hahahahahahaha


You know, that was and is the ultimate starting material!

I am no expert, but Karma looks like a general way of stating a cause and effect relationship.

Here was the prompt I replied to:
There's been lots of times that I've pictured the fantasy of getting a motel room and just putting the ad on here - here's my room, I'll **** and suck anyone who shows up. It's a great fantasy, but something I'd never do because the rational mind always kicks in with 'I'd get killed/robbed/maimed' or 'my dad shows up' or 'my husband shows up with his mistress.' All of which would be an emotional bomb if they happened in real life.

Then I thought I could make it a bit of a game, and reach out on here to some of the other midnight perverts and perhaps take it one safe step further than just playing with myself reading the ads.

Here's the rules.
1. You reply to this ad, telling me a fantasy based on a setup that I'll give you below.
2. If I masturbate to your reply, I will reply and tell you so; if I really get off on your reply, I'll send you a fantasy back.
3. If we 'click' on here after a few fantasy exchanges, then we see about possibly meeting up for real. Even if it never comes to that at least we both have had a human being to share some of our dark side with and have helped with a few orgasms, which is still a really cool thing.

Guidelines and setup
1. I'm a woman of legal age. Period. I'm not saying if I'm single/attached, fat/skinny, young/old, nada. If you ask me for a pic I'll ignore it.
2. Fantasy premise - I am alone and naked in a hotel room. You have a key and come in and... action. No limits, no taboos.
3. Reply to this ad, changing the subject to 'Fantasy Game' and send me what you come up with.
3. If you aren't comfortable sending this through CL but want to play, reply with subject 'Private Email' and I will send you a gmail address where you can send to me directly.
```````````
and my post:
I really don't know how to fantasize. I have no one to think about and I don't like thinking about my girl friends who are not active with me. It could mess with their heads and I wouldn't want to do that as a friend. When I think, things sometimes happen, so I really do try to limit what goes on in my mind, limit, but not entirely shut out. But, then, what are you? a contestant, perhaps, if that vapid label can be applied here. Over used, misleading, it might very well imply that I am something to compete with, or of you like, for. I don't know you, or you me, which makes this fun. Just reflect a moment on how everyone is great, or in this case, attractive, until you get to know them. The fun goes downhill from the moment you start making a mold for them... Am I scared that you are not real? You see, you being fake would imply only one thing that I give a damn about- me using time on a matter of fiction. I've come to realize that there is a deeper reality, but that the world of people is just a play of everyone's unique perspective, a drama of realities with unknown variations. So I am not opposed to working in this medium, the I think and somehow the ideas in another mind respond. I am not talking mind control, but thoughts do somehow matter. So, if you agree to play here, Nothing may happen, but if my mind is faced with an opportunity (namely meeting you) then it is anyway working. I might as well guide it in a way I like, and then things will find a way to work themselves out from there. All you have to do is sit back and let it unravel. Please don't try to piece together anything that comes undone. Your exposure is fuel for this dreaming, after all. Please see this : -)

This is a place that you've always been close to. The feel of the air is a humid musk, dank, the damp dirt reminding you of home. The homely inn is small and nestled into some trees. It is surrounded by a green cover and a highway about 200 yards away. The traffic would be much nosier without the forest. See how the leaves and the trunks of the trees bend and sway to the wind, the leaves almost shuttering, vibrating ever so minutely with the sound waves coming off of the road as the passer-bys move on in the familiar ruts of their lives. You know this monotony of the everyday all to well. It pursued you in middle school, where you only expression of a budding sexuality was wearing long blue socks to class, and just expecting boys to catch up on this and guess the source of its effervescence. Maybe they could have caught on to the new interest in fashion, or a festive sense, but no one would have ever walked up and coughed out "I like your mauve socks." Not in this reality, not in a million worlds. You had hoped to catch your blue bird of happiness in secondary school pursuits, but a mismatched landscape of partial successes was your banner and could only be read as experience and giving effort.

Why are you thinking about schooling when you are now grown up, past the age to be haunted by such old nightmares, however grotesque you may weave them for your entertainment, you wonder. But as your sandal-ed toes press up against the canvas divider with an unusual level of flexibility and a slight, if ever present cool sensation, you're reminded of the hotel and present scene again. It is run by an Indian who has a small family, and there are 44 rooms to the place. Less rooms to rent, but if every single one of the rooms was by itself a room in that two story, beige and lark green trimmed building with its clay roof, there would be 44 rooms. You notice the air is now misty, and slowly as to be indiscernible, it is picking up to a light rain. Yes, now as you stand, it is drizzling a little, and you feel this new coolness refresh the body, just as you know your experience will later inside, whatever it may turn out to be. A deep exhale leaves your nose as you stand witness to a new forming drop on the corner of the by now quite near roof. You then think of the laundry in your hamper that you've been carrying. Perhaps because of the rain, or maybe the extended trip from your old car doors, you begin to notice its weight, pushing you into the soles of your sandals. Half a cm. down. Did I eat too much, you wonder, only somewhat vainly! Not wanting to discuss it with yourself, you leave the sandals by the wall and continue to the door which is only five feet away now. You know, you can just feel, that inside and some time distant from now, your expedited man will be there. The cold and dampness lays on your slightly sweaty arms like a sweet perfume. You think it smells good, anyway! And he better! Feel now the imprint of the doormat on your feet, the impressions made, the slight longing in your stomach, expressed as mild anxiety. Examine this quality of your gut, notice that more you think of it, it is a light feeling. Yes, you are sure of it, there is your butterfly wind tuning into a swirling array, a warm beam that is warming you up from the inside. A laugh escapes through the mouth, but he is longing for more. He wants your very bones to laugh before you turn over.
---------
Jingle of a key, in my pocket, whatever should I do, if I lost it? It appeared quite mysteriously, but I recognize the big outlandish key ring, made from one solid coiled cylinder of wire, smelt near the top. The top? Well, okay, really it didn't have one, but either way, it was an old work key. I have a terrible memory, but I know that when I parted ways with that nice but micromanaging Indian man that I gave him back all the stores loaned to me, except that vest! that could come in handy at some party or other social event, perhaps. It was a testament to the miserable years spent toiling around the rooms fixing this pipe or looking at that broken porch light. Enough of that! Why am I even bugging my thoughts with it again, it is not even worth thinking about. That is how my mood is now, and I wish to keep it pleasant...

