November

November

2014: Hecate Night

Lazy daze… Time stands still—
or does it only seem so
because I’m just (slacker!)
sitting here doing nothing?

Every moment is now—
future passed, past coming,
present spread across spectrums
of Infinity…

Civilization glistens in gilded decay…
humanity gives over to madness and mayhem…
society surrenders (obliviously!) unto chaos—
and so I look inward, gazing through the transom
of my soul…

I attempt to Be beyond the surface—
to feel… nothing at all.
I strive (half-assedly!) to attain
the preeminence of soulful substance
o’er the superfluity of ego and desire…

But in the ghost of my existence—
sheer, bloody want overwhelms frugal need…
and I know there will not (cannot!) be peace…
without chocolate (or banana!) crème pie.
(And a beer—forsoothly!~)

2013: Fuzzy Sweater Daze

Fuzzy sweaters, fuzzy sweaters—
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!!—
fuzzy sweater days…
(and I don’t mean to imply
she be an hirsute perspirer!
Butanyhoo…)

O soft, fuzzy sweater—
almost as nice, methinks,
as an ere ‘twere she be neked!
(Heh!—)
But, oh, what a nice belly
(an’ methinks other niceties, too—
whom I have not met—alack!—
pertly positioned beyond Batgirlish mystique!)
—‘neath said soft, fuzzy sweater, hey…

I swoon!—I weep!—
I wallow!—(er) cheep-cheep??
The very brine of my passion seeps for her!
(No, no—not on the fuzzy sweater!!)
I can’t go on…
Agog—forsoothly!—anon…

2012: November Malaise

O gray, bleak day—
blah, blah, blah, blah~~
Why won’t this pain just go away?
Why can’t my spleen and pancreas
and (perhaps) small intestine…
just blood get along godammit…
acid and bile! acid and bile!
—forsoothly.

2010: Grandpa Mikhail’s 150th Birthday

Steak and shrimp and
yummy, yummy beer!…
—Nostrovia!!~
And—mayhap—a lovely cigar
whence I am home?…
We shall see, we shall see…
yet, with regard to coldness—
well, if witch’s had tits?
I would be one of them!…

(Which might seem confusing
on the surface, so allow me
to elaborate… I would not be
the witch—not that there’s anything
wrong with that—but, rather,
one of her tits… so as to now
make it confusing all the way through…

[i.e. It is really quite cold out.] )

2007: November 4, 2007

Abandoned
unto existence,
yet phased out
of synchronicity…
reduced to mere
lines on the page
in a book never read…

darkness of the abyss confining,
chaos of being upending,
superfluousness of endeavors depleting…
emptiness consumes—
unpromised oblivion eluding.

2005: Dzivagura (11/23/05)

The mere sight of her
yet sends my heart racing
in thunderous palpitations of desire!
My mind goes blank—
I don’t know who I am!—
as thought frazzles in the mêlée
over all I intend with her!

Her beauteous buttocks,
so firm and wonderful
and in fine proportion
to those succulent thighs!
The touch of her hands
all about my person—
as plump, ripe breasts
press to my chest—
and bodies intertwining,
flesh ever meshing!
Her lips—her tongue—
her hair—her ears—her neck—
feet—knee-pits—the small of her back—
O scapula divine!!!

I shake—I shiver—
I sweat like a…
like a really sweaty guy!…
I am a fiend!
I am a fool…!
I would devour her—
but perhaps instead
I’ll have an aneurysm
and die.

2004: November 20, 2004 – 2:53 a.m.

the very foundation of me
is as if a plastic container
what hath been knocked all askew—
my cover not tight,
the pudding of my various beings
dribbled all away…
all that remains
is a moldy residue,
encrusting unto nothingness
and the lingering stench
of my existence…

2002: November 12, 2002

Through the drudgerous,
mundane monotony
of a dreary,
November morn…
your voice—
far away,
yet dazzling
as glittering starlight—
briefly flows over me…
a soft, familiar caress,
instilling within
the bright, warm peace
of the golden summer sun…

And as I return
to the mundane monotony
of my November morn,
it seems not nearly
so dreary or drudgerous
in the remembrance
of your ambiance…

1999: November 18, 1999

no magic
and enemies all around
attacking from every angle
silent and invisible
but deadly
and i am helpless
for all my spells are spent
all my wizardry worn
and i know not where
there is more to be found

1996: November 6, 1996

I don’t care anymore that she’s married to someone else,
And I don’t care that she might love me in spite of it;
I am completely over her.

No more will I sit watching her,
Just thinking ‘Oh, my goodness…!’
And no longer shall I lose myself in the charm of her smile,
Or find myself sinking into the depths of her eyes.
She is beautiful and wonderful,
And I think the world of her—
But she is not for me,
And I’m just fine with that…

Oh—but I think I hear her calling me now,
So I must go to wash her feet.

1988: November West Germany

Communist socialist
Nazi tyrant
Roses daisies
Sugar and spit

Nice new tie
Crappy hat
Capitalist pig
And things like that

Labor parties:
A whole bunch
Of women getting together
Having babies

Spectrum

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