Tag Archives: warrior poet

Shhhh I’m Now A Terrorist (Apparently)

“True moderation in the defence of political liberties is indeed a difficult thing: pretending to want fair shares for all, every man raises himself by depressing his neighbour; our anxiety to avoid oppression leads us to practice it ourselves; the injustice we repel, we visit in turn upon others, as if there were no choice except either to do it or to suffer it.” Titus Livy

Be afraid,

Be very, VERY, very afraid,

For the revolution is upon us,

Upon US and WE are the enemy.

Friends,

Be no more my friends,

Deny you know me,

Deny our experiences,

And the times we have known,

For in the exercise of OUR now non existent rights,

Global,

I am a, shhhhhhhhhh,

Whisper,

Extremist;

A terrorist.

By virtue,

Imbued by parents who clearly loved me,

I fiercely ravished books,

Thousands,

And still do today,

Of every possible design,

Exploring thoughts,

Exploring my own as result,

Analyzing, accepting and refusing,

At the behest of rationality,

Ideas that I find genuine,

And dismissing though entertaining those,

That insult,

As Whitman would suggest,

My soul,

But shhhhh,

Whisper,

I am a,

Terrorist.

“War is peace.

Freedom is slavery.

Ignorance is strength.” Orwell

Our civilization,

So called,

Has declared war,

Globally,

Against religions for oil,

Against citizens for greed,

Against myself and others like me,

For exercising our minds,

Exploring facts in evidence,

Exposing them,

Expressing and disseminating them,

And for this noble cause,

According to the bastions of governmental influence,

My thoughts,

My words,

These words,

Make me a terrorist,

An extremist,

For bearing witness against the wickedness of an evil few,

That pit us against each other,

For the perpetuation of their iniquity,

AT YOUR EXPENSE,

And for this,

I am,

A terrorist?

“As man consists of body and soul, all our possessions and pursuits partake of the nature of one or the other. Thus personal beauty and great wealth, bodily strength, and all similar things, soon pass away; the noble achievements of the intellect are immortal like the soul itself. Physical advantages, and the material gifts of fortune, begin and end; all that comes into existence, perishes; all that grows, must one day decay. But the soul, incorruptible and eternal, is the ruler of mankind; it guides and controls everything, subject itself to no control. Wherefore we can but marvel the more at the unnatural conduct of those who abandon themselves to bodily pleasures and pass their time in riotous living and idleness, neglecting their intelligence–the best and noblest element in man’s nature–and letting it become dull through lack of effort; and that, too, when the mind is capable of so many different accomplishments that can win the highest distinction.” Sallust

As an extremist,

Well read and reasonably well written,

I posit that in this temporal realm,

I have a body that will pass,

While these words,

The ideas that they present,

Represent and in some cases resent,

Live on,

Non Omnis Moriar,

Each of you are as Sallust suggests,

Abandoning yourselves to sins of the flesh,

Gluttons feeding at the trough of your own demise,

Giving freely your bodies, minds and souls,

To a hapless few that centuries ago,

Created a system in which you are owned,

From the moment of your birth,

Until the moment of the execution of your last will,

And testament,

At which point they no longer own you,

Returned, as we all will be,

To the universe,

But you don’t need to believe me,

Although, for these words, governments now claim,

I am a terrorist,

An extremist because I QUESTION everything;

As for illustration you should wonder;

Why, on all official documents,

From governments,

Birth Certificate and Passport,

Are your names ONLY in Capital LETTERS,

I AM NOT SENDER D. MACLEAN;
I am Sender D. MacLean

And as I openly rebel,

Intellectually and with these words,

I am not owned,

As slave,

For education, knowledge and understanding have set me free,

Just as easily so too could thou be,

But be forewarned,

This makes you a terrorist,

An extremist,

For you stand diametrically opposed,

To plans laid out centuries ago,

Maintained, perpetuated and mobilized,

Through the states monopoly on several powers,

None greater than the use of force,

Physically through the Corporations of Police Departments the world over,

Revenue generators,

Through the industrialized militaries,

Revenue generators,

Who despite their oaths at will violate your supposed rights,

Financially,

Through death warrants and a monetary system,

That creates something from nothing,

In perpetuity,

Enslaving you quite visibly,

Through DEBT!

“They have plundered the world, stripping naked the land in their hunger… they are driven by greed, if their enemy be rich; by ambition, if poor… They ravage, they slaughter, they seize by false pretenses, and all of this they hail as the construction of empire. And when in their wake nothing remains but a desert, they call that peace.” Tacitus
Who are THEY?