Still, it is near 5:00 p.m. and I am just drawn to the place. Its yellowed walls are repulsive, but the reality quiet of the place was, what was it tucked away in the trees as it were, just sidestepped by the highway? Homely, with maybe a tinge of a reminder of my own. What, what the hell am I thinking? Nah, home was fine, but not a place to miss. I am out for whatever encounters me, be it death or a soggy ice cream cone or a small fortune. It is just, look here self, why would this key just show up? Certainly it is a person, but you know how the universe works, see this person, do that, then go on. It is just working something out, and I am caught in the currents sometimes, but I do enjoy a good bath sometimes. I am kinda sweaty and don't want to drive home right now. haha, yeah, that is what I will do. I think I'll just grab a shower at whatever this damn key opens up!
I'll bring my gym bad just in case the odd person does run in. It'd look more natural, like a receptionist mix up rather than a random *** man showering in the room just rented. I counseled myself that I've been around and not exactly working too hard before. Then again, nothing really is similar, if you go deep enough into it. This handicap handle that is as cold as the outside air temp, the bath mat in the shower that is now stimulating my feet in an oddly refreshing manner, that jet of cold then warming water, and the not-to-hot flow of it off of my calm penis, balls neither dragging or up there. But give the warm water a few more minutes and it'll look like a porno, lol!
--------
She moved with stealth. Not amazing, like the Cherokee that she long aspired to be like, but the guy was showering, so her movements were conducted with sufficient quiet. Opening the folding shutter doors of the closet, she quickly closed them shut again, noting that he would never notice the slight difference in position, if there was one. Imagining a drum beat in her head, she let soft footfalls lead her to the door, and went out of it. Closing it behind her, she went to the laundry room to get dressed, to change from her grubby work attire to a fine mesh cotton over-top, baggy enough to be seductive-one could move in it unlike certain other wear! It was partially open at the sleeves and with a fair cut by the neck. It hung over her breasts with a lee way room of a few inches where there was an inviting space just begging one to guess where the bottom of her chest began. A devilish trick, to draw in the inquiring mind. Then a simple sash, braided, but a belly fashion belt more than a utility wear. That might be inaccurate, she knew its function, the way that it would just barely move over her flesh as she shifted from one foot to the other. Besides, it just made her feel cool, she mused! It was like Ka-baam! check out that accent. She did a small jig in the laundry room, then put on some loose airy pants. She thought, looking at her hair, "I'll just let it be." but then realized that that was a stupid mentality. If she is to do this job, she is going to knock it down. So she did her hair, the common experience not requiring a mirror.

He got out from under the shower head, and turned it off. Not too long a shower, he was feeling good, the excitement and air of doing something quick frankly weird making him feel more at home in the universe, even if it was just until he towel dried and threw on some cloths. He was in this process, fully naked, when she barged in, looking every part the tempest, but still an earnest caller. It was a certain grace that she could pull this off, mind you. He, being a sensible man, did not cover himself immediately, and subtly ignored his own nudity while going for a towel in a metered way but making it clear that her eyes were his main priority. He asked how she was, but then in a clear voice corrected to do you need any help? You know how people are when they are doing someting they don't think they should? They try to turn it so that they can be of service to the other. I am not supposed to be here, but I will do whatever service you want, just don't get a drama going here. It was that kind of attitude that our man now sported, slowly adding his clothes back to the mix. The lass explained that she was from out of town, that her car broke down and she was just near this hotel. She put a good deal of spin on this story, and it was entirely well done. In reality, she did not need saved, but an interlude, but she was a results focused woman. Her work as an accountant and book keeper made her used to tailoring the inputs to get a clean sheet for approval. Have you seen breaking bad? You know all of those dirty marking up tricks. She pulled on of these on him.

So overwhelmed she appeared that she gravitated to the base of the bed. Normally I wouldn't go into this part of the story so much, but in this setting, you can handle it right? So being such a light and airy girl in her manners, this bit of both weeping and openness was worn so prettily on her face. It was reflected in her simple manner of dress. He couldn't just see a person like this and not try to comfort them, his other plans for that night not even evaluated. He sat at the base of the bed, its end, and put a feeler out, a hand on her shoulder. It was firm, he could clearly make out her bones and the softness of her skin. He exhaled, a suppressed 'oh' as he felt the flesh for springiness. It reminded him vaguely of the slight woof and give of the outer most comforter as he sat down. His thinner pants made him so sensitive. She talked her business, and then asked for a back rub. All the driving made her shoulders sore. Her shirt was pliable enough that he didn't think he'd need to remove it. But hell, after a few quick rubs it became clear it would just chaff. So he asked her to lift it up. He asked and lifted it himself, up to around her neck, still covering her breasts up front. He put it back down and worked the higher muscles, getting his hands under the shirt through the neck opening. Trying to imagine a whole cosmos of beads in the fabric of her pulsing flesh, each bead being dissolved as his strong hands caressed it out, he worked down to her shoulder blades, and again faced the shirt dilemma, an option of under or over? He lifted it up again. She felt it move over her stomach again to awkwardly crumple around her neck. That just wasn't working. So he said "just off?" which was met by a more quiet, almost hummed consent. So off and he wanted to straighten her out. let me work more muscles that way, was his thinking. Her skin wasn't too smooth, and he liked that. No excessive use of chemical perverted lotions. He didn't keep any in his bag, and she didn't seem to have any in her purse (it was to small a thing and she would have offered, no doubt, he figured). When the skin was to worked as is, he would use his saliva. Like this he warmed up her back, which he praised for being strong. She had no bra on, so when he returned to the upper back, it was no problem. He noticed how her skin was more red up there, how there was an increased surface circulation, and imagined the completely unique network of blood vessels. So delicate, but able to withstand and even benefit from his handiwork. His hand just fell there. She said it was the best massage in her life.

