T-kun Unusual Wordsmith III

In sudden travels,
Many would use their minds,
And think ahead.
As some would do so,
Without batting an eye,
And just go for it.
In world of the technical-color wires,
Weaving around another,
As a spider’s web,
Ready to catch anything in its path or making home!
On what any wire,
The story is different of home or death.
Yet in the land of the internet,
You get many retires,
But the friends that are made come just as few,
And far between,
That is to say, as when traveling a new web,
Seeing what kind of beast could within it,
The body battered to a slow heals,
With; twitching and painful memoires of . . .
Trollz,
Haters,
Butt-hurters,
And many who split the difference of those just want to . . .
Make something of them-selves,
But in a cyber-world,
A place to be oneself,
Is a harder deal problem; all on its own.
And it is.
Even for one wander to handle and understand.
With it becoming so hard for the mind to take,
That golden wall,
Becomes misguided and one to just walk into,
Like a larking jester.
As the wander collects of what has happen,
Ears’ hearing the dreading sounds of giggling demon Trollz,
It was time to hide.
And quickly!
One’s eyes finding strands of wires up scaling the wall,
It was only best to copy the motion,
Reaching the top of the wall,
Soon losing balance,
Fall within what this wall had to hide,
But the screams of Trollz being stopped by the wall,
Meant for a short moment,
No harm was to come,
Besides what the fall had given,
But when comparing,
The tender behind seemed more rewarding than anything else,
And even if a mess of the wander’s work lay about the ground.
The wander close to get back to their feet,
Gathering all fallen things that fell from the large back bag,
Soon seeing a hand,
The wander looked to see this person,
A man,
Wearing a rather large black hat,
A kind smile not hard to miss . . .
Nor the gesture helping the wander,
This was gladly taken for the wander to take up on the offer.
The hat man spoke moments of how the wander came by,
What was there to run from in a questioning matter?
But most of all,
Welcoming to the world Manic!
The wander looked wary to this,
As to come and think that this world,
Couldn’t have been different from any of the others,
But before even that question could be answered,
The hat man,
Whom; was more known as The BigBlackHatMan,
Hint only the overly large hat he worn,
And with pride,
As he saw something by the wander’s feet,
A note,
A note of the wander’s work,
That in form or another was tossed aside by others,
For the poor taste it was,
But this man,
BigBlackHatMan read and with a look of shock,
The good kind . . .
Soon asking to hang onto it,
It was a simple note,
What would it matter anymore?
The wander nodded that is was fine,
In return,
He handed some kind of stone,
It was a lovely Agate coated in a soft calm blue,
Much as he speaks,
A friend or a father . . .
Speaking as he handed it over,
Speak to it,
And he would have the wander’s back when ever in trouble,
For it was he and follow fighters do.
Follow fighters?
The words slipped out from the wander,
But the man was gone before an answer was given.
When the winds picked up,
Any remaining works flew away,
Leaving the wander in a chance to get them,
Before becoming anymore damage then they already had.
Eyes moved about the town,
Taking everything in while in screech of their things . . .
The world was huge and lively,
All who lived within the world would be seen,
Mingling,
Chatting,
Sharing,
Many things that were hardly seen in other worlds . . .
It felt welcoming to see,
Even with the sharp brightness of clear unnamed grits on their wrists,
Must have been the sign that they were part of this place,
But it was very distracting,
As in no time,
The wander met another villager of Manic,
Covered in nothing but small signs that he was a fan,
Wearing a large,
Curvy twelve on the center on his shirt . . .
Along with pure love for a young lady who was known for long hair,
And quirky out look of things.
With a somewhat shy smile,
Greeted himself as Moviefan12,
Taking notice of the wander look,
The wander was very new to the world.
But the wander’s eyes land on something that was attach to his person,
It was one of the wander’s notes.
Moviefan12 follow the wander’s eyes to see in match,
As he reach for it,
He told in short of how fun this note was fun to read,
It was cut mid-way when seeing the look of the wander’s face,
Understanding slowly of that look,
Soon adding that it was honesty truth . . .
The wander just shook their head,
In; a somewhat thankful matter . . .
When Moviefan12 was going to return it,
The wander denied it,
Seeing it was in far better hands.
When the sudden feel of closeness,
The wander bid good bye to other,
And started to move . . .
But Moviefan12 stopped the wander,
Asking calming of matters that could be bothering the other,
No response was given.
But Moviefan12 wasn’t having any of it,
Placing something the other’s hand,
Closing it tightly,
Saying this place is like family,
There was no need to shut others.
And with that he was gone.
The wander turn to where the other once stood,
But then to their hand, opening to see a pearl,
Which; got the wander laughing lightly at the sight of it,
Tuckering it with the stone next to it . . .
Able to move on with more of lightly step,
Finding more notes along the way.
Upon; also finding a person or two . . . three?
Moving fast as little mice,
Picking up the notes that were in their path . . .
Stopping him in time from tossing the notes,
Asking not out beat if a toll or something made this mess,
The wander said only it was messy fallout more than anything else.
The others,
Mousey like men,
Stating bluntly their names,
Oliver Judd,
Scott,
And Vineet Vig,
Fellow keep sakes of Manic,
About to say more,
But caught something far from the wander’s sight,
A mission they must take care of and now,
Tossing some gems to the wander,
Repeating words that seem as a quote in this world of Manic,
But the wander just sighed,
Sliding the gems,
A bright ruby with the letters OJ
Another was a Ulexite with the letter S
And last one was a Leopardite with letters VV,
With the other stones,
Moving along,
But also looking for a quick rest for the tiring legs . . .
Not long,
The gentle tunes of music,
Far,
Far in the distance,
It was the quick and soft melody of a piano,
The tune sounded familiar,
But it couldn’t have been . . .
No thought the wander,
It was a sudden of a silly dream,
Nothing else,
But still that tune made the wander stop,
Relax,
Take in everything that has happen thus far.
The wander seeing again,
Many walks of life in this comfort lounge area,
Seeing few near a bar was,
Tasting the finest beers,
Loudly joking of the beers made by man while at it,
As those looked moderately annoyed by it,
But said nothing,
Only looks of maybe sabotage them later it seems.
As others mix talks of history,
Animals,
News,
Myths,
Comics,
Movies,
Food,
Medias of all shapes and sizes,
In deepest details,
Whatever they were,
There was nothing short of words to back up any of those subjects in one go.
Even some sneaks of every day life,
Books,
TV found their way in somehow.
The wander just took it all in,
Taking the moment to reach for something within their bag,
Paper and pencils,
Getting; lost within the elements held in the wander’s hands.
Not taking mind of someone nearing,
Only that someone else was making music now,
Guitar and drums by most guess.
A deep laugh broke the wander from the writing dream land,
To see the man who was once playing the piano was now seating,
Greeting warmly,
Using a sign of peace with his hands,
The wander awkwardly gave it back with a lop-side grin.
He soon spoke,
In that tone that man with the large hat had,
But more of a uncle way,
But again,
It was welcoming.
Sliding a note to the wander,
Stating his name,
That was simply Les,
And how the writing from the note in hand and the one in work,
Looked very close alike,
The wander stated back he was right.
Again that bellow laugh was given.
Going through his pockets and tossed up a shiny little Tektite,
To the other,
Telling to hold onto it and to any others given . . .
Soon leaving the other to what they were doing . . .
Once relaxed and not as tired,
The wander went back to see more of this world of Manic,
Not long meeting a fired up pixy like kind of woman,
Jumping for joy there was someone new in the land,
Wasting no time to be known as jashykins,
Spelled with a low case “j” . . .
A bubbly one this one was,
But the wander could only join,
Even as to be dragged along in a tour matter,
But the wander decline,
Wanting to understand this place themselves . . .
If it was they thought,
Than the other could gladly give this place a proper view,
The pixy smiled,
Shaking both the others hand joyfully,
About to leave,
But stop,
Snapped her fingers and a Sapphire popped in front of the other’s face,
In responses was a thank you,
And they went on their different paths.
Though the sight of a pixy was one thing,
Seeing a robot was another,
Wander could only be in awe of the sight of it,
But broke away quickly,
Not wanting to know if that machine a ray gun or anything.
And moving so quickly to get away but it was pointless,
The machine had already caught up,
Asking for the other’s name,
But choose to only an answer with a question to the question,
The response back was something that caught the wander off,
While adding who the robot was,
Even though it was spelled,
It was still the same name of the world the wander,
Found them-selves in.
The other stating back it was true,
But there was no relation,
And that the robot was more charming,
The wander rolled their eyes,
But that was it.
Coming to an area,
Wander had little clue of,
But the robot stated quickly it was where,
Villagers of Manic get notice for what they did.
One of the works,
Was the wander’s?
Unnamed but placed very high for being so new here . . .
Wander only asked if it was joke,
M.A.N.I.C. the robot said it wasn’t it and if it was the wander’s . . .
The wander only nodded,
With soon the robot said that the wander should be proud of it.
The wander only asked back,
That how could be one be proud of something that is so real,
It hurts?
The other said back that it was made with honesty,
And outside the walls of Manic,
It is rare to find.
The robot patted the other’s shoulder,
Handing a Nebula Stone,
As a lucky charm for the days to come,
And left the wander to take in how well,
A note made by them,
Can; get somewhere like this . . .
If one is to try . . .
The wander looked away from the wall,
Placing the stone with the others,
And going on,
Finding that staying near the wall,
Hurt a little more than it should have.
Day was wasting away,
And night was coming now.
It was then,
That evens more of the ventures kind’s people came out.
As soon seeing a man,
Looking much as an famous historian with a lash and hat,
Indianan Jones . . .
But this called himself,
Timdiana!
