living for the city

when that record hit the billboard charts in the early sixties no one thought that they were dancing to the soundtrack of a fascist plantation economy, few believed or even considered that those final moments of the song were the actual state of affairs envisioned by this sad state of affairs, being locked into cell, being beaten, being held, american slavery sounds swell, kidnapped, murdered, and raped, these are capital crimes, the perpetrators of these multiple felonies that were committed,  are they all those listed on or to be found at or in ancestry dot com, do these sound like songs of freedom, Dick Clark subsidized this American Band Stand, this infamy of insanity defies explanation yet repeats itself eternally in its celebrations as these expectations were the goals and ideals were shared by so many, none of whom will now admit their participation in, or acknowledge the benefits they now enjoy though their self worth is based upon their corrupt integrity dialing for dollars, where people still believed that these aspects

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twice in the back, these police

to serve and protect, their blessed economic slavery, the infamous have expressed their admiration, appreciation, and implementation of the reservation and plantation, how do you retrain those who have so much to gain, this psychology of i am sorry for feeling good involved in the deception, this psychiatry of therapy practiced by the sons and daughters of overseers, and owners, these are vested interests, paying everyone to be quiet, who are these lies directed at, this promise-land, where everyone from anywhere arrives with a credit card to oppress those who came before that statute in the harbor existed, this twisted sister of the freedom to oppress, god bless, where all are athletes operating in the recreation of deceit, encourage all they meet to give back to do unto others as you have been done too, in florida or carolina, black man shoot in the back

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fat albert was shot to death

what else in new on the shelf, chilling in the hot box of an anxiety of dubiety, the madness of Petula Clark’s angelic back up vocals for the choir of farts, her vocals so sweet with love for Sir, shrink wrapped in this illusion, this movie’s conclusion, broadcast in the illiteracy of founding fathers who raped, pardon for crimes committed to the ideals of democracy, questions such as whether I love myself, or should one blow steam in the face of the beast, the evolution of a disheartening experience this welcome wagon of deceit powered by the immigrants one meets, these alleged commonalities, or vulnerabilities so numerous, few are discussed, mostly in disgust, denials of this animosity of our fate do you have faith in the duplicity of this horn of plenty, shooting Negroes for sport in the cul de sac of ferguson is that a show tune another in the unending series are there ever any indictments after the inquiry of an all white jury, this house of representatives,

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this american bandstand

the myth of man, the lock on, the use of god’s slaves, those Africans, their descendants therein, the beauty thus enumerated the pulchrum, no point in discussing the niceties of this racism disease in vernacular usage re-introduce Humphrey and Kalon, treated interchangeably, the meaning of this switch, that black African bitch call her a witch, the property of the father-confessors, the indelicate topic of lust wailing entreaties against the birth of a nation of mulattoes, the effects in current theoretical terms innovative subversive difficulty linked to the decline of all European chariots of fire, despair a thesis on Art and Capitalism, the meaning of style, a refrain of nonsense, drums and bells, the pope mobile traveling the Appian way, listening to the soundtrack of generations of blacks, too the sound of the rain, the old rugged Negroes, of the hill Cavalry, located in the new world, bombastic exaggerations stretching the entrances wide plowing vaginas aside, the dialectics of entertainment, a

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singing along with Roberta Flack,

this medical center of neglect, awaking the instinct, the blue eyes rescue, white waves, and chinese caves, the twin paths like the pillars that held, so many sacrifices, softly the glow of this supposed devotion, writing of the episodes of self-abuse are you ever anything more than abuse, watching the collapse laughing in the increased consciousness, confess, the regulations of this deceit and those whose eyes are filled with fear, watching as they discuss the education of fascination, what a display wondering in the upstairs the book store of a city on a hill far away where on a cross they say my savior was nailed hand and foot above ground, some pastor around town said faith in the plate of history’s fate, comfortable with suffering adjusting the channel, the wow and flutter popping in the white noise, your eyes were lovely, watching the whole milk on the highway of  ’ The Battlestar Galactica ‘, not yet seen running between the aisles of bread, your long lashes, regulations that limit the effectiveness and the efficiency of services in place to aid the attrition by omission, under the stop light begging, this veteran of pity, speaking to Frank Nitty, watching television is it only my television,

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this song was about you,

this vet under the stoplight of distress god bless, having served under great stress and given all that was best, recognizes what …. (hi, story) history exhibits it the best, not any longer serving the progress of humanity, this sixties hit parade, a bandstand…never heard of a lost generation…… no longer suffering from this song I think you think is about urban renewal, this retail experience selling pity, asking for mercy, the need for redevelopment, the laws of gentrification, another new bifurcation the laws of a gentry’s intent into this wine glass of a five o’clock shadow in the twin towers of deceit, it is a tower of glass, this history of a thousand leagues

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excerpt from thresholds of consciousness

Dangerous territory, joyous confidence, fundamentally stupid, in the chronic spontaneity, abundant blasphemies, succinctly stated, a practicing contra-culture ascetic, disappointments, opposed antithetically no supernatural responsibility, solitude and despair, Cambodia, Laos, maybe the death of you, reciprocal relations, deific mean-ness, in the borrowed splendor, an exotic love me tender in the splendor, an exotic authenticity, where the situational variables, a paradoxically poisoned mystical aura, the memorabilia, imperishable over time that armored personnel carrier rhyme, fragmentation and being inside the specialism of animosity, these most glorious words, the frenzied stupidity, the subjective individuality, considered a distasteful possibility in the religious significance, this voluntary alienation, while the damaged interpersonal interaction the soul’s depths, my hypothesis seething in a supposed labyrinth of enlightenment, the ancient intimacy shared meat and moisture, so concealed, papering  a dream chamber of colored light have gone beyond the white light of Ralph Ellison

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shadows

more words from the silent stranger who walks so alone wondering through the words and some of the retreads of eternity, the words no longer a secret hiding the mist in our eyes who talks of love’s earlier disappointment; shadows long conditioning the future where rollicking sand-dabs, love’s most intimate pearls

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excerpt from Wordless Communication

the cashews showered early before the pecans arrived from Hawaii, the weatherman laughed and cooed, now comfortable with with that one lazy eye, and losing weight on the sly,

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excerpt from estuary of lust

the beginning of this rhyme where eye are configuring all the time the mind the information load insufficient to effect the quality, listening to the millions of things brought into this view where seeing the edges of the toast watching the body bags. the consummate tool, while still sleeping under the barrels, these lines from the poetry of our mind, all those things it would seem unsaid, was that the face of dread, those nights walking beneath the palms all day at the farm, wandering through the library before McHenry, this cross dressing agent, a prominent feature of the winding road, and the garden of time being the music and erotic art, in praise of what was not, the mere plodding of poster art behavior coming out of a cave where was the possession ‘ my savior ‘ who else would continence this behavior, laughing in the recognition of one’s slavery, being comfortable with the integrity of acknowledged disbelief, subdivisions of another, movements into something schematically, phonologically structured patterns of sound symbolism, reduplicative structures, or

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