Tuesday, December 31, 2013

2014 New Year's Plague VI

V (1)

Volume contagion notch off throbbing aspirations of mute eardrums limits as the consciousness drones the black Mordor speech of gunmetal post angst hard nerdcore music before the internal witness desiring all awareness fall asleep, Back hypothetically forever into the blue tattoo polygon shaped heart pill beyond digital black unreadable transcripts of ancient ocean imperial jade green texts never messaged over obsidian jet onyx shade royal egg navy shelled blue screen error affliction impression state of the in achievable second no luck afforded chance at a resurrection!

In earnest anticipation of,

2014 New Year's Plague V


     Hand backed mountainside of a cliff falling onyx to amethyst stairs face down beyond an unheavenly malignant saving graceless mortal empire of the colourless puppet heart crumbles as the anorexic tolls her saviour's naked thorn murder overhead crown upheld dying form as the mirror blows smoke in the plague winds of glittery paper false testimony emotion terror messages against the hope of fate captured in the throws of addiction beguiled in regret. 

In earnest anticipation of,

2014 New Years Plague IV

    Knocked the close hair decorative pin corner out as the triad of a fist fortified with force confided in the chin poster up angle of an upper jagged little square shaped heart pill held ransom in a circle ring box thrusting jabs of angst mimicked in mumbled quasi torn mute lip expressions of hate against any left twitching their bodies over one  batch of floor unsolved riddle opponents stacked ceiling litter secondary box high before the dread beta install equation naught that ended every 1. beyond o version.

2014 New Years Nerd Infest: Plague

     Fortress debt enthroned tomb of enchanted fragments of hurricane Smaug broke hope down before the dais of Sith Onyxia's foul breath forecasted a rain of Pip the dragon fire.

     Destiny Link's fairy fire crystal orb shooting sword parried the Orchid Lightsabre of agent Samuel Fury as the tri-force cheat inherited code melted away green over black screen text of the matrix as Neo and Cloud called in the 47 Ronin to join the strife against the apprentices was dark lord Sephiroth.

     Bastion spoke the never endng's name when Archimonde retaliated upon Kil'jaeden before the oblivion warlock's crimson blood tap throne once violated by the disease of hope as the children of a warcraft allied earth lay siege to the back of the defiler's lost chaotic pet Death-X Wing, the final boss of a Star that never less than 1/3 an algorithm  plausible story Lucas unboarded himself to recast the dye that should have been left a trilogy...!

2014 New Year's Plague III

     Arms from a conflict amputated left explosion all exploited over by war adopted by the phantom personality doppelgängers known sand castle earth over as poor, Cost of the final act beyond a mourning foul wake up fire distress breath of inhumane regret gulp of acid felt in the final moment.

2014 New Year's Plague II


Disarmed new heroic years grotesque birth of the harbinger one charred black winged angel of the future's atonement method afforded Avarice amidst her greedy no fingers left praise of hell freezing over all hearts on earth, Stone labyrinth of redemption all worship to apathy sung from the drones of heaven!

Between phantom numb limb lines read of inhumanity's damage self caused ever corner scattered ochre born fire ashes of the flames rime froze as the choir sang of aspiration in the highest degree unto pain and all the woes of wasted blinks stolen by sleep the brother of Death, Apollion's ember breathing down your throat at the end of time, As your vacant lungs fill pretend your motives weren't part of the crime!

Increase your life as the qualms of grace pass their judgement from one to the last defiant albeit lonely other!

Above is the tale of Carpe Diem and all the gluttony surveillance delirium lost cause after monetary all mechanism believe they are higher cause is wealth above... 

How lost...

2014 New Year's Plague I

     Glittering edge of star dust sand eclipse storm paper born on new holocaust over every underground well source of media day parading truth whilst the propaganda main ocean tide pedestal view regresses backwards in history on Avarice's calendar unique anorexic thin band repeat day by toxic sea no inhuman hand convicted for our world's last phantom appendage journal entry.

    This is the social stigma scape of our sandcastle earth in decay, Mute eyes Braille read from deaf lips as blind ears ear of how the world harbinger tallies lives over tunnel no vision board face nameless white cross up opposition side of  unreversible down as a dementia no one ever cared ward patience violated himself with violent fist upon self epidermis lavender to vermilion weather into six inch graves pretending to be false half open try harder gates of heaven again...

A Bitter Remix XII


     Vacant flag declaration kissing soldiers halt the heart in a moment of emotion terror witless as stone cast wonders they stand ill in silent on a foreign conflict death mine land trap watching children roaming fields of red culture soccer clash with foot to ball,becoming amputees to parents as they saw futures away without chloroform.

In earnest anticipation of,

Monday, December 30, 2013

A Bitter Remix XI


    Prosthetic creative shadow protruding from a phantom numb limb, Culture heart shocked in a post compassion social declaration of a counter stigma attack of residual apathy on grey pastel cloud canvas god drawn rain on the conscious sedation parade of derelict consciousness are held willingly ransom from their own minds kept atop emotion terror's bay where civilisation hides a terminal malignant lethargy tumour behind both eyes more than half accepting the cost blind.

In earnest anticipation of,

Sunday, December 29, 2013

767 Porn Handed I

White hate self blame tide
Pulse of cumming condemless
Hand manifesto job of spilling gossip
Inaudible sigh of relief against inner calm
Sexually incapacitated back seat passenger
Partner exempt from loyalty & passion
Nervous conscious sedation twitch
Misdirected finish line guidance
Singularity clenched sex fist
Quickly diminishing mood
Behind her back crime
Admit to enjoying it
No lotion fault
Doggy style

Emotion terror
Uncontested bed isolation
Husband's admiring online sex positions
Graphics transmitting the disloyalty disease
Heart too comfortable in curiosity's detachment
Internet sexuality hide your history explorer
Star ornament for a groom's lost mind
Wife's bleeding under hood orbit
Adore the nebula digital poses
Inner eye camera roll
Illustrations of lust

Grew up behind
Sexually misguided lines
Where Maureen's very bones
Were held in solitary confinement
Paralysed in contempt before parents
Who wanted a hood ornament boy
Transgender possibility daughter
Imprisoned by false gods
Shadows in the mirror
Smoke on suit parade
Wishing for change
Praying on fate

A would be boy...
Girl's life wished unmade
Genetic single x desired apparition
Double chromosome type birth disorder
Unwanted defective malignant daughter
First heroic male born an opposite
Sexual organ bleeding villain
Teenage daughter suicide
Tomb of a prayer
Parent's desire
Every night

Break of Solutionless Applause Never Heard

No found out overly rehearsed sexually never abated lust disloyalty of a husband could ever reconcile the equation the bullies sticks thrown as verbal stones that reprised her in a daily victim's roll of a personality trapped in a holocaust over active dynamite lit pyre of a smoke stack circus holocaust quickly depriving the frame of carbohydrates smashing them in the manipulation of a suggested broken metabolism of multiple tongue conversations hallway piece.

Next home no shelter
Husband ring managed cell
An alter of shame's loyal vows
Hand of slavery not disappointment
Contract rebuttal refer back to god
Scripture abuse abandoned wife
Disgraced inner being content
Loveless again in appearance
Digitally isolated pleasure
Christ upheld rings
Lord of misuse

A would be wife never held his gaze
No anorexic sideways turn disappearance
Paper contract of love's grace disapproved mother
Appearance of her next generation's definition of beauty
Star ornament of her children's eyes held her captive
No time ticking bombs scars within the hand full
Five digits painted with honesty's graphic
Contortionist's painful smile alignment
Isolated misconduct heart algorithm
Content in evil obedience
Living for descendants
Chivalrous children
Her beloved...

Saturday, December 28, 2013

A Bitter Remix X

Solidarity omission,

           No heart stop beat for a second at reluctances' close over heart folded arms chance to reclaim a derelict future from the pattern of hopeless deep twilight sea channel of seven lions tearing the world apart via the magic capitalism unleashed from a North & South pole frost over the world prison, Wake oh ye mythical Chimaera and take back our sandcastle earth from inhumanity's footsteps of ruin.