Searching for adventure for where ever it may be!
The wander could only laugh,
For somehow,
He spook out the other’s inner venture to join,
But had to make a rain check for it . . .
Yet,
Gladly join the other in to find understand of how a new member,
Is handling things . . .
The answers vary on what got more than a line and a stasis quote.
When answering rightly of joining sometime soon in an adventure,
It was rewarded with a Zeolite as a reminder not to forget.
Tipping his hat,
He was on his way,
Saying there was something awesome that needed his watchful eye.
Bidding farewell,
The wander kept moving.
Using the small,
Oddly shape,
Lamps as a guide . . .
But it was better than darkness,
But the wander could have lived without the feel of a hand tapping on their,
Shoulder,
Soon laughing like a cheetah . . .
The wander watching as one of the lamps move,
Shadowing down a man,
Cloaked in black,
Devil-y grinning but was cut short by another,
Behind him,
Scowling him,
Again from how long the list was from things,
Before the wander came along . . .
One spoke a little softer in forgiveness of the other’s ways.
The one on the right was richb,
The other was Man with No Chin,
Wander could see that one name made more sense than the other,
But said nothing,
Greeting back and slowly walking away from them.
The soft talking one stop the wander,
Saying it was best not to go out much farther,
As this was when the walls were at their weakest,
The wander didn’t need to know any more than that,
And follow the others.
The Man with No Chin found the oddest times,
To make snide comments here and there,
But the wander could see that the mean words,
Never match the feeling in his eyes,
He meant well,
It just came out a little off,
As with the other richb,
A fan a horror,
Taking a moment to scare with some tales of Manic,
Which Man with No Chin found a way to back lack it?
An odd due they were,
But it made the night a little less hellish.
Snide and horror aside,
It was good.
Even both finding it a bit unusual that the wander stuck around them,
This long . . .
The wander just laugh at their blunt questioning.
Also noticing the gems they wore on their shoulders,
The unsaid question was answered with,
That it was the gems of whom they to those dear to them,
Both tapping their gems,
For a small sliver of them to slide out,
Holding out to the wander,
Stating it is best to keep even new friends close,
Not matter how odd they are,
The quiet one smack the other with lack of face for that,
After handing his slice of Biotite to the wander,
Making the other almost dropping his Yellow Jasper . . .
But the wander had both in hand,
Trying not to drop them,
When a sudden scream was heard . . .
Snapping the other two out of their bout,
Telling the wander to find a safe place to hide,
Unwelcome company was entering the walls,
And in a few times,
It got a little messy.
Sparing not another moment,
The wander dashed off to hide away.
Passing building left and right,
Only to be grabbed,
Barely being missed to be hit by a hater bomb,
The aftershock shook the whole place where the wander was pulled into,
When it stopped,
The wander broke away from the person who them,
Turning to see a long hair creepy guy,
Whom; seemed to go by that very name,
Tipping his hat to the other,
Having a little small plush make a snide comment,
Which sounded close thou may be better,
Than the one who had no chin.
But a cute little chibi demon water unholy monster it was,
Very cute indeed!
Though the other bluntly asked,
How someone like the wander could be dumb be out,
Even at night,
The wander said back,
That being new and unfamiliar with the land,
Is the price in this day and age?
There was no sign that this wasn’t going to happen?
The other stating back,
Just as humans are far different from one another,
But they cope with it.
A bond of friendship could have started any odder,
But not in this case,
The creepy one and his plushy lead the wander to a place to wait out,
Meeting those who have been more close,
Than one would do so,
For someone as the creepy one,
But who,
As wander going to judge of what love looks like.
The little demon took a moment to move away,
Landing on the wander’s shoulders,
Finding a little warmth and squash between the lovebirds not far away,
Unknowing,
Wander pet the little beast,
Finding comfort when the hideaway shook again,
Saying over and over,
That day would come,
But change when asking for a lamp,
For when in fear comes,
Do what it takes to keep it away.
Write.
Slow the speeding fear to a stop.
The little Chibi making himself at home on the shoulder,
Letting the night drift away . . .
Day finally came,
The wander bid the happy lovers and little monster bye,
And thanking for the stay,
Unknowing there was a Fairy Quartz stone in the bag with the others.
And with that,
The wander kept going.
Finding this place,
Land of Manic,
Slowly becoming home . . .
Even; if just a bit more than the day before . . .
But the damage wasn’t hard to miss,
Seeing new people again and again,
Fixing up,
To where of what happen last night,
Never happen.
It was when the wander met new faces,
One that was half of that robot was,
But more of a bite,
He was called Fusionator,
Body was imbedded with Hessonite Garnet,
Given him a good shine,
Though he missed out of how some pieces fallen off,
As he walked on,
The wander out of habit to this point grabbed a bit,
Meeting another new face,
A big man,
Helping those who were not luck enough to miss,
T-that horrible night,
The wander took the moment to help out,
Seeing that what was needed at this moment . . .
Catching that the large man’s name was Ryan McCarthy,
Just going by that old myth some would say,
Those who look big and scary,
Are tender hearts on the inside . . .
His shoulders bared the gems of Lolite,
And as the other,
Slowly falling off,
Chip by chip.
Than meeting another,
A jack of all trades,
Smiling and cheerful!
Infamous Jak was his name,
As he told the younger villagers to come near,
Hear his tales,
To lighten; their hearts and forget the passing night . . .
As small dusty gleams of Vermeil fell around him!
A joyful one he was!
When seeing all was fine in the little town square,
The wander kept moving,
Pocket of gems feeling a little heavy,
But not unwelcome.
It was when the wander found a place to relax once more,
Filled to the brim of people,
One or really a cast,
Taking front stage,
Entraining with endless wonder leaving their mouths,
Though their name didn’t fully match them,
They were a cast none the less,
They were the ComicBookCast,
Bringing laughs here and there,
Along with facts too!
A theme they had the most,
Was the small outrange of Empathic Warrior Crystals
Lying about the place,
Not knowing that wander’s bag broke a good size of one,
Resting near a large lounging part,
Falling deep within the bag,
No glance,
No one said a thing.
It was then the wander met another person,
Enjoying the show up front,
Stating how great they were,
The wander side glance the other,
Saying this was a first,
So there was no real comparing,
The other only asked why that was.
The wander only saying,
That these folks have a good amount of passion,
That will get them where they want to go.
The other asked if that is really true.
The wander said a simple yes,
For how else is one to get out there,
If: they can’t throw themselves into it . . .
It was than the wander met the little green dragon,
Only known as Whyboy . . .
The wander than asked this to Whyboy,
Of what it he did to show such passion those of a large cast.
He stated simply reviews,
And how much if the excuse that if it for kids,
Show is ever-so ready for wrath.
The wander could only agree,
For; who want to mess with a dragon that could burn them?
A good laugh never was far behind these two.
He soon handed her a token of thanks,
In case that passion the wander carry ever left,
It was a soft stone of Wulfenite.
The wander only gave thanks and soon left when the show was over,
Promising the other,
That whatever review Whyboy had planned,
The wander would love to see it.
Out once more out in the world of Manic,
Coming to see,
All there was to see,
Was just about done . . .
Until meeting with a woman with the looks to kill,
From the clothes alone,
It was a critic,
What kind of a mystery so far,
Dumbly the wander asked if the woman was alright,
The demon glare gave enough,
But calmed down when seeing,
That the wander wasn’t who the woman was looking for,
The woman stated something beyond the walls of last night,
An unforsaken gift was left behind,
From an ever lastly foe of hers,
And it seems this foe’s days were number.
The wander dared asked,
Of what this foe was,
That made her so mad.
It was a foe that could make or break fathoms.
It was then made clear,
She was a critic of fiction . . .
Made by fans for fans . . .
The wander panic a bit,
Seeing that the wander fallen under that radar . . .
The look of fear didn’t go amiss with the other,
Asking what the other had if so fearing what was held . . .
Not wanting to see that anger like before,
Quickly looked the bag,
Grabbing something at random,
Catching too late of what it was and waited for what was to come,
But it was fine,
Years of haters and tollz,
This could be nothing but a slash to the face,
Plain and simple . . .
But the slash didn’t happen,
She looked . . .
Touched?
But it faded into that if the wander was to stray from it,
The FanFic Critic wasn’t going to be far behind.
Handing back the paper and a stone,
A Dolphin Crystal,
And when the wander thought about it,
This woman did remind them of their mother,
So why not leave on a hopeful note.
Bidding byes to her and soon going off,
Upon finding,
To the wanders surprise a door . . .
Now feeling more of an idiotic now . . .
But happy to find it,
About to open it and leave Manic,
But a voice called out,
Making for the grab of the knob a full on stop,
Having turn to face the voice,
A smiling man,
Slightly panting from maybe the longest run he must have done,
Asking for the wander to spare a moment,
If they could just follow him,
Not without knowing his name though.
It was James,
The keeper of Manic,
And wanting to talk and show something,
Before the wander made the move of leaving . . .
Soon upcoming a small area of Manic,
A corner really,
With scatters of the wander’s works,
Handing proudly and with little saying from those who have read them,
It explains why a good amount of the notes couldn’t be found.
James stated simple while slipping a Lapis Lazuli stone in the wander’s bag,
That even for a time,
Someone is welcome and willing to express oneself.
Though all it needs it is name,
The wander just said simply T-kun and gave thanks for giving a home,
In a place that seem it was only getting darker and darker,
Until now that is.
The land of Manic is now more promising than ever before.
And in the land of multicolor webs,
It spoke volumes,
That is hope in the internet,
You just have to try and look for it.

