The Abs of Normal-C

Abnormally normal; acting towards
normalcy, a Gaussian depression
normalized using ground stabilizers
for support.  Enormous horses
tethered to the wall feel stable
on hay.  Clydesdale forces park
my engine on city street J.
Hookers here have the typical diseases
associated with the craft of man-
handling and being cast por.
Quasinormal sailors frequent
infrequently.  Paranormal act-
ivists plot Martian red hot topic.
Normalists norm, more, and taboo
for the cause, reason, or sake
of normality.  Under normal or
over normal, what normal are
you?  Feverish.  Why?
Zero idea.            J-Love

What does God want?  What do gods want?
Love.  And to hear the message.

Religious pragmatism for non-believers where
comfort can be found in established structures.
Sunday zoos where the free freaks
of faith conglomerate to worship
a season and be a part of
the pretty indoor surroundings contrived for by
the saints of circumstance to freely
organize or conform neatly along
pew lines set by the weekly guide
a shepherd steering a spaceship with a
steeple through the unerring eye of
a scientifically fictional space needle.
Onward S.S. Dromedary
through the wormhole of piety!

Blasting off, on into and through the
great beyond where the few and proud
play infinite taps infinitely inspired
by an all-encompassing warm energy like
a euphoric fountain within and without
pulsating infinite renewal of free love
translating into free expression of love’s
inspirational energy, without fear of
judgment or reprisal by the
all-appreciative powers of observation that
be, that see all forms of unknowable
perfection expressed every second in all
its dramatic goodness inspiring awe.

My indefatigable friends bounce
ideas until projects erode into
indefatigable sleep of timelessness
shared along the continuum of per-
petuity where all is as it should be
according to the glory of God who dir-
ects gently upon a unified field
without opposing forces unless the
reenactment is war on the world’s
stage where all actors don shields and spears.

Even the eyes of 20/20 are blind by
comparison, in a place where smiles aren’t
always attached to faces, detached yet
part-of somehow before reason’s age,
before happiness became attached to objects
of desire or learned desirability,
before bittersweet sympathies
and caffeinated compassions,
before I, even I wanted to understand why
some people took things so hard and
strain with such difficulty, why
some people plan ahead, premeditating
sin like apes
separate from the human race
who think superior and act inferior
retracing steps commonly
deemed contrite and worthy only of
frustration, unrecognized and unrewarded,
gains that gross satisfaction
demands recompense despite commonality,
because there are certain challenges in
life that we all must face, some that require
power and others that demand humility,
some processes that require gain and others
which demand separation for progression.

Indubitably, all change requires time
and where will you be at the time
when time ceases to exist, when your
time runs out?  Who knows the
exact hour?  It is good to change
now and set your mind aright before
timelessness ensues and holds you captive
to your condition in the place that you stand
whether you like it or not forever and ever, Amen.

Oil Spill for my Halo

Man’s natural condition is intolerable.  The natural inclination to learn can drive man to the brink of insanity, but who actually takes note?  There is a constant drive to differentiate and appear more unique in order to gain some form of favor in the eyes of the world.  The eyes of the world are largely indifferent to all attempts to appear unique.  If you are a butterfly, your pattern is preordained.  Nature inclines us toward the right path. You can’t please everyone.  You will end up playing angry games.

An uneasy equilibrium compromises assets, showing what’s- what-is affordable, rocking regional fashions foolishly either to keep out the snoots with upturned noses or the mentally deficient genome who really bring me down by their absolute presence that contributes to the guilt I ultimately feel for my individuality that requires me to suppress the altruism gene with sheer logic, reason, anger, and hateful demeanor that I feel toward myself and I reflect toward others because I look in the mirror to control my appearance and method act methodically for my own unique advantage and bid for power.

-Sheer Ego®

               There is always some rhyme or reason to the things that we do, even if formed at the scullery.  Heaven is a party without mandate.  Life is endurance and God’s word endureth for ever.  His law sets straight the standards that groups collude against in order to convolute our understanding of the basis of recognition.  I abhor lies and liars for making a life that can be difficult enough more difficult, and although I try to keep those individuals and thoughts behind me, like Satan, buried in the desert dust, hidden, secret, because it serves me better to sacrifice for the eternal mystery instead of grasping onto the pop-knowledge of the day, as much as I’d like to seize it. 