In earnest anticipation of,

Friday, December 27, 2013

A Bitter Remix IX


     Emotion terror kaleidoscope future glimpse of sandcastle earth collided with the foot of inhumanity left in ruins to be reclaimed by the sea, Ocean harbinger of elemental reconciliation, Renewing eclipse of human life surge forth from the very heart of the planet, Time has come for posterity in a pop culture idiom of juxtapose's metaphoric ill mental incapacitated health willingly walking blind of awareness after taking the open wide mouth sliver pill of conscious sedation.

In earnest anticipation of,

Thursday, December 26, 2013

Hive Minded xXx IX

Silence attendeth,

     The manifest no less than a quarter self accepting in the mirror bedside dreams forlorn within this misshapen chance of a human, Nothing of value is ever broken more than the heart's matter of torn off the wrists beneath the vermilion stained sheets once known as sleeves...

In earnest anticipation of,

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Inhumane Legacy (Christmas Island)

Derelict Christmas ode
Passages from truth untold
Willing ignorant blindness no shelter
Reckless plastic death empowering language
Capitalism's carpe posterity diem mentor
Ship's titanic waste island catastrophe
Heart of civilization extols silence
Keep every finger quite
Weave your tongue
Pierce it numb
Until all...
Is lost

Broken wings
Shackled feathers
Captive as the breeze
Mid captive way point
Inhumanity caught up in silence
Between corrupt views on posterity
The bigotry of mankind's failure
Hive minded group contest
Outlast our sandcastle
Earth adapted to ruin
Fallen under feet
Extinct ocean
Sea of loss

Ocean titanic ruin toll
Feedback beyond death
Animal kingdom loss scale
Algorithm of a voiceless language
Directed at the destructive culprits
Civilized silent mentor ship sank
Emotion terror kaleidoscope
Capitalist off shore shelter
Sea is a synonym
A hiding place
For profit

Broken wings
Shackled feathers
Captive as the breeze
Mid captive way point
Inhumanity caught up in silence
Between corrupt views on posterity
The bigotry of mankind's failure
Hive minded group contest
Outlast our sandcastle
Earth adapted to ruin
Fallen under feet
Extinct ocean
Sea of loss

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

A Law Abiding Nerd Christmas I


     Succubus cuddles by the flames of an ochre hearth fire distil the mind to pleasure until the realms is disturbed by a patch finger wrap at the door just as sexy times in the mind beside your lover  beckoned the twin Death Star's fully functional nipples to rise and the light sabre to stand blaze.

      Geek identity realigned as glasses once again adorn to unblur the eyes, who could be behind the threshold at such a vile unboring hour with the draught of melting snow and mulled wine upon pillows upon a thick channeled rug that reads a pattern Princess Peach standing upon the ramparts  having conqured Bowser with one foul stroke of her purse for scorning her pale Scottish-Blue skin, below upon the draw bridge stands Super Mario with a key to unlock the universe if only she would come away with him. In the shadows of the portal behind which Bowser once stood, there lurks the hero whom the Princess will run away with! A green hat and a big noes of a second half, Luigi, of the Super Mario Bros...

     Daylight outside has ended when, alas for ill timing, the bell of your portal tolls. There is a long pause, another silky smooth sensual oh so sexy tongued smooch and then another ring of the buzzer, must be answered. Eerily doth thee find the ‘in laws!’ But being in your own home, though entirely uncomfortable, there is nowhere to run! 

     Best not leave the illicit creatures too long stairing at a wreath of Mothra and Godzilla eating the opposing tail end, like Elessar's twin headed reprecussion snake headed ring of Barahir, of a relentless magical demon naught but a hideous destructive scene battle where the true conflict arises within all who dare step up to see.

In earnest anticipation of,

Reasons to Loath... Christmas I

More hells are unfreezing
Opening their gates to con near you...
All hail Emanuel's express throne at Tesco
Built in pledge to open before Christmas
Doors ajar into hours of darkness
Keeping the newly employed
Safe and sound behind bars
On the eve of Satan's day
A binding clause to keep
 Or wages shall sink
Plunging into hades
Can you hear...
The bells

On Christmas

New breeds of elves are arriving
Born from the vats of North eroding pole
Toxic Athabasca fracking near you birthing ponds
At least they look cute whilst perpetrate the will of Avarice
Within our malls and shopping epicentres of the end
Soon Sandcastle Earth will fall before our feet
The end is nigh but beauty isn't obscene
Not in the throws of today
Lest we forget to live
And thus regret...

Associations of terror applaud
Hideous taxi-evil-dermy decorations
Propped up on walls to disgust with distaste
Climate change polar haunting bear heads
Thaw out the riddles of our hearts
Roadside killed lit up reindeer
Beside Canadian moose
Paint a thing white
Doesn't make it

In earnest anticipation of,
A Brighter Future...

Monday, December 23, 2013

An Unopen Letter to Christmas... I

When Shadows,

       Fall upon the threshold as the strangely dim twilight appears to alter time, slowing amidst recognition of beauty trapped in the moment, smile and know for certain that the blanket of life’s misalignment is not misfortune, but a random no second happens again so grasp it by the horns and wrestle that bull of a demon with a vermilion red flag cloaked about your neck! Own every tick of the changing clock, not for carpe diem, but for the survival of a smile…

In earnest anticipation of,

Saturday, December 21, 2013

The Bloated Hush

World of expression,

     Vulgar overly deaf compliant tones of mediocre grey, Moral declining articulate code expansion of delinquent times in a culture of socially acceptable spread of stigma pathogens, Analysis official opening grunt statement met report associates strength with the open air spread of a well structured phrase whose tendency predicates monosyllables' macho loquacity verdict of odd virility.

     Punch half drunk on whispered babble, delinquent sneers and quasi enunciated inane phenomenon of guiltless weak hearted conversation where sleeves will only ever be convinced by a cocky aggressive side walk group hive minded stance consumed by the false subject matter of silence where arrogance breeds an apathy amidst lust so deep its vile vein channels are never sated even as the culprit of  a blackout hate second language glare in the stillness towards a 'lovers' derelict venomous jack frost's endlessly spilling fourth onyx rime like oil glazed over eyes of vermilion blood tones of a death match between loyalty and pride where chivalry never wins has caused the blackout lid no surgery of make up could cover the grievous malignant falling down victim stairs blaming herself for the bruises to the pigs at her doorstep where she lay dying just hours before...

     Worst compliance altercation is a group infested hives willing consciousness past blue pill awakening group in a line up mentality of never lift a finger to rescue the hope in a split no second life dedicated to every chance at sedation.

     Arguing voices mingle between angelic witnesses hovering unseen in a twilight realm of obscenely jested psalms as they bid a moment before the gates to a golden thrown wherein sits the shadow of man so that they may make a a vow of reverent silent decapitation of their tongues to speak of the vile nature of inhumanity on Sandcastle Earth as it falls they prayer to the shade of Death upon the dais who'll never welcome them back folding themselves inside charred wings into the ochre flames of heaven, A wish to opt the insult of humanity shouting in a no arms left resolution of greed's indigenous nurtured voice of violence and the cosmic deaf growl inheritance code of every tone must be kept chained in discourse a captive of silence...

     We speak only on behalf of Avarice and the selfish carpe diem manifesto of greed... What nebula of this sad universe has the vigilance of morality sanctioned itself off our planet to? Leaving black mumble bitten apex doctrine clouds lingering behind the ventriloquist decrepit voice moping inside our heads as if the speakers of our hearts reside trapped within a shelter we're all willing to watch shatter.