"You've been sitting," he said "in your car all day, let me work your bum. She did, as as standing commenced, her breasts bare, they made eye contact. He looked briefly, but he was still of his business. How to work her muscles the best? He told her to lay down however comfy was for her. Near the edge of the crimson and blue octagon-decorated covered bed, he stood to work again. Her back had a slight bend, a slope down, and then back up. He refreshed the back muscles again, a reminder to relax and be soothed. He was feeling a little more adventurous, and started messing with her hair. A scalp massage never hurt anyone, he mused. So left hand in the roots, caressing this rim on the ear briefly, the ridge of a brow, noting the individual hairs as if they were stitches in the spacetime fabric of the night itself. He was working himself up to such a state of feeling it inside himself that he had to deviate with little caresses like that or leave the job altogether, uncompleted. the clumped her around her neck took on a new quality. She was relieved, in a way, that he did not touch the back of her head yet. All the while, her head titled to one side, his right was working the grove of her spine. up back to this worked territory, then back down, farther and farther, but with the same intensity and caring as he employed before. She let out a few heavy breaths, slightly vocalized uhmmms. Good, he thought, my massage is doing something....

He went to the buttocks, working the large muscle. He would go to the inner thigh, but no further. He leaned up against the bed. He wasn't exactly grabbing her, but he was fully appreciating the slopes his hands were riding. She didn't mind, which brought the unspoken communication to a new level. He couldn't help it, he became erected. her eyes were closed, and he was clothed, so he doubted it mattered. He then worked her sides where they met the mattress. He was sweating a bit now, not all from the arm movements, mind you! "and your front" was the next suggestion. Turning over, the back was a nice fit to the front. It made sense. Not huge breasted, but still present. Her nipples had about a 3/4" discoloration around them, and were not quite standing straight. they weren't hard, which made sense. She is relaxed. She thinks her date is going well. Not really expecting the massage, she figured she did need one, regardless. Her friend hadn't been practicing on her since passing her license program. Not really pretentious, she was exposed, but somehow he started at her high shoulders again just as methodically as on her dorsal. Was he just going to ignore my vulnerability? she half spoke in her mind, a rambling that was soon quieted.

He wanted to get the blood flow right. Not really knowing what he was doing, he just moved. It is physical, it is harmless was his mantra. Down the sides, he stroked, Placing one hand on the stomach, he traced a line down her front, between her breasts, ever so lightly with a finger nail. She shuddered a bit... He then went to the main part of the chest, just above her boobs, warming it up and now moving his hands under her back for a few seconds, a slight push or pull there. A hi, I can move you and am feeling something deeper inside of me. Then the breasts were hit. A silent explosion of god sauce on his half, a few mmmmhhms on hers. It was heating up.He still wanted to get her going in her stomach, so he paid attention to her face and top as well as he could while trying to move in a v from her sides to where her genitals were already starting to be activated. Now the massage was over, the game had begun.

Her **** were sapphires in his eyes, turning her on her side, he brushed the hollow of her cheek and briefly let her eyes flutter on the front of his hand- calm, he was saying, Unceremoniously he took off her pants, and didn't quite yet get the underwear going bedside, but brushed against her vaginal with his hands intermittently. They had started to kiss by now, and no doubt she knew he was sprung. He got naked before she did. No tape measure was around, but she guessed at least 6 inches of girth. He worked one hand under the blue tighties, and went back and forth across the lips of her vagina. he would cup it with one hand and then start to get the **** going. At the same time he was licking her stomach down to her crouch, where the inevitable met. Her skin was so hot by now that it started to glisten , he noticed, and he couldn't resist keeping some arm or leg or whatever form of contact going up to her breasts and neck and, hell, her wherever and all the whatevers.

Getting the **** out wasn't so bad, be worked the front end of the vaginal spot with his tongue briefly before bring a finger or two down into her slot. He wasn't going to mess around with that anymore hahaha. Just down to business, but he did pay special attention to her erection. He twisted it slightly back and forth, held it such to get some more hardness to it. Made sure the front of her was still popping and then just had some fun. She appreciated the body contact he mad along her abdomen and sides, it was reassuring, and goddamn! he is going all out with his mouth down there....He began o do something a little odd. He was worker the stomach again, and she was by now quite wet. But he was building a tension, or a grounds for release? in her whole stomach region, genitals included up to the point were her muscles attached to the rib cage. It was glorious in a way, to be exposed over such a wide region, and still he liked getting that boob action. She began biting his hand just to express the moment he was doing on her. He didn't mind, it was endearing in a way. He was literally finger ****ing her in every sense of that phrase. It was sex, and in moments the cosmos were felt on earth...

He could feel her insides show the slightest tendency to contraction, their sweat in the air, and smells from the work up ever present. God, the air was full, sounds, scents, motions, light, eye contact, but it all became a sound. Their intercourse became both their realities, and for those higher moments, two separate pictures were formed to one pitch, a resonate yell with lots of playing room, and oh, how they chose to form it. She was almost trance like, he near exhaustion, and from a hand and oral! Oh, how sweet that pot became for both of them. Him giving and her just being open to it. Her stomach did cramp in a way, not such an unpleasant way, and she soon came, the ooze dripping down her hot thighs, but not quite reaching the bed. He was overcome by a cuddling feeling, and couldn't stop himself from nestling up near her and get some falling action moments in, after cleaning her up. He then showered her, and she thought he was doing a nice and proper job of it. They conversed, but not about sex, as their bodies cooled down and their heart rates returned to normal. She left. He walked her to the door, was going to shut it until he realized that it wasn't his room after all. Figuring the room would remain vacant, he sat on the made bed again, and just reflected on what had happened. That it happened at all was stupendous to even his sharp mind. Still, he left it at that, and soon closed the door behind him. The drizzle was a rain now, and he relished in it.

The End.

A good dog :)

Karma, yes it is there.

But ultimately, any karma is unwanted, good or bad. It is just a spin you can put on the ball. It helps or it doesn't but with Karma, you are still playing the game. If one wants to transcend life and death, karma , either way the English is, should be obliterated. It isn't about good or bad, reality knows neither. Karma is just how tendencies are worked out in this world. Being human means only that we can make more karma than we spend or work out, but shedding it is the target.

