with the police protection (more evidence of his ability to do one thing while "agreeing" with another as well as a way for his Illuminati Masters to keep track of him and make sure he doesn't "step out of line").

8. He was on a list of planned targets created by Theodore Kaczynski, better known as the Unabomber; Kaczynski's connection to covert government mind-control programs has been well documented, though not widely reported. Chomsky's name on this list stand outs as Odd, when compared to the other names, and of course Chomsky never was actually attacked by Kaczynski.

9. As a Theoretical/Experimental Psychologist Chomsky's research has done more to enable Illuminati propagandists and brain-butchers to manipulate populations than he has to frustrate them. "Chomsky laid out an explanation of human language faculties that has become the model for investigation in some areas of psychology. Much of the present conception of how the mind works draws directly from ideas that found their first persuasive author of modern times in Chomsky." To whit, Chomsky sadly cares more about research than what the results of that research can be used for. Einstein had something to say about this after the Atom Bomb.

10. Chomsky declares himself widely and proudly as an "Anarchist" despite his life-long involvement, leadership, and participation in Repressive Institutions. This is an oxymoron and creates cognitive dissonance. He consistently and eloquently states the problems with the World Politics, then rarely-if-ever offers solutions. This only serves to further depress Anarchists everywhere. Can you think of a single other well-known, society-approved, Anarchist?

11. Chomsky has received many honorary degrees from universities around the world, including from the following (Many of which are well known Illuminati Grounds): University of London, University of Chicago, Loyola University of Chicago, Swarthmore College, University of Delhi, Bard College, University of Massachusetts, University of Pennsylvania, Georgetown University, Amherst College, University of Cambridge, University of Buenos Aires, McGill University, Universitat Rovira i Virgili, Columbia University, Villanova University, University of Connecticut, University of Maine, Scuola Normale Superiore, University of Western Ontario, University of Toronto, Harvard University, Universidad de Chile, University of Bologna, Universidad de la Frontera, University of Calcutta, Universidad Nacional de Colombia, Vrije Universiteit Brussel, Santo Domingo Institute of Technology, Uppsala University, University of Athens, University of Cyprus, Central Connecticut State University, National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM)

12. Chomsky spent time in 1953 living in HaZore'a, a kibbutz in Israel. Asked in an interview whether the stay was "a disappointment" Chomsky replied, "No, I loved it." Some Kibbutz's are fertile recruiting areas for young prospective Illuminati members.

13. Chomsky's language and concepts are often so advanced or couched in terminology so complicated that they are completely inaccessible to the poor, uneducated, and immigrant communities. The exact communities who would pose the greatest threat to the Illuminati, if they could understand what Chomsky was saying.

14. Remember the Illuminati's primary motto and means is: "Divide and Conquer!" That is, have control of the leaders (both Political leaders and Opinion Leaders) of ALL sides; Thus with the ability to play all sides of the ideological spectrum off the others at will, no matter who wins, The Illuminati wins. Can you think of a better, more ineffectual leader of "The Anarchists" than Noam Chomsky?

Think about it...

Thoughts: Food Poisioning, The Perfect Crime.

How many places did you eat at in the last few days? How many different types of food did you eat out of your fridge or other peoples fridge? If you got deeply, gut-wrenching, vomit-all-over-the-floor, sick food-poisoning; would you know for sure where you got it from?

I'd never thought that deeply on the subject until I worked as a dishwasher at a Fancy Restaurant and saw how sloppy, disgusting, and frankly careless the other dishwashers, waiters, and even Chef's took their job. Mostly everyone was too rushed to really pay attention to cleanliness, and really, not that many cases of food poisoning win in court. Why? Because it's nearly impossible to prove! You'd have to eat at the same Burger King every single day for a whole month, with no snacks in between, to prove that they might have poisoned you. And even then, could it have been the toothpaste you used or some chemical in the air of your house?

I guess the point I'm getting at is that today's "modern" society is based on a lot more Trust in our common human beings than most people like to think about. It only takes a few of the proverbial "someone-pooped-in-the-refried-beans-at-Taco-Bell" stories before the average person never wants to think about it again; but we all have to eat. Not only that, but most of us have to rely on an army of unknown people daily, who we trust, are not poisoning our food or any of the ingredients in it. Because if they were, there is not a damn thing we could do about it.