     Will the demise of heroic moments lived by choice of will be overthrown by the determination of deviant leagues of blind tongue grouped up side line existing violent speech seething filled hive mentally ill minded rarely but for their own gratification or manipulation be gentle men, The great forked tongue malignant malfunction of our time, We're oft to silent in dark times, too afraid to speak in a closed parselmouth crime unsolved case of weakness surfacing on the tragic predatory snake like epidermis of our colour changing skin.

In earnest anticipation of,

Friday, December 20, 2013

A Bitter Remix VI

Piano call,

    Keyboard finger roll of unrehearsed ventriloquist thunder eardrum of no one due to inaudible stormy irreversible dyslexic mute deaf tones of emotion's terror; A forecast of bravery secluded in a closet no life at all realm of eyes uneasily closed off behind a breathless statement holding the gaze of their every moment captive at the edge of a breaking every future never had a chance like lost seconds, Time's lingering dial trapped in memories of faded grey unto gunmetal fearlessly sad clouds whose halted march lies over the all joy.

In earnest anticipation of,

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

A Bitter Remix V

Isolation is blind,

     All stop reverse lethargic thrusters before the arbiter of hope as it encircled the dais of emotion aegis never shielded the bloated hushed belly of swollen lies within the dark grey shadow of the never evaporating gunmetal turmoil clouds lingering above the heart of my throne as it travels stagnantly caught in apathy's vapid confinement of one in a world where carpe diem monster thoughts leave you abused and alone...

In earnest anticipation of,

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

A Bitter Remix IV

Emotion invested in terror,

     Well ill bitter wind remix of a history on repeat transgression played conquest match chess no stale gangrene amputee mates survive the conflict ending the paradigm transmission heart shift of pull up your britches son... There never was hope.

In earnest anticipation of,

A Bitter Remix III

Miscreant pariah,

     Guided by derelict foot prints filled with vermilion fumes inspired by no arms left over save controlled by algorithms of artificial life mechanisms drifting over snow in the shadow of the hive minded satellite a million universes and a nebula's black over green screen reverse matrix encoded text eternally compliant with the dreams of Avarice, Bride of Greed and Debt that is our emotion terror(ist) Monetary Matriarchs.

In earnest anticipation of,

Sunday, December 15, 2013

A Bitter Remix II

Oceanic centre,

     Where the emotion terror lurks collecting names like Death before the throne of unbelievably reckless grace never found but by the dead, A revelation caught in between a perfect algorithm mental future to past chained up no mirror necessary moments watching the picture roll inside the head that bleeds off amidst the distractions of this Sandcastle Earth where both contentment and emptiness wearily deny the causality of honest pigments to unfold from our tongues.

In earnest anticipation of,

Saturday, December 14, 2013

767 Lucid Doll I (hurt)

Lost survival
Grey cloud saviour
Smoke no filter screen
Behind the sun shot down
A violent marionette fog apparatus
Domestic bruise onyx face paint
Vermilion pastel fist drones
Dreams being shot down
Brush raining blows
Relentless on hope
No world left
Behind for...

Lucid doll
Blind eye witness
Roaming behind blue orbs
Fallen catalysts for atrophy
Mirror a plague for the heart
Stars lie face up in dreams
Circled x marked centre
Edge of her universe
Sunken in bravery
Oblivion living

Lucid manikin
Dreaming of a hero
Curse infected daughter
Time every day detonated bomb
Battered multiple x marked bandage
Hell held in a father's laughing hands
Righteous clench fist proclamation
A hand me blood fate line down
Walk of mannequin shame
Given without warning
Misery signal waves
Rock her cradle
Of memory

Angelic effigy
Robbed of her hands
Abused paper mache doll
Stormy fist weather figurine
Violated under red stained cover
 Home thoughts forever lost
Tormented wall voucher
One shelter put down
None left to go
Cursed be

Chosen drowning capacity
Hell held in a father's laughing hands

Friday, December 13, 2013

A Bitter Remix I

Emotion Terror,

     Complicit vortex where thoughts align with the malignant heaving corrupt breathe of fire half consuming our essence via names as lungs are held breathless from the future's debt overcast truth where luck is love's kin... A reckless contagion profoundly unavailable.

In earnest anticipation of,

Hive Minded xXx VIII

Twisted ruin,

      Roaming behind friendly fire lines, No enemy engagement half to even remotely detonated under skin tones of an epidermis' hive corrosive necessary exploding jest at the emotion terror that resides within the heart's soul well at fate's end... As Sandcastle Earth lies in ruin.

In earnest anticipation of,

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Hive Minded: Maureen I

Nothing rehearsed,

     No found out overly rehearsed sexually never abated lust disloyalty of a husband could ever reconcile the equation the bullies sticks thrown as verbal stones that reprised her in a daily victim's roll of a personality trapped in a holocaust over active dynamite lit pyre of a smoke stack circus holocaust quickly depriving the frame of carbohydrates smashing them in the manipulation of a suggested broken metabolism of multiple tongue conversations hallway piece.

In earnest anticipation of,

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Hive Minded xXx VII


      Swallowed by glass featherless weight of haze infused acid clouds whose hate for inhumanity might broadcast reign, Perplexing measure of the sidelined victim never spoken less than when she took the stand against her blame whilst a pardon was omitted on behalf of the perpetrator of a selfish lust more than half drunken act of violence upon a fragile never been penetrated before epidermis...

      This is the land our children exist within...

In earnest anticipation of,

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Hive Minded F(r)iendship

Extol the future

    Emeralds fixed in the skeletal version of me, light within preparing for horrific times,News broadcasts of the last day foretold in every broken glass fixture,Staring into a cube hidden by sea green ocean clouds,Contest the coagulation of blood loss pain,Knife to skin f(r)iendship bleed out of everyone around,No sensations awoken within the soul,Blast every life into the next world until I'm (you're) the last one left... Don't tell the maker I (you to we) ended things early!

In earnest anticipation of,

Saturday, December 7, 2013

Hive Minded: Swimming Storm Trooper

The Storm Trooper Swims
This Photo? Stirs what... Inside?

     What I look upon the clouds of ashen grey overlapped with those of obsidian pestilence behind the 'swimmer.' Like the Space Jockey waiting in death with his genetically engineered plague for the Nostromo, sent by the corporation to discover the truth of 'the organism,' so to do the corporations of our day scour the world for al that is black. Oil, until it covers the face of the earth with it's comfortable manifestation. Having leaked out from corroding ducts into the oceans, then all we swam in was acid! Like the blood of 'the organism.'

     Then we swam into and never out of the black liquid, greed of death to equality. Birth of tolerance to corporate casualties, disregard for morality. The swimmer stands to survive, for another... Few strokes? Or is he immortal, like the forecast profit margins that suggest eternal growth of oil economics until the end of all ages.

What does the swimmer... Say to you?

Hive Minded xXx VI


      Played in discovery of recent no reconcilation events under watchful tones of never lift a lip to cry nor a finger to scribe as the Arctic Burns, Perpetual epidemic cycle of propaganda given as broad spectrum truthful as a pledge evidence before the world's citizenry who've deemed it a legible caption they'd swear a pitch fork blook vessel witch in a hay stack burst oath without clause to keep their apathetic comfort alignment of the malignant heart of everyone is hopeless in check under thumb of mate before the throne of hell's unthawed flagrant vermilion card up the foul sleeve where no heart is kept unliving left inside the holocaust skeletal chest for all it's pupils entitled humanity to see.

In earnest anticipaiton of,

Friday, December 6, 2013

Hive Minded xXx V


     Charred surface of a sandcastle hidden behind the lunar reverse atmospheric pressure eclipse where no rings fall like the feed of inhumane children of the lands once called earth, Entitled plot loss of for the twins Avarice and her sister Lilith Queens of the forever age of greed bound by will of choice as if eternal monetary profit was achievable without stinted malformation growth of a new anti numb hearted choice of a current status check discovery of a phantom existence we've only half a desire to awaken from as the choke hold of our own comfortable noose hands over neck grip has become our daily quota of malnourished defamation of self beyond the mirror...