Like any paperback detective,

Follow the money,

That facts in evidence are there for you to see,

Explore, analyze and reason,

With your minds,

Who THEY are,

But believe me, you are not one of THEM,

If you’re reading this right now,

But in your names,

And with your artificial currencies they are waging wars,

Of aggression, economic and military, psychological and spiritual,

To prolong this new form of empire and imperialism,

Colonialism all but in name,

And for these realities that I so deftly make you aware,

I am now to be branded a terrorist,

An extremist,

Because I can think,

And my friends, FORMER friends now as you should move from me,

Know this,

Tacitus was right,

Just look at the last one hundred years,

Unearth the facts in evidence,

And you will see the desertification of peace,

I assure you,

But be forewarned,

This makes you an extremist,

Thinking,

Makes you a terrorist,

And by doing so you will become and remain,

An enemy of the state.
“Nescire autem quid antequam natus sis acciderit, id est semper esse puerum. (To be ignorant of what occurred before you were born is to remain always a child.)” Marcus Tullius Cicero
As an extreme terrorist,

Because I think,

May I assure you thus,

I write from no moral authority,

As a former victimizer myself,

Instead I feel compelled ethically,

To disseminate thought,

Regardless of the outcome to me,

Not by telling you facts,

For facts are like statistics,

They can and are easily perverted in the halls of power,

For whatever nefarious means,

Instead,

From an informed and well read mental library,

I unleash a furious torment,

That should unleash in you an insatiable curiosity,

To THINK,

Critically,

To read, read and read some more,

For everything you think you know,

Every story told by your governments and institutions are falsehoods,

And your ignorance, YOUR ignorance reinforces their centuries old plans,

Do not blithely accept false narratives,

Presented to you by wicked people,

Of evil design,

Who own you,

Instead rationally arrive at your own conclusions,

But again,

I forewarn you,

These actions will make you an enemy of the state,

Perverts to a system that owns you,

A system that will defile or detain you,

Destroy or indebt you,

They will assail your work, your life, your bank accounts,

Your property and will take from you every supposed liberty you have,

At will, THEIRS,

Simply for thinking,

Because in opposition to their deceitful narrative,

You are the enemy,

An extremist,

A terrorist.
“In a republican nation, whose citizens are to be led by reason and persuasion and not by force, the art of reasoning becomes of first importance” Thomas Jefferson

Where is your reason?

What do you think?

I know of their persuasion,

I was a persuader,

I know of your acceptance of it,

Physical, spiritual and mental,

And you sit there,

Intellectually naked,

Refusing to see obviously apparent realities,

Trading your freedom for comfort,

Trading your thoughts for blood money,

As THEY, of whom you are NOT,

Are laughing because their systems are achieving,

By design,

What centuries ago was set in motion,

And by not thinking critically,

QUESTIONING EVERYTHING,

You give them ever more powers,

And soon,

Of this I am sure,

We will ALL be terrorists,

Silently stalked and hunted down,

At any mention of a perverted thought,

Against the machinations of power.

“In Company with Sallust, Cicero, Tacitus and Livy, you will learn Wisdom and Virtue. You will see them represented, with all the Charms which Language and Imagination can exhibit, and Vice and Folly painted in all their Deformity and Horror.

You will ever remember that all the End of study is to make you a good Man and a useful Citizen.—This will ever be the Sum total of the Advice of your affectionate Father,

John Adams”

By nature,

In my heart and soul I believe,

In the goodness of humanity,

However, I am acutely aware,

And have actively participated in enslavement,

Of you,

Using words like links in a chain,

That you will never see,

So long as you believe talking heads,

Consume products of spilt blood,

Engorge yourself with poisons,

Rather than devouring, blessedly,

KNOWLEDGE, which is POWER,

And which when used can SET YOU FREE.
But again,

You sit idly by,

As if the television, radio, movies or Facebook,

Can inform you passively,

They are tools of mass distraction,

To keep you from informing yourselves,

To delude you, divide and conquer you,

And believe me,

You have been conquered,

But through intellectual exercise you can and should free your mind,

In so doing,

Putting yourself directly in the cross hairs,

Becoming an extremist for speaking out,

Standing up and protesting peacefully,

As you are supposedly allowed to do,

But not for long,

And thus I wonder,

Will you read, analyze, examine and explore,

Or feast at the banquet table of lies that enslave you,

For the choice is yours?

“If voting made any difference they wouldn’t let us do it.” Mark Twain

Would they lock Twain up today?

Terrorist?

For social commentary necessary to expose,

The iniquity of man?

For in a way, they already have,

Having removed the word nigger from his works,

As THEY continue to white wash history,

Just as easily as Huck a fence,

And as a victimizer,

I admit my guilt,

In my knowledge that voting makes no difference,

For people like me,

Manipulated by vice,

Can rig any vote, any where, any time,

And yet, within the current paradigm,

If you don’t vote,

Which I beseech you to do,

You relegate yourself to arm chair quarterbacks,

Uninformed and deserving of what befalls you,

The real vote, the one that counts,

Is the artificial currency in your accounts and wallets,

Vote wisely and en masse and watch how quickly the tower of Babel,

Comes crumbling down,

But remember,

This opposition, active not passive,

Will brand you,

Just as I, an extremist,

A terrorist!