"But what about the FDA (Food and Drug Administration), or AC (Agricultural Committee), and other Government Agencies? Aren't they watching out for us? Don't they keep our food safe?" My answer to that is "ha, ha, ha. As if." A few intelligent counties and cities (like Los Angeles, California) have instituted programs where they inspect restaurants randomly and give them ratings which are posted for the customer to see and this is a good start, but any teenager knows how to clean their room on inspection day and keep it filthy the rest of the time.

In the end, all I'm saying is, if you are looking to hurt someone, look no further than the food supply. And if all you wealthy people out there think there is nothing better than being served food by the poor, I urge you to think again. It's a lot easier to piss on your salad than it is to successfully lobby for fairer wages.

Poem: Used

If there is an "It,"
then I do not have it.
I used to have it,
but somehow I lost it.
While one day I'm surfing
on top of The Wave,
the next day I'm drowning;
No life to be saved.
When once there was something
I wanted to do,
now I'm just wondering
how I got screwed.
The older I get;
the less I become,
The smaller I shrink.
into The Beyond.

Poem: I Hope You Don't Worry

I sit alone in my four walls: Writing as the last resort.
Ear too bloody; accidents happen while sober too.
Imagining years of loneliness,
getting dirtier and filthier, more soiled and putrid.
Feeling the noose of Self-Pity
closing around my brain and heart.
Some part of me saying that
"I've been here before,
that tomorrow will be better",
then I will be here, again.

But my hand hurts, as I hold this pen,
which hasn't happened before.
I'm getting older,
my body is falling apart too soon.
If I want to stay a writer,
I'll have to start typing,
or getting bigger paper
and pen.

"It's not fair," I think again.
Just as I used to say to my Father,
as he was beating me.
"Life isn't fair," he'd yell,
and hit me again harder.
I disagreed with him, then,
but the older I get,
the more I agree.
I think I see his point.
As my body begins to fall apart.
As the whole World seems to shit it's pants with
Wars, Riots, Oil-Spills, and Etc.
My Father was right,
and maybe if I'd understood him then,
I could have been more selfish growing up;
more heartless and greedy.
Taken more for myself,
hurting others in the process;
The Law of the World.
"Fuck 'em all, as long as I get My Cut."

Even as I write it now I know,
my sensitive heart could never have gone that way.
For all the riches in the World I could not Rape an Innocent.
Does this mean I'm meant for the Lonely Poverty I endure?
Soul Disposition points towards "Yes."
The sooner I accept it the better.

In Jails I heard the never-ending banter
of Gangsters and Thieves, the Takers of Advantage.
Listening with curiosity, I always knew,
I could never have been one.
A silent Killer, perhaps, a Hit-Man, maybe.
But there are far less of those jobs
than the movies would have us believe.
I tried selling drugs, but I was too fair to the Addicts,
more compassion, than Lust for Money.
I tried working for a Mega-Corporation, or two,
but I had no Will to pass on blame,
point the finger, cover my ass.
Just wanted to do my job.
Never back-biting, nor butt-kissing;
Promotion was not my Destiny, there.
Just a permanent Corporate Cubicle,
at best,
being shit on by an endless procession
of ladder-climbing Management,
who do nothing but climb.
I even tried Academia,
my dreams of the Ivory Tower.
But I had not the Will to back-stab fellow Scientists,
grubbing and scrounging, rumor-mongering and
Character Assassination; These Traits I would not learn.
All to sweep up the ever fewer Grants
that all Serious Academics need to survive...

*Sigh*

Besides "homelessness" I could not find a
non-competitive field,
though sometimes the homeless compete more than any.
Dreams of being
a Poet, a Writer, an Artist...
Do you know what it takes to get Recognized today?
With the World of Five Billion
and The Internet for Us all?
Everyone clambering for their Art
to be Famous?

Forget it.
Now, and in the End:
I write for myself.
To purge, to vomit, to excrete
my Pain out.
And maybe entertain
a few others who happen by.
Good Luck,
whoever you are.
I hope you don't worry,
as much as I do.