Now in the search of fellow beings,
That form works,
Just as I,
The results can be awarding and heartbreaking.

Take note of this,
That through the many years,
A small total of 1,980 poets have in some way,
Made a mark in life,
Through rounding of the earth’s spins,
In passing years!

Yet,
Only 500 are notice of their work.

Leaving 1,480 in the dark,
Left to be forgotten,
And to,
Never to be seen ever again . . .

That is just rightfully,
Unfair!

Even more unfair,
That there are more than them,
That can’t even be found farther than their given name!

1,480 is just a small clacker of those who got befit moments in history,
But thanks to them,
Even those whom are only known by given name,
Made parts of history!

Dating far back as 7th century BC and 94 BC,
Ancient Greek and Roman times!

And they are toss aside for those,
Who have barely made more than 6 poems to their name . . .
But they can be found,
On the list of the oh-so greats!

I could gladly name a few poets,
Of the works I have found,
And they should have at least got a prouder notice for their work.

But then only they would be notice,
And not the rest at all,
Defeating what I am trying to speak out.

Open that mind a little more,
Go beyond what is that of popular vote,
And see what is being missed.

Who knows?
You might find a few surprises along the way.
I know I did.

J is for the Justified feeling one will get, when that move is made.

U goes that Unviable dreams, are more real than ever before.

M is that hidden Marvels are more out in the open, than lost in the dark.