“The work of an intellectual is not to form the political will of others; it is, through the analyses he does in his own domains, to bring assumptions and things taken for granted again into question, to shake habits, ways of acting and thinking, to dispel the familiarity of the accepted, to take the measure of rules and institutions and, starting from that re-problemitisation (where he plays his specific role as intellectual) to take part in the formation of a political will (where he has his role to play as citizen).” Michel Foucault

I am Sender D. MacLean,

The third of eight children,

A man,

A lover,

A reader,

A writer,

A teacher,

A warrior poet,

As a now branded by government puppets extremist and terrorist,

Please I beg of you to understand,

The assumptions made by you are dangerous,

Not to me,

But for us all,

The collective known as humanity,

Which imperils every other species on this Spaceship Earth,

The rules, institutions, histories, established order,

They are all predicated on a contrived, well executed, funded and manipulating

Series of systems that seek to make idiots of you all,

And it’s working,

QUESTION EVERYTHING,

Take power back,

Rise up, PEACEFULLY,

United,

For an idea whose time has come,

Is more powerful than all the armies in the world.

“The first duty of a man is to think for himself” Jose Marti

It is a tragedy,

That I am become terrorist and extremist,

In exercising my first duty,

To think,

But I beg of you;

What would you do?
Will you perform your first duty?

Or will you sit absentmindedly by,

Until that coming moment,

I assure you,

When under cover of darkness,

Or even in the light of day,

They come knocking at your door?

That is, unless of course, you start THINKING!

Last week,

So called leaders of the world,

Puppets in their emperors finest clothes,

Gathered in Sodom,

The heart of financial terror,

Each presenting cases on the ills affecting our world,

Christian, Jew, Muslim and Atheists all,

At the pulpit of the New World Order,

Speaking vacuously,

Inciting hatred and promoting increased war,

Up to and including, yours truly,

Sender D. MacLean,

Extremist and terrorist,

WHY?

For thinking.

Scribo Ergo Sum!

“Once the government can demand of a publisher the names of the purchasers of his publications, the free press as we know it disappears. Then the spectre of a government agent will look over the shoulder of everyone who reads. The purchase of a book or pamphlet today may result in a subpoena tomorrow. Fear of criticism goes with every person into the bookstall. The subtle, imponderable pressures of the orthodox lay hold. Some will fear to read what is unpopular, what the powers-that-be dislike. When the light of publicity may reach any student, any teacher, inquiry will be discouraged. The books and pamphlets that are critical of the administration, that preach an unpopular policy in domestic or foreign affairs, that are in disrepute in the orthodox school of thought will be suspect and subject to investigation. The press and its readers will pay a heavy price in harassment. But that will be minor in comparison with the menace of the shadow which government will cast over literature that does not follow the dominant party line. If the lady from Toledo can be required to disclose what she read yesterday and what she will read tomorrow, fear will take the place of freedom in the libraries, book stores, and homes of the land. Through the harassment of hearings, investigations, reports, and subpoenas government will hold a club over speech and over the press.”

[United States v. Rumely, 345 U.S. 41 (1953)]” William O. Douglas

Base desires,

Primal; are actively used against you,

And YOU passively accept it,

Desire and Fear,

Desire to consume,

Fear of the invisible, artificially created boogey men,

Governments the world over are now using this club,

Branding those who would think,

Like me,

Terrorist or extremist,

But I am not those things,

I am a human being,

Deeply concerned,

Imbued with a mind that thinks,

One that encourages rationality and intellectuality,

I provoke and promote NO violence,

Although I do represent intellectual violence,

Whereby thoughts can destroy these machinations;

I encourage peaceful dissolution of the systems that own you,

But it is only YOU, YOU who hold the reins of that power.

Will you use it?
“Protest beyond the law is not a departure from democracy; it is absolutely essential to it.” Howard Zinn

SDM

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Neurotic Delusions, Grandeur and Love

 

232

How did I love you?

Those who saw the diamond through the coal,

With all of what I am,

Muses all,

How did I worship the very ground you walked on?

Praising your feelings,

Bowing to your desires,

And every whim,

How did I love you?

Do I love you…

The only way I know,

The way that you forgot,

Unconditionally,

And without equivocation,

For I am love,

Love I am AND

Love repeats

Inside concentric circles AND

Is rarely black and white…

Though hands outstretched I continued on,

Seeking the one,

She,

Muse,

That would liberate my soul,

Free my mind AND

Alight my every desire.

How did I love you?

For when our eyes met,

And your spirit dangled before me,

Muse (s),

I had no other choice,

But to fall,

Hard into you,

The way the universe seemed to be speaking to me,

Invisible vibrations settling frayed nerves,

Through you,

That I would abandon me,

So that I could have you,

The mistakes I made,

Now obvious,

As you let go,

Each of you,

Just in time,

For my mind to plot a new course,

In your heart,

No longer loving me,

Or so you said,

Leaving my neurosis to consider,

Once love bestows,

Can it simply disappear,

Back into the Ether from whence it came,

Or does it remain,

Inside our DNA,

Surely revealing a divine plan,

That is neither black nor white.