Poem: I Did and I Didn't, A Biography of My Life

I never played the X-Box.
Or the Playstation 2.
Never gone skiing, snowboarding,
or swimming at the Lake with Friends.
Never even had many Friends.
No trips out of the Country.
No one takes care of me when I'm Sick.
All my visits to the Emergency Room
were Alone.
All of my Vacations were in my head.
If I died today,
there wouldn't be a Funeral.
I'd be burned, or tossed, with the other
Unmourned, Anonymous, Losers.
I went to a few Schools.
I published a few Articles;
nothing Big, nothing Important.
But maybe it Educated someone.
I made Love to more than a few people.
I consumed a lot of Drugs.
I Wrote a lot
and Read a lot.
Walked more than most.
Spilled a lot of Tears.
Meditated more
than the Average American.
But never attained Nirvana,
or Dhyana for that matter.
Or any kind of Peace,
which lasted for more
than forty-five minutes.
I studied a lot of Occultism
and other Weird crap
which never did anyone any good.
But it passed the Time
and vanished with my decomposing brain.
I made more than a few Bums,
Rejects, and Homeless People smile;
made them feel like
they weren't such pieces of shit
after all.
I never reproduced; I'm grateful for that.
I never flew First Class,
or drove an Expensive Car.
Never had a Masseuse.
Never worked at the same job
for longer than a year.
I was never able to keep a Savings Account,
always running out of money.
Never spent an entire week
eating out at Restaurants.
And though I mostly cooked my own food,
I never really learned how to cook
more than two or three things very well.
I never owned an Expensive Suit,
or a really nice pair of shoes.
I never Cheated on a Lover,
though a few Cheated on me.
Also never cheated in School,
though a few Schools cheated me.
I owed a lot of Debts I didn't pay,
but never to a friend.
I never slept with a friend's ex-Lover,
though I had a few offers.
I got Tattoo's,
but not all the one's I wanted.
And No, I never regretted getting them.
Never stabbed a friend in the back,
but like I already said,
I never really had that many.
Not for long, at least.
I sold my Body for Sex a few times,
and only regret it mildly.
But I wouldn't do it again.
I lived on Welfare and Disability.
I never Surfed, Scuba-Dived, or Snorkeled.
I went to a lot of AA meetings
and graduated from eight Rehabs
before I was Thirty.
I lived in Homeless Shelters,
under bridges, in abandoned buildings,
on people's couches, in Cheap Hotels,
but I grew up in Mansions.
I was on T.V. as a child;
my face and voice transmitted across the World.
My Father hit me a lot.
And a more than a few times left bruises.
My Mother lied for him
and taught me to lie for him also.
Terrorized as a Child.

I never did a lot of things,
that people do for fun.
I experienced a lot of pains,
anxieties, depressions, repressions,
cages, tortures, silent agonies,
heartbreaking cruelties;
I could just keep writing words,
but they'd never really get there.
I hope the Next Life is Better.
And that, in the End,
I spread more Love,
than the Pain
I received.

Poeem: Anatomy of a Relationship

What is a relationship,
if not the uniting of two people,
into one?
"Making the beast with two backs,"
it's called.
Unity.
And Love.

Once United thus:
To harm one,
is to harm both.
To steal from one,
is to steal from both.
To make love to one...
Well...
To make love to one,
is to destroy the Union,
which existed beforehand.
To add to the Union,
creating a Trinity.
Or to siphon from the Union,
secretly, poisonously.
Stealing from the Love,
the Union
created.

The spoiled children of today
know little
of Unity.
Selfish;
They care only for Self-Pleasure.
Two people, together, both
"getting their rocks off."
This, they call "love."
"Sick," is what I call it.
Diseased, immature.

True Union
is a blessed thing.
Where the sum
of it's parts
are far greater
than the whole.
A power,
created from the Love,
as if from Nowhere,
which blesses the two Lovers.
Protecting them,
making them to feel
the whole world
is at their command.
Simply there,
for their pleasure.
And it is.

For the Vampires,
there is never enough.
Their sex is not fulfilling.
What they do in private
"should not matter"
to their lover.
Always viewing themselves
as alone, apart.
They need more, more,
more.
More attention,
more people,
more friends,
more affection.
It will never be enough.

Goddess let me be
as a Lover in your Garden.
The snake is always reveled
in it's secretive, selfish, bite.

Poem: My People

A drop in the Ocean.
This poem has been written before.
By me, by others,
in other times, in other languages.
In fact, it's being written right now,
by somebody else,
somewhere,
who feels the same
as me.