For the same reason I like to nod at people on the street.

I have to agree that how humans relate to planet earth is as a visitor, an alien.

could the environment influence the dna already in the eggs? I don't know, but it seems at least plausible.

Fetters on a lovely, slow to warm day,
These little chills so oft to stay,
electrocuting shivers, blessed reasons to lay out in the sun,
soaking up the only near-pure resource still around.
Bound by ceaseless wanting to become fertile mire,
Up the roof antenna, the higher to fuel my desire,
Found feeding my fire out back, lonely and cold,
I hope my ghost's hand yours still likes to hold.
Bold you entered my hay fever thoughts a-calling,
With a sweating brow to this subtle air I was stalling,
Sold at last to send an equally daring, but more direct message,
You soon were yielding to massage and choosing to be near.
Fear never gripped me, I was not one to back out,
But a summer dress highlighting my soft tones sometimes lead to a shout,
Ne'er matching that of the gold lion you later gifted,
It sifted my reality and was a remembrance of roars before it.
Sit dear, move not idly, your aurora is what my sprayed Borealis was for an outline,
All along, true, but visit more sensibly, sweet lil 'lin.
It beseeches you, I know, to have known my spirit further through,
Be it so, especially now, when it goes through its next pass.
Lass, you pose, with the finest lips to draw,
Reflect my organized flow of flaws,
Glass shards, fall onto me, the breaks a fancy picture makes,
Doomed To-get-HER-ness, in All, I but what I choose to be.
See, Out it, fall,The worst happening is a happening and still best,
over silent-seething. Rather, give a call in a barren love nest,
Decree bereft of further love calling, the tweeter-peeting of spring,
You bringing loving some/ or-anyway, Is Miss Allison, beyond this seasoned hope.
Nope! I'm set a-drifting, not lost, but for a time before my time.
I'd spit it over the food, if you wouldn't puke at announcement of the crime,
But so tenderly, very nicely, In those nothings uttered, you stow me away,
O light of day! never again bare without between us a pane!
And always stored with the pain, of the illusion of them searching and a hiding me.
But at least, it was never from you.

Abstract pen doodles all day!

I drummed until the air hummed,
and one I was with it, fingers numb,
Done only after everyone had come and gone,
more than twice over,
continued when the cops,
made half the people hide and cover.
Went past my supper and only my beats knew hunger,
until moon rose and the city slumbered.
Then eyes on logs sung, the in town bought lumber turned to ember.
For hours I dosed the background with a track,
that bordered on calling thunder, metered with a large dash of crazy,
not metrical dangles of my feelings reduced to one wire,
one shape, one desire,
Which was more fun than drinking or talking to girls.
When no one looked, I skipped in circles and danced twirls,
Then the limit approached where it was to keep up,
and get no sleep,
Or retire and weep stars all for the smacks not thrown.
When my head finally did flat to catch some rest,
In wakefulness, truly all by myself.
Tears ran into my sore, battle worn ears,
With dim night lighting, there was no seeing,
Even if I lead myself into a maze,
At least today I am not in a haze!

Thanks both for your condolences and empathy!

You're not likely!

A few lines was all I was hoping for

Ahhh, yeah, I gotta start adding those in!
Maybe that is just because I am trying to relate. I actually am not hung up about the past experiences with girls. I was trying to dig up some material to keep some interest in my life, but I am falling back to a 'it happened and nothing more' mentality, which feels smooth and nice, like yeah, not so edgy. But i didn't see that it was false at points, and now I do. Thank you for that!

I am glad you did!

Talking to bots on craigslist,
watching sunspots float and drift,
across eyes that see more when they are closed.
Looking at the sweat-softened, wrinkled skin,
of showered hands, thinking I could do more alone.
Wandering if farming, is really legit,
Or if I should immigrate and just sit.
Thinking about the curse of modern times,
and how there is no going back,
Yet how this age could blossom into blessing,
If it can learn from other era's mistakes.
Sitting, noting how my breaks,
sometimes mean writing two pages,
in two months, In my science notebook,
When that was the work of minutes last fall.
How my thoughts.... come to break-neck stalls,
And the more I dig into the chances around me,
the more I realize this apple, us all
fell pretty far from the ancestral tree,
or down a babbling river or some jazz,
And that I just want to,
climb on rocks and **** ducks,
like my great grannannananaan Dad-paw thing.
Except that is not what they did at all,
So it is a wanting what is supremely well smoke screened.
I want to throw 'bows at the line of knowable/not explainable,
And quick for the cracks, close the curtain draw,
So if you wanted to slip in, you could without having to crawl.
That is my idea of romantic,
and it doesn't have to do with anything really here (or not).
But it's more drawing than a silken maiden in a hot sprawl,
And doesn't cost anything at all, not a dime.
except for the wherewithal, that I don't know anyway how to count,
which neitherway can be compared to a strict amount.
Sleep may come fairly soon,
And with the pitchiest black I will happily spoon,
But it has to be kept on the dl.
For the stickiest rumors start to roam whenever there is an unknown!

walk around a bit or get the blood pumping mildly some way or another aerobically, then sit back down and words may flow better, i've found...

My like older teens, your birthdays I sorted,
The dumb holiday, equaled by poor diets,
Laden tables, a mainstay of pizza,
And to counting spanks, I resorted.
Unnamed people glittered with importance,
In a gilded atmosphere reeking of material impotence,
People/cars ratio-ed near equality,
A fake connectedness in the four way of our splitting tire tracks,
I drove and went to bed and never looked back.
I realized another thoughtless, over-minded day,
And the next entry read only “F… that ****.”
A day in the dark meandered into a glowing radiance,
A bright orb with nothing to say, or to do,
Maybe it was really red hot,
But its flames could not lick out,
It was a teapot filled with stew.
A very long summer, matched only by toddling years,
Faint and slippery, its misty perfume not yet gone,
Over it I learned things about the stock market,
Engines and I-Tunes,
All of it highlighting, the other very important INFORMATION,
That I would be introduced to in college soon.