How did I love you?

Completely,

Parts of me still wondering,

What went wrong?

Knowing all along the answer,

Is that my mind,

No longer numb from the drugs and the drinking,

Had given way,

To something you couldn’t recognize,

Something you couldn’t,

You wouldn’t deal with,

Leaving me abandoned,

With the greatest fear I have ever had,

That I am not good enough,

Oh how did I love you?

How did we get to here?

This crossroads of our own survival,

Our mutual creative thrusts,

No longer mutual,

You fighting for your delusions,

Following your dream,

Loosing me forever,

I and I and I fighting my delusions,

The unintended consequence,

Of your decision and ripe cancellation,

Left me fighting for my sanity,

My toe clearly in the water,

As I let go,

Completely,

Of myself,

To be with you,

Left reeling now,

Forced to imagine what my life had become,

I and I and I crying out;

What has life become?

So plain to see,

But while you were looking,

You couldn’t see,

What was there,

Right in front of you,

Now vanished,

Like the tomes I wrote of our love,

How did we come to here?

Something snapped,

My synapses firing less than wondrously,

The brain affected by something,

As two hemispheres,

Left and right battle daily,

With demons that you never saw,

I never showed you,

The royal you,

For;

How could I?

As it would have interfered with what you dreamed of,

What dreams may come,

You would have lost focus,

And in the end,

You did lose focus,

On the one person that loved without condition,

From once upon a time,

To the end of my days,

So too did I,

And I and I,

Lose,

Control,

Of that which I value so dearly,

This mind,

This beautiful and tortured mind,

A Shakespearean Tragedy and fault all at once,

Cracked,

But not the code,

For the Ether still had and has in store,

A magnanimousness that even I cannot comprehend,

For when the Sirens sing,

I row away from the shore,

Seeking the enduring strength,

To ever more press on.

Inside,

I felt beaten by love,

Drowned in insecurities,

Anxious that I was not good enough,

Would never be good enough,

That finally,

My mind,

Had let go,

And I was about to be thrust to the other side,

The name that dare not speak itself,

And yet,

It was howling in my ears,

Twenty four hours a day,

Sleep at a premium,

If for only twenty minutes at a time,

Inside,

I was yet to understand,

That I was,

And would,

If I didn’t address it now,

Slip forever,

Into insanity,

And so,

Without you,

I sought the help I needed and need,

So that I can reclaim my life.

Reclaim and rebirth.
The gray matters of the heart and soul,

Seeking not a straight line,

But the road less travelled.

My Black Dog,

Said before and will again,

A rabid bitch,

She defies logic,

And escapes reason,

She demands that I sit silent,

Isolated,

Alone,

Sullen emancipation,

From the rules that bind all of you,

For at first,

While I was embarrassed,

Ashamed and frightened by what was happening,

I came to understand,

Through endless dialogue,

With a brilliant sage, sages,

That this curse,

As I have referred to it time and again,

This blessing and curse,

Is the battleground of my own survival?

At least with this mind.

Neurotic,

Depressed (not sad as many a Muse has maintained),

Bi Polar,

Hyper Mania,

OCD,

Murmur,

Seizures,

And more,

The laundry list of my body’s contempt,

For this mind,

This beautiful mind,

And warrior poet soul,

Ether,

Though this scorn,

Is nothing like the other contempt I have endlessly known,

Nor does this contempt define me,

I will not,

Could not,

I WON’T allow contempt to control or destroy me,

No I will fight,

I WILL FIGHT,

A war consistent, that paints itself here,

For all to see,

My contempt palpable,

For what this beautiful mind is trying to do,

And is in fact,

And then there is Muse…

Muse,

Her subtle fingerprints,

All over my words,

Since the day I entreated her to flutter into my being,

Her soul dancing with mine,

Painting pictures of imagined futures,

Though none as marvelous,

As just one simple kiss,

That settles in me a passion,

A passion others have known,

Though this time,

There is something ripened about it,

As if the cancellations of my past,

Have somehow taught me,

Not to give up,

Not to give in,

Instead,

To give completely,

To share,

Whether good or bad,

Exactly who and what I am,

Finding acceptance in her smile,

Finding strength in her eyes,

Finding solace when she touches my hand,

Sending me to a repose I’ve never known.

Muse,

Passion renewed,

Desire quenching my souls ache,

To be touched and to touch another,

In such a way,

That their entire day is lifted,

Their entire life finds new meaning,

All of who they are,

Not tied up to who you are,

Instead,

Together,

Creating an individualism,

That because of new love may emerge,

Muse,

New Muse,

She brings to me,

A renewed passion,

I bequeath these humble words to thee

And the beautiful love,

Already created in your image,

That now shines on me.

