Not even a wisper of collision penetrates explicitly this inclusion;

Segmented and represented this disarray of miserable approval,

And, abject,

Or i object, I guess

To that which is to say

Today is in between the ordinary and disarray,

To make arrangements;

A solemn display of effect and intent of regression,

And yet without all clear disrespect to port or establishment;

Still here are there words and where there was love, no more— none for her but then around, within arousal stands as that, to which has since been lost,

If not to time, another concept thus by force unknown, to with and withstand habitat for circumstantial evidence of coincidence,

But yet arbitrary and then dismayed for short or arc,

There this, no more her words for flower, more of words to thus embark.

Still time,

Very well, my breath, for I have opened a foreign chapter—

Then with the way you say, you wore our out,

In time you are uncovered for her drugs and left to smuggle over-under—

Therefore when that said time has come, you know to form the drift to wait,

And yet lack still this patience I have tamed you many acres since the ancients fell upon there ails;

There pitting since sunk and crucial to this, and our time is not lost nor won, disheveled making prayers for sense and dollar signs;

No have no more barren chest and thought of songs, much less a found the words for songs as though my love has crept upon the rock,

That dusk and dawn, the ocean licks with parched tongue.

Scare her dry and feast and fragile and evidence remained as these as words and thoughts,

The truths would tell the tale for every way.

With each drift scattered mark, upon those boats with sails above known not as white but also many colors of the brethren cut from clothes of all apart and none of one, for this, her maritime.

{Enter The Multiverse}

I opened right to Debbie downer;

I got medicine for your habit

(I got the remedy in the form of a secret,

But the misery is in keeping it)

I got a kind heart,

I did some mai tai,

Should have learned some thai chi

As if I took some matcha

Or chai tea

Caffeine

Adrenaline

I got a kind heart

Adderall instead of Ritalin

Entry level access

Salary yellow fashion,

Intercept, invest

Inception, redirect

Service elevator, eh;

She don't live here no more

But where she is?

Couldn't tell you.

What's the story

On a ten star war.

No more Harvard,

Purple hearted general,

General admission to a festival?

Just miss me that that bullshit.

For your pleasure,

Every crevice just has pressure in it—

Now I get it

I hypnotized myself, I guess

The ribbon

Blue belt

I should be cleaning instead of half sleeping;

I keep explaining myself thinking somebody can hear me

When they obviously can't.

I've been screaming silently for seven seconds,

Several years I think on other planets

Pull your hair back in a bun

And then you'll learn, I guess

I passed out cold upon the stand

That was the plan, I guess

Much slower to close than to open,

Although,

I know I pop-button broke the code before

But still no low moral summoning

(Sorry, product)

Still no low road or mud throwing

No more home

She's 32 and 3 months older

But looks much longer

And harder, tired

Must have body or

Motive

Must have body

Or bad intentions

Take a man, and write a book about it

I call that a thirst trap

I call that a thirst trap.

She must no longer

Prim and proper

But the work is never over,

Show us all the roots, and know the knowledge

But don't talk or comment on it

I was “almost” once

And I was honest twice

Three times, you're a liar

Mister, honor, pleasure,

Fisher wife

And never leather,

Tipping tethered,

Tied to rock and kite

And lock and key

For here and there

Forbearance, rather

Here for never ever after

Amen and then some

L E G E N D S

I told you Jimmy Fallon was a Skrillex.

I know.

What's worse: Skrillex is a Jimmy Fallon.

Oh, that is worse.

yO iT iS pRoGrEsSiVeLy WOrSE:

Is this what you wanted?

The awful destruction of constructs—

Click, boom—

Knife, gun,

Add an axe,

Bind the axel,

Excellent,

Put the prejudice inside your head ahead

(We brought it back)

Put the Edipus complex

To this effect

Upon a platter

Silver as the gun at stake,

And raise the hand that shouldn't matter

After that?

You won. Four tries;

Six goons, Four Gods,

One white ther I have

Two white coats and misters, hot coals

Dark fires, have ones,

Six mazes, one center

On your mark

“The Dark Forest”

Ugh I hate this one,

Get set

Don't forget, we all died here.

We all crisis,

We all Christ.

Goosebumps, right?

Gimmie that kite! You dumb son of a bitch!

GO!

Check it out! I look like Kim Kardashian.

But you smell like Kim Chi.

Yooo that joke took me like 2 months to write down!

I know huh!

[The Festival Project ™]

I looked for something on Hulu to watch for so long that I almost ate my entire dinner without clicking on something.

Finally, I find something that interests me, which is just a graphic of a television set and some color palette by now that is somewhat of a calling card for me.

So I get there,

And it is of interests,

And yet of course the unexplainable anomaly of this, is that, no matter how far I try to run l

He just keeps coming back.

‘Like this is crazy.'

I never found myself agreeing with Louis C.K. about anything at all, and personally and particularly, I never found him funny, until, that was the sudden realization that the same array of betrayal, anger, and agony fueled by rage and jealousy had taken over he and I and many others probably, when introduced to the possibility of having to share the same reality with a head of hair and a face like that.

I might have mustered a “my sentiments exactly” though silently before taking in to my own wonder and amazement that twice in one week, besides skipping over the algorithmic traps in my sidebar which I treated like little land mines or time bombs, but mostly allotted to my own Internet history of my uninhabited viewing, as it seemed I'd been most preoccupied in rerouting this energy into a fascination with TV programming, giving me the satiety for the comfort and familiarity in something; and I was with some some kind of certainty I knew alluded to the old adage of mother knowing everything.

Even if everything hadn't happened yet, actually, or maybe it had.

This strange sort of desire however was some sort of weakness, with the ability to have a fixation for a desire without any way of actually getting it.

As she used to say.

“Having champagne taste, but beer money.”

[so I avoid it because it makes me angry.]

Sometimes even, tearfully angry, and it made me feel so uncontrollably adolescent that I would have equated it to the hysteria of beetlemania; screaming and clawing and aching and chasing for this being that was so notably out of reach.

Worse off, I'd realized in this running from what seemed was chasing me was how common I was in this feeling, []

To my demise.

In this sense, the safety of this entire being and any alike, was that I could seek logic in my jealousy by rationalizing not attaching to a certain subject sexually or otherwise. But this basis in the contempt of familiarity was really rather irritating, in that it seemed as simple as having an awareness of this seeing all the time, to the point that I became a subconscious aching for [something], blossoming into the actual conscious awareness out of the repressive need for something I no longer had and always wanted:

[The Festival Project ™]

And for for this, I considered it a sort of sickness that I couldn't seem to tear away from it, but also something that had happened very naturally, and now had unearthed an entire cavern of secrets I could be found no where writing or even very rarely thinking them.

Thoughts or ideas worth protecting and the kind of code that goes about saying nothing, looking the other way, keeping your mouth shut and hiding or guarding with your life.

But media, or the eye that seems to see all lately had been poking at it, maybe because I wasn't. Maybe because I spent an hour at a time four day a week with [a less than separate set of characters] —or big brother, if you will, in a safe and respectable distance and admiration...

Yellow Well.