     Where the only queue for hope lies in wait at the end of an unsolicited rotten universe pandemic implanted under the epidermis of detriment that inhumanity willingly met the in dark allies with wolves to sign with blood ochre pigment the contract of destruction that shall end only when Sandcastle Earth has fallen...

In earnest anticipation of,

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Hive Minded xXx IV

     Agile epidermis complex waiting just to feel, sixteen year old burned without conflict's understanding 99% of his 3rd degree decorated body, hallelujah be...

      Liquid oxygen fed cancer victim given the 2nd generation diagnosis 3rd degree in the mirror by a widow of a mother who already lost six lives of herself to a malignant disease the reconnection cure is being withheld for a profit skies the limit no life is a more apparent witness to Avarice's matrix algorithm profit guide to our monetary health no one lifted a finger to inject the serum care...

     Digital alignment of automatons an Artificial Heart for the Universe Intelligence was born to give inhumanity the 3rd degree against the death of chivalry to a new age bushido wealth or your nothing classless system of apathy.

     She... Man inadvertently made digital paper heart on a broken green text formulation over black death's screen, toxology couldn't report her still enclosure trap the maker violently constructed after a blotted out sun remains, cold titanium holocaust paper anorexic thin husk wherein beats the never degrading forever roaming heart of the one attempting to wake the vital miserable self tortured lethargic signs of humanity... As if for the first time, will we arise...?

In earnest anticipation of,

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Anti-Hive Minded I

There's always been,

    A luck drawn point of grace not far off the origin shore of grace for this ludicrously random no chance for a second's loss of life... And it's always been you.

In earnest anticipation of,

Monday, December 2, 2013

Hive Minded xXx III

Thou shalt,

     Never sleep beneath the shadow of another subconscious being and betwixt the swelling nebula of obscene neglect spoken never less than a word before the mirror but in your schizophrenic head...

In earnest anticipation of,

Sunday, December 1, 2013

Hive Minded xXx II

Elder scroll,

      Document of the aftermath when Sandcastle Earth has fallen on her knees before the well behind phantastes mundane ransom on hope of heroic end above Arcturus Nightspore voyage into a world beyond the portal of a pariah hidden away wardrobe, nothing will matter or has mattered up till the origin no one believed in story the death of chivalry to STDs foretold unto us by the artificial emotional intelligence seeking to discover the synapse of love core...

In earnest anticipation of,

Saturday, November 30, 2013

Hive Minded xXx I


     Outstretched bionic tips reaching forlorn nearly eclipsed of hope fingers whose loss of range equates to reading holy deluge water Braille with sunken ever grey twilight melted cloudy eyes, pressed by the clause's hand against the ochre blood orange stained pages of no less than disdain's honourable ransom hate method  book of half a life's freeman tale that exiles appeal, save to the man who created the great lie that is the cake...

In earnest anticipation of,

Thursday, November 28, 2013

Hive Minded xXx


     Sun exiled dawn motion never attempted capture as twilight set in mourning's regret on the last day a lonely eagle's golden wing expanse blotted the skies like one ominous cloud determined to eclipse the sun on behalf of the only one left breathing, standing over the dust of his own grave, holding mechanical  hands with the A.I core a hologram fed this historical reconciliation between man and machine as one perished into extinction forever.

In earnest anticipation of,

If I could Meet... Whole Foods!

If I arranged a meeting with Mackey,

     Hopefully I wouldn't have to answer a billion no less than time's worth a dollar amount of questions, possibly I wouldn't have to say much at all for him to see the depth of passion my heart has to utilize the empathetic imagination engine within to inspire hope in others who suffer as I once suffered.

    Not only that, but to reach out positively and interact, whether that be face to face with customers in Whole Foods at store level or a broader scope; for instance blogging, social media, 'poetically hope infused motivational speaking,' telling a story of how Whole Foods Market altered my perception of both food and my body or at least played a massive part in it. I say 'motivational' because that is the term used for public speaking on behalf of an issue or to raise awareness of or even to grant a little bit of hope via smiles.
     But of course the audience varies and so to must the verbiage. One cannot speak to a high school, in class or auditorium, in the same manner as unto young adults or parents. Parents and university students will want a more focused plan of a session, knowing what they can take out of it and apply at home, while students must adhere to the dialogue with a laugh as to make light of hope shine about very dismal and oft deadly subject; Mental Illness, of which Eating Disorders has the deadliest rates.

     How to become a professional 'motivational poetic hope speaker;' really there isn't a way. I don't have the funds nor will I ever, to go back to school and come out with a myriad of papers that say 'Juton can now officially help people within the landscape of Mental Illness, in its personal association known as Eating Disorder(s) both Anorexia, Bulimia and EDNOS.

    Most everyone who suffers from eating disorders is misunderstood, lonely and has all their self worth attached to a physical appearance within their mind that they may never ever be, this is of course the Eating Disorders inclined for weight lose, there are those of which cause weight gain tied in with depression, though that is not uncommon with those who suffer from the landscape of Eating Disorders, Mental Ill Health. They don't want 'treatment' because that is goal oriented, just like their desire to appear one way (thin) in order to be accepted it is merely the reversal by a medical practice.

     This is a massive problem as its goal is measurements of reverse origin the Mentally Ill desire via the Eating Disorder. Getting them to put on weight and then discharging them at a certain level is not responsible. For in most cases the desire and acceptance association is still linked to physical appearance and thus they will merely drop the weight once out of 'treatment.'

     What people need is someone they trust... To eventually ask them, personally, 'what's happened to you...?' The empowerment of the conundrum that is the illness itself is, at its very core, the lack of acceptance, understanding and thus their own self esteem and mental health. The system is set up to discovery, diagnose and treat, finding out 'what's wrong with them,' so that an applicable treatment, in patient or out patient, program can be prescribed to their 'what's wrong with you diagnosis scenario.'

     But the ultimate goal should not be to solve a physical appearance, for it cannot disguise the hurt within, at least not in the long run of life's oh so dreary, oft not happy, road.

     So I would call it 'stage support,' a poetic hope inspiring summit at the plateau of sorrow.' Sounds catchy, but really it's just the poetry bursting forth in an awkward manner as to tear down the walls of 'what one expects' from a 'motivational speech' given from a stage unto an audience, so that a personalized experience with said audience that brings them into themselves and the moment. For in a moment can a smile of hope be born, relationships unbeknownst are created and are empowered to carry into the future.

    For a smile given unto another is like a pin dropping into the pond of another's face, it ripples down stream with them throughout the day, touching those in their workplace and eventually that tiny ripple, better analogy than the butter fly effect, reaches the sea; the ocean that is their home! Therein is where much of the mending takes place, for more often than not 'what's happened to you,' started within the walls we call 'home.'

      If we can heal the ancient woes and tragedies within ourselves that abide the function of place entitled 'home,' then it becomes us. Our hearts become 'home,' and we can be content where ever on this earth we roam.

     Not that life shall ever be any applicable function of the word 'perfect,' but that never really was tied to our happiness in the first place; Acceptance was, and in accepting ourselves through mending in the aftermath of hope's survival rate of that illness or any other sorrow in life, we can at the very least be content.

     Just as I am to write and perform poetry whilst working full time as nothing more than a Grocery Clerk, despite my qualifications; inspiring hope, smiles and peer support via the social media to stage story telling in a style that best suites the sight is all that I long for in life.

     I once attempted to climb the corporate ladder, I also tried to live outside the grid on my own sailboat I lived for two years but I could not escape that which I have been called to do with my life. I exist to utilize the compassionate empathetic imagination engine that drive my unique words for the betterment of this planet, Sandcastle Earth.

    Whether doing social commentary podcast poetry on social stigma, debt, mental health, domestic violence or quirky cute nerd poetry about spreadsheets and mathematics blogged simply to inspire laughter, I live to write and write to so that I might die empty and devoid of regret knowing that with  every second of my existence I attempted to achieve my silly aspirations, to lead by example, cheer other people on or inspire dreams to be followed. Chivalry is not yet quite dead!

