memoir of compassion in thee world of make-a-believe

No need for the sugar; I'd take out poop and leave shit bracketless, but I know you'll not. [winky]

Riddled with gems here, especially the upright tremblers. Wish I was old, then I'da thought of that.

ah, alpie....so good t'see yr moniker com'menting.

don't wish you were 'old'... only compulsive liars & deny'errs, & the good folks who market to & profit from extending their decrepitance unto suffering make it seem like it's worth it. My 'reward' for 'surviving' my death at 48yrsold was a bizarre pariahood & an equally bizarre compulsion to 'create' as much virtually useless spontaneous bad art as possible everyday....combined wit decreasing ability stop the paralyzing effect of 'seeing/feeling' the manner of thinking in real people, theirs masks unto themselves to maintain disawareness of 'self', &bla,blabla....

how ever....wishin y'd'a thought of that is a great compliment for which what-is-left-of-me does deep appreciate.

bless ye, Danny

PS: my use of word 'poop' has nothing to do wit either sugar or politeness....it's mainly a reminder that wee ne'er 'outgrow' our infantility. Ha!

Bet them Miami waves were pussies next to Florida's.

oh yes....

I hadda smack them rather that letting them smack me for the
'desired artistic effect'.....

ah, the need to believe
we're somehow worthwhile,
the elephant in the room,
hereafter known as the
poop deck...

no shit, man.

our beliefins is some whoppin elephantine poops.

godd bless mr Dart

memoir of compassion, liar, lair your just putting your poopy old man pants on fire on my stoop cause we can't no matter young nor old depends on nothing to depend but nothing so why you ring the bell and run off weepy weeping to with punctuation like buddha's awakening sticks, thwackedee wack wack the daddy won't let all we supposed me's sleep in the dojo of selfie(see eye(I) see me so many so many times refined or splish splash taken' a bath in the manufactured waves of (we ain't even me's ti be we a wees to have an our, right?) satorial delusions

ha,[ha?]

wellsaid grasshopper.....

sartorial satori
     all around....every body
   needs a hobby, butt
i'll change my depends
       so's t'be ready for the
   next
   load

*

Oh good grief, Semaj. If you hadn't commented about "your stoop" here, I would have never ever thought this poem was about you. You just drew your name on the shovel of shit here, dear, when you "stooped" by for the slap. Could have been done in private mail.

Love to you BOTH.  

It not about me more than any other, dada laid this on everyone's metaphorical stoop and I like all the news he throws on the porch really I do believe I don't have a belief about it one way or another I just making a mess of my meanings trying to play in the manure of understanding and now I'm a bit scarred dada and I are about to have the first ever shooting attributed to a beef that was meant to be a shared meal of absurdist truths but maybe he or I will get the kids to wear airbrushed t- shirts to remember the martyred

yo sema & other compatriots......tis all good'n'well, maybe even hunky dory....

to keep my heart a'beating, all such perceived 'slights' MUST be turned some kind of neutral humor...& the more egregious must be forgiven in advance, BEFORE anything hits the proverbial Fan../..anger is the dubious luxury of the normal, real people...tis poison to all, but I think
I think I think, for 'artists', indulging/participating in arenas of anger are that much more self-destructive......maybe thas' why you rarely see my moniker in the Forum & Competition pages of this DUP of ours......