9 muses 9 lines

9 muses 

Epic poetry – Poet laureate – as if maya Angelou read the song of myself   But As everyone together imagine-

Music – Lyric poetry – voice of angels

Healing arts – dynamic  exchange, science quantum physics

All-encompassing  species survival

Painting – Sculpture – Film and Photography

Performance Dance  theater installation

Storytelling – cave painting – chronicles of humanity

public architecture – collective space

Tragedy and Comedy actors writers giving experience meaning

muse of collaboration  directors and conductors  🙌🏼 Those who fuse the ones who lead  living energy

creativity as  not just talent or   none At all

the final

the muse of alchemy


in 9 sec



anesthetize don’t agonize

And so

It was

With great

Abandon that

She ruled

The world


where chaos unfolds

It’s hard to know why you live

III – THE end painting “OBEY”

Number 35

Like clockwork, she began the process.

Disciplines > Storytelling > Plots  

In the ground 

My mother is no fish 

She mused as she vomited

Bad curry into a 

Ten gallon bucket 

That swirled down into 

The tar pits of hell 

🖕🏽🤘🏼🖖🏼 Polti’s Situations > Recovery of a lost one 

        Recovery of a lost one, it begins, so casually run amok and offhandedly re-instated (with no regard for personal      

        experience and perception of the lost one. So be it.  And that was that.

👆🏻Previous: Remorse

But first the lost one must become lost – how  it casually runs amok for a predetermined time on-stage and just as careless as the fall, our lost sheep is offhandedly re-instated as personal example of some awful family event that permeated the DNA of immigrants who are everyone even chimps by the time you read this we have already lost our innocence now we wonder what all our vain attempts to keep the daydream alive were masked by lies 


Long wooden

I’d like to propose a timeless timeline of a tv focused on Nixon 


Then Reagan 

Forgetting about Iran contra 

While letting hiv wreak havoc across the undesirables 

And the crack was released like hounds in the streets and on the pavement

And here we are

Fearing for our loves and lives 

        experience and perception erased 

         now supposedly not shell shocked 

         Keep smiling and say you are so grateful to be where? 

Home ?

Ah no

The American refugee 

Next: Loss of loved ones


Like Howard Cossell or Walter Cronkite NEXT

Loss of loved one 

So pedestrian a list

This is of loss

The theater more brutal than the scapel 


`The statistic

-it was harder and harder to not succumb to the depressing realization that she was reduced to an inaccurate amalgamation of prejudices and generations of resentment cultivated with spite. Incalculable doom for told her fate.



It was a secret

  • Kim Ung-Yong ” Korea 200
  • Leonardo da Vinci Universal Genius Italy 220
  • Lord Byron Poet & writer England 180
  • Ludwig van Beethoven Composer Germany 165infamous quotient


  1. http://shakespeare.mit.edu/2henryvi/2henryvi.4.9.html
  2. scene 1: exit
  3. end scene: enters stage left
  4. Screen Shot 2017-03-08 at 12.22.37 AM.pngScreen Shot 2017-03-08 at 12.39.51 AM.png Continue reading “119”

Sum of sun

Something anything but relentless sun burning new scars, from graffiti melting to backwards walker catchy tune to male you realize ten to fourteen days are at stake 


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We strive to be remembered,our joys raise us to the state of consciousness most coveted by this race to be humanoid, and devoid of painful emotions.


The absolute freedom to decide

whether wholesome living

without fearing holy retribution like Job

is really worth it.

Who sacrifices a thing anymore?


The see if desire to bed you comes through or dissipates dizzyingly dissolute, delineated cliches. But why not? It’s so mesmeriziby meaningless in the end.


If the super ego wins, the retribution begins


🌐 https://binged.it/2b3klUO 🌐 https://binged.it/2b3klUO

If the ego triumphs, the sublimation cause will go underground.

🌐 https://binged.it/2b3klUO

History on repeat

Less original composition


Nothing much to say

Police code

The aspirin 7.5 pink Norco is hard to break through




A room of one’s own

George Eliot 

Presumably had an opinion

about the need

for such things 

A gaggle of girls
We’re gonna take it

Women have burnt like beacons in all the works of all the poets from the beginning of time. Indeed if woman had no existence save in the fiction written by men, one would imagine her a person of the utmost importance; very various; heroic and mean; splendid and sordid; beautiful and hideous in the extreme; as great as a man, some would say greater. But this is woman in fiction. 