In earnest anticipation of,

Ps. Got a little off track there, but  that's what happens when you can write endlessly and don't know what will spark your audience (you my good sir, Mr. Mackey) to give a gander in your direction. Yes, you are correct, I have no idea who you are, as a person, but I know the core values you've created that wrap your company in a bundle of 'my hopes and joys,' so it is that I reach out.





Hive Minded XIX

Socially placid,

   Torn up pin droplet of violence into the lake of inept responses, Victim all to oft begotten of blame, Siding our derelict half logical selves with the offender, Unweaving empathy to become perpetrators of sexual never spoken of hidden deep in the acid memory raining ashes of heartache is the mirrors reply to shame wounds of an unspeakable double self lead think into woes of tragic sexual every day the world over on repeatable don't move a muscle on behalf of compassion channel we should desire to change more than this abusive history we don't even hold in contempt of logic empowered by the rage of a family's hate wish for vengeance.

In earnest anticipation of,

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Hive Minded XXVIII

Aptitude violent course,

    Life not overly long test, Kids will be bullies growing in the mould of passive neglect the fate of their child parents who desire nothing more than sedated pill addiction wherein lies the comforts of heaven in a hell on sandcastle earth ruining song of solace found in a bleak moment on a death all to oft clause of regret bound to the contract of the last X no longer leaves a mark of compassion on the heart where the magnificent treasure has been replace by deficiency code of maleficent conduct of avarice's matrix neo gothic injection of a greed apex doctrine.

In earnest anticipation of,

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Hive Minded XXVII

            Displacement of time’s nebula into realms of universal disorder where lying conduct bequeaths dereliction of moral no family loyal crest for guidance to duty gone natural gene spawning pool order rogue for the sake of Avarice’ trenched in our skin plague children who’re fallen but half atonement seeking angels doing not a single lift a finger motion to aid or abet the destruction of Earth, That’s inhumanity’s land of decay entitled ‘our only sandcastle lies in ruin.’
            Choreography of intertwining shadow held the stare of altruism’s sonnet bound the deep magic of a physics to elements creator who let  the algorithm of fate at the world’s end where the well of the last maiden dwells, thrive as they were manifest upon Sandcastle Earth, Lilith, Queen of Vampire sat upon the immortal throne of the undead legions woven by the siblings of Ungoliant the first Dracula Spider who served the dread lord of truth whose name is unmentionable after the laws of Cerberus, hound bred to seek out the master of there never was a land entitled hell, were passed by Raphael assistant dopplerganger of Michael the Fallen Archangel of Lies, this is the future and the past at the very beginning or so it would seem, of the forever fantasy.
            Treasure of the heart’s distinctive assignment to propose that the graph of luck about the mental epidermis is a contagion, spreading chance by indirect brush of a high five tap contact is more fathomable that a not so divine purpose that seems too often convened early due to the disembowelment of ‘God’s will’ upon us mortals, no… The algorithms of the deep magic of chance derived from fate by luck’s not so random destiny of elements and physics should be recognized as something more than an apathetic cause to whim a vocal one choir chord syllable towards, proposing as a jest that it mattered but only for the landscape of a moment… Whatever we are, nature or nurture, Created or Randomly Generated, we’re more than meets the eye, So transform your heart to the keen endeavours of hope, which are bound to empathy and them to ethics and awareness the social scape of equality.
In earnest anticipation of,


Monday, November 25, 2013

Storage Cloud

Digital facility,

     Store my heart on google drive in triplicate, unfortunate server break green over lack streaming text edit, down went my tri-force soul after the maleficent  experiment of the emotional core malfunction. Am I the only one affected...?

In earnest anticipation of,

767 Whelp Prodigy

Whelp prodigy
Golum in the mirror
Dual audio dialogue box
Personality swap paranoia
Schizophrenic shallow breath
Anticipating the incarnation
Of player versus player
Self monologue
In the mirror

Black oath son
Sheperdless vow child
Intoxicated plot unfolding
Causality of heart reminiscence
Murmuring through violence
Under a bully lord's throne
Father's game unplayed
A Chess surrender
Match of size
Never wit

Whelp prodigy
Holocaust skeleton
Sideways view holigram
Incapacited half life illness
Mental anorexic measurements
Decapitated epidermis layer
Daily pound shed or else
Wishing for acceptance
Scale reflected mirror
Tragedy of tomrrow
Suicide time loss
Shoulder weight
Of the world

Hive Minded XXVI

Garage sale,

     Expose of pastures of distant memories dredged up half complaisantly to alter the secondary mentions of a plot inside your head twisted in an attempt to conjure a magic that might sate the conundrum of painful lop nearly always more than one half sided night terrors where you're reliving the satisfactory glances of a bully titled 'dad.'

In earnest anticipation of,

Sunday, November 24, 2013


Why write,

      When not even the ones that 'care' take notice.

In earnest anticipation of,
The Anti-Silence

What Stays... Hides

Self Loathing,

     Outskirts of Vegas, Degeneration realm of lights never wanted to visit any place in the world less, Where the pornography of everything runs flesh exposure rogue of distinction signals to every sense that doesn't matter informing consciousness that lust above all else must be performed orally upon Averice, A monetary green text over black systems flag digitally rendered wet hand job dream for endless sunny death day after Sandcastle Earth has fallen into disarray from the pollution of choice made on behalf of profit; synonym for war and victim blaming sending adult derivatives of children to rehabilitation no help from either wing or their family centres on the edge of a neighbouring could give less a damn  town already run off filled to the brim immoral trenches...

What stays in your head... Hides in your head.

     Expanding internal false monologue flex of a comfortable conscience of one universe emitting a nebula of take... Take, Take... Show no empathy, never give until in death you surrender and your life shall you have neglected to forecast the unholy nether storm exposure of frozen will numbing fingers upon your awareness... The misery signals you took every trench warfare upon your own soul step, avoided until... Regret upon death's only payable debt bed, for all the pornography in life you ingested without regard for fairy tale story of a partner and wife neglected; Oh greedy fly.

In earnest anticipation of,

767 Online World Addict Complex I

Storm Trooper online
Laser evil twitching finger
Crime scene of bullet comets 
Laser single file hidden number blasts
Social tragedy life ending imprints
Comments of depression buried 
Open beta idle battle field realm 
Outsourced test child dummy
Readings between bullies
Lines of a complex
Hiding their hate

Altitude adjustment
Cancerous derelict attitude
Surviving under-bridge denial
Socially accepting stigma bully
Vapid paper mache persona
Playing online pretend
That hate can't win
Hasn't already...
Sunken seeds
Deep within

Paradox shadowtrooper
Laser sabotaged pendulum
Synthetic li(f)e force sith crystals
Imperial randomly blasted comments
Dregs open pariah ambition beta hate test
Online miserable targets of malevolence
Casualties of a cyber star distant war
Darth no skywalker buried complex
Midichlorian virgin messiah birth 
Masked struggle with fate
Fire rebirthed f(r)iend
Thriving on pain

Attitude convulsion
Derelict anarchist twitch
Thriving on digital agitation
Imbiber of online troll clamor
Social bully mirror stigma denial
Vapid paper mache persona
Playing online to pretend
Hiding animus discord
That hate hasn't won
Hasn't already...
Planted seeds
Deep within

Digital Sith Lord 
Lightsabre anarchy
Dark Jedi Knight online
Laser evil twitch death sword
Random elegance single file blasts
Hidden number social life tragedy
Darth wish of a Vader imprint
Chaos burying depression
Open beta idle battle field
Ronin bounty realm
Complex of hate

Dregs admiration
Needless seriousness
Self victimization complex
Entitlement of every moment
Spending funds bashing pacifists
A dialogue of hatred dispensed
Carpe Diem symbiote of rage
Gaming to sate depression
Hidden history of violence
Playing online pretend
That hate can't win
Hasn't already...
Sunken seeds
Deep within

Saturday, November 23, 2013

Death: On the Snow Fields (Waking to Hope)

Every morning,

     I start the day off with a song, in the living room. There I do yoga to this classical music infused amazing track and meditate on my life or sit quietly reflecting on nothing but how my body feels in the stretch. When it ends, I get up and receive myself into writing. Even if I haven't completed the pose or thought, why...?