The joy of youth has fled.
The purity of ignorance soiled.
Remaining is the dirty toilet
of myself.
Which I keep trying to clean.
But there is no return
to Innocence.

Where are the joyful adults?
Them that live and laugh and love?
I do not see them near.
There are the scared,
the suppressed,
the hiding,
the repressed,
the pretenders,
the defenders,
the parents,
the drunks,
the lairs,
and the rest:
Treading water
and trying to "survive."
Artistic parasites,
living off the ignorance
of the wealthy,
who will never know
the pain of
"not enough."

Where are the Grown-Ups who know?
The Adults who are?
The people that need
nothing more...
than Themselves?

Poem: Nervous Agony

Heart-Beating,
Sweating,
Hyperventilating,
Hate.
"Ignore the one's who bother you.
They will always be there;
We must forgive."
Not running from all
which bothers.

They call it "Panic"
and "Anxiety."
Fear infusing veins.
Running for years
and sitting in tears,
there must be an ending,
some day.

It's taken my youth,
has robbed me of chances,
it gave me excuses,
for ill-thought romances.

I could just go on,
with my running and rhyming,
but perhaps it's time
to learn
how to stay.

Short Story: Losing the Past

It looks to be falling apart. I'll have to change tin a day; the way that I smoke, the way I relate, the number of laundry I clean. Still starving, but now "they" are taking my joys.
The last addictions I have. Why can't I keep them intact? They seem to me harmless, medicinal even. I don't know how to live without them.
It's not enough for me to be brought so low. To steal the last of my inner child's candy. I must also learn how to be around others who do not go without. Be around them, love them, live with them... live with them, without anger or envy. Without self-pity, competition, hurt, defense, manipulation, or beggary.
Ah beggary, how could I be without thee? To mooch and couch-surf. To bum and to find. These have been my way for far too long. I was still running, while others staked out land; cleared it and built homes. I was away running.
Now I find myself old, unable to afford sugar, remembering the cartoon I saw as a child: About a wolf who did no work, always begging from the hard-working pig. Always lazy, never working, the wolf always starved a little in the winter. But what when there is no pig? The pig gets tired of feeding him.
That cartoon always haunted me, like I could feel my future reflected in it...

As an adult, now, I can confirm that haunted feeling was right.

Poem: The Things I've Loved

The first thing I ever loved was a pet;
It died before I ever realized.

The second thing I ever loved
was a man;
He left me for a woman,
before I knew
our time was up.

The third thing I ever loved
was a pain-killing drug;
It hurt me more,
than I'd ever
have guessed.
I left it before
it killed me.

The fourth thing I ever loved
was a young woman;
I hurt her more
than I'd ever
have guessed.
She left because
I told her to.

The fifth thing I ever loved
was Coffee;
It's hurting my stomach
so much
I'll have to quit.

The sixth thing I ever loved
was Tobacco;
It's hurting my lungs
so much
I'll have to quit.

The seventh thing I ever loved
was a woman;
She loved herself
more
than she loved me.

The things I love
haven't treated me well;

I guess I'll just stop

and rest

a spell.

Poem: Fake Friends

Those people are dead to me now.
Burned up in a moment of rage.
No love or forgiveness,
for one such as me,
though why I don't know,
I deserve it.

When sides become chosen
there's no one on mine,
just me,
and the ghost of my thoughts
for all time.

Paper-thin all my friendships,
dissolved in an instant,
I cry for connection that deeper,
but where is it?

At first comes regret, then shame, embarassment.
Self-Pity, depression, acceptance.
Then back-sliding, attempts to fix,
and apologies, realization
that there is no going back
for me.

The hate and disgust
my peers feel for me,
like metal gone rust
stuck out in the rain.

If only they knew
my true feelings inside,
they'd love me the most,
not cast me aside.

But that's just a dream
and reality sticks.
Alone in my pain,
all my "friends" are short-lived.

Forgiveness and warmth
are feelings unknown:
Not given, not seen,
no calls on my phone.

For a few angry words
is enough to destroy
all semblance of friendship
for this little boy.

Al that this proves is
the hate all along.
I never was loved,
it's been faked,
an illusion.

And so I grow older
and learn the hard truths.
It's better to be unknown
than known as uncouth.