P has gone to be Peaceful, in a world that is just at the fingertips.

You could never miss something,
You never had it,
Nor even given the chance to what it was.

If anything in life,
That I have seen,
In which I had to grow up missing.

But held less care for it,
For it never gave me a chance,
To somehow . . .
Try it and know the feeling of missing it.

Be the father’s love,
Whom,
Choose a different path . . .
To give another that love.

The care of siblings,
Whom,
Live miles apart . . .
And no way of reaching each other,
As the years tick by . . .

The feeling of a hand of caring teacher,
Even in few numbers,
Those who should have tried,
But went against,
For the little knowing of whom I am.

Friends turn foes.
Foes turn friends.

Finding that crutch!

That thing that defines me,
But I would never fully know.

For I would have to go to one place,
A place that could give the helping hands for it,
But before even,
Leaving sixth grade,
A letter was given.

Not once . . .
Not twice . . .
Nor third!

A fourth letter, just at the end of grade school,
To high school came to me,
Saying for how my background,
My family,
And other things that were words,
Far too large to read,
Even now!

A chance to go to college would never happen.

If that fear was too strong,
As teachers took notice of it,
Having coming times,
Quotes parts of letter,
Without knowing,
Finishing that maybe something else would fit me . . .

I know my mind is not set,
As others,
Whom,
Can grasp things better and quicker,
Then me . . .

I know . . .

I know . . .

Please,
Just stop,
I want to go there,
I really do.

But knowing if I try,
I will be rejected,
Even sending a quick notices,
That I could do it . . .

Just as the next smart one.
Just as the next strong one.
Just as the next rich one.
Just as that goddamn one who was . . .
Seen as my fellow equal . . .

Who somehow . . .
Who was place as the same title as me.
Got there,
Without;
A blink of an eye . . .

But now,
Few years later,
I could care less what . . .

English Majors . . .
Art Majors . . .
Science Majors . . .
Film Majors . . .
All the damn majors have to say,
About my crap . . .

Because if I dare,
Say one word back,
Be it a reflect of something of theirs,
Or a hint of being a half-wit critic!

They’ll say,
And they have,
What I would I know on anything of this?
You barely scrape by with that diploma,
From a low end high school,
As their workers much have been on drugs to let,
Walked among their bountiful children . . .

I get it . . .

I am a bastard child.
I am mix breed,
With no clear set of how my family life is,
To others whom have it better than me.

Really,
You got anything else to say?

Because if it repeats one more time,
I might just lose it.

Oh wait . . .
Already have,
Another reason why I can’t go to places,
Like you college majors.

I see.

I see.

Yeah,
Fuck you.

Majors like you,
Give all the goodhearted souls,
That could become close becoming you,
But know far better,
But you just give them a bad name!

If now fully knowing,
This is what going to college,
Does to people,
Making them into heartless behemoths . . .

Then I rather,
Work from the different side of life,
And get by there.

And far away from them,
But if they come by,
I’ll just roll my eyes,
Flip the bird to them,
And keep at it.

Mostly to piss them off,
For as right now,
That’s all I’m good at.

If anything else,
I’ll take it.

For just to them,
As they said,
I won’t be anything like them,
A major,
Crawling from the depths of hell,
Called college . . .

For a major I am not.

But I person,
I willing to damn,
Try to be,
Even,
If anything in this world to become . . .

So go flaunt your majors.

I least I have fun for what I do.

Far better than any eighty’s college movie,
Could show!

And to that,
I take a drink to,
And call it a night.

Later major suckers!

I have notice that over years,
That there is this tick,
I have.

Doing it without thinking,
And how it plays out,
Is anyone game . . .

Some ticks are simple,
Such saying a word,
Not out loud but maybe as you write.

Where the tick come from,
Is unknown,
But it can at times,
Run deep in the blood stream.

Another tick,
May be something that can be,
Out of hand . . .

Within danger,
There must be a safety net for it,
In case that . . .
Tick . . .
Makes you into something that is seen,
Unhuman . . .

It understandable,
That some may not see why,
This tick controls you.

But the tick of loneliness haven’t,
Which means . . . ?
This tick,
That is beyond friendly,
Will be handle with care, tenderness, and love.

Until that tick is all but in lost in the past.

We’ll take time on it,
But it just needs to take a first step.

Saying what this tick is,
What has it done to your life?
And are you willing enough to make that change?

Is you say yes for change,
Throw that tick in the trash,
Take my hand,
Follow me to heal you.

If you say no,
It’s too hard to change,
That black hole is just too deep to crawl out of,
It can’t be done.

So be it,
It is your life,
That is your tick,
But it will be my tears that will be shedding,
Knowing that once old you,
Is gone.

As well as me.

I can’t stay to be around you.
I don’t want to see the down fall of you.

Endlessly following you,
Have come to the end,
For my heart and our friendship.

But my number is still is same,
Waiting for you to change.

The trashcan is there in the corner,
Throw that tick there,
And come find me.

Until you finally make a change,
I’ll be doing the same.

Goodbye for now,
Make those tick marks fade in time,
My friend.

Repeating only for there are no new ideas to be told.
No ways of making it fresh.
Only to take, tweak, and repeat it.

There has never been an original idea,
Ask Shakespeare,
He knows that feeling of having once prize work,
Taken in by a new voice,
But somehow,
That echo . . . of that voice,
Cares little to what the true owner held.

But if anything,
They are not forgotten.

Just grinding . . . for the ears.

For they,
Those things now called,
Clichés . . .
Are now just seen pretty on paper,
But when heard from a voice,
Not the owner,
It feels empty.

In any cases,
Those who use clichés,
Only mean that,
In everything in there was just as that.

A clone of another,
Having no deep point of changing it,
To make it their own and make it worth it,
To other’s ears.

But no!
The simple choice of saying and calling,
One’s work is easier,
And less hurtful on the brain!

Liar!

If anything,
Remembering those words,
Just to seem smart or better than others,
Would be more mind numbing.

Because,
That answer is simple.

If said wrong,
And another knows,
Than you have,
Been nothing but a copycat,
Looming endlessly that someday you could it work.

There is only a few times,
So if anything,
Remember this.

Words those that are easy to say,
Mean only that something before you,
Is hard . . .

But to see something so easy,
Means that making the words,
Come out is hard . . .

And that only means!
I repeat!
Only means you tried,
Win or lose,
You tried to think beyond what you,
A err of human kind,
Did what others would look up?
Something fancy,
And it seem like it was hottest thing off the press.

So in the end,
Use those little clichés,
Because didn’t go your way,
But when you finally speak of something new . . .

Let me know,
To hear if you’d really did try.

Until then,
My friend,
Goodbye,
And may the new words flow,
As oozing lava,
Burning into stone before you,
For those words are your own.
And no one can take them and do what you have done.

