What's on your Brain. Objectivity affects what force, before Subjectivity is manifest?

Return Without Rhyme: a Reasonable Account

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The key lies in
the capture. Here,
I would for you.
Let it come;
Let it be true.
Here, not unbeknown, yet unlike
Your talk of effort’s fare.

Account of it
how owned this debt
analogous, it's true
topple the tables, for it accrues!
Delinquent sinner, carry account:
Conscience disclosure, what?
Insignificance and counting
produce another number
petty Statement
Immutable Human condition
Pathos: scapegoat, or laughing stock?
Catharsis, this
cathartics due.

Cryptic as pathetic truths
To beat around the bush
what hands might carry
behind the back
flow over if they do.

Hypnogagia be not clandestine
violence cellar down stair rolls
sudden cliff under the feet
“fell from the chair”, not quite a dream;
Some thing real, I see.
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All true, as I render
what may be told
Ear to the ground
here, while on hold.

That preface
for my face
for better reckoning
extra-phenom traced

Not as a cradle
nor a babe, nor lulled
unsettling
anomalous
thorny passage
felled consciousness through

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Auditory Hallucination

Beating
Like a drum, or
a Hammer

Creaking
Crackling, and torquing

A short fuse
torching

The sound of morning
The sound of night
little reason
could be right

all perception
like shadows shapes
vibration of air
not here, but there

silence waiting
shadows trace

so very tiring
ready the fool
record what splatters

breaking begets broken
stopped by puzzled motion
jelled rapidly in place

what then has become
some useless clumps:
erstwhile teeth, and face

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From my Fingers, I Wish. I Could Caress

Manic Depression so named no more
Major Depressive; Affective this role.

I know what I want
but I just don't know how to go about getting it.

Feeling, sweet feeling
drops from my fingers: Music.
Sweet music, I wish I could caress.

I think I'll go tear-myself-up; go on down
Really ain't no use in me;
hanging around, You know.
what I'm trying to say

I wish I could caress.
a frustrating mess.

[©js based heavily upon J.M.Hendrix ]

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The Business of Eynt Noughnyadam

(as it is my own text, I figure it’s fair-enough I re-text it. Actually unlike a Sienfeldian “re-gifting”, likewise, neither the re-tweeting, for “the it” originates from here. “It” is mine-owned. Authored, May 2012.)

It's true: having learned this, not from any legendary stank of fungus; no Funk of Forty-Thousand beers “Roughly equals State’s Tuition!” (nerd-wise, transmuted excitement: it mumbled [typical]. A nerd All-knowing?: not likely; A nerd all lathered: :ugh-cringe:). But it was as we'd been told, with as little-foresight as Ethan would forever be donned upon Kevin Levin, we recreational rug users sat upon a particularly exceptional shag this day, and it happened: transmutation of human neuroscience through nothing more than 2nd-hand smoke, and what we've agreed since the incident, was indeed a phenomenological line-dance with transfer of human thought, through osmosis (after all, Texans do have their way)

Just then, a poorly drawn character who-- apparently, for what I'd describe-- for, it was not a singular misplaced lashing-out, but rather we'd learn was more like Tourette's brought on by teen-angst for sex-- expected us to believe he'd actually been damned to be named Kevin Ethan Levin [spelling, what the hell do i know about ben eff’n ten?, I'm telling a story here!...]. Dude claimed to be as unique to have descended: not-of-this-Earth, a so-called Osmosian , failing to provide comic relief by annunciating it as one might a mild-to-loud sneeze, but few of us laughed because it simple isn't funny. The young man, however, as was his way, forced upon us yet another public expression of his displeasure with such attitude. “As-if!”)

musty-old professor's as waft, turning pages of some book purchased /Used/ (i.e. wisdom), per the syllabus (i.e. study-skills) , whence neither word nor wisdom or scientific theorem hope that tetra-hydra-tutelage under greater Tightly-Rolled Men, my seniors, it's right to entrust your decisions to any persuasion, my opinion:

GOM ist good. BS.Player (not to be confused with “B's Player”, i believe), but-- eff all that. gimme foobar2000. anything video is either a re-make of, what... a 1990's film by now, or a poorly skilled imbecile who's agreed those not-really-his-friends guys film him, or equally unentertaining, be it throbbing or hobnobbing , I'm too far into seeing what i might make of coding this or that, and then I've got adult swim, and i HATE watching video in front of the PC. people talk of masturbating "at the" PC. For one who's well versed in the pleasures of the sex, or-- however that's supposed to be said, not-naughty-like-- i can honestly say I've never done it.

Enjoy BS.Player, ya fart-chaser! P.S. of course it's cut and pasted. what am i, high?

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