M1 Garand .30 cal, .45 pistol; M1A1 Thompson variation walked in to the helpless, blue windows of yesterday. How out of our minds; diligently blackbirds learn to see, so they don’t hit the glass. Important Queens and Kings of Dormant state walls probably knew this was coming, these dry eyes seem too infectious when the kids’ in the cradle today. It is a normal feeling for the elderly to feel left behind; however, some thought hired dependents and independents only knocked on the door for their first chance, slightly caught a hand or foot in at the last second, or saved their mercy for the Lords Love Above;Amen, “Hallelujah; Leonard Cohen” , (The Original) if you’d like. At six o’clock a.m . . . It is hard for them to see that in their own place twenty and more children come through big gates; perhaps, being replaced. Allowing them to seek youth guidance so that they know something about the ages of speed metal, kinky love
(with protective rights); betrayal, a scene unkind unless so before their time. More so, the fact some could and cannot survive beastly records of ignored soldiers and a Globe in petrified, turmoil almost frozen in time; the last evoking, evolving game scene decided intolerably to let it go. Still the strong help us.

Proudly practitioners and dental associates make a working with the help of another babe. I am sorry that all by your self, you and anyone won’t be used up right away- not to be crude or sue you in any fashion. We will be washed, dried and set away ;perhaps, dry cleaned for some special day. Drink; DRINK again. Home is here what I felt…. Still feeling.
Keep it all for the “Children of the Grave” are in their fifties, I am as we all are and may very well could certainly be- when it comes to the dues, don’t think I would have to die at their sides in this age and time even if that was all they asked me to. If it were not for some of them, the hurt and happiness would have nothing to say; hurt and happiness is on record to shame the darkness, with only some shade as a global empathy taxation in a semi-mortal zoo. Waking up in the morning feeling like you can live again. Dysnomy: the art of getting out of bed; having a Hell of a time doing it. Besides….
Quick rocking might be my sign of bad habits and health, I am who I am and I can see dwellers but lifers. Always reminding me of some lyrics from “Stone the Crow; Down”, “I never died before.”
The credit one person will always have because of another, being directed properly but undirected as well. Feeling like you’ve never really heard or understood anything , until “Planet Caravan ; Black Sabbath” – that is. Points and gentlemen like accord were the inspiration of taking away feelings; manifest in to that which you, the environment, the planet; so many would need and use, that is till’ stolen and tagged the “Crime of the Century; Supertramp”. Relations with John Lennon and Lemmy Kilmister’s mother. Is all she wrote.

Vacuum salesmen all over twentieth century stare cases declared, ” I am stepping on flaky, glass. Retina’s?! I can’t even taste the sight of these damned things! Dinosaur names approaching fore quandaries like it is and for-ever will be the same, nothing will change because it was not for them. Slide, misconceptions happen to every one but when you vent the epiphany toward the powerless and save the mind of millions in days. Arise and be awake!”
Right the corner, go back up the shiet street and take a left. The rated wars, old men of a dissection in a lab made out of methane, are separated by an invisible line of thought: doing what you think is “right” and acting when you’re told. This keeps them from the well of knowledge wise lived, old; new. So some of the old men stay because they really are feasible patriots always unpacking their hearts with the malfeasance of their loins reaping the Chesterfield of horrible childhood memories, being seen through a film. Aristotle in the scenes, where many flocked over:”Pink Floyd The Wall”. Engaged are the new and old men with sensing patriots always igniting a war with out even having to try.

Past developments have been rusted to those done sharing and for me it does the new prick yet the opposite of the stabbing of a thousand fine needles. Fine, I told my self, fairly they would start to break the ruby-red rose drippings and the daisies on your bed. How the uncertainty of taking away someones land, which is even a bar with some chairs; perhaps a keg, would screw up anyone even drafted to be taken away. Total and complete rage pondered and poured out to the cool, worked up who, could only hope when their own Government would be getting round and paid. It hit them in the past in nine teen seventy, I believe the National Guard could have saved me; if I were in the middle of a Dodger game with streaks of fame, I would sure be fresh meat. Proudly, pounded; smuthered and made lean. That was their intention going to Kent, turn the students down.

