Brain Storm? Yeah right....more like a...... Nuerotic Hurricane Yeah that's it;) I am a chaotic mess of despair and uncertainty. I choose to ride solo cuz all i love ends up hurting me. I'm a functioning slave of dismay and tragedy, only the Pain can bring out the glad in me. I have had many days now to think of what lays in store for me. Encased with the shame of failing my family. I have so much remorse and heartache deep inside the epitome, of my being that I know that my soul will rot in hell for eternity.

The blue sky like an ocean stretching up above my head wherever I stand, with miles to go before dry land.

found along an ancient map
where we sailed in an old, wooden boat

bobbing among the ways
brushing against imagined sea monsters
 
where they roared
and children stared

into the black expanse
guided by the Northern Lights
 

seeds
impregnate the earth
 
whispering and loving its children
grown among the wandering souls
 
each morning in spring
where it is quiet
 
where we sit in silence
to behold the morning sun

The quick sand is thinning and I can no longer blame my stagnancy on the world around me. I envy the snake that so simply sheds its skin; if only I possessed the power to not fear another end. I hear the whispers that promise granted wishes, even the tea leaves reveal desired dreams. But when the world surrounding me lacks familiarity, who will I be?

after rain the sound of birds tuning in

welcome now my lighted way
setting mind at ease today
never seen angst's corrosive leap
within the tight embrace of shepherd's keep
how i wish for times like these
laid end-to-end o'er wider leas
forming a lifetime of joyful mirth
with faithful steps from sweet rebirth

A boomerang fish is a blessing compared to
barometers falling, sharply, or to Gonzo
insisting that given a chance, his stunt “will bring
down the house.” That the anvil held up by a string,
stage right—with the number five-thousand etched in its
side—is simply “part of the act.”
 
When green-lighting skits, Kermit considers what’s best
for the show, the overdue rent, filling the seats,
the cheques he neglected to sign. Scooter’s the one
who takes care of the books, but Kermit knows where this
is going: ticket price rises, people want more,

Lords Who and Whom went out for a walk.
Who got lost, so Whom was stranded
with no one with whom to talk.
He waited for Who in the no man's land

of the parking lot of the mall,
the site of their Whovian trek.
Then Whom ventured to the halls
where a holiday heyday played in hectic

splendor; Whom tried to spot Who
amid the shoppers who crowded the fest--
Was he wearing a dress? Sporting new shoes?
Confused, amnesiac, needing a rest?

But Who was having a grand old time
popping up in places where Whom used to visit--

 
My dear old friend who’s parting West
Beneath the Yellow Towers;
While falling on the Yangzhou lands
Are mists and springtime flowers.
 
Your orphan boat’s a distant shade,
That sails where blue skies go;
I look upon the water tides—
Until the end they flow.
 
 
By Li Bai, tr. from the Chinese by Frank Watson
 

 
送孟浩然之廣陵 


故人西辭黃鶴樓，
煙花三月下揚州。 
孤帆遠影碧空盡，
惟見長江天際流。 
 
李 白