Derrick for my halo, euphoremic plasmanian devil, burden of mischief and misadventure.

Rude, crude, and not really shrewd, he gets his jollies from dear Ms. Molly, Molly Molloy.

Green love drug, sweet herb of compunction and compaction, I overemployed the cat in the hat, pipe I smoke.  Man does not live on food alone, some are driven away by hits, habits, and matches struck. I inflame my nose and pump the carburetor that clears my cylinder and fuels my engine with loose-leaf stacks, a common asset, and reason to get together and share a laugh, even if the poetry of life doesn’t seem to suffice.  It shelters my nerves from feeling pain whilst enhancing orgasm, a strong breeze blowing in the dead of weather.

Lack of feelings, sad path to anxiety, hex of control.  Dumb happiness? Dear money lovin’ race, here’s pabulum.

With respect to spiritual sorcery transparent in the real world
the loss of personal physical elements, transfer of ownership, and
objects displaced does not presuppose conservation of energy, fire
and metaphysics.  Doubting ignorance while acting recklessly,
ranting angrily,
and swinging blindly in cluttered space.  What takes place in the mind can often super-
cede objective reality (as we know it), otherwise Vulcan logic would persist.  Therefore,
what is recognized by the business world (by cognitive neuroscience and psychology regarding preferences and predilections) is ultimately collusion against those consumers using sensory and emotional overload assembly line Pandora products.  Everybody wants a box, you’re not unique.  A never-ending travesty: being lead the wrong way by loss leaders who want to separate you from your pawnables [better than you at chess].  What is your product or how have you been branded?  Own what you are doing, be better than average, the standards have been lowered just for you! 

Our children have been dumbed down by being taught by the sons of distracted teachers who think they have their own self-interests at heart (when they are actually using their head) while they don’t really know how to interest themselves with anything other than chores, toil, and busy-work that they’ve never really been interested in, wondering, “what am I missing?  What is this supposed to mean?” and the children can tell viscerally, cutting you to pieces. 

Cross-sectional statistics are depressing averages. If there is a Gaussian assumption that the bell-curve rises, then why aren’t the 1%-ers occupying the average peak?  To be utterly average is to occupy a depression.  Do you ever feel like you’re drowning?  Raise your head, dead-man, Breathe!

Gaussian Float: Come Frappe.

Fear and trifling, not seeking fulfillment so much as seeking an end to
conflict over income and employment with my father who dads me into
seeking ends beyond my means of capacity.  Perspicacity is a big word.  I’ve seen larger.
It’s another one of those days where the old man taps you on the shoulder
and tells you it’s time to vomanos.  Scoot.  Skedaddle.  Get the Hell out of here.
You’re in my way.  You’re blocking my entry to the path of enlightenment.  It is
unbefitting a man of such inherent virtue to throw all that goodness away.
What’s that?  Goodness, you say: a quality that just seems to fit in all the
right ways.

There was a point, with a bright flowery future in front of me when I believed that ‘everything
in life is an easily replaceable commodity.’  Thoughtlessly, it is true.  ‘Every experience
in life is an easily repeatable occasion.’  Forcefully, it could be contrived.  Surrounded
by users’ domains the feudal prince pauses, chips, and plays.  “There is a way
which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.
Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful; and the end of that mirth is
heaviness.  The backslider in heart shall be filled with his own ways: and
a good man shall be satisfied from himself.”  Proverbs 14:12-14.

cast all perfection aside
and bask in all the light it provides
i've fallen into stride
old habits finally standing aside
making way for clearer skies
seen through clearer eyes
tho something still holds me in check
maybe just the pointless task
to "get better"
so i'm setting clearer sights
devoting longer nights
spent postponing my lethargies
owning my deficiencies
condoning fishing in new seas
so cast all perfection aside
it proves perpetually pointless
leaves us permanently homeless
feeling left out within our own chest
spitting out reasons
to cling to past reassurances
it's a sad sight today
through clockwork sight
peering down infinite arms
at past action striking present tense
but a difference this time:
finally what's wrong's making sense
cast all perfection aside

--Spuller, Andrew

Shave your head, tanning is popular, shag is 60’s
Shaq is 90’s
Leash, fetter, chain, chore, toil, work, and grind to get better, well again, healed.
Make more money because the way down feels like disease and
poverty is Death’s financial blessing.  Electrolight
vigils lambert watts and electrochemical insights
expose darkened intestine.  Do it if it’s legal.  Barely.
What’s the point Maslov?  Is self-actualization the highest
ideal?  Call me a taxi tropist.  Growth in all directions
is dispersive and has little to no impact, save blooming
for bees.  Lard lasers bore me.  Mirth
shows a sparkling glee when restless with a loaded gun.
I can’t take back all I thought
I could, but I retained a lesson:
I couldn’t just discard those stripes.