Millions of words,

Stained by love,

These words,

Since my journey of self discovery began,

All those years ago,

Repeated,

Out of the ashes of a love destroyed,

By malignant neglect,

This Little Prince rises,

To meet the challenges,

Of the voices in my head,

As I humbly submit,

To you.

SDM

Written from photo prompt at http://www.magpietales.blogspot.com/2014/08/mag-232.html .

Some of the best writing on the net.

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My Name is Sender…

Lend me your eyes;

Hi, my name is Sender and I have a problem,

Problems…

My life recorded invisibly on my body,

You can not see,

Or fathom,

Indelibly on my soul,

Like a crown of thorns,

Though you have already embraced it,

And ganders through the disjointed cracks of my prismatic heart,

And someday,

Should you be so lucky,

You might know me in a way that so few can or will;

Should you be so lucky?

I hope that one could be so lucky,

Muse,

Who now come, seems so ready to depart,

Afraid of the possibility, possibilities,

Departure delayed, arrival uncertain,

Yet,

You may find that I will endure beseeching you,

Imploring and enticing you,

Silently,

In words like these,

To approach my story,

With a vulnerable mind and a sacred heart,

So that I can show you what I already know,

Just as you do,

These feelings are not the imaginary dalliances

Of delusion,

Rather the infusion of the Ether’s calling.

There are lashes, gashes, cuts and bruises,

Beyond the eyes comprehension,

Those never heal,

There are torments and tortures,

I would wish upon none but me,

Those never heal,

For though the blessing and curse exist in me,

Bipolar dualities,

This Warrior Poet, fights on,
GO BRAGH;

Shattered glass heart and malfunctioning dreams.

That you never see,

Though you may feel, if, perchance,

You had the bravery,

The courage to risk it all for happiness,

As so often I do,

To stand exposed, as I am at this moment,

Though, should you find that power,

You may experience with me,

Should you be so inclined,

Touched by me as I long to touch you,

Reliving daily,

Seconds, minutes, hours and days,

In rapid succession those moments that brought me here,

Now,
Muse,

Tracing my restlessness with rabid delights,

Delights like you,

Muse…

My fingers like Picasso’s brush,

And Van Gogh palette,

My authenticity falsely imprisoned in cubist fragments,

A sick joke played by my psyche as

My veracity self realized,

And abused,

Calls forth the divine intention of a personal gentrification,

You may unearth,

That when I implore you,

I am pained beyond words,

Except when I see your smile,

From those big brown eyes

And your radiant soul,

While revealing to you I am stretched across my canvas,

At your behest,

I am thrust into the eye of the storm,

That life has constantly divulged to me,

Dark clouds, gathering and furious storms

And my Black Dog.

As soon as one episode ends without a laugh track,

Another begins,

Up and down,

Down and up,

A silent movie,

While Charlie Chaplin prays us smile,

I can paint a smile on my face,

Rehearsed and like a costume, hiding,

It does little to conceal my contempt,

For this plight,

I am caught inside the cage where the bird cannot,

Does not,

Will not sing,

Though the beautiful song is so clear,

All I need do is vocalize it,

As I have,

Watching as I do,

Interned and waiting,

For my turn to reveal more,

Muse,

So that you might understand,

Muse,

What makes me tick,

What drives me onward,

What removes the veil,

And the answer Muse, is you,

Thus as a proverbial bride,

In this revelation,

You will carry me across the threshold,

So that I can intimately express to you,

That my scars are the graffiti

Imprinting my story on my body,

My heart, mind and soul,

And in that moment,

You will have me,

Tagged,

As I have already,

Tagged you,

Muse.

SDM

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The Importance of Muse (5)

 

 

 

Every time you arrive,

My neurons blaze at the speed of thought,

Pining to believe that this time,

Here and now,

May be the flash,

Brilliant,

For which my whole life has been lived,

Since that awe-inspiring conception,

When universal matter pooled,

Forming galaxies, stars, planets and we,

We two,

Muse and Writer, Warrior Poet, clashing zealously,

Inspiring and inspired,

As these words flow,

For without you the days are long,

The nights are even longer,

Despondent as I reach out,

Astral projection of my deepest pleas,

Calling out to the Ether,

Begging of my Ladies,

The Sages that alight my path to you,

Fate has brought you once,

Destiny once more,

Serendipity once

And now I marvel,

Are sirens once more upon me?

Or in exponential wisdom,

In multiple dimensions,

Have I finally been led to the place I need to be?

To shine,

To become,

To find,

All I once was,

Billions of years ago,

Cosmic dust,

Collected,

Coalesced,

I and I and I now refuse,

To let go of that dream,

To find the eternal love,

That has vexed me all the days of my days,

Love unyielding and requited that will deliver unto me,

The purpose and implication of my travels,

Voyaging to you,

Here and now,

Muse.

