...why not?

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Let it out...
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Try these on for size...
Bonnie Gorman...
Renga Poets...
Renga Limericks...
Renga Sonnets...
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Is The Wiki Dead?
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Please let me rant for a moment...

In our world of the large and the loud, the more and the better, I believe that we tend to forget about the actuality of the existence outside of our immediate experience. I'm not typing about not reading the newspaper, watching CNN, or surfing the net. It is these entities along with movies, other TV programs, propaganda (the right and the left), that desensitize us. Everything is one big video game. Maybe, I am one of the largest culprits of this crime. I can rant. Yet, what am I doing to propagate my cause? Pointing fingers deteriorate over time, like most perishable goods. How bright and shiny all the products of our culture look behind the case in the convienent store or on the shelve at the grocery store. Yet again, at each choice I make, am able to make, I push forward an ideal of personal convienence and freedom. But, is this freedom? Have we been blinded by the burnished gleaming of our generated reality? Where does the soul, humanity, essence of life, come into play in this sport? Have we been complacently neglecting the true spirit of living? Have we traded it for glossy packaged presents? We only have at the end of our lives each other and our environment, our world. But, do we ardently have these things? They have been slipping like sand through our grubby fingers. Fingers covered in potato chip grease, sticky chocolate, the blood of our brothers and sisters.
What can we do to alter this? Why do I ask so many questions? I'm searching for answers. I live in this presence. I buy my jello and orange soda, and I enjoy the bittersweetness of it all, partly. I ask again, what can I do? I can voice my opinion, march on the capital, or stand on the street corner with a sign. I do not think these actions are done friviously. But, let me retract for a moment and think. What are the others doing that are not apart of this vivid video game? Most are living and dying on a grain of rice, sheltering they're children with withering arms, trying to escape the persecution of life in they're homeland. The miasma of chemical weapons chokes the throats of these humans, guns blare, feet hang, lives taken all for nothing... well maybe, taken for hate. These are people with beating hearts, wondering minds, feeling fingers, crying breaths, empty stomachs. They are us, they are alive, if even by a thread, they exist. So, what are we really fighting against? Are we battleling against war are we battleling against peace? Using our words in our nice little abercrombie jeans, SUVs, carpeted homes (that never can be good enough), on the keys of our networked computers. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to be cliche or yell to aggrieve such things. It is all apart of a good evolution gone wrong. There is no escape, and to try is even a bigger crime. Because, we start to believe that we are right/righteous. So again, what is we to do? Is this an endless circle doomed to regenerate hate, violence, lust, greed, ignorance? Oh, sad vision... I would hate to see it as so, so, I do not. But I am in grief. I am saddened and lost. My heart and mind is gashed by the perpexities of life, this chaotic existance. I know that I'm not the only one either. These thoughts are not new.
In Horton Hears the Who, a book by Dr. Seuss, there is an elephant (this is not my elephant of burden), who discovers a colony of entities that live on the bloom of a small flower. Oh, beautiful flower. He decides to protect them from the elements and beings that surround them. Does this colony of who worry about the same materiality as us. No, they fight for not peace nor war, but for pure existance and survival. Shall we be the elephant who listens to their cry, who goes to the end of the earth to save the spirit of life that lies within? Oh, beautiful vision. I would love to see it as so.
I think (and I really am a babe in this life, I have an infinite amount more to learn) that we are missing the point. What is realy at stake? This is not just another game, another movie, another book, that is ended by one click of a button, one simple solution. I am not so sightless to believe that people see it as so either... but sometimes I wonder. Its not a single persons or group of peoples fault. This attitude is just an outgrowth of our culture.
There lies at the heart of the matter, of most matters, a seed. A seed so small that it is almost invisible to the human eye. It is usually trampled over by the passion, excitment, the rush to see end result, immediate product. The product, like a box of tide, a new can of pepsi one, a swiffer wet mop, seems so easily attainable, just at the ends of our fingertips. But this seed and its harvest, is not so easily attainable. It takes alot of hard work, love, never ending care... a great nuturing of its spirit. How do we do this? I'm not so sure, but I would suggest humbly, that we stop, pause, take a couple deep breaths, calm our rumblings. Maybe, back up, like you would a painting, and see the whole picture and all of its parts, then pick up the seed. First, we have to start with each other. Respect, have patience, sterness, and dedication. It will grow. It will spread. I know we could fight for this. We have so much energy, that is one thing that is evident. Oh, gallant vision... I would like to believe so...

Thanks for letting me rant.
Bonnie Gorman

"Give me convenience or give me death"
-Dead Kennedy's

Injustice in society shows in its default face, in the nooks and cranies... Once thought safe by little children, grown up in a hard society... too fast for their own good...
I sat upon the old worn stairway, looking out onto a dewy street. Light source buzzing, enlightens my understanding and allows me to explore the grapes of wrath...
Creaking cars pass twice slowly, searching/waiting for their savior that hadn't arrived yet...
I was waiting for the probable death of my heart. My soul had already been saved and needed no other, but my heart had a yearning... Someone to touch, hold, be held by, an angel called to be a priceless gem from the desert. Yet, they were right, it hadn't succeeded it's journey. The time had come like a thief. Stealing precious moments lost because another...
Waiting on a protector seemingly wisked away in a miasma of delusion. Perched, I sat. Five more minutes I promised. Its beginning. Get out fair free lady. Move within your world. Forget things of the devilry.. its calls are not indubitable. These are just ideals held by a more than a multifarious of a few. Unlucky souls... The texture of my body cries out in rebellion. Shall you toss and turn another thousand years? Never again. I have battled with you before... oh you mind... I must reach out and grasp. I must stay alive. So we will wait another five minutes...