As adults should think as how your son at five is your master, at ten your slave, at fifteen your double, and after that, your friend or your foe, depending on his bringing up, and that if the latter wins, it’s because somewhere, he was still your slave and a darker double of yourself.

Until you know that life is interesting . . . and find it so . . . you haven’t found your soul. You just found that you’re real, but not really all there.

Once a word has been allowed to escape, it cannot be recalled. Nor how the response will be when that word is spoken, so be comeback ready for it.

And the best way to sound like you know what you’re talking about is to know what you’re talking about. Something I fail to do, on a daily basis.

‘Cause in the end, we didn’t lose the game; we just ran out of time. And in that time, we forgot that we were playing for fun, not points.

Many hands make light work. Fewer hands make work to forever! Help!

Which leads to the question of when did the future switch from being a promise to being a threat? Because of what others want to grow up to be, seem to be the biggest tie breaker there is.

Stress should be a powerful driving force, not an obstacle. And that is to those who making stress a game, more than a feeling of mistrust.

And to that, for those can’t take stress. Don’t aim for success if you want it; just do what you love and believe in, and it will come naturally. And that stress will fill as a much needed laugh to break out.

You know, there should be at least one fear, no listen, when the earth floods from global warming, the swimmers will rule the world. Best to take a moment and learn to dogpaddle, slim chances are needed in case is al.

Adding to the fear of telling a teenager the facts of life is like giving a fish a bath. But: you to at least try, even if it was pointless from the start of speaking of said person or fish.

Or how something as simple as knowing of how come wrong numbers are never busy? And the voice you want to hear takes the longest to reach you?

It’s the menace that everyone loves to hate but can’t seem to live without, hate to love something just the same. I guess to balances all the things so there is no real winner.

To where if you must seek truth and you will find a path, but don’t forget how you found that path in the start of this.

Thus far, in a spliced mind of two, I may be a twin but I’m one of a kind. And there are just two to prove that you could stop one, but is it the right one to stop?

But there is still the hardest work in the world is being out of work. Because the one dream to have, was the one that didn’t even wanted you, but what else from childhood told you otherwise?

The only cure for vanity is laughter, and the only fault that is laughable is vanity.
Again, the err of human is that of a puzzle set, it takes time to put together, of what is right and wrong, and what life wants out of those who did the most work.

There are times those weird questions, that maybe are best not to answer, but you hear them anyway, as they sound light as whispers, such as this one: How can you eat anything with eyes?

The vices of the rich and great are mistaken for error; and those of the poor and lowly, for crimes. Yes, thanks life, for telling us money takes the difference of those, who just want to live!

I dare not do this, but in violence we forget who we are, and forgetting one’s name is just the start of it.

What follows are there are always casualties in war. If there weren’t it wouldn’t be war; just be a rather nasty argument with lots of pushing and shoving . . . and that is close to what a battle should be. Less of mess at least . . .

But it couldn’t be worst to what happens to things, after a war of blood . . . filthy water cannot be washed. But it can taint the drinker . . . with salty tears to wash their face of their blasted crimes.

And as you rub away the tears, looking to the sky, seeing rainbows, rainbows apologize for angry skies. But not those of angry morals!

Where somewhere else, far from this battle, where people bend each other in kindness, the beauty is that people often come here for the stretch, and leave with a lot more. In hardworking sweat, not blood.

That even, for every girl should use what Mother Nature gave her before Father Time takes it away, having to choose to help the battle or not, and just as the sons, it too twitches our daughters.

And by the end of this, for there aren’t enough days in the weekend, to get this done, I say we have come to a final closed.

Where it has taken, not just me, others as well, through the life ripples, quoting each mark as a win that made it, as the wastebasket is a writer’s best friend, and this night has shown the wastebasket has eaten a feast for kings. And the writer finally got the lost word . . . goodbye, goodnight, until next full morn.

Cards are war, in disguise of a sport. And some times, few want to bet their lives on them, for they got nothing else to lose.

Yet, luckily and the best thing about this group of candidates is that only one of them can win. And one will mostly lose their live in the end.

Where soon poverty is like punishment for a crime you didn’t commit, just only being born and others not were giving the chance to have what others have.

For some to remember that as long as there are tests there will be prayer in schools, and better hope to leave that life style.

As that life style gave something hard to tell to others, like a birth is a mystery.  Words are not enough. The sight alone is what makes it logical.

For if you think you’re free, there’s no escape possible. And the outcome is about all the same as to others, of different backgrounds.

Where all are lunatics, but he who can analyze his delusion is called a philosopher. While others are a mindless unclear poem made of fives and sevens.

There are always two people in every picture:  the photographer and the viewer. And then there are all the rest who wonder what happen during the picture being taken.

The worst of a modern stylish mansion is that it has no place for ghosts. Just jerks who happen to own it.

Perhaps all pleasure is only relief. Where all pain is just stress! Sounds like a recipe for wonderful chaos.

Life itself is a quotation. Write it down; don’t want to forget about it.

If there is any matter that needs to change, it’s color. As I think laundry is the only thing that should be separated by color. Not others things that breathe and think.

But I guess to other who thinks of other sins, smaller ones, and I all I can say is don’t knock masturba-tion; its sex with someone I love. And: is never judging me from start to finish.

The serve was invented so that the net could play. Every time there was a play, the net won, and the serve kept trying for change, ah, err of human.

Our minds are lazier than our bodies. With how offend one thinks and those who can get things done, it’s a fact.

I still have yet to understand of how they, those who I am speaking of, people I mean. It’s sad those cannot, people, realize how large an income is thrift?

Whelp, I guess it is just time is making fools of us again, for it seems that’s all we’re good for now of days.

Where it comes off that trees are your best antiques, yet we keep setting fires, needing more trees to make homes, and the woods are bareness of homes for the animals. Yet, they are very much welcome in our bellies.

Though I give applauses to those who think farther than that, become a skeptic, and a skeptic is a person who would ask God for his ID card. I have asked, and have yet to see one from him.

Property is the pivot of civilization. And civilization needs property to become a large pivot to others.

When prosperity comes, do not use all of it. Makes day just going on without it, you’ll than see why you need it.

I just want the matters of the trouble with simple living is that, though it can be joyful, rich, and creative, it isn’t simple. It’s time, which we know all have a time clock for, and someday soon it will run out, if not careful.

For as long as we live, there is never enough singing. And that song is crazy, colorless, and just plain out there that needs to be sung, no matter who started the first beat. Nor who ended it.

Where are leads to others that they do not, and shouldn’t do? Don’t smother each other.  No one can grow in the shade. Twitching into something no one wants to waste tears because life was too much for them.

What I never go though was you were born with wings, why prefer to crawl through life? The sky has more limitless than any ground keeps.

If you want to live, you must walk. If you want to live long, you must run. And don’t you dare stop, less of chance of falling too soon.

Depression is rage spread thin. To where it becomes sadness, and needs a shoulder to lean on. Do you have a shoulder to share?