Muse,

As I fall deeper into my intimate wishes,

I watch as your eyes shimmer,

With thoughts secret, residual,

While concentric circles continue to expand,

Our experience,

Our consciousness,

Our extremely hidden and repressed aspirations,

For as woman and man,

We have built our walls,

From past rejections and exceptions,

Judiciously crafted to protect us, not from ourselves,

But from those who seek to deflower our chaste intent,

Having been corrupted,

You and I,

Muse,

We seek redemption and redress,

We seek temptation, gingerly,

Less like Eve,

More like a painter with a blank canvas,

Or a writer a blank page,

Ours to create,

This dream,

Every aspect, thought and every belief,

Lived vividly in each moment,

N O W,

We must release the past,

Both, we,

Unleash ourselves from that which we can not change,

Set us free from our wounds, plentiful,

So that N O W,

Can become an untold then,

Muse,

Can you,

Will you believe?

 

 

Muse,
Once more from on high,

From another time, far far away,

The Ether intoxicates and entices me,

Drunk on an abstract,

Drawn in vivid hues of reality,

Together where do these words lead,

Where shall we go,

Hand in hand,

Rapt attention in each others gaze,

To an awaiting horizon,

Of which we are yet to conceive,

Could not consider,

That is, until, here,

And N O W,

Those blessed moments,

Time standing still,

When together,

Entwined,

Our bodies crave that which we can not grasp,

We can not see,

Nor hear, taste or smell,

Our uncontrolled reactions,

Complex mathematical and scientific veracities,

From chemicals,

Allowing us to feel that which we can not know,

Feel Muse,

With me,

These veracities,

Finally proofing the evasive equation that has haunted me,

Taunted me,

Twisted and torn me,

Yet,

Every time I am enhanced by your arrival,

Presents presented presently,

Temporarily though it may be,

For the N O W,

Here you are,

As the words contend,

Muse,

Will you understand,

Can you,

Muse?

 

Muse,

Time and again,

On this universal plane,

I have braced for impacts,

Long foretold,

Crashing into an awaiting hell,

Where my depression takes over,

A completely different set of chemicals clashing,

Where abandonment sends me into the nearest distraction,

Longing to rid myself of that desperate bitches howl,

Black Dog screaming,

Where even Hemingway will not drink it away with me,

Can not,

Although we try,

Don’t we Ernest?

Muse,
For here you are once more,

As I ponder the past

And posit the future,

Though living in every moment,

N O W,

Adored ambitions,

When in your grip, mental and physical,

There is nothing but you,

The world around me evaporates,

Nothing exists,

Save us,

Where while apart I allow myself the persuasion,

That maybe, just maybe,

This time,

The Ether,

In its infinite expansion and wisdom,

To the left,

May have got it right,

This right,

Now,

Muse!
Muse,

My soul tickled,

My wandering mind,

Deliberates on possibilities of possibilities,

As the special theory of relativity seems obvious,

Considering that time apart seems like eons,

Where together it feels as if mere nanoseconds,

Yet still I abide,

Grateful,

For each instant I am by your side,

Feeling the intense elation,

Of the dance that two souls meeting and greeting have done,

Since time itself began,

Is there anything more wondrous or misunderstood,

Despite futile attempts,

Others and mine,

Especially mine,

For at your side,

There is nothing but you,

Just you,

Muse.

Muse,

Sloughing off the lackluster repetitions of history,

I am here,

As I and I,

Chosen light,

Servant,

Court Jester,

Teacher and more,

To act for you,

As the peaceful unseen force that lifts your lips,

Into that perfect purse,

Aligning both the stars and your soul,

Further still with my own,

Come together two as one,

Where the Ether begs these words,

As recompense for your sparkle,

The twinkle of the window to your soul,

Telling me more than all the words I’ll ever know,

Perhaps even write,

Though for the now,

I am elated,

That again after being jaded,

I have been satisfied,

Satiated by the Ether,

And my ladies,

To honour you,

Who honours I and I and I,

With your presence,

Muse,

Your importance,

Can never and will never be understated or underrated,

Instead celebrated,

In this harmony of words,

Hastily assembled,

As my mind dances,

Faster than my fingers can comply,

Joyously,

With possibilities of possibilities,

N O W,

Muse.

 

SDM

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Fate’s Slight of Hand?


Slight of hand?

I think not,

For love has made me daring,

Persistent and true.

 

While arming to the teeth the rambunctious modality of fate,

Tears,

Fallen from the heavens of your own aspiration,

Of experience as teacher,

For surely this love you need know,

And you do, don’t you?

A reward for a life lived on terms indivisible, from which you are,

My Hmong Key,

At some point, despite your cat calls to the opposite,

Tears will continue to fall,

Rain drops the size of flattery,

Smiles the size of a child’s laughter,

Brown eyes brighter than the big bang,

And woman,

You,

Hmong Key,

Tears free from inhibition,

Free from the same rules that you deride,

Finding the strength with in,

Knowing what you do not want to be without,

Washing away the iniquity of man (men) and time,

If only for a moment,

Crying out for Hmong Key to follow your own path,

And you do, don’t you, my Key?

