<3 Draft 4
<3 draft 3
This is to be my very true life story and will only be more "kill it" by the time I'm done writing.
~~~~ Preface ~~~~
For the past three years I have been trying to write a poem about a war with death, a spiritual unfolding when ideology meets actuality. Being unable to "properly" rationalize ones own state of life, for lack of way or reason, I am here but unable to write, or hold the words still in my mind, let alone type out pages of writing. Talking has become a tedious task, with little else to think about other than the plight of my c***dren, and all of the lost time for study, research, work and training this has all cost me.
For the first time in my life, my day to day dealings were almost exactly what I had always wanted and hoped for. I had a whole 5 bedroom hole in the ground to call my own, my beautiful street baby's to love, guide and care for and an ******ile stone crafting business to hold all the pieces my life together growing out of the remaining segments of my time.
To be clear about the subject matter, the fuck piles of my life have always been a present and relevant variable that constantly requires consideration. I have been in bloody life and death "war" with the unknown faces of fuck pile since I was *************. Having never personally seen their faces and never begin able to directly deduce who they are, I have always just averted the subject and kept my distance from questionable people and places despite their relentless attempts to get me killed over the length of my life.
In my time i have adapted more of a scholarly observer perspective of life and society, always with the understanding that I must study to define the un-defined "they" lurking around every corner, as well as give a good effort to living an efficient and natured life that has tolerance to the rocks and hard places of the "support" structures that sustain me.
~~~~ Introduction ~~~~
It’s been almost four years since my adventure to the local library that cost me my beautiful babies. They are my street babies, the endless skies answer to loneliness, the only important variables of my life. I had dropped every other aspect of my existence to be there for them, we have made all the pinky swares and we have promised all the promises.
For three years I was as dedicated as any "sort of dad" could have been, not so say I'm not still dedicated. I budgeted money to go on random adventures, I did grocery shopping fully considering their dietary needs of "vegetable soup and Kraft dinner", I planed my days, weeks and months around their presents and enjoyment of life. I get stressed out about their safety and wellbeing and i get furious when treason fuck piles shit all over their honor.
My time not spent in guardianship of my babies was otherwise spent in epic battles with the newspaper punching bag hanging in my kitchen, I had made it out of a roll of newspaper ad's, a shirt sleve and a rope from the dollar store and is very litterally one of the biggest investments of time in life.
I spent a lot of my days trying to assemble an ******ile stone crafting business carving granite hearts in my backyard for my sisters and the other lady's in my life aswell as dice and other nik-nacks for my friends, I walked the river, i walked the train tracks and trails and i walked the streets colleting stone and other rocks almost monthly for crafting materials.
My adventures colleting stone resulted in a lot of very rare minerals and granite forms which were uniquely spread around the house with left over shapes and broken projects. The rest of my time spent was an exhausted balance of Modding video games on my computer, Photoshoping photos of my friends into posters, rocking fl studio and my guitars and studying auto mechanics and aviation.
The adventure my c***dren and I set out on the morning of February 18 2018, was intended to be a reward for their surprise efforts cleaning my house, walls, floors and dishes, in the early hours the morning well I was asleep. Our adventure that day may very well have killed the world. How great of a "sort of dad" am I?
~~ Chapter 1 ~~
I have donated my babysitting time freely since i was ************, i am 39 years old now and i have been attempting to write this work for three years. I feel no closer to a beginning or an ending to this. Never in my life had I considered that the dangers to my babies were magnitudes greater than climbing a counter or eating random stuff on the ground.
On one hand I understood that there are entities in this world with very opposing agendas to that of Nature and Nurture and on the other hand I had a strong belief that Democracy and Communication provide a casual barrier of ******** circumstance in our lives. I had never considered that the agendas around me were just sitting in limbo waiting, slowly rotting the spiritual ropes of life in our lives.
In the back of my mind I had believed that everyone was one great act from prosperity and that the vines of our intertangling lives had always intersected for good reasons. Community was strong and so were the people who encompass it, but it seems that the lurking intentions of malevolence and deception have always been right under my nose and that I was just too "honest" to acknowledge it.
People are inherently unable to address events which lay beyond their life's experience, people in general interpret events of their days with the contrast of their most beloved experiences to their worst memories. the casual range of which across the tables of humanity varies almost infinitely. The expectation we are left with in our "prospering democracy" is that someone out there is going to fix "it" and that we need just go about our day until it is resolved. This sentiment only really applies when the depicted event lay beyond the reach of ones day to days lives, when these events become direct and personal there is know one in the moment to help you but yourself and the expectation that a valent do-gooder is going to burst through the seems of circumstance and un ravel the nots of you situation will only get you injured or killed.
I have no way to accurately determine when or how the traitors of my life formed these crazy fuck piles, but i can tell you that involving my c***dren and their relentless attempts dissolve their hearts and wellbeing is where it is going to permanently end, by justice or by blades it will end.