I am not telling a joke here, because puns are the gag hand buzzers of conversation. It hurts a bit but everyone gets a good laugh out of it. Even if it might be aimed at them, it only hangs in for how long the laugh was.

Just as, Master Duan dances Qigong. He moves as if entranced in a tango with the Universe. Wanting to know if there is a secret that hasn’t been said yet, and I am sure everyone wants to know.

I know well what I am fleeing from but not what I am in search of. I just don’t have a name for it yet, have any ideas of this could be? Anyone, please share if you have one.
Flatter yourself critically. For it leaves things smoothed out and harder for people to step on.

And if you are given the chance, share the quiet, as silence is medication for sorrow. And some mo-ments, we get it and need the silence.

I know what I am, and very proud of it. No matter what others say of Chance takers are accident makers. I haven’t broken anything in the last hour . . . five minutes . . . oh, buzz off!

I have my own little world, but it’s okay; they know me here. And when I mean by them, I mean the other clones that look just like me, but are coated in another color.

If anything, there is one being that needs to back off. Science does not know its debt to imagination. And: how the lack of it, brings smiles.

Goes twice with the entire cigarette does the smoking; you’re just the sucker. And hey, that’s life.

As well with sports, why is there only one ball for 22 players?  If you gave a ball to each of them, they’d stop fighting for it. But that is just from someone who lacks the understanding of sports.

If you treat every situation as a life and death matter, you’ll die a lot of times and never know the out-come if you really won or not.

A quote is just a tattoo on the tongue, but luckily, it’s never same from the before it or after it.

We must care for each other more, and tax each other less. How else are we going to be friends, if the only thing from knowing each other name, is just a debt hanging over us.
But I guess that where we seat and drink, and when tea began as a medicine and grew into a beverage. Yet, it still gets the job done.

While giving the Teachings should be full of ideas instead of stuffed with facts, how else will no ideas grow, if you just keep shutting out things, because of slight difference or similar ways.

Never be afraid to sit awhile and think, because at this moment as the ripples are coming to close, it best to do so now.

Mind is a broken mirror. Seven years of bad memoires that will only making you cry, even if the soul pulls you along, the pain follows shortly behind.

It’s really not that’s not serious, it’s just human. Hurtful and true!

Life shouldn’t be printed on dollar bills, but how else do others think of doing something right?

It is amazing what you can accomplish if you do not care who gets the credit, it makes the shoulders feel much lighter than you think.

And if people were meant to pop out of bed; we’d all sleep in toasters, but tiredness makes all the fails just as real, that making things happen takes time.

Sure, you can fool some of the people some of the time, but you can’t fool mom, as they are another kind being, that even humankind, can’t understand.

Even to read a classic is a book that has never finished saying what it has to say, reason why life is still going. Even without us.

Reason why to start every day with a smile and get it over with. Leave the rest of day to get things done and away from road blocks.

Follow your passion and success will follow you . . . with no care of others think of passion may be, it is your own and no one can take it away from you.

The obstacles of your past can become the gateways that lead to new beginnings, so hold onto the keys as tight as you can and run!

But if you choose not to run, you chosen patience is also a form of action, a sneak attack never hurt anyone.

I pity you . . . if you are ashamed to stand by your colors; you had better seek another flag. Before you see another side of me, you don’t want to see.

I will say that most people are good. They may not be saints, but they are good. At what you asked? Didn’t bothered to stick around to find out, for it’s not my business.

So if your one those people, that don’t let your shadow, walk you.  You are not a slave of the past. But you’re a worker for the future.

For you have something that is a mind all logic is like a knife all blade, and no happy ending.

So, people . . . come on, love one another and you will be happy.  It’s as simple and as difficult as that. But really worth it!

Just as good manners are made up of petty sacrifices, you’ll live. So, get over it.

And you can plant love, as Love is a flower which turns into fruit at marriage, a marriage of a bond that can’t be broke by those you hold close.

But if it fails, as If two wrongs don’t make a right, try three. So you can widen the search quicker!

And in the end, you’ll get your facts first, and then you can distort them as much as you please. Because the world didn’t mind doing it to you first!

That way the smaller matters can be fixed, as where having the only equipment lack in the modern hospital?  Somebody to meet you at the entrance with a handshake! I know I miss those days!

But coming to life is a rough biography. Memories smooth out the edges. And imagination makes it feel that it’s bouncy!

And having the music is what feelings sound like. When there is no other way to show it.
Words have meaning and names have power. The first choice seems to be the lacking, and the latter is where people have had it.

And what makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well, full of sweetness only the one can fine. Are you that one?

But in the name of stress, just stitch your stress away. It’ll keep you warm in the end.

And in that stressful warmth, look to the window and see that moonlight is sculpture.
Only having the single tone, coming from it: crafting many with one beam of light!

Where it becomes increasingly easy, as you get older, to drown in nostalgia. And recall that stress wasn’t as big as it started out to be.

And in the lines of work, whether a person is a male or female, a nurse is a nurse. And the help for the sick is always welcome.

Optimists are nostalgic about the future, for it takes lots of the past to make it happen. Even if others don’t want to talk about the past, it moves in new forms.

As; where the adults, come in, for someone has to say that your children need your presence more than your presents, or this world of the future will just fall.

It would as to say to some to never be the first to arrive at a party or the last to go home, and never, ever be both. Or they’ll forever be dupe in a world wanting nothing to do with them.

When life gives you scraps, make something with them. And stand tall on it, looking down on those who couldn’t do the same, because your choice was to be different.

Discipline weighs ounces, regret weighs tons. Chances make them light, but alarming.
For some as sisters are different flowers from the same garden. Chances do that for them, even if they are blood.

But that is for the fake land to make sure there are no rules of architecture for a castle in the clouds. Because: the only one allow there, if the person who built it, from the first trace of a finger.

For if the good Lords had wanted people to stay on the ground; they would have given us roots. But luckily we have more of a problem to stay still than others.

While gravity is love and every turn is a leap of faith, but brings better on terms for them.

But what is good is to be a rebel against gravity: Skip! And go where the gravity doesn’t want you to go.

No one is perfect . . . that’s why pencils have erasers, junk has baskets, and people have each other to make up mind of choices.

When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on. For you’re too stubborn to let go when within the tips of your fingers to let go.

Where someone, such as me, must remember why I doing this, and the little things that keep me going, such as, I do a lot of reading, meditating, and praying to stay as grounded as I can be in this crazy world.

Giving hospitality is making your guests feel at home, even if you wish they were, and someway hoping they’ll do the same sometime soon.

Wondering of smaller things, as how can I control my life when I can’t control my hair? With hair there is tools for it, what does life have?

If only we’d stop trying to be happy we could have a pretty good time, finding out that trying to be happy doesn’t beat the happiness already there.

If you complain about the world moving too fast, slow down, and breath in what is there and move on, for something else is there for you to see as well.