I know that I don’t know anything important,
Or what I need to do.
So out to college, where first I learned,
That Coca-Cola is best served warm,
With round little ice cubes,
That pyramids are impossible,
So I reverted to printing and editing a story from High School,
And in tatters returned to a do-nothing education shattered.
A Day, Oh so lonely a day of it, spent not knowing,
Whether tomorrow could be better than today,
Not caring about anything but my feelings, I opted quickly out
And resigned to an early start of graying,
Yet I woke up the next morning with a shout!
From dreams old of a soccer field,
And a bus,
past this horror my memory would not anymore yield.
And before night, again, remembering began to sing,
Toujours the sojourn is sweet,
Perhaps that was a warning blessed,
Simply ‘cause a dark mind so distressed,
Can neither hold harmony or discord, with a birds evening tweet.
It was a day to remember, (and maybe to note too)
The day I answered why I couldn’t go to you,
None that made sense was all I replied,
And somewhere inside you cried,
but how do I know that was why?
I chose again to be a loner.
Anon the tomorrow, full of promises for the shy,
Trusting others but not entirely myself I wondered,
And with a heavenly spread of new events I struck up a chord,
It rung out, I have to make my own decisions cut and dry.
Reasons and excuses, none left, I went right into the wee hours,
Devoid of thought or meaningful, visionary dreams,
A mellow daybreak followed a misty drizzle,
Of thoughts, the hours proceeded, filled to the brim with them,
Then the inertial of a black, of a nothingness tranquil,
Broke further into the ionosphere of a pair of days,
Slowing down the passing just wasn’t enough,
To have a time roasted where A for Amanda was my bell,
And hell heated up until passings were at a stall,
Of course, the flames took their fiery toll,
And as the air burned, from within and without,
Nowhere was found a less in the crazy light and amidst the fumes,
And only the scent of your perfume pervaded as torture,
Still my wondering and was as nowhere as a desert of dunes upon another,
So I left these dreaming days in the blazing sand,
Of a million wished mile markers that got out of hand,
Too often was spent (many passes) going from one glittering to the next speck,
The interest difference was loss always not explained,
The missing from tasks too oft switching,
Beloved dreaminess of a love worth hitching,
Is a play of happiness, of a nature that dives into the deep
Loving probes our deepest, and like the magicians casting sparks in fluid motion under seas,
Happiness is sometimes a bioluminescent lure stuck out in a flora breeze,
You don’t need crazed, charged, electrical blue eyes to see what is in plain sight.
For A.- you are so important, that immediately I know,
It can never be,
I can’t even utter your name for distress,
So putting this in ink, this is a little protection of you from me,
See, my merry, go-to friend,
With her, it was so that, I only needed to befriend,
Nay, illusionary thoughts of love lost lead me still astray,
But if the key stone stayed in, the weight would have anyway weighed,
And the rubbing wrong of you, itself, this too would have made it have caved,
But your talons really did hurt when you struck,
After I tried to peel off your fakeness.
A burning so fierce all social creatures must know,
Just even a rejoin, a last standing support could have propped up,
The calamity of breaches of confidence, in the confides of my do-good self,
But that was a problem, never put into action, But then again,
Like, why should I get lucky? Furthermore, why has your attitude frowned.
In the poll of reality, the results of my pit fall are in,
The challenge arrived of finding a challenging place to begin,
Of heart, lost in a copy and paste society, Beliefs trap you from within,
Do you use excel when you go out on Friday night?
Making columns, an index individuals dressed like this, and those not quite right,
To copy and paste culture into your weekend lives,
I did once,
And not the least surprised,
When all the days happenings turned out,
Similar for a whole week,
But still, each and every single day is a little different,
Even if I lost my glasses driving late,
And was blind for all of it.-
Here, my talking, maybe I am out of breath,
Just puffing and shuffling as much as an out of shape,
Guy can do while trying to stand up straight,
But that is as deep as my mind can go here!
Whenever turned keys wanted, intended a drive,
To provide venue for an upward gaze, and into the stars dive,
It was realized that I had no reason for even trying,
To pin up my hopes in such a high and far off way,
No not big garbage hopes, the landfills are already lucubrating,
And no also to the darkness in my eyes, set for truth-less anticipation,
Of a day when blackness will be still,
But eve in the most common stillness, death,
Decomposition- it is so full of life,
And there is a hope, that even destroyed senseless and blinded otherwise,
the senses that keep the boat at bay,
Held docked, can begin to sway it regardless,
And steer with natures sense, a great sense of sheer intuition,
This galley, hoping to be so guided,
(below deck please hide me)
Lock me, stuff me from sight,
The sight of a bustling port making it entirely seem,
That a whole new city between my stowing dreams and my waking,
Further convinces me that I am traveling all around the world seven times a week.
Trying to do what may be done,
Filling a cartridge with blank minutes wanting things to simply explode on their own,
Strapping the full belt of instead making it happen,
Loading up new rounds in a self-fulfilling gun,
Of prophesies of an adjusted type,
Not of all that ending or saving the world hype,
Or of anyone knows that has worked with their hands, the mundane dislike,
Towards the talk and excited buzz that true scientists hate as well,
And with world peace treaties, or times at the buffalo Wild wings to celebrate,
All this talk, spanning decades in scope,
When in all reality, brothers,
The field of play was ever only in a day-Today.
I’ve spent mine mostly dreaming, more than done normally,
Eyes wide, the windows still ceaselessly recording,
Embedding through retina, into body,
What mind quickly forgets,
And robbing the late hours of their usual captivating powers,
Begging and being handed some more light stress,
So with flesh, to remain and retain with some plasticity,
Yet starry vistas, when the canvas is unfolded do often hold,
My own globes in a trance to dance in those radiant rays,
Until the gates open to a new.
That is, tranquility is tough to keep and takes short stays,
But when it is maintained even in sweeps of heavenly motions,
It is enough to make the rocks weep.
Well, words and lyrics ousted from this drowsy head,
Daydreaming paradises gone, and fantasies dead,
Where the does this line,
This brooding, yet becoming tune lead?