My dead Grandma would be proud that I would venture out, somehow and find my only way. Never Called Me A Communist. Always loved me yet never was around. I partake in my share of population control, enough not to get too far in to anything that deep right now; make sure I never leave this peaceful mess to Children of War, I will always feel like a baby killer but a baby not killed anymore. I know what to do in my life and when I take the side that some call “dirty” maybe just to cradle our inevitability of just how pure; lonesome streets are, I find it inevitable and messy as some would put it- to ignore. Tested on with the signs of no doubt young, well rounded women and men that tote around posters of abortions, almost seeing myself as having been the baby who should’ve been dead. Under aged sex; whoa on me man; shame; THE HORROR. Embellished melody, their memory of a better time. Love Generations of misunderstood and beaten down souls for always just feeling the burn, knocking on wood; birthing the parents out of their own stride, who abolished waves of freedom slipping our encouraged almost a “nothing” pride.. We had never turned our backs on them but some times, “We Sold Our Soul For Rock N’ Roll”. Our price is shining to ever green pastures where grazing folds of living corpses listen. The effervescence of our cries; help us along or surely just die. Entrapment to some we can help gently point them back to their hearts where they knew all along it was life birthing death- when it is paranoid death beating on. Abortion oh murder is not your name, please take it to the man that they be used to cure mental plagues. Grow me a brain, or a wonderful way of eating or sacrificing the dead as some may put it.

Atleast we could have it that we populate our Globe and cherish each mind with out having to shoot those eyes bewildered by the automatic suicide calling blue , true , bow down society. I won’t take part in thinking children are the world and neither m I, it seems all like one big mistake to even be alive…. But here’s to not wasting what’s left of the ecosystem- we are dirt under beautiful fingernails and the sweat of a brow. Abandonment in every way to our own instinct and natural pattern we need to be lead away, when left with this pack we don’t need sacrificial offerings of betrayed land-use and open quarters layed up for one reason that’s neither cut or shown.

So these ways of commuting to and from this place, the paper I use; the words I say, I will have to use till the “old” go away and new magic like radical methods make a shout. I am not a criminal. “No Good(Attack the Radical); Pantera”. I will no doubt live, who knows when one human faces the glimpse of death- it happens to the best of us. Either way the older you are the harder you will have to work, Hell make your words worth a God Damn in this world – to the people who want them the most. THEY REALLY ARE COUNTING ON YOU. Those old farts that take our hearts, they just want the best to fit in and get it right (How many times has age been the answer? Let alone here the time is always now). We told them We love them. Volunteering at the hospital and called in to automatically be God and commonly fight the intrepid last thoughts of an old man in his death bed, give him a smile; to sing him a song , hold his hand; even kiss his head and leave him happy, so he can leave in a better state(Dear God For Anyone). I can see it, the movement of discouraged Doles and Abraham’s finding their house in a health facility, seeing where a known loved woman use to be- the eyes of many others – wanting out but hoping we don’t hold it against them, “that our parents couldn’t figure it out”. Forgiveness, acceptance alabaster to laughter.

It was tough for them and easier for us, pointing the dealer has faults. There once was such a time with no rights, amazing things like sparse cola products were never even heard of, many people were better dead; given treacherous ancients long ago, always have had a cock hold on the door to exit this whore. All the things that they owned who knows where they go but they left us better room in a land we knew fuck all about. So some sneek inside and cripple the stems of life set to burden, yet harden and soften the sleeping corpses and awakened souls then they take off seemingly out of the wind, never to have left a single instance of answer. Impacting millions while blowing away their lives. It meant hats were worn just to be like thwarted missiles; those were going in while going out of every good, moralistic pleasure. It seems, all too fast to say; I’m going out with a memory but I want right back in, for good.

Posted by Mary-Lee Parks - 28/08/11 - 0 comments