Even knowing that someone does eat right, exercise regularly, die anyway, at least you tried to see as much one could before then.
Where I find myself wanting to read, and maybe the only one book is worth reading: the heart.

Within the first few pages, the question of have you ever been hurt and the place tries to heal a bit, and you just pull the scar off of it over and over again? Because maybe the place that needs healing needs to face what is real and what is not.

Having the willingness to share does not make one charitable; it makes one free. For you: are no longer holding the emotions alone anymore.

Looking back on how history is a novel for which the people are the author. And the publisher is no-where to be found.

Seeing the ink smears, as thoughts sometimes do. But in the end, it was worth it!
And that my goal is to deny yours, long enough to know, there are more ways than one to get something done and being an idiot about it.

Having the light are what guides you home, the warmth is what keeps you there, and the wonderful people waiting for you. Warm food, smiles, and comfort that it’s okay to cry after such things that have gone wrong.

When giving a half-truth is a whole lie. You know a lie is third of what is fact, and rest is fiction.

And having hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark. When that lie has covered you in darkness . . . and you’re looking for a way out.

I do question as to the ways of why you know horses are smarter than people.  You never heard of a horse going broke betting on people. But still, where do you stand in that thought line?

As child before hopeless dreaming, when once in charge of things, like my idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance. And get on with rest of things life has out for me.

Even when it’s frustrating when you know all the answers, but nobody bothers to ask you the questions to open your mind for your own questions to ask.

But out of carelessness, you end up giving a hug is like a boomerang . . . you get it back right away.

But somehow in the next evolutionary step for humankind is to move from human to kind. Split the difference and do it.

Wanting to give to every human being every right that you claim for yourself, but knowing someone else, higher ground than you, will break that moment.

Having blushing is the color of virtue, even if your face becomes hot to the touch.
But still, imagine; if you will that I am an idiot.  Then, imagine that I am also a

Congressman. But, alas, I repeat myself . . . just as someone higher than me, is nothing but my common person with a title.

I once had a plan, but I still call it my plan, even now. I plan on living forever.  So far, so good! As I am getting to some, while find me just as a ghost.

Some people never have anything except ideals, but works better is imagination. As it breaks the ideals into simple steps to take, liking walking or blinking . . . or being oneself?

If at first, the idea is not absurd . . . then there is no hope for it. But still enough love and care; to keep it in the air to happen. No hope needed.

I am not saying to shun idleness; it is rust that attaches itself to the most brilliant metals, but it adds that we all have faults. So, go ahead and rusted away, age with wisdom.

You can be sincere and still be stupid. It is how those who think themselves as leaders and getting nothing done are seen as . . . no names are needed to be said.

Imagination and fiction make up more than three-quarters of our real life. And that lone one-quarter is all the crap that thrown at us to wake up from it.

Seriousness is a disease. But so is fiction . . . no winner, but lots of ways of being human, who is lacking certain things.

Take time to smell the roses and eventually you’ll inhale a bee . . . that is again the one-quarter of life trying to tell you something, but in less kinder way.

As if it was a book to kill time for those who like it better dead; how else where we to get history onto our laps?

And in history; one does evil enough when one does nothing good. We call them what we think is not a hero in our eyes, what is my hero is your foe, and vice versa.

But I always prefer to believe the best of everybody, it saves so much trouble. But causes just as much, one would call it fun, the other is named problems.

Much as the Internet is so big, so powerful and pointless that for some people it is a complete substitute for life, why as are there games based on life, but with graphic to look at with code names.

People tend to forget that play is serious. And some try to pretend their serious while they play. It’s why we lost so many lives up to now.

But that as to what a lot we lost when we stopped writing letters?  You can’t reread a phone call if you weren’t home and nothing to save it.

And I just to recall other moments, such as when I got my library card, that’s when my life began. How else would I be here?

A life without cause is a life without effect. Like making a picture out of dots, they are number for the lazy and those who don’t want to try.

In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary. And that you got to take a picture of it, not wanting to forget that for a moment it could happen, even if just once!

But you could be too late, if you’re too lazy to start anything, you may get a reputation for patience. And miss out on a lot of things.

Leaders don’t create followers, they create more leaders. So, leader get up and do something, you can’t be that lazy?

Trust yourself.  You know more than you think you do. How else would you think some of the craziest ideas would be something others would try to copy?

As iron is eaten by rust, so are the envious consumed by envy? What would leave those who are happy to snack on?

Worthless people blame their karma. While others blame who can’t handle blame of their own.

Just as these gems have life in them:  their colors speak, say what words fail of . . . and that is trust.

The supreme accomplishment is to blur the line between work and play. And just go for it!

Knowledge has a beginning but no end. For when you start it, there is only ending is when someone thinks it’s not worth to know.

And having work isn’t to make money; you work to justify life. As you are here and the rest of them, are by you.

Even in dumb moments, I have done many, once I was reading the dictionary. I thought it was a poem about everything. Then someone came along and told me to grow up.

And I did, I ended up in Las Vegas . . . my favorite desert mirage, haven’t bothered knowing if I should go back or not.

But I have chosen what to listen and I did, by giving the chance to quiet the mind and the soul will speak. And wow, it was deep.

The tears of the red, yellow, black, brown and white man are all the same, why is that hard to look past to see.

Where all news is an exaggeration of life, but really just a fact, that some, if not all love to lie, weird? Yes!

Coming to play that the only exercise some people get is jumping to conclusions, running down their friends, side-stepping responsibility, and pushing their luck!

And nothing is a waste of time if you use the experience wisely, but again, that would be the need of some ears to open up.

Where laughter is the sun that drives winter from the human face, casting faded shadows of the year’s former, and brighten the imminent.

Where; one fails forward toward success, and becoming nothing but a success in failing not to repeat it.

Having heard a rustle in the wind reminds us a fairy is near, granting a wish of something that is far deep in the mind, that is need to be reached out.

Having someone as volunteer firemen do it for free! Because someone else life is worth more.

And where off from there, the fishing was good; it was the catching that was bad. But the bonding also made up for it.

Wishing for all, on other sides of life, to know that any kind of beauty is power; a smile is its sword. Strike when you have them.

As to know an ounce of blood is worth more than a pound of friendship, for you’re only trying to save them.

While somewhere else, people would find a fast is better than a bad meal. Having thoughtful to choose starvation over, than slowly choking of poison soaked within the meats.

A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it. And when that it, tries to fight back, it is best to floor away from it.

And driving is a one option, over the other choice, flying, where there are only two emotions in a plane:  boredom and terror. Coming down to it, having boredom and winds whipping around you, sound much better, than screaming terror!

While cracking jokes on such things, as asking oneself to another; do vegetarians eat animal crackers? And if they don’t, do they free them into the wild?

Along adding of how beer and Rugby are more or less synonymous. As they complete each other in some way.

Maybe retracting to something simple, as any man can be a father.  It takes someone special to be a dad. And how few pull through to do it right.