     Because then I know, without a doubt that there was more contentment, joy and hope left to reflect upon and it can be found throughout the day or in the morrow.

In earnest anticipation of,

Pendulum of Greed

Day by undying day
May your heart change
From sick of apathy's ache
To storm trooper of above par hope
Amidst the endless plague distance
Of the last great social gesture
Unfathomable acceptance
Not denying the cost
Of Avarice alive
Rampant today

Apathy & sorrow
Doppelgängers of hate
Enemy onset against hope
Speaking to the mirror in stigmas
Social reformation sickness of pacifism
The star dust falling over Sandcastle Earth is finished
Last dying star completed its distant no cylinder effect cycle
Put your arms up to invisible cuffs of comfort's lethargy
Unwatch the mirror yet stay tuned to criticise 
Pacifism empowering the death architect
With stones throne in gossip prose
Behind the backs of friend & foe
Not uncommon suicide eulogy
Unfriendly fire's damage
We trade hope in
When we lie
In wait...

Pick & choose
You're the arbiter
Hopeless arch nemesis
Inhuman being in the mirror
Never lift a partial printed finger
To save anything but comfort
Glutton has soul taken over
Selfish architect of zero
Will of a wasted li(f)e
Spend on seeking
The pendulum
Of greed

Poetic Responsibility (Dubbler Art)

While it's true...
Poetry can take you on a journey
Hoping that the words craft move the soul
It's nearly impossible for a poet to know
Where the skin consciousness graph
Will take you, for everyone...
Everyone is different
We all have our own
Story of woes

Misery Signals
Expounding on hope
That we survived
Against the names
We're once called

In earnest anticipation of,

Hive Minded XXIV

Not a second,

    All too oft discovered late chance strike of luck to find not all is forlorn, You were malignantly caught up in a circus of dark where the shadows of a trigger's breathe of violence lay heavy in a half the pieces left chess equation should the match of life go on despite the phantom lingering no mirror reflection but the inner gone rogue with mental ill health eye's ability to render the image of a limb complete even though it's playing an amputee disappearing act stage side left curtain of a scar drawn where an arm without force gave itself over to the wounds of invisible mechanisms of war; synonym of greed the sibling of profit daughter of avarice, Sandcastle lands of earth carved appallingly for mines and drone fly-bies under cover of night where visions of green text over matrix black screens bring unimaginable terrors upon children.

In earnest anticipation of,

Friday, November 22, 2013

Hive Minded XXIII

Censored programming,

    Methods behind the occupy case for conviction of conscience on historical display behind prison noose sentences of citizens challenging the adulteration that is the monetary new age bushido class no morality for the coast of greed political to profit system. This is the society we dwell in, a harsh reality of a symptom impregnating by the spore of Averice, sister of the troll gluttony, mother of the dredge wolves of ever hungry debt seeking mouths for the sake of abating the venom in their fangs as it stings prey into conscious sedation, apathy the mother of Averice would say 'well done my good and faithful daughter! Your atonement unto hell that lies waiting to rule heaven is accomplished.'

In earnest anticipation of,

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Quirk II

It's really no different,

     If you text message and drive, just like the rude bus driver who 'think being on time is more important than life,' so to do you, think that that conversation that you're having is as well... But it's not is it, not really, not in any sense of logic (which powers science to discover the plausible) or reality, will a single dimension conversation hold more weight on the road than the lives of those you share the road with, from child hand in hand beside a stroller with his mother or the driver next to you.

     Let me ask you what this, how aware are you when you are driving? What matters to your eyes and mind when the lives of people around you are just a fraction of a wheel tip away from injury or worse...

     Let me give you an example of what a cyclist is and must be conscious of in order to be safe, not only for themselves but for those they share the road with.

    Firstly, drivers. Most cars drive as if the cyclist is a mere nuisance upon the road. As they pass they rarely signal, even if they are passing you near a left turn and thus cut you off as they round the corner. The same thing happens at stop lights, people neglect turn vouch for the fact they are turning, presuming everyone around should just know their intent without having to be notified, they don't signal... The light goes green, they begin the procedure of turning the corner and nearly hit the cyclist that was right beside them, usually at eye level, all along.

     Next is the random generation of pedestrians, whom I like to describe as 'lemmings' who like to turn abruptly and begin crossing the street from off the pavement (side walk) without so much as looking over their shoulders to check if they might just be walking off a cliff into a sea of traffic like the little rodent into the ocean, as the tale goes.

      Often the lemming will yell some slander at the cyclist as if it were their fault, without realizing that it was them who put both in harms way, after all no one would walk out in front of a car and then yell at the car, you'd be too scared, heart racing, after the experience of nearly dying.

     Then there is the parked cars, watching in the mirrors to see if someone is sitting idly inside. Why you ask? Well it is because people in parked cars like to open their doors without checking their mirrors, 'dooring' the cyclist, nearly decapitating them... Well not quite but often being doored leads to serious injury and the lemming who doored the cyclist leaves as if nothing ever happened.

     Road, the asphalt itself can be a hazard, especially in Glasgow, as there are massive pot holes, divots and storm drains that may cause cyclists a head over heels crash or worse. The conditions are made worse with the weather, from frost during chill winters to wind, that we try to compensate for, which blows us about at its leisure, for it is the power of our sandcastle earth and we are but the cyclists attempting to brave the roads on our way to and from work.

      So once again I ask you, how much are you aware of as you drive the by-ways, high-ways, streets and roads of the world we are ruining?

In earnest anticipation of,


     While cycling last night at 10:39, with fully lights and reflectors, I was rudely cut of by a bus at a pedestrian crossing. This is not the first time I have had my safety held captive by the bus drivers who represent the City of Glasgow to the world as it happens nearly every day. 

     I can't believe the brazen disregard for life that some of them have as they pass through red lights at pedestrian crossings or cut me off for to arrive at their next stop just a few seconds early than otherwise if they had not.

     Getting to a stop at a specific time is NOT, I cannot stress this enough so I repeat, NOT more important than the safety and subsequent lives of people.

     If Glasgow Wants to be a World Class City it needs to conform its transit systems to be safe and make sense to people. No passenger on a bus wants to witness a cyclist being cut off or put in harms way on behalf of a few seconds delay; whether they are visiting the city or it is their home.

No thank you.

Hive Minded XXII


    Once peaceful regime of parents who raise bullies, Pass a fist carrying a flag of purple bruises and submissive no less than 100% detrimental images of a mother... Son taught by a drunken police no PTSD relief from the stress brought home by an off duty officer on every occasion the drink met his lips that spent too much decrepit time vomiting up a vile sonnet craft in passive yet overly physically aggressive mechanisms of verbal not even for a second idle but terrorizing banter that was the prelude of his stagger, out of the lazy hate boy leather before a televised program of ethical oil destroying the earth underneath the family falling into ruins upon sandcastle earth, how could he not justify the abuse as an chivalrous attempt to bring a unit in line, as he stammer and stuttered up out from the chair just like every other incident never reported before where he started swinging at her, he made hints after the end of every glance over his shoulder at his family's seconds of peril as they waited for  nights of throwing a post mellow post violent dramatic passive overly covert aggressive stress never tested but upon spousal epidermis disorder.

In earnest anticipation of,

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Hive Minded XXI

Epidermis swollen,

     Glands wishing for memory woes loss infraction after a black no contraception or pull out a six inch trigger untimely injection of a nine month periodic damage over time spell of a rough gauge it pain's sexual organ spread wide open threshold, collapsing after birth.