To bed, straight…
I was at it long at the uni.
And needed to study more,
So I pulled a combo and read my soc. Book,
As it is a compilation of
Broken life slates and hoarse bedtime stories,
They spill out all the wriggling guts of haves and nots.
But leave out of the pictures,
The mass indigestion, and all the gories,
Which my prof. would surely have then relished,
Or at least embellished with relevant classroom material,
But I preferred this to personal stories of the other objective,
That of the journalist assigned to be a social-happening teller,
Doing anything, like duck taping their sense of right or their mouths,
Or ditching modesty, even getting laid (?)
Just to have their story make headlines and be read,
Anyway, the best part of sleeping,
Is not thinking like a bump on a log,
So I wake up ready to make my own spin,
At the edgings of every morning,
With blank pages, awaiting some filling in,
This is the story of my DNA and it always starts the day
(To be continued)
Which is a little bit presumptuous to read at the table,,,
I agreed to a farce when feigned importance of my involvement with a girl,
And running this way I tried to discuss such engagement with A.
And throughout various schemes, half unconscious and hidden away,
Themes were forgotten, and sentimentality thrown to the wayside,
Accordingly I noted and tried to fill my schedule.
This one I played soccer, the other messed around on keys,
A whole week of such doles went out like such,
But found was a limit, canceled out dem zeroes,
Between the current and the next spinning’s cycle,
Of light-dark repeating, shutters fluttered past in a whirl!
But between the strobe flashes, A twirled with the ferocity of a tiger,
Or that is what was in my eye when waked,
A week of those followed after.
The extraordinaire of youth thought about trying on,
A do-good attitude, and then racing forward like in a marathon,
But man, it left me struggling, that tight spandex uniform,
And I just couldn’t breath, so I dropped back and split.
-I thought schooling contained a script, an encryption key,
To decode what my own thoughts meant to me,
But and form that I tried on for size,
Any interpretations from others, even the very wise,
Of my events in my own eyes,
Left me out cold and mesmerized.
They talked a lot about getting inlays at school,
For the padlocks that kept their minds boxed up,
But this was just jargon meant to smokescreen the code,
And add noise to fire short through a faulty diode,
Pulses through a live wire, surges of faux energetic,
In attempt to boil down the natural circuitry of the mind.
Until it can fuel only one and one type of incandescent,
Which takes a full few days of flickering,
To turn on and illuminate fully,
A cut out that reads
**** Nurture,
And seems to imply, if ever, “go for it” now,
And ow!
We all know how going for gold turns out,,.
Now t settled all weird with Miss A. but that is A-okay,
I’ll gladly bear an unexpected turn of consequence,
The caused effect of any fully embraced action,
I trust myself (to do better)
To work on my letters,
I took essay class on classics philosophy,
And convinced a cutie, who started to sit close by,
That I could spread my,
A-ness with paps. on her,
In the very public school
Library. She agreed and,
Just after arriving after driving
onto campus..!
I got a call, but by then,
We both knew we were cousins,
But, I hardly did care,
I didn’t,
Evidently,
She did (and does)
But oh well, girls and people in general think what they will,
I have to say that still, I am proud of my lil pretty and strong cuz,
(She got a good final grade)
Souls do haunt me, that have never haunted before,
Before I entirely dropped, I
Had a game to play,
Not of the mind twist or a messing with,
That ain’t cool,
But of the type that everything in the world is really a game and if you play it like so you are more intent and focused than if things are taken like work or not fun- type of way,
All this atop a months thinking and tinkering, and equipping,
Left me sure,
That I could make a time machine,
Just by knowing the future,
And realizing how I want to be,
Changing it away from some prediction,
And adjusting the heat on the stove in a relative way,
To start the day with a cute body,
And a side of fried eggs,
With honey or jam for toast,
But she wouldn’t have it,
So I went back in time and short ordered in reverse,
No, wait. Order!!!
Man, do I always have a problem with that.
Certainly in court,
But to make curt of it,
If I had died that day,
My epitaph might be a grey bland,
But my last words would have been,
I am really not crazy how you think,
But now I wish one day to be entirely off of my rocker.
You checked up on me through my brother,
And he gave me his condolences,
To paraphrase: look at history, you’re not alone.
---
To ease the mind, Sport was engaged,
The highlight was watching two people return from field,
Grins over one of them projectile puking,
Or sometimes driving to talk to friends,
Until my talk put the to sleep,
And heading back to try to do the same,
A little less befuddled about friendships I kept,
I had a week of F’s
Where one phrase was a motto,
For twenty-four hours,
Including but not limited to Being a man and smart,
Anxiety and ********- all of it,
It was a productive and exceptionally fun week.
By the time finals rolled in, I liked that P. class,
But the only teaching that stuck,
Was how a certain strain or school of thought was birthed.
Sitting hungry and letting the anxiety turn into light in my gut,
Or, when that worked not, then ditching gingerly,
To educate myself on a new lofty thought
The Philosophy of Making Breakfast,
And that put me with the repetitious sorry doings of a highbrow lot,
That testing time ended with, anti-representing,
Dreams-About-School-and-People-I-Knew
Flew away? No, but I set sail,
Past all I had known,
Like the comfort of living at home,
In the log went,
A day in good moods (no mutiny)
75 degrees F. high and 23 degrees north of the cape of Any Hope At All,
Then, followed by A study in clairvoyance,
But all the sights read was
Stress = stupid,
So the ship was left in another harbor.
Lazing around the boardwalk,
I watched as seagulls this way turned or that,
And shed not a tear for the fate the ship,
May have brought me to,
I thought I knew about not being a puppet any longer,
Or crying wishing I was stronger,
Waiting in the shade with shades on,
For the coming of a grand, bright and glorious light!
But I boarded the boat, with my flying friends above,
And went to foreign lands,
But there are no such things as aliens to reality,
When all is that illogical unexplainable,
Deep down, that is,
None besides those with their heads in the clouds.
Guilty as charged, I went to a psychologist,
Irl and found that they are a money trap,
Educated by docs. That had their own, unresolved,
Childhood crap,
(is this why they know and relate so well)
Sometimes or once, I did find myself counseled when,
I felt like the bottom of my shoe,
But the couch was a chair in a garage with a golly fellow or two,
Who had jobs but weren’t then being paid.