There I was, alone on the brick. The wind blew in my ear, the rain fell harmlessly around me. She walked out, cigarette already lit. I had to remove myself. But I couldn't. She spoke, "Come up and see me." 
I looked away. The rain dripped on my hand.
The words weren't important. They fell on deaf ears, I couldn't concentrate on anything but the wetness of my hand. The drops moved chaotically down searching for the lowest ground, covering the hairs causing my brain to simmer. What is the point? There are toys all about, but I picked a Rubic's Cube.
Artificial landscapes, imagined horizons, poor construction. Rain drips down my hand. Smoke carresses my face like a lover bent on feeling every bit of me. 
I wait.
Rain drips.
And drops.
Then pours.

oh... very good...

There lies the contempt, the degredation of my will. Smiling.
Three lines:
Pause. In an odd way, I realize how tiny she is. It's a comforting fact, adds to the illusion but takes away from the dubiety. 
So she sleeps a passive sleep.The fire wouldn't burn. The door is closed. The music off.  

At least it can make you smile... tiny in this world... insignificant in fact.  illusion is always filled with dubiety... she sleeps a passive sleep so she can own some dream... the fire wouldn't burn because it was too late...  The door was closed because it was forbidden... the music was off because a sweeter symphony existed...

The poet was dead for years. His approach to life caused him to miss it. It was everything it should be: full of a poetry. Just no time to live it. So he didn't.

And there it is. Live for your art and you’ve got no time to live.

I try to express myself and some prick with a childish chip on his/her shoulder erases my mind's explorations... eradicate it my friend... whoever you are... do you think that it hurts me?... no... I'm sorry, you just slowly extirpate your self, in the eyes of myself and others...Ha, ha, ha... I laugh each time it happens. He/she must ridiculously ignorant. Why don't they add to the page?, something intellegent and provoking... this would be something worth working towards. I would respect that. I can always continue to write... I have a lot to say... nothing will slow me down... sorry. Erase this... your just being pathetic.
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when one considers those events in his lifetime that elicit the most profound emotional response, he will find those events to be decidedly negative. someone once said, "to know true happiness you must first know true despair." to dissent: truly knowing happiness does not preclude truly knowing despair...rather both emotional polarities are one and the same. a world of emotional constancy presents an exponentially more incipid outlook than ever a world filled exclusively with evil and sedition. thus, truly it is deviation from the "emotional norm" that determines true happiness. an absolute value of emotion, if you will. the farthest deviations from the baseline along the emotional bell curve in any direction, the more intense the happiness. the strongest emotional responses in ones lifetime are negative. pain is bliss. anguish is truly ecstasy...i am the happiest man alive...
(from the mind of joe)
                                                                                                     marimichaelglassell
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YAAAAHOOOOOO!!!!!!!
:Obarfield

I'm so miserable I need to laugh:
HHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHahhahahahaah......cough, cough....hhahahahahaHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHH!!


Such dissalusionment... I love it... dissastifaction is my prosperous friend... I shout because I would burst if I didn't... There exists, inside of me, a living creative force, pulsing at my breath, struggling at every beat of my heart to remove itself from this flesh, this cage of trapped existance. I sunder it in between loud and quiet moments... It presses on in a cyclical manner... the ebbs and flows dancing heavily upon me... needs come fast... wants faster... never fast enough... on and on and on... "individualism rarely exists"?, "everybody conforms in the end"?... What is the end, death? What is death? 
death
Pronunciation: 'deth
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English deeth, from Old English dEath; akin to Old Norse dauthi death, deyja to die
Date: before 12th century
1 : a permanent cessation of all vital functions : the end of life
2 : the cause or occasion of loss of life <drinking was the death of him>
3 capitalized : the destroyer of life represented usually as a skeleton with a scythe
4 : the state of being dead
5 a : the passing or destruction of something inanimate <the death of vaudeville> b : extinction.
6 Christian Science : the lie of life in matter : that which is unreal and untrue ; illusion
this is sad... it is weak, maybe there is more... not so easiably explained in words...
To say that individuality rarely exists is a cop-out. What is it trying to prove? Have my eyes, let me have yours... inmates exchanging views... what happpens then? We are not one and the same. No one ever is. No one ever will be... My void is filled and emptied in a constant battle, pleasurable embrace... Without knowing bitterness, sweetness is never as sweet... Don't stop crying...

You have read what I've wrote before the bastard played his/her sad game... now, to answer you I need a little time... a few hours of concentration... I've been there several times... almost every day... I think you know this. Lets not be naive. Give me time...<-I wasn't really talking to you  in the sentence before last.

It all began with a light of a cigerette, the telling of a story, the learning of the telling of a story... Knowing of what was coming... curiosity killed the cat, but it was the cat, a chester cat on the prowl, who pounced, liberating a chained little girl. Where there was no love, no quiet wispers or pitter pats in the middle of the night... No soft touches of animation or promises made. Just another crazed old soul reconizing another, seemingly tortured. Pain is what we go through, pain is what we thrive through.. Having balls big enough to spill the blood out in a child's life, our own... Layering hard skin sooner than later, enforcing armor, needed for the future... Temptations, tribulations... I knew what was up, I was with it... An old woman balled up inside the crucially daedal body of a young woman. She cackled that night and opened her eyes... Began to surface,  reenter the world of stripmalls, harsh lights, shells of wandering flesh, starving for a faith to be... They're Cane, minivans, suburban sprawl, sunsets that alway decend upon a world of lazy boys and wisps of curling smoke that rise and fall from a struggling breath... Into the starry night... and those were her favorite times. Those were the times when she could be sure of her existance, comparable... Convincing her cage of mortality to let  go... pain bittersweet... learning from losses... emanating up, along with the stinging jellyfish, tendrils of cancer... out and out the open window... deeper and deeper into the stifling humidity of an Alabama dusk.