"NNF" By Arcassin B

Shit it all depends, If we all divide or we all in, Better repent the sins, This ain't no religious pen, Think you tryna' help me? You think i need new friends? Maybe it all depends. The world ends , from me pen, Multiverses from my head to shins, The light within, Wanna' hang with me? Think i need new friends?

Full below ⬇️ https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2024/12/nnf.html

We men, we have beards
That's just really fucking weird

At the climax, we shoot semen
Turns us into goddamn aliens

Don't you take me for a trans though
Don't feel like a girl at all

But some men grow real big and strong
Better smile and move along

And I wonder, those type of men,
the first to change when locked in prison

Then they see your ass as pussy
Force you too, into transition

Words create energy. Energy creates feelings. Feelings create fantasies . Fantasies create dreams. Dreams create joy. Joy creates energy.

Your imagination soars above the concrete mess. Your keen eyes watching the people below. Hunting for your next idea. Your talons grab that idea and take it to your nest. Your art does the rest.

In secret, beneath the earth's dark breast,
A miracle stirs, a new life finds its first test.
A tiny bud, tightly-wound and full of might,
Begins to swell, and push through the night.

The sap flows strong, the lifeblood of its veins.
As petals unfold in the cold, like delicate, silk stains.
Soft pink and gently, the Rose's hue takes hold.
As the warmth of mornings sunshine coaxes it to unfold.

The bud relaxes, and its beauty starts to seep, and weep.
Like perfume on the breeze, it's sweetness starts to creep in deep.

The rose awakens, and it's face is revealed.
A masterpiece of nature, its beauty unsealed.

Now fully bloomed, the rose, holding its pose, stands tall and proud,
A fleeting marvel, the world has never wanted, or allowed,
To witness beauty, in its most true form.
A rose blossoming, just because it's warm.

< A young couple lays on the grass looking at the clouds >.

He: That one looks like a duck.
She: Where?
He: There.  The head is looking left.   The pointy part is the bill.  The wispy part is two webbed feet.  The curvy parts are tail feathers.
She: It *does* look like a duck.
He: The shadows behind the bill bear a likeness to eyes.  The fast cloud looks like a moving wing.  The thin dense part would be the tarsal muscle of the clavicle.  The light cirrus clouds resemble white feathers rotating in follicle to create a diving trajectory.  The bill is opening a bit to reveal what look to be tongue rasps -  

< The couple is devoured by a giant duck >. 

Thus does the merry-go-round of life spin faster and faster,
Until your soul can hold on no longer.  

Thus did your Daedalus fly too high,
And the low atmospheric pressure caused his helium balloons to burst.

Thus does Sisyphus skate up the half-pipe,
Only to roll back down.

Thus do you see Elvis’s hips and spontaneously combust.

Thus does the Napoleon of your immune system meet his Waterloo.

Thus does the guillotine blade of the sun finally fall in the west,
Cutting you off from the light.

Thus is matter annihilated by doesn’t-matter.

What kind of hunched, groveling, cowering, miserable architect invented the crawlspace?
While the Academy of St. Martin in the Field has no shelter at all?

Why do we recover remains from the rubble,
Just to bury them again?

Isn’t that incentivizing rubble?

Your exploded view doesn’t do you justice.

And so, you drive around the traffic circle all night,
Listening to the GPS lady tirelessly repeat a Sysiphian refrain.

I've seen reefs, volcanoes, icebergs, glaciers,
I've been to the ocean and I've been undersea,
Through rapids, jumped from towers: Faced my fears;
To hot springs, and temples, and holiday festivities,
Rainforests, deserts, cliffsides, canyons I've been through,
I dare say I've approached seeing everything I've wanted to see,
But there's still a world left I'd still love to explore with you,
And that my dear: Is the world I see when you talk about your dreams.