But if I dig into that kind of work,
With each and every look I am convinced to a greater extent,
That as I write this novel (In the medium of what I call myself)
Society neither progresses or ebbs, but tries to hold onto its wealth,
But for certain people in a bent, beyond simple counter movements,
And I dare say they are modicum of power,
But the powerhouse of real change.
Back harbor side, now hoisting limbs made of lead,
The breeze blew in warm, but a gale laden with mercury,
It cast an evil glint high into the air,
The reflection from particulates cast a shadowed silver that hung there,
All the way down to the rudder,
Where the cold, blue-meth plated aqua make it tough to steer,
Breaking the ice with one big, chest bursting breath,
Or perhaps a will willing enough,
Winds thus manufactured slipped,
And smooth sailing, after initial shudder that shook the mast,
with gliding followed, a cutting more precise,
Than the most sensible wit,
But the reality of it made my brain hurt,
So good,
It must have been made stronger.
Landed, I saw caverns about, the same ole earth-mined tablets,
From antiquity, and knock offs of old face paint,
Groups of people numbered in the fifties,
And flexibility that makes me faint,
They, dependent physically and mentally,
It was realized, was just like the lot I lived with back home,
We are in a modern style cave age too.
Only now we have science to tell us,
That when it is really hot out, the earth bakes and rises,
A crisis of an extra two feet of fluffy stuffed crust,
Wake up, head spinning, bodies are soft like ne’er ,
Hopefully, crafted as the current age was hand tossed and thrown,
But also, my train of thought, off-railed by heat expanded warpage,
Into the unmarked forest flew!
And ensuing like the volume of burning asphalt fumes,
The potential grounds for quick-spark anger grew,
Understood it enough to give it the play only,
Of a few moments of showing puff,
And wreckage be wrecked- There seemed little else to say.
- I had found a little hill,
With two grass chairs placed seemingly ready,
But decided to take a nap on the blades of the lark green mat,
Shaded and by a pool as it was.
I dreamt of miss Katelyn, there sitting with,
Chatting about newly released horror flicks,
And before her leaving, she gave a time after which she could text,
And even though there is a biologically based gap,
Between words from a girl, in their seeming, and then the real meaning,
A completed social scene left my feeling, wondering the next,
But that was all the hidden and curtained playwright had wrote,
for the fast and picking-up-speed dream.
When my sense arose, I was glad for the short and sweet,
For, a youth of unnecessary interaction sucks ballz.
Mauling over cause and effect,
Time gives opportunity to find defect,
Or offers a chance to act accordingly and efficiently,
Emotion’s motion moving up gauged ticks, informed by strong and gentle touch and tact,
Sit clutch for finding an appropriate act.
The correlation of feeling leading, or following closely by,
This interplay with action, is more needed followed by no more,
And now, there is greater responsibility for one body of energy.
Anyway, I guess energy is all base the same,
And finding it lovely in diff. forms is natures little game,
When thought drinks empty down to the good stuff at the bottom of the barrel,
Put simply, I don’t want to waste energy,
And all to drink down to this.
To the extent capabilities are developed,
Please don’t (self) keep my mind fruits enveloped,
Even if it is not edible,
You can pack it economically,
And leave it with someone enjoyable,
To have chilled with fresh mint tea,
In a desert,
Like my social life appears to be,
So as work I left written negatives:/
Being a creep,
Lack of coherency,
Crazy person,
Intensely expressive,
Confused, mixed up,
Speech (applicability)
Emotional,
And then yelled an ink dripped shout “They don’t matter!”
My artistic impulses grew ever fatter,
They became so lackadaisical that I dreamed of being in a ship yard,
Of being a shipwright with the doodles I sketched,
Working on planks and ribs made out of this dudes blue shaded hair,
I tried to give to an artsy Anna, but she wouldn’t come near,
Now in this dreamland how will anybody get about?
People will go all over just looking for the right colors,
But few like to open the door to their birth at the sun,
-the problems of safety.
If I could cry one hundred tears,
Walk the plank of life/death for a million-and-one years,
At the end of that line,
That is where I would leave you, dear crafty Anna.
---
Freewill is God granted, in a minimal literal way,
One can get past right or wrong,
And see the ultimate perfection of plan,
In a system that accounts for even cracks,
Are you one?
It is all about real change in your time span,
And doesn’t deal in personality or punishment,
---
Much sought after Anna aside,
( I swear I didn’t mean to see your soul so bare)
I asked Alison E. if I could,
Letter write her.
I.e. I prepped wax,
And soon unleashed a fountain onto paper.
I was happy enough, below the surface,
With all this none of this,
For little is loved,
When one is stuck by looking to prove,
That which can’t be explained,
Which is what high school moves a kid to do,
In all, after the mail had arrived,
Speaking at least for the lass, she never complained.
Ups like that, even they are sand-tapered down,
So of life’s inner juices don’t fade,
And this are the more true emotions,
For the smallest hint of a flutter,
I bought myself a Cowtail,
And luckily the gal at the counter liked ‘em and took the other,
Distraught over living at home like I did,
I went out on my own, on the move,
I was still a pretty young kid,
My ethos relentlessly vented me to up and out,
And no logos could work a staying charm.
Parents did provide some foodstuff,
But were just barely above treacherous financial waters,
I announced for not much longer I would be around,
And in a less depressing economy, that would have sounded better.
---
Met a French get named Charlene J.
We went out for coffee,
After a running into at the computer lab after some days,
This is what friends do, right?
(just like kissing at the drive in movies late at night)
I brought a coffee cake,
And said “I heard that fat kids like cake,
So I bought you this,”
Because, see, she was skinny.
And a little while later, added that I liked,
Her shirt, but even some minutes after that,
I thought, man, I have to be honest here, I couldn‘t lie,
And said I didn’t know much about fashion,
Actually, what was liked was,
That it touched her body.
Some week later, I called the what I drove,
A station wagon,
A bus instead, and dropped this C.J. off at the airport,
After whispering “Toujours, Charlene,” into the side of her head.