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️Virginia Woolf ➰➰➰➰🔚

    The reason why

    she faltered

    awaylike silly putty

    used to patch

    the cracks 


    as after-thoughts

    in waves of


    She could barely stand to peruse her persona, reflected cold, hard truths not worth sedating, etched in every fine line, under every harsh light.

    You are not beautiful

    she said

    crossed her off the list

    til the sting of residual glut

    Absolute beauty &

    insolent truth

    The modeling agency turned her down

    The dealer picked her up

    Feb 12, 2017 4:48 PM
    Build you
    The hammer
    Don’t give in

     And so what has it all been for? 

    And who then “deserved” an answer at all?

    Especially if one were to consider the randomness of chaos some call order whilst

    others foist god upon us

    All just a smokescreen

    Veil like dopamine

    Absurdity so vast the alternative

    can never sustain its own myth

    YET here she was longing 

    Inadvertently all along

    A vapid, vague unconscious desire

    for something other than


    with its stamp of infinitive &


    The writing on the wall

    bleeding down wax melting






    to lies 

    the universe


    as the



    She had been told all her life to recognize inferiority as her make and model. Alas, The Veracity of that bold claim never quite sit, so she had but one other alternative which was 

    A room of her own

    By the sea

    Of infinity

    In the clatch 

    of doom

    The bypass 

    of gloom

    She wanted to know 

    but instantaneously 


    how there could be 

    no knowing

    in this land

    of impeccable 


    The perpetrator had everyone convinced his victim, years younger, afraid and exploited for as long as she could remember, sexually and emotionally, psychologically by a male pathology that, quite frankly, ruined her life.

    Rather than come clean, he denounced and defamed her further, to the point where she came closest to dying – cheated her of the truth & would have been happy had she, walking evidence of his evil-doing side, a man willing to ruin a grown woman’s life, deny her any healing whatsoever & then rub it in her face by having the perfect family making sure she never got to, was always on her own, the bastard child they all felt deserved a little less, was there for abusing and blaming, a  castoff, a throwaway, the girl with no progenitors or forebearers, the woman who got knocked down each time it seemed like she was finally being allowed to breathe, much less recover.

    Oh, what might have been? 

    Anonymous she is was has always been

    No one to remember her name 

    No legacy just impermanence flauted in the strangest ways of strangers waiting to unknow what a waste it all turned out to be

    A land of vast nothingness 

    for the lost, loveless and alone 

    What matter now, a room of her own? With not even the obligatory reverence reserved for our parents 

    The finality choked her up

    Trains rumbled down the hillside 

    She may as well die

    Than collide 

    with such bastardized 


    Erased and invisible she 

    lived her whole life 

    And for what? 

    For what? 

    The ways you ruined me

    The manner with which you consciously destroyed

    Systematically demonized 

    Then pretended you were better than me

    It is all I can do not to out you

    Knowing you left me for dead 

    And now everyone calls you a success 

    And brands me the  failure, a disappointment at best, called “crazy” for doing the job well while others shots down for being too hyper (slandered me saying “she’s on drugs”), too thin (instead of hearing me when I said I was physically ill, editors and producers said always behind my back – anorexia or drugs again). 

    And to be blamed by my last boss for something that never happened (after my supposed friend and coworker who got her job via me – cut my pay rate 36% – while having me work for free for weeks, meaning my worth was less already to these controllers of financial fututes) thus destroying my career, makes it even more difficult to believe my existence matters in any way at all.

    Just emptiness is all a person like me can feel – just sad, empty worthlessness- and no one notices much less cares. 

    Are as dreams that follow

    If it’s Tuesday, this must be bedlam 

    Dont axe me

    Acrosst the aisle

    A valaise for your malaise

    Malaria Jones reporting live from Oliver Stone

    The cock of gibralter

    The dame of dunedin
    I make quirks seem like quarks

    Die nine lives

    From bleach inhalation 

    While battling parasites

    Planted in my brain and 

    Spinal column 

    Cut the cord