Going back to how things were, as subtle times where fear is a darkroom where negatives develop. And positives come when you finally leave the darkroom.

Reaching for something, but, somehow it never let the hand you hold, hold you down. Keeping in place and wasting time that is needed.

Knowing that as you drive on, free of everything, noticing as you pass things, wondering out loud, of such as how a single rose can be my garden . . . a single friend, my world. With the laughers of another echoing by you, joking along, and agreeing.

Coming to how it is said that the present is pregnant with the future, but what does make the past? A family member: or a foe?

That is true, as to a gambler is nothing but a man who makes his living out of hope. And never finding true meaning of what hope really is.

Seconds to say our whole life is solving puzzles, taking it one piece at a time to solve, leaving what couldn’t be done to those are left to solve it.

Coming-up to another thing, which the man who forgives is far stronger than the man who fights, and knowing when it is time to back away from a losing battle, you meant to win.

Wondering how the people back home, maybe the little one are having great ideas, just not knowing that great ideas need landing gear as well as wings.

Could have reached the moment of drunkest that God is the perfect poet, but the delivering is off to some, where it soon becomes misleading.

Out of know where, the friend could shout to the world, meaning only to have an open ear to hear it, as he says; I soon found out you can’t change the world.  The best you can do is to learn to live with it.

Returning back with that you forget your opponents; always play against par. And in the real winner is still lost.

The friend; coming to the notion of how unemployment is capitalism’s way of getting you to plant a garden, because they lack the tack to be honest.

With the other wishing of how a father lives after death in his son, when the son wanted to do with the man from the start of hatred.

And when night comes closer, the paranormal, you can’t pick and choose. It’s all or nothing. And a scream is somewhat a good aftermath.

Where else in the world from the, change always comes bearing gifts. But the gifts barely make the change needed.

Having both knows, not just others, but themselves, as they could end up saying; we are imperfect.  We cannot expect perfect government. Leaving only reason to travel and forget as much as one can.

When before summers, as teachers who prove a point of grammar stops at love, and at art. But it makes up from all of us looking like fools. Even for such a short time.

Or how one could remember the elders of blood laughing when proving of their spoken words; my grandkids believe I’m the oldest thing in the world. And after two or three hours with them, I believe it, too.

Coming and enlighten of pure praise the bridge that carried you over, but the road keeps going.

Well else where some could think even if happiness forgets you a little bit, never completely forget about it. For: it just becomes small and hiding from thieves.

Soon finding the time to breathe to again and when you finally go back to your old hometown, you find it wasn’t the old home you missed but your childhood. Of those simple times, even others don’t understand what it is.

Our genes make us immortal, even teaching things we, ourselves, were once taught, makes us feel that we never really left.

So doing so, to make it happen, you will never find time for anything.  If you want time you must make it. And make it worth your time.

On random thoughts, as to where we are now, I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat. For, by now long before you have long ago check out and maybe miss what everything is at this moment.

But that could only leave that is to reject the word is to reject the human search. And soon rejecting everything that us . . . us.

Even in harder sides of life would tell you, that if you’re not in New York, you’re camping out. But maybe learning more than what’s in the city like New York.

And wouldn’t be able to stop and start acting, as acting is like a Halloween mask that you put on. Be-coming someone else as whole, but still be you, for making that new you work. Even for one day.

And somehow, you leave the woods to go the city, don’t change, and don’t let the city steal your soul. For really, on the outside: you’ll change, but the inside is what I would worry the most.

Integrity has no need of rules, for it is something that was made before the rules were made, and what brought rules to be.

Even to look on this shrunken globe, men can no longer live as strangers, but common men, if they don’t see it.

I can’t complain, but sometimes I still do. Only because I think no else will, when the faults are right there, in red and blue.

Even more for red and blue, when they speak, half heartily, I hate careless flattery, the kind that ex-hausts you in your effort to believe it. They need to know what works and what doesn’t; it saves the air from being smothered in lies.

And to block it all, is what a strange power there is in clothing? How it defines who’s on top and on the bottom.

It is not as weird to what affections come from coffee, the finest organic suspension ever devised. But yet, there is small number who would drink it, again thinking to highly of one thing, when others don’t understand.

But how else would one man be still, for no man should escape our universities without knowing how little he knows. Just how too jittery he has become, to wait and see what there is to be offer.

But one must recognize that if they don’t let people drive you crazy when you know it’s in walking dis-tance. And silencing them became twice as easy to stop the crazy. Never the drive to keep going!

Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matters don’t mind. And you end up calling them family, blood or not.

There must be more to life than having everything! And not having everything at all! There has to be, even those who know little of what I mean.

There could the chances with motherhood, of all the haunting moments of motherhood, few ranks with hearing your own words come out of your daughter’s mouth, and there in end, your job is done. For finally your child, had learned something new, even if it was small . . . but it was something.

Yet for them, you, the little children, they have to go far, for if you’ve never stared off in the distance, then your life is a shame. There is more than word of mouth alone.

Some people are so afraid to die that they never begin to live, leaving so much room those who abuse living, and end up dying sooner, with nothing but memories that some would wished to go away.

Never; spend your money before you have it, for just like a wish on a candle, it goes out just like that at first blow.

In signs of craziness, is when a cow laughs, does milk come out her nose? Maybe, seeing it only happens so often, and relies on the jokes really.

In the forms of other kinds of arts, besides jokes, such as artists are just children who refuse to put down their crayons, wanting to say something, that doesn’t rely on words.

As much as a woman wears her tears like jewelry, it brings her out and shines different elements.

Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen. Got to be both, not just one side of the coin, or you come off something as a one user.

I’ve always been interested in people, but I’ve never liked them. As they have things that bring me near them and drive me away. And that too, is mind wiring to figure out.

Just as those who move, wild and graceful, like dancing is like dreaming with your feet!
And you don’t when the dream might suddenly stop.

Just as the small wonders of the one reason a dog can be such a comfort when you’re feeling blue is that he doesn’t try to find out why. They just lay by you.

Giving you the dreams, wonderful and insightful, as dreams are only thoughts you didn’t have time to think about during the day.

But really if you leave sooner, drive slower, live longer, you might not miss out on things that have yet to come.

Because the focus of things go too many of today’s children have straight teeth and crooked morals, for their one person wasn’t there for them.

Stressed spelled backwards is desserts.  Coincidence!?  I think not! But it is a relaxing thought to have, after everything that has happen thus far.

Gluttony is an emotional escape, a sign something is eating us. Rather than eating something to forget that emotion.

Which is nothing in education is so astonishing as the amount of ignorance it accumulates in the form of inert facts, but also finding where the myths come from.

Leaving the person who is waiting for something to turn up might start with their shirt sleeves, and work from there, with an opener mind.

Your intellect may be confused, but your emotions will never lie to you, and to that, you go for it!

Where you have to stop and don’t do the unthinkable; don’t blow it, good planets are hard to find. But never was it not of good people.