The next day, I chuckled, after all,
What happened?
What would a 3rd eye see,
From a not so distant vantage?
---
I finally did from home make the slip,
And dropped 10 lbs over a few months,
Physics required math, so I debated musicianship,
And then went back to napping for the solstice, like a waste…
Near x-mass, I met a,
Cleveland dwelling girl, who was a heroin addict,
And I shot up in my mind with her,
Also: my family is so poor,
They joke about selling their,
Left bodies to science,
But I mused, looking ahead at my rent,
That I would be doing it soon while living.
She was going to visit,
I said I’d hold her,
As her legs cramped,
And death felt so near,
But she never could fix her,
Crappy car and,
Her mom had this strange fear,
About,
Her kiddo staying with a,
Barely adult at his apartment,
House a few hours away,
So we just played on cellphones,
And never became anything to one another,
And haven’t met until this day,
(rectify, my terrible planning please do, this sin needs penance)
Stirred up enough to cook pre-soaked beans at midnight,
But running around like a chicken without a head in a daze,
At the end of that one, I felt extremely thankful.
I walked a lot living at that place,
I ate too plain,
At school, there was a forceful physics aide,
Convinced she,
Was always right with her memorized formulas,
She was…
The care wasn’t about that,
I just wanted, the,
HOW,
And all the non answer driven questions,
Will likely irk her until the grave,
Even when her great memory can’t be excited.
Talked to a young mother, as we hiked,
About relationship rights,
And the number of differs was substantial,
But it wasn’t about the numbers,
And I didn’t hide from her how,
My thoughts went,
But unlike science, that just gets you in trouble,
Doubling back because of a flooded path,
And reroutes took place, and hours were spent,
She summed that I talked through a lot,
Or something like that,
I agreed,
To make candles next time.
House side, my best budgeting was going for broke,
In that little efficiency.
Visited a person from church,
Whose mom died from breast cancer,
We cleaned the home.
Well, I drew on her sketch pad,
That she let me borrow
After hiding possibly painful hospital appointment reminders,
In the black over filled trash bags on the cheap plastic floor quickly.
Somehow, having a doodler kept her from crying.
---
Talked to W. Mcdirt, too often about his sis,
During that apartment stay time,
That was fun, tele talking, she,
Hummed western ditties as a filler so warmly.
The kin meant to me,
She had to be smart,
It worked for a while,
But once discovered, it was all fake,
Which I didn’t mind, but after this,
End of sorts,
The only response ever that came through,
Was not being blocked,
So I still send the occasional message,
Like a little *****,
And its fate is not to be read,
For me, it doesn’t matter,
If they ever click or anything,
The internet reads and does not easily forget,
And if anything,
Remotely like her responding happens,
Okay, but if not, sending them,
Feels good to me.
---
To figure out people, and the stars,
That was the goal, but I always confuse the order,
Especially whenever I am with people,
For all my new adventures, I lacked the good will foundation,
That I didn’t care to build during high school.
F.B. was mostly disappointing,
During the days I could steal it from,
The neighbors.
Once, I tried to illustrate my views on relationships,
But people always jump the gun to sex,
I’m sure my scribbling and arrows were only partly responsible,
For the look on her pale and reddening face to mold so vexed,
She went on to draw over simple structures,
And told me that now my thoughts have a case file.
---
At last, a spirit girl seemed cool, well, still is,
But my brosky thought that I was just,
Trying to get with someone,
That he never could, or some shiz,
But really No,
And x number of pages, torn rambles, are summed up by,
Me saying, even my limited little successes would have made his ego cry,
She and I just hang out, and such is all I have to say about that.
The last old entry reads,
“I am outing from society”
And I must admit, after chatting on the phone a bit,
That I should at least have a goal,
I want only to be alone.

dat grey mass works best when the stomach is empty, but not when the body is starving. Just pay attention when you eat or snack, the mind quiets down............................
I can't really tie that into DNA memory, other then something complex takes place when food goes into a body, so line of events. If one understood how phenotypes worked all of the way, like in combination in the millions of interactions, the very process of digestion could be seen as a genetic function, like movement maybe, which just may be a profitable correlation of information and movement.... But yeah, the development of a vocabulary for genetic, offspring-to-offspring language must be somewhere supplemented.

God sauce,
if you are real,
or fake,
what difference,
does it really make,
when all I am doing,
is shu'ing away,
the time until sleep I can fall into?
I've been to bed in so many ways,
but never asked anybody to stay,
because dream-encounters,
should never last.
And I can't guarantee,
that I would also!
Know that I am down,
not for naughty times with pee,
but just me, fully for anything- my offer,
and if you can't feel,
that I am being legit here,
Reply? don't even bother...
------------- -----
Hey,
I am def. down for just chilling out cool, nashing the feathers and whatnot.
I am 21 and safe and all of that,
With documentation if necessary.
But since you said just hanging out,
I likely wouldn't have to pull doctor papers out.
But still I haven't watched movies in a while,
because that is usually not worth my time,
but if I had a cute lass, to sit right beside,
I don't see how it could be such a big crime!
Anyway, I won't hide any problems I have,
because I don't really do drugs or smoke or drink,
But I would love to talk to you,
or wash vegetables in your sink
(what? I am a vegetarian type of guy)
So if you are wondering anything else about me,
reply, email, or simply drop on by,
but you would have to host,
as My post is currently occupied,
by eyes that would have more than once spied,
and that is just not how A guest should be treated,
Instead, a warm smile and welcoming arms,
should be how a friendly girl is greeted,
And that is how I want to meet you,
If but only, in this age of internet scares,
to my heart you can see this email through.
----- ----------
So, I hear you want a fling,
Well, unknown darlin',
those can sometimes sting.
The act itself, can be beautiful,
but is so oft perverted with emotional strings,
So I agree with you there,
And if seems like I am only trying to woo you,
Well, little one, isn't that fair?
And not having a clue about who you are,
that is what makes the best of the fun in the sun,
Memories born to fade,
please do let me make you into one,
before your dancing body dissolves into the shade,
under the tree which makes all selfsame.