Poem: Old Friend Mike

A friend that I had
he turned out quite bad,
though I've known him
since his very start.

Once brothers in faith,
he smiles to my face,
in private he tears me apart.

While spreading sick rumors,
I don't understand,
his cowardly gossip,
that slanders this man.

It must be because
I never began,
to fuck him,
or view him,
with awe.

The lies that he spread
awoke pain in my head,
confusion,
at malice so cruel.

Small network of friends,
I thought true to the end,
kicked me
in the gut
like a mule.

So now here I stand,
just like I began,
alone,
with my Angel
and God.

I know all those who lie,
will sure one day die,
and answer for sins,
one and all.

Poem: Another Day #5

I feel like I'm all nerves;
stomach hurting for food
but revolting at the first bite.
"It's just another day,"
I say to myself.
Wanting to cry,
wanting to scream.
There are no answers to my pains,
no cures for my questions.
Everything in this life seems wrong,
I don't belong here.

But here I am.
Surviving like a cockroach.
I've already taken my medicine,
but my hands are still shaking,
can't write
any more.

Reprogramming

Hopelessness…
vague and empty.
Struggle pointless,
rewards few
and far away.
Alone,
things are magnified.
The First is so good,
the last, so bitter.
Hardness.
Tribulation.
Constant.
Never-ending.
Everything good
I'm supposed to use less of.
Everything bad
is usually the most responsible course.

I no longer know myself,
my world,
or the path beneath my feet.
Memories retreat
to the time of my young manhood,
hoping against hope,
the answer lies there.

If Sincerity were rewarded,
the riches would be mine.
Every day a little harder,
every inch a little further.

The baseline
of my theme-song
is sad.
Trying to change that
is hard.

Reprogramming, reprogramming,
reprogramming.

I hope it gets better,
soon.

Again (Death)

I wish I were dead.
Again.
That familiar desire
which I've known for so long.
Steps slow,
eyes tear,
head starts to hang,
nose runs,
My Life.
Which is mostly waiting:

Waiting for my bed time,
waiting for payday,
waiting for someone to visit,
waiting for the miracle to come;
Waiting for my Death.

Not in a an angry, spiteful,
"I'll show you" type of way.
Rather the Death which is
a kiss on the lips
from Eternity,
calling me home at last.
That Death that is the
restful reward,
as sleep to one
who's labored all day.

People say I'm too young,
but none know the Labours
I've wearried under,
nor the sweet relaxation I hear
at the very word "death."
Not the "loss of self"
people fear.

Poem: A Land of Grey

I dream of doing well

physically,

medically...

No, not really.

But I wish I did.

I dream nightmares.

About my family,

and screaming,

and deep,

frustrating,

emotions,

that go on all night.

Only to wake up exhausted

and embarrassed.

At 30 years old

I don't want to still be having

mommy/daddy nightmares.

Oh, but I do.

The other nightmares feel so meaningful,

while seeming so meaningless.

"Grey Dreams" - all of them.

Dreams of people I know in reality,

but only barely.

Seeing the home-life

of the man who sells me cigarettes

and feeling how horrible it is.

I wake up from these in chills,

knowing that it has been too long since

I have last taken my pain medication

and I'm going into slow withdrawal.

Dope-sick dreams;

where my astral body travels,

unbidden,

to spy on nobodies.

Witnessing everyday crimes,

mostly on the self.

Crimes of loneliness and isolation.

I blame my nightmares on my room.

Maybe I'm wrong.

Poem: Thanksgiving '09

It gets lonely down here sometimes.
When all your lovers want someone else,
or want you to be someone else.
When all your friends are too busy for you.
When you have no family,
and you never have,
but it's the season of families;
It's easy to feel left-out.

I never predicted,
how easy it is,
to be alone.
Never knew
how fast
it could come.

Complete and total.
Utter and infinite.

The World lives around me,
while for me time has stopped,
at the zero mark.

If you have a family,
give thanks.
If you have friends,
give thanks.
If you are not alone,
give thanks.

As for me,
I'll continue to write.

Poem: I Won?

I am not used to winning.
You could say I am a sore winner...
It's just that I have been losing
for so long,
and fighting for so long.
Some battles won,
but most of the war lost,
so to say,
so to speak.

