I switch between my classical 3 pairs of spectacles.
Glasses with transition grey-tint.
Blue-tint shadey-shadeys for a “transparent feel.”
Then Exorcism mode with flat-horned red-off-scotch tone.
For lens.
They all offer funny insight into how I see.
What I see.
Getting begged to cook.
And the thing I gave you,
Disappearing at a moment’s blink.
I sensed hesitancy.
In that,
There’s a lot of fear.
Most people I’ve seen all my life.
a.ka. I don’t trust you.
And then the other 43, even the ones technically
Only a second nephew to
Like uhhhh a uh
Step-baby-daddy-in-law 2nd cousin 4 times removed?
But like 3 years younger than one of mine.
Confusing as hell.
All your cousins and uncles are like born in the same 9 year shot of the traditionalist.
And the nerdy-dude wouldn’t give it up for the nun and by then I became a sniper and left the church, as I was a confirmed and successful sniper and thought: wow, man. This church shit is hard.
And I gave it up.
And I like many other mack-banks and tanker-womens.
Was raised around kids I gave birth to [as siblings.]
Not necessarily biological, but more half galactic-star.
Dominican to Irish + Lumbee if you ask any of them.
And they leave out the galactic-star asian part.
That’s fine.
They’re learning snacks.
After toomanygenerations to count.
We all feel lost, old, obsolete, and withered.
Every relative with a claim-to-fame.as-if.
It was relative to being a “bio-family.”
Military hookups and international scandals.
Everyone’s human at the end of the day.
I have the female side of fuck-up.
I get judged the hardest.
I’m the loneliest in the room and I’ve never trusted a woman enough to see them claro as a blind person.
And it seems my dating pool is all that is really cared about me.
I think of one of my latest movies of composer-ethics.
Old Friend.
You could say. .
And some other bomb engineer and captain of stars+stripes.
We all worked together and they got a spot in my movies usually.
Why come around at the end when I’m sick and everything is so dismal?
Funny stories to pry-teary eyes when I bend over
And call the shot
On what organ cancer fluid
I just threw up is.
Ever seen cirrhosis thrown up, Jack?
Well your jack-of-all-traits kids feel the same.
There is possibility in overcoming the “fucked” part of
Getting sick.
Throw away a career or two.
What businesses do you really care about at the end of the day?
Sell em off, no liquidation.
Leave the table, and dawn the hancock.
Otherwise you’ll find yourself at some desk with hand-cocked.
And that bender in the cuckoo-nest never does most good.
But for some reason leaves me feeling free.
Begging for recruitment.
Not faking, but stressed to brims.
I want to see if there’s hope out there for a system that did us well.
And I came before the bend.
And walked river’s divide.
There’s not much in the crust of this earth to propel me to some truth I had never shared in 67 years.
All my psalms and songs and waiting to be written.
And I waited this long.
Giving you my jump-street ban conversions.
A lot of Saints in this Family,
And we burn those too, to oath.
Old Egos.
It’s not letting go.
It’s tarnished.
Clean the cue, the holy way.
And try it again.
One more die for dice.
And they all feed blind mice.
If you never give up the sailboat or the cords’ risk.
Kick it off and trip.
See what it does for you after the kettlebell toe-stub.
Did you ever get to working after that?
Even the abiotic are telling you to try at it again.
Says a lot, huh.
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