What you think you know doesn’t matter as much as
what you know you know.  If you thought for one
fleeting second and couldn’t recollect, you really
are an amnesiatic know-nothing and worthless
to society except as a dumb fucking breeder.  Yet
the market is already fully saturated with those
types, therefore your quality of life will take a hit.

Better start smoking.

The salesman’s guarantee, ‘or your money back,’ satisfied by complex claims.
Satisfaction must be demanded!  Founded upon a sound structure of
scientific rationale, the basis of reason and reasonability,
highest attainment of salesmanship, the blastulating function bequeathed
to egg (on/off).  The highest guarantee, a return to normalcy, or
*what I expect normal to be*, again, demanding functionality, cash, and
carry.

In my moment of weakness, the world on my shoulders
prevails over me, good earth, covering my fears of tambourine
funeral celebrations, public ticket sales for a proper burial.
Hire the black dress, paid to cry, act guaranteed.
Guaranteed: a uniformed guard against the culminating tirade,
a vituperative eulogy which fails to spare the family.
I’m sorry I’m not sorrier.  I tried to be stronger in my
moment of weakness, I tried so deliberately to lie to myself that I was stronger,
but when that moment arrive, every effort to stop time failed.  The good times,
they were just too few, far between, and included terms and conditions,
applied rigorously with a gray glance and an iron fist.  As we gather
here today to observe life’s only justifiable guarantee, we would
do well to remember the example this dead man set and then do
our best to forget it.  You with the umbrella!  Up inside!
This is nothing if not unlucky.  No good shall come of it.  Save your
soul, lest you die convinced that there is no pain in fire forever. Amen.

Algonquin linguistics, the point of language is communication, yet recovering unused documents and focusing on specifics toward the use and rediscovery of accuracy, translation, and importance to the individual who identifies the secret whisper from within, without…

Economization of effort:  Telepathic communication: not just words, a perception and an overall conceptualization of a reality apart from the commonly agreed upon normalcy prone to compromisingly political positions, flexible-inflexible.

Brooding, fixed gaze intent, tight-lipped, these days are not to be forgotten, forged
in pain, anguish, strife, and agony at being full of youthful energy, yet being cons-
trained by social norms and inundated by constant stimuli that perpetrates
every clear, clean, or pure thought, life repressed by memories of dreams
restricted to the commonplace mall.  Here on the frontlines of the battle between
all that is good, sacred, and holy versus all that is dismissive, determinate,
and to the point, curiosity motivates the intrigued to break the cycle.
The belly of the beast, full of paroxysms, acid, and sixes challenges me to
refill, dares me to renegotiate, and tempts me to a game of pick-up Styx.
What luck!  The bar has been lowered.  Thank jingo and a petridish of human flesh,
scientifically justifiable to consume for the palatial knowledge of a scab, opportunity target.
“Philosophy begins in wonder,” Plato said.

It is sometimes necessary for the artist to understand that it is limitations and
recognition thereof that facilitate a better understanding of the milieu set.
Unrestricted variables float and require more complex machinery to correlate
and pattern.  Conflict, struggle, and strife are universally relatable:
we all have a tumultuous family life, no one wants to hear a braggart’s rights.

Poor me and my Kindle®.  Poor me and my Blackberry®.  Poor me and my ordinateur portable.
For the amount that I possess, my possessions make me sorry, and my lack of possessions makes me sorrier, as though I’m not contributing to stock-core-American-values being a have-not.  I have some.  Not enough, perhaps, more than I need, perhaps, American greed is most evident from the how much we trash and how little we recycle, expecting someone else to clean up our messes like spoiled children pretending to be rich enough for ennui.