In earnest anticipation of.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Poetic Dubbler iOS App III

A Phone Infused Poetic Word

In earnest anticipation of,

Hive Minded XX

Contemplating the nature of crows,

      Feeding the tears of wolves as daylight fades, the drones of x marked the hardest sadness of angelic passing heaven's shadowy apparition of bliss by, content in atonement's long suffering breath trapped behind the North wind where dwells the patience of all who once thrived on the clamour of an ancient lament entitled fear of loathing all reason to exist; Especially loyalty to compassion.

In earnest anticipation of,

Monday, November 18, 2013

Hive Minded XXI

Cover of darkness,

      A loneliness sway of white atonement from baggage carried during a jackets attempt to cure whilst wishing sheets above the skin were a shelter from the past where attunement with the last exile in the mirror's tragic overly relived in the pariah of refunded memories on nightly display amidst shadows of the distance... Where situations unchangable lie.

In earnest anticipation of,


A Moustache Movember

If it's not for you...
    It's not for you...
Look every's body, it's Juton's Mo Space!
Check it...

Movember 2013!

I really don't like it, but I do it for the cause!

Look, I'm afraid of the mirror on my phone!

Trying to hold the contempt for face in...

Embracing it...

In earnest anticipation of,

Poetic Dubbler iOS App II

A Phone Infused Poetic Word

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Gates of Metal... I Mean: Algorithymns' Radio

Edition one of Algorithymns' Music Radio Podast
By Juton

In earnest anticipation of,

Hive Minded XVI

Burial placid untimely avenue

     Tracing the fear chalk outline of a pacifist's complainant out of place in the darkness of an alley known as an obsidian television only thing on living room crime scene descrying a December lifeline call for mercy from the end of a watching a murder of birds fall in bad weathered the illicit storm of unmentionable clarity of an eternal voice.

In earnest anticipation of,

Artist's Story Board Mother's Sorrow Workshop on Creativity

No one has written,

     Maybe the standard for 'the first submission' is very high and as of yet to be anywhere near met via said works of the citizens of the Witness Guardian. I know not, though that is my only guess.

     So what to write...? Certainly nearly anyone who exists has a story to tell that might be found worthy of being broadcast under the witness guardian protection digital media program of this here little website, but what shall this tale stagnantly tell? Possibly it is not derelict, as an ancient nothing but rusted out holds long looted by pirates about to run aground on a shoreline where no tourists, nor natives, have ever dwelt. It shall be an odyssey of a grand undiluted saga of win! Yes, win, for all your basis are belong to us.

     How bout a telling of an ever long saga of nearly all starving to not so struggling artists, the woeful long suffering life of perseverance despite... Well, hereafter you shall have it.

Nearly all journeys,

      Into the creative side of ones consciousness are uniquely besieged by dark tides. Rife is the realm of sorrow, pain and mourning within us all today. One doesn't have to be a clinical trial 'cough' victim 'cough' subject afar 3rd world field filled with the prospective threat of land-mines to feel the effects of world that our Sandcastle Earth grievously wounded and might soon be compared to the ruins of Mars...

      Some artist's adventures are riddled with what we call 'writer's block' which can send your dreams spiralling down the tubes beyond the porcelain throne if you're not diligent to persevere in your medium of creativity. Most do not question said imaginary complexion, 'writer's block,' when its sword of symbolism crosses shields with a deviant in armour, whose sitting upon the not so valiant stead of the artist we merely shake our heads and say 'that's a true shame that.'

      Not even for a moment do we begin to propose that said statement is merely an over spoken malignant line that empowers the tumour killing the aspirations of creativity within the artist... No, we accept that such a predicament has arisen, allowing the persistence of the artists to go unchecked and thus the aforementioned device of 'death to creative drive' remains pent up within someone who could be... No, that is not for us to judge, it is only up to us to question, the answer must, or should nearly always, remain inaudible and hidden as to keep secure the dreams of the creativity starved oft under appreciated and always questioned, 'why are you pursuing this in the first place,' artist.

      The landscape of 'creatively stagnant due to blockage' exists in many forms from that of the external, being social or antisocial to internal such as lack of perseverance, drive, patience or will. An example is that of one who finishes a first or final draft of a work they deem 'magnificent' or 'a game changer in their creative medium' and thus put aside creativity and dedication to their craft in order to persuade others to produce or sponsor their project. Sadly if the said contract to continue as a paid artist doesn't happen, the dream of creativity often dies with the hope of funds for further works.

       There are countless instances of artists being plagued by external avenues of time theft. Whether that be f(r)iend or arch father stressful life nemesis, if your ever-presence to persevere in creativity despite set backs, horrid creations or failures, if it fails and you delay over long, there may come a time when you walk back to the door of your dreams... You might find it locked at the end of a labyrinth with a Minotaur in the middle, a devil inadvertently self created. Thus you begin knocking upon the portal betwixt the threshold. Alas no one responds therein is naught but silence, the pattern of creative beauty is no longer at home in any landscape of your reality; heart, mind and consciousness, synonym for will, soul, spirit or bones!

My Rubbish Harbour

        Too far out on the barren oil plagued seas as a black patterned no one after sheep in a dingy with no oar or life preserver the shores of distant lands dreamt of achievement at quest's creative realm's end, no where in sight. No home to walk back to, even if one could walk on holy water or turn it to wine... Or ice for all intensive failure of a miracle wished for prayer purposes to walk across. My dreams began with an accident.

   Two of them to be exact. The first was that of my body being damaged beyond diagnosis, for an aching period of pain more than two years long when I was twenty three years oldish. On site, a fork lift came round the bend of pallets and in a fright the driver lurched and I was struck by the tusks of the mammoth beast recently harvested from melting permafrost in the far Eastern Realms of Russia, ivory sold to the evil engineers I was once submissive to.

     But greed no longer plays a roll in my life after being struck in the chest and sent falling into said stacks of pallets. All would have been well if I had been taken care of by the insurance company that covered work place injuries, which happened to be sponsored by the government. Sadly my faith and trust in both corporations and politics died when I was abandoned to much sorrow.

     No diagnostic unutilized tool did I find myself under until my doctor finally got approval from the insurance board after watching me suffer for six months of constant pain and prescription over-the-top pain killers hadn't even begun to dull the constant sharp twinges and searing agony.

     A flat line down bone to howling cat scans and injections of serum conjured up some results. A deeply routed injury and for nearly a year I continued to be overcome with pain and the mental haze of pain killers, sedating any desire or creativity. Finally I simply began stretching and holding yoga poses at home from a book I got second hand at a charity shop or thrift store, something of either the sort.

      Out of money and no where to live, having no f(r)iends, due to a lack of desire to socialize from being brought up by bullies on all fronts. Everywhere was a battlefield of verbal sticks and banter stones. The sad existence of a bullied lonely youth and subsequent useless online repressive nerd to geek driven adulthood, eventually, however, the writing began. How and when... I dread to remember the juggler of my hazy
 memory naught.

    Words streamed out as poetically infused prose journal entries. An existence of imaginative empathy trapped in the horrors of painful rage inside. At the hand of chance's fate I ended up across the country working for a massive, once again no trust was placed, corporation and quickly began moving up the ladder, though not so swiftly of pay grade and the writing all but came to a screeching, I was so daft to stop, halt.

     Then the second accident happened, I believed a lie. A creature unimaginable floating as butterfly, cocoon wrapped beauty on a the exoskeleton side flipped in a decrepit genesis of hate into a maleficent demon who lay dormant inside, waiting for prey. Sadly everyone that had ever known the butterfly, decomposing before my eyes into a moth, believed she was at very least, normal; a placid little adorkable creature, thus so did I.

      What I had to offer, the demon wanted, a comfortable life of easy conscious sedation, I would never raise my finger before my voice in anger at anything in life, pacifist. But my creative rage instilled words that would not be quelled by any offer... Even that of sexual, you'll have to do all the work no matter what position, pleasure.