You are!

You will!

A path you started walking with your first breath,

When you began to crawl, to walk and to run,

Forging a path that is not for the faint of heart,

Weak of mind or menaced by the soul,

In your rabid individualism you keep others at bay,

While at the same time pulling them in,

Ever closer,

With a swipe of your hand across the sky,

For in this world, at this time,

You are creator and created,

A new horizon realized by you,

For you,

At the zenith of your projection,

Can you feel it?

Will you?

Witness to your own grandeur,

I watch from the sidelines,

Having been placed there by you,

For the now,

Leaving me in a stubborn state,

For I only know how to love completely,

Fully and without equivocation,

Nothing I would not do,

Where I am always

Longing to touch in you,

That which you have touched in me,

Awakened this Warrior Poet,

To new realities

And a brighter future,

Ours,

Treasured Muse,

Of more import to my life than all the works of art,

Contained in all the museum palaces of the world,

Your grace the very air I breathe,

I crave you,

I desire you,

I need you,

I live for you,

Loving you with

Every beat of my heart,

And only sustenance is when our lips meet anew,

Each time,

As you grant me new life,

New hope,

New love,

Watching as I have,

As I will,

As I do,

The earth reaching up to touch you,

The heavens reaching down to restore

Your virtuous grace

Such that it may know your immensity as I do,

But I ask Hmong Key,

Why,

Why do you continue to run?

Though the question,

Rhetorical,

For I believe I understand.

 

As Muse,

As mine,

You cannot deny the will of the gods,

Nor run from your fate…

 

A happy home!

 

Our palace?
Built on the pure foundation,

Of a love so rare,

It defies all logic or reason,

Delivered,

As blessed and beloved gift,

From the Ether,

The universe has a plan for us,

Divine.

Until the end of time…

What do you say,

Perchance a dream,

Together,

Realized?

 

SDM

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The Epic Wrath of History Repeating

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rdY-rywIWNE

 

I’m deeply sorry,
Muse,
Profoundly sorry in fact,
An assault, one of the most meaningful moments in your life,
And most difficult to be sure,
Decisions had to be made,

Life altering,
Moreover, I supported them,
(As I have before, swearing never again)
Support you,
(despite supposed convictions ostensibly negotiable)
I am sorry,
So deeply sorry that it hurts me,
Reopening gashes that I’d finally come to terms with,
You must understand,
At least try to,
This is not a reflection on you,
Rather, a realization of my current plight, and me.

You see,
I have served at the feet of others,
Others desire,
Others needs,
Others want,
Others every whim,
For I believed that was the very cornerstone of love,
Unconditional and without equivocation,
Though only now learning
The difference between giving in and of
Giving of me,
Giving in to the plague of necessity.

I, as you well know,
I am,
Shackled by a burdensome depression,
(one that your presence lifts me out of)
My all too frequently visiting professor of despair,
Tenured,
(held at bay when you are near)
My Black Dog,
Mightier than Cerberus and even more terrifying,
Do you get that? Can you?
This is not hyperbole or a platitude
Instead my daily truth,
Quarreling with the hounds of my mental hell,
A mind that has split in three,
A suffering I wish not on you,
Not even my worst enemy,
Of which I have none,
But if I did,
I would not wish this torment upon them,
For a weaker mind,
Less inclined to fight,
May slip to the other side,
A fear I live with daily,
A thought I have as routinely as you brush your teeth,
Bipolar realities of imaginative suggestion,
The prison cell of both my consciousness and sub consciousness,
The defense mechanism that my internal acumen affords,
A dim but still burning candle taunting me forward,
Chosen light.

Thoughts constantly slashing,
Crashing as if the sea on erosion torn rocks,
The passage of time reflected in their scars,
But my scars you cannot see,
And this new one so raw,
Blinded by temptation,
Forbidden and yet so very right,
I long for more, for you, but
My scars are the inner cuts and bullet wounds,
Of a mind run amuck,
Of experiences I cannot erase,
Memories I cannot purge.

Despite my attempts to explain this virtual hell,
Virtual to you,
Real to me,
Of time marching on,
Thirty-eight years have passed me by,
Twenty two of which I fought with a bottle,
Just to get some sleep,
Inside of me,
A clock,
Destiny’s fingerprints,
Force me to these words,
As shelter from the tempest,
Fighting the course of nature,
Begrudgingly I accept my plight.

And I fight,
Though less for me,
More for those that do not have this gift,
More for those that cannot express this torture,
For my soul,
Twisted and tangled,
By the struggle I face,
Head on,
Though not necessarily head up,
Cross checking me into the proverbial boards,
Of universal discord,
Even now,
As I write these words,
Of these ordeals, disorders and complexes,
(forced decisions that while responsible, STING, the most)
Are uncontrollably forcing my eyes into and out of focus,
Globus Hystericus,
Choking on my own cacophony,
Repeated tragic fate.