Noted:
- need to make story boards and chapter out lines
This is to be my very true life story and will only be more "kill it" by the time I'm done writing.
~~~~ Preface ~~~~
For the past three years I have been trying to write a poem about a war with death, a spiritual unfolding when ideology meets actuality. Being unable to "properly" rationalize ones own state of life, for lack of way or reason, I am here but unable to write, or hold the words still in my mind, let alone type out pages of writing. Talking has become a tedious task, with little else to think about other than the plight of my c***dren, and all of the lost time for study, research, work and training this has all cost me.
For the first time in my life, my day to day dealings were almost exactly what I had always wanted and hoped for. I had a whole 5 bedroom hole in the ground to call my own, my beautiful street baby's to love, guide and care for and an ******ile stone crafting business to hold all the pieces my life together growing out of the remaining segments of my time.
To be clear about the subject matter, the fuck piles of my life have always been a present and relevant variable that constantly requires consideration. I have been in bloody life and death "war" with the unknown faces of fuck pile since I was *************. Having never personally seen their faces and never begin able to directly deduce who they are, I have always just averted the subject and kept my distance from questionable people and places despite their relentless attempts to get me killed over the length of my life.
In my time i have adapted more of a scholarly observer perspective of life and society, always with the understanding that I must study to define the un-defined "they" lurking around every corner, as well as give a good effort to living an efficient and natured life that has tolerance to the rocks and hard places of the "support" structures that sustain me.
~~~~ Introduction ~~~~
It’s been almost four years since my adventure to the local library that cost me my beautiful babies. They are my street babies, the endless skies answer to loneliness, the only important variables of my life. I had dropped every other aspect of my existence to be there for them, we have made all the pinky swares and we have promised all the promises.
For three years I was as dedicated as any "sort of dad" could have been, not so say I'm not still dedicated. I budgeted money to go on random adventures, I did grocery shopping fully considering their dietary needs of "vegetable soup and Kraft dinner", I planed my days, weeks and months around their presents and enjoyment of life. I get stressed out about their safety and wellbeing and i get furious when treason fuck piles shit all over their honor.
My time not spent in guardianship of my babies was otherwise spent in epic battles with the newspaper punching bag hanging in my kitchen, I had made it out of a roll of newspaper ad's, a shirt sleve and a rope from the dollar store and is very litterally one of the biggest investments of time in life.
I spent a lot of my days trying to assemble an ******ile stone crafting business carving granite hearts in my backyard for my sisters and the other lady's in my life aswell as dice and other nik-nacks for my friends, I walked the river, i walked the train tracks and trails and i walked the streets colleting stone and other rocks almost monthly for crafting materials.
My adventures colleting stone resulted in a lot of very rare minerals and granite forms which were uniquely spread around the house with left over shapes and broken projects. The rest of my time spent was an exhausted balance of Modding video games on my computer, Photoshoping photos of my friends into posters, rocking fl studio and my guitars and studying auto mechanics and aviation.
The adventure my c***dren and I set out on the morning of February 18 2018, was intended to be a reward for their surprise efforts cleaning my house, walls, floors and dishes, in the early hours the morning well I was asleep. Our adventure that day may very well have killed the world. How great of a "sort of dad" am I?
~~ Chapter 1 ~~
I have donated my babysitting time freely since i was ************, i am 39 years old now and i have been attempting to write this work for three years. I feel no closer to a beginning or an ending to this. Never in my life had I considered that the dangers to my babies were magnitudes greater than climbing a counter or eating random stuff on the ground.
On one hand I understood that there are entities in this world with very opposing agendas to that of Nature and Nurture and on the other hand I had a strong belief that Democracy and Communication provide a casual barrier of ******** circumstance in our lives. I had never considered that the agendas around me were just sitting in limbo waiting, slowly rotting the spiritual ropes of life in our lives.
In the back of my mind I had believed that everyone was one great act from prosperity and that the vines of our intertangling lives had always intersected for good reasons. Community was strong and so were the people who encompass it, but it seems that the lurking intentions of malevolence and deception have always been right under my nose and that I was just too "honest" to acknowledge it.
People are inherently unable to address events which lay beyond their life's experience, people in general interpret events of their days with the contrast of their most beloved experiences to their worst memories. the casual range of which across the tables of humanity varies almost infinitely. The expectation we are left with in our "prospering democracy" is that someone out there is going to fix "it" and that we need just go about our day until it is resolved. This sentiment only really applies when the depicted event lay beyond the reach of ones day to days lives, when these events become direct and personal there is know one in the moment to help you but yourself and the expectation that a valent do-gooder is going to burst through the seems of circumstance and un ravel the nots of you situation will only get you injured or killed.
I have no way to accurately determine when or how the traitors of my life formed these crazy fuck piles, but i can tell you that involving my c***dren and their relentless attempts dissolve their hearts and wellbeing is where it is going to permanently end, by justice or by blades it will end.
Noted:
- need to make story boards and chapter out lines
3年前