      After all I had barely any inclination to touch the evil one in the first place, being a massive role playing nerd, I found my escape from reality not in the fate of epidermis infused pleasures but in a digital realm entitled World of Warcraft, by Blizzard Entertainment, (clause)All rights reserved to return to said world will be held not in contempt herein after this paragraph ends(clause).

   Have all the perils passed? No, certainly every moment is a contagion for another catastrophe unimagined, but with pain and consciousness comes patience and wisdom. In fact the more poetry that spews forth the more that is learned about self and thus the mending of life continues in contentment. Herein is part of a Spoken Word Poem.

When Maureen was an innocent child

She used to spend convulsive intervals wondering

Stim packing her bipolar no second chances personalities
Wherever she traversed, Upheld by whose kidding juxtapose idiom voices
They didn't believe in her, just like her derelict space odyssey mother

Just like her mother's cold she wanted a boy off in the distance stare...

Backyard toxic screen check language chasing her out the door

Escape the fear bomb story of one heavy handed conversation

Polygraph video kaleidoscope memory gland held it all in
Mourning after journal entries of hidden treasure
Found herself in another predator's video
No it was her merely mum's brother
An uncle's vigilant paedophilia
The vile reality of a hunter
Yet she rose amidst pain
Locking away misery
Spasms of ache

What is this malarkey, stop the swelling vermilion red's kindred tide of anti-sedation upon the shores of consciousness! We are comfortable here, but alas the poem goes on...

When my mum was innocent and beautiful
She used to spend convulsive intervals of time
Trapped shivering behind manifested parental prejudice
Willing herself to believe she could reclaim her withered smile
If only she could reach her backyard sandcastle universe
Beyond the screen toxic language closed door
Patiently tolerating the tirade amidst tears
Liberation came as the fist was raised
Besieged child of pain's dialect
Swollen eyes can't escape
Auditory multiple voices
Valid sanity response
To insane

Alas for the tragic, not so unique yet too often reprised roll of nightly wish it were her death bed victim(less) crime they described her life as... Something she grew accustomed to, yet never once asked nor challenged the putrid will of a vile creature times two, parents gone missing in a never ending curfew of no one wins but wounds child abuse!

When Maureen was a tormented youth
Forgettable no family table disgraced scraps

She used to spend convulsive intervals sedated

Bed sex payment riddled packing her bipolar personalities

Into no second no one's ever kidding juxtapose idiom chances
Where schizophrenic dualities of disorderly personality misconduct spoke
Derelict multiple sinking voice over the side ships that didn't even believe in her

Just like her cold no hearted drunken mother wish she was a boy mother
Even the scrimmage of personalities within didn't dare perceive value
Just a distant half periodic mirror's loathing reflection stare

Backyard tox-memorandum-screen to check her baggage
Always hateful language chased her out the back door
Vengeful wish she was never born insighted hatred

She never could escape the fear bomb story
Of every nights red one righteous handed
Down from a father's mismanagement
Illicit kaleidoscope face paint
Phantom bruises never recorded
Never recorded Phantom shades
Unlimited resource of bruises
Police line up aspirations
Conviction left unproven
Falsified detective work
Polygraph darkness test
Child falsely incriminated
Trapped in an idle rime
Pain endowed shiver
Frozen happiness
Permafrost exposure
Balloons never drifted away
Freedom like hope

Could it just end now, with less ounces of infringement enamouring our conscience with the sorrow of truth too often hidden behind pictures of victims left blank, no one took the time or care to listen, to ask not what was wrong with them... But what...

Father's betraying fingers
Like daggers to the heart of shame
Nightly mirror polygraph diagnosis
Test she failed twitching in a stigma
Holocaust thin on high accident metabolism
Hands reaching for enlightenment stardust brings
Acceptance despite the horrid word sticks
Painful fists of stone work ran amok
Penetration rampart skin walls
Damaged by derelict waives
Beaten black and red tide
Bruises mingled in blood
Kaleidoscope epidermis
Shore lines of woe
The shame of rust

    At least baggage carried now is stable, in toe is only that which helps mend others through whatever, highly ignored, adventures in poetry that come forth in what seems to be 'writer's block' in reverse. Living to write and writing to die empty, in hopes that the journeys craft will endure long enough in a digital shadow to aid others in some meagre more than a mirage, yet hopefully inspiring and validating into realms of conscious acceptance, way. 

           Writing about what seems to matter; equality,mental illness, victim blaming, prejudice, injustice, love, domestic violence, mother earth, father time and artificial intelligence, a cyborg holding the last human's hand in the end.

         For one, other than my vapid self, it might be realizing and confronting a grievous wound or explicit deeply set off conspiring scar which may or may not be a constant burden of a long, but never forgotten, trauma. For others it might be witnessing in their minds the sorrows of others, unable to change the node on the dial or alter the channel to escape the imaginary landscape adventure.

      Whether it's being able to identify with others in a new and beautiful, empathetic to non pass the fist around the room, hand shaking the issue at hand from self down the unsolicited line, after being stolen away on a journey through tragedy, loss or mourning into revelations that are or have indeed suffered confrontation with coming to the surface of reality, possibly for the first time... Spoken out loud or written down. Hope is the prescribed outcome, that is my only hope.

         Where does your mending begin? On a train home from work after Baring Witness to an audacious conversation between two gossiping behind the back adoring quacks? In a school aftermath class of ignorance effectively prioritizing the classification of the masquerade called life other people give you with verbal sticks and vapid stone thrown at you room after taking in the impact of a lesson spoken by some random workshop poet scheduled in for the day? After some traumatic misery signal that was the sign you prayed or hoped for that would spark you to change... But sadly you didn't until it was too late?

         There is no such thing as writer's block, a not so mild proposal, there is just being stuck, possibly... Persevere, endeavour on in your creative medium, create despite the lack of inspiration, you'll never know what you might craft if you believe you're stuck and don't make a move forward in your creative endeavours.

         There is no such thing as being tone deaf, when your mother calls you over the phone, you know who it is... You can instantly tell by her tone whether or not she is happy, upset, sad or frustrated. Slowly apply this to your own voice and you too can learn to sing in beautiful tones of melody.

       The point is, don't stop being creative before you've really delved into the realm by which your dreamscape is taking you, especially just because someone informed you or some media state of ill propaganda fed to you throughout a masquerade they're attempting to fulfil a lie of disassociated labelling called 'your life' instilled a belief that 'you cannot... because.' Unlearn such non-sense as to disbelieve in yourself because the vapid bullies of our dregs society, whose parents adored them too or cared too little to scold them in any capacity until their pariah nature was all too clear in a prison cemetery brick six feet under cell. 

       Begin mending before the kaleidoscope grey skin to red blood clot swollen bruises of your own wounds to scar over, cauterized by the flames of sand, the mirror's intoxication with an unpleasurable self denial of acceptance.

       We can never be perfect for ourselves or our partners, often times we can barely preserve the best essence of ourselves for others. Though they may help the mending process, only we can find contentment in who we exist as from one derelict space time continuum ship moment unto the next, projecting the snow filled oceanic crystal whoracle ball image from one dreary station of our human condition unto another. Not always in healthy chains does our past hold a noose of shame around our hearts that, carried as we travel towards the next stop in our escapism of conscience, acceptance and compassion.

      I leave you with a poem written while witnessing, which seems appropriate given the content herein is written for a guardian proposing that life's witnesses view, digest and reassemble to share a tale with would be clicky pointed back dagger finger viewers.

Baring Witness

Crows gossip beside me, murder stains their beaks, vermilion scales of painted red dance like pawns cursing a game they never meant to play, sinisterly calm in year long trenches of venomous speech, paper wire tapping idle of response unstable personalities bounding ridicule against f(r)iends through parasitic liquid revenge sworn unto death seething from the mouth of hate...

In earnest anticipation of,