Can you imagine,
What I face each day,
In and out of focus,
While my mind, though torn, is like a laser,
Words the beam I use to propel myself from madness,
I know my destiny,
I know what providence has in store,
And as you may or may not know,
I feel that I am worth more dead than alive,
Imagine dealing with that thought, not once a day,
But once every few minutes,
A horrible feeling,
Again,
That no human being should have to face,
(one that I need not face alone because of your grace)
I must,
Face the truths of what I have done,
For what I know is outweighed by what I do not.

Yet,
This is my battle,
This is my fight,
This is my cross,
And I will endure,
Feeling that I had left it all behind,
Until history, in it’s cruelest dimension,
Has repeated itself,
A horror show for me,
Tragedy for you
And I am sorry,
So sorry as, this festering wound is
Reawakening my dormant darkness.

I will press on,
(loving you with continual support)
As I contemplate what it means,
Failed lover,
Failed father,
Protecting mutual self interest,
In the most selfless way,
Finding,
To be this writer,
This beautiful mind,
As Warrior Poet,
Beaten by the battle,
Still waging this interminable war.

In this time,
In this place,
Forced to realize,
That every burden,
For every person everywhere,
Is as challenging as my own,
Just different,
And I know I have saddled you,
And for that burden,
As lowly servant,
I fall to my knees and beg of you,
Accept these honesties and let us together move,
Forward as intended.

Just different,
For we all are unique,
Beautiful,
Though I am restless,
To once again reclaim my rightful mind,
(with your adoring eyes as guide)
Minding the truth,
That this fight is mine alone,
Therefore, I am profoundly sorry,
As my time,
Is now,
To dismantle this mind of mine,
Putting it back together,
In my image,
Therefore, I may press on,
For others,
For you,
And I am relieved you are by my side,
As I must stand,
In this moment,
For us,
Warrior Poet,
Giant of spirit,
And delicate Peter Pan,

Love;
My personal odyssey.

SDM

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Je Suis le Roi des Mots

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2RVvyuJnsg

Of these ruins,
My tattered psyche,
I am reborn,
With every cycle,
A revolution,
Personal, atomic and spiritual,
Always reclaiming my domain,
This mind,
King of words,
My throne,
My soul dominion,
Medicated or not these words flow,
Now choosing instead to wage this war,
With myself,
By myself,
For myself,
These words,
Mightier than all the rivers in the world,
Stronger than any standing army,
And all the weapons of all nations in history,
As has been said,
“The Pen Is Mightier Than the Sword,”
And my words are,
Mighty,
For I am transformed when I sit,
In my trance,
Dancing fingers,
Mind alive,
Fighting.

King of these words,
I hold them benevolent,
As this;
One time sullen Prince,
Unable to bear witness to their power,
Knowing it but unable to be advocate,
Profound,
For my own liberation,
I now proclaim my rightful place;

King of these words;

Words as citizens,
Sentences as my court,
Poems as knights in shining armor,
And Marion as my Muse,
Reborn thus daily,
King of these words,
Master of this house,
No longer of cards,
But instead built upon the only foundation I know,
My mind,
Blessing and curse,
Dogged as I am,
By this dreadful Black Dog,
I persist,
King,
Of these words.

Out of the ashes,
Of this fragmented mind,
Three I’s as one,
I and I and I,
Reborn,
Cycle by cycle,
Deluded not by the world I see,
But rather by the world I don’t see,
Mind alive,
Wings of fire,
Passion reigns,
As I and I,
Accuse myself of relegating I to the dungeon,
Tortured,
As the Tower of London expects me daily,
For which there is no escape,
Invisible scars,
Though I am yet to have the will or strength,
To do what I must,
Or is it here,
Just beyond the hue of my understanding?

Longing,
Struggling,
Searching,
Developing,
Growing,
Finding,
Only I can set I free,
And I must,
From this burden,
From me.

I and I and I,
Motivate daily,
Scribbles of escalating intentions,
Proclamations,
Coronations,
Less pomp, more circumstance,
In truth,
Revealed,
Without equivocation,
For if I hide from the scourge and the shame,
Perceived,
How am I to be believed,
As I have taken on this crusade,
To let others see what they cannot,
To feel what they can’t or won’t believe,
To find understanding,
Where before there was none,
Do you,
Understand?

I and I and I,
Witness to the feasibility,
Of this King Poet,
Warrior Poet King,
Testifying that one day,
These sullen cycles of depression and angst,
Will be cast away,
Conquered,
Or at least mitigated,
By force of will,
Running as I have,
From the pharmaceutical nightmare,
That plagued me,
Worse than my dog itself,
As,
Je suis le roi des mots,
I am King,
Of these,
Words.

SDM

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