supernova

played with daydreams of being stripped naked, somewhat berated, in front of way too many strangers and strangely eager faces, dire eyes, disguised smiles, hiding behind the guise of confusion; check, delusions of grandeur and profuse amusement at my unruly cantor... overture, aperture, a picture, a picture of the gap between the first movement of Ego and the chorus of Avid Imagination...

and the grand prize lies behind door number one! plastered on the wall was he, cackling thunderously, stuck up under the wondrous belief that he wasn't torn asunder and quietly choking on the silence that struck as the door flung open, exposing the contents of his soul for all to hold and weigh, insatiably gauging the purity, waiting to judge how sturdy his persona seemed and whether or not he was faking the weathered display of hope behind the faithless gulp...

shit, i shouldn't have done this.

base Ten, or sentience

"hello? i'm aware. is anyOne there?" "oh oui, yes indeed. i am down. i'm despair.

see, they usually fare by floating on air, but i'll intervene, yes i do so dare...

i'd like you to see this discrepancy, please. don't just let me be; come, conjoin, what degree?

this person's referring to anonymous ze's, jane doe she's, unknown he's -- or how 'bout a we?"

"a wee little we. but this we, you shall see, these Two have their needs: we need you, we need thee."

"and the more you ignore and abhor us here Three, the more so distorted becomes this here plea."

"the more this chorus Four might seem to contort," "the more us Five guys shall rap up this rapport.

the ni'list skies blue, they doth border our shore, so all the more wide and confined our explores.

we pile knowledge more, chime in our reports; mere scores of years more and we'll board up this floor.

d'you want to hear more?" "well, Sick" "Seven" "atE" up "Nine." now, count on your fingers and wait for the punchline...

they're all watching...

"too black for the white kids and too white for the blacks,
from honor roll to cracking locks up off these bicycle racks,
i'm indecisive, i'm scatterbrained and i'm frightened, it's evident
in them eyes [are] where he's hiding all them icicles at..."


___

yes, they're all watching like a small clock on the wrist, but
my second best guess is that this dent in my chest stems from nothing less than paranoia
effervescent thoughts spiraling in this messy blender of a head
head resting on the couch as i drowsily drown out sounds of imperfect hyperboles in order to curb my thoughts
and then i thought,
i ought to stop drinking coffee at all, and
maybe i should stay off the prescribed allergy amphetamine analogs
no more pseudoephedrine for this nasal decongestion because i'm beginning to question whether i'm imagining laughter on the other side of this laptop --
stimulant psychosis? quite possibly not...

maybe white folk joke about how i, the smartest black guy they seem to know, still stoke the stereotypes
typos galore and quoting rap lyrics hardcore, probably blasting stereos at night
despite a rather high IQ score
that shit is still culturally relevant, but i wonder if they get it --
double entendre, need i say more?

or, perhaps black folk scoff at how far off the deep end i've gone
quoting grunge rock and turning on sleep songs with gongs
banging my head to emo shit and watching youtube skateboard throngs
tryna be a white boy, thinking bandz making her dance is oh so fucking wrong --
wondering just what the fuck is going on...

exactly how much of this shit is culturally relevant, and how much social conditioning?
finding that position into which i fit niftily
sitting here wishing i was anywhere but the fucking present, so
how about allowing me an anachronistic juxtaposition, please?
Star Trek, for the win, it's been a while since the ground has touched my feet...

Bianca

broken memories emanate from the gaping hole in my soul, roaming and crossing over, grabbing hold of her brain stem and being sequenced along with the nerves in her trembling hands as her eyes scanned the dark damp branches merely meters ahead -- please, PLEASE, take me, damn me, instead...

screeching tires and tireless tree-dwelling sirens screamed and shrieked until her ears bled, 3D, blue and red, the tippy top of her head reaching the glass ceiling until it seemed she could no longer float away. away she hoped to go, over with playing a pawn in and pondering life's throes, all alone, an absent joke of a father and absentee role model; mother mattered most, but not so much as a ghost...

hold me as i lay here veering and steering my mind from images of inane flames surrounding metallic frames, the scene of the crime; it pains me to see someone so sublime crying out for help one last time... hold me and together we'll cry... Lord, if you're out there, take mine, and please just do me this one last thing before i go:

please leave her soul behind...