Used to fighting doggedly,
persistently,
continuously,
hand-to-mouth,
forever.
Something vital always going wrong,
to be expected even:
Houses burning down
and broken spines.

To Win so largely...
So thoroughly...
So consistently...
Is entirely out of my experience of life.
Things seem too good.
Too easy.
Too happy.

It makes no sense to me.
Though I worked for some of these goals,
I didn't really expect to win;
I never do.
Well, not for long, at least.

So I'm jumping at Shadows
making mountains out of Moles,
always expecting the next disaster,
so I can say:
"Aha! I knew it! Life sucks!"

The disaster hasn't come yet,
days keep passing.

I may have finally won this round...

Now it is time to make new goals.

Poem: Sometimes Moods

The wrong thing said at a very wrong time.
My Red Button pushed.
First there is silence from me;
exerting all of my willpower to simply be quiet.
Not explode with the Furor I feel.
Secret Volcano,
the silence goes on,
as I have no good ideas;
only bad ones.

Separation, for some moments,
while I gather my thoughts
and distract myself.
With shaky hands I take my anxiety pill
(for moments like these).
Double my usual dose.

Searching inside, I'm empty.
Anger is all I am, now.
Anger and Hurt.
I know I need to Flee and be alone
as soon as I can.
Until the Evil passes,
until I get perspective,
until I'm safe to be around again.

I go back to find tears, endless tears, and silent reproof.
Look what I did again.
Not everyone takes responsibility for their actions.
Some are clearer than others.
It's all anger, blame, tears, and defensiveness,
until I get to the sink.
Cold water on the face, head, and neck.
Next a good scrub with soap
and anointing with oil.
Drink some water, saying prayers in my head.
Regain some humility, some perspective.
The tears remain with me
in a corner of my rented room.
Unable to look at me,
for Shame they just tried to sneak
another lover into Our bed.
Right beneath my nose;
but was caught.

Ahhhhhh, the fresh, zingy, taste,
of an Old Wound reopened afresh.
One of the deepest I had,
paraded around again.
It had to happen some time, in some way.
Why not this way, eh, Chum?
That's a good Lad;
take'en your licks as they come.

I thought there was more smartness there.
Only time will tell.
It's either Ignorance,
Self-Delusion,
Deliberate Malfeasance,
or this Typical Abusive Creep
happens to have the power to cure Cancer,
or some other equally miraculous Crap.
(And if that were the case he wouldn't need our help).

How big is six years?
How very much can happen in so very little time.
"Too old" is not always an excuse,
an insult, a lie, a social moray,
or a kinky sex term.
Sometimes it's simply True.
I hope this is not the case.
It's gloomy to see something Wrong.
Something broken,
someone hurting,
and me unable to help.
Wishing with all my power,
praying with all my humility,
that someone will be okay.
Knowing all the while that
"Fate," the "Universe," the "Devil,"
or whatever
sometimes has other plans.
I can't do anything about that.

Sometimes this is life.
Growth is often painful, or it wouldn't be worth anything.
Like childbirth; Most painful, most rewarding (if done correctly).
A woman "loses" her virginity in pain,
to make way for a sexual life of pleasure.
Priests cut the skin off the tip
of a male child's penis.

In emotional growth too,
perhaps more like a Garden.
Where some types of people must simply
be rooted up and destroyed,
or they will starve the rest of the Garden.
One's friends, one's family, one's lovers,
one's job, one's home, one's hobbies.
They all create our personal Garden.
Mobile-like the Whole depends on the Health of each area.
Any one area alone can crowd out all the rest.
Stealing the water and nutrients.

It's always our choice what we Do.
Maybe not what we feel.
Maybe not even what we say or think.
But what we Do.
That is Us.
Our Choice; Our Fault.
Today I choose to have Highest Quality People only
around me.
I choose to stay in a nicer area of town.
I choose to be faithful, devoted, to my Lover.
Today I value myself, knowing I deserve the best.
I can't always get what I want.
I can't control or change
anything
anyone else does
or thinks.
This is very sad sometimes,
but also very secure.

For the first time in years
I know where I'm going,
have a pretty clear picture
of everything in my life.
No longer baffled and confused.
The sadness though...
that, I'm afraid, will always find a way in.

I mean,
there wouldn't be happiness without it,
eh?