Title: Memoirs

-

[NAME]

The Collected Thoughts and Unfinished Works

-

On Pushing the Elevator Button a Thousand Times and Only Getting Halfway to Each Floor

And Other Essays

-

On Living Inside a Computer With 1 GB of Ram

And Mostly Similar Essays

-

!REDACTED!< eating a donut with a fork as I write this

By Fuck It This Idea Was Stupid Anyway

-

Every Thought I’ve Ever Had Has Spiraled and Split Into Fractals Like a Mirror Maze Until They Crumble To Dust. The Dust Tastes Like Doubt. The Doubt Decays to Regret. 

(A Novel not worth reading)

By Arcassin B

Beyond the stars, I only wonder too, So many wanders, Universes too, Beyond the stars, See the world for what it really is, Ultimate Rewards, The gift of being aware..

Full here ⬇️ https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2024/12/beyond-dome.html

My abs are fucking crazy
The world reflected 6 times
In perfect divine symmetry

I flex my back
Until it becomes a sun-tanned mirror
Perfect sweat
Runs along my spine,
Into my crack

I step out of the shower
I knead and rub my muscles
Go apeshit with my body lotion
Bio-fucking-mechanic muscle
Legendary God-like man

Girls, come over, check me out
I'm truly all you ever wanted

Leave now
Rush over to my house

I'm all you ever
wanted
dead
or alive

You're like a flock of thousand dead birds
pushing pencils up in the sky,
Write stories just to stop clocks
Cancelled mornings, evenings dropping right off

I hold my breath until the first light- regained my sight, nothing more
Seen it all from a picture point,
Blue retired, colors getting recalled

Tell me when you're fired up

Didn't take you for the dole type, to go all out- on a score
No chance to reverse explore
Domination, pulling out the cold winds
Textures rolling, falling short on coping

Tell me when you're fired up

It's time to flex your muscles
Then bring back red, to the top
Lost art of, distributing rays well
Now the spectrum, limps into the cold grey
Red and orange, waiting for a new dawn

Is this all you got?

My mother was a prostitute, went by the name of Melody

Didn't bother me that much, my father had full custody

we are doomed

and thats a good excuse

to not put efforts

and cut that love loose

thats my case

i fear no fate

i have no desires

or people to hate

though i constantly speak

unspeakably

i find it easy to box regrets and feelings

we are doomed

and thats a good excuse

to not put efforts

and cut that love loose

There you go again,
Giving me your royal mantle,
And burdening me with its care,
When all I wanted
Was a shamwow.

He needed a shot for his back.

“Denied!” you shot back.

So he shot you in the back.

(See “Delay, Deny, Defend”, Feinman, 2010)

You ghosted him, 

So he got a ghost gun and made you a ghost,

And then he became a ghost.

(Hear “Feels So Good”, Mangione, 1977)

Don't cry your heart out from the highest mountain,
The sewers have far better acoustics

Don't buy and unload an AK-47
An alley stabbing has way much more mystique

Don't look for liberation in sublime achievements
Just pass out in front of the tv in your mother's basement

Don't strive for boundless heart connection with your true love
Tense silent dinners are the true orders from above

Don't give in to the ideal of growth and self-perfection,
An endless internal dial tone will give you the most satisfaction

I want you to know that I have Sable. She sleeps on my hip like she slept on yours. I remember you saying she steps so heavy sometimes it almost hurts. But she’s such a slight cat I thought it must just be you because you were a nerve the world wore sheer thin and everything’s sandpaper when you’re burnt skin. But damn, my brother you were right. She sure steps heavy on me at night and every time she does I think of you.

And I’ve got your wooden pillbox too, the one you’d find but instantly lose. You told me how it would magically resurface, like an old friend back in town, in some forgotten pocket to be celebrated when found. It was the first thing that I thought of when we claimed our souvenirs but searching was treacherous with fentanyl dust floating in air. When Jeff found it somewhere at last, the prize, a small victory. I held it in my open palm closed my fingers and squeezed and squeezed.

I keep it on my nightstand with books, pills and nicotine. Sometimes Sable stares at it. I can’t bare to think about what that means, because one night she knocked it purposefully on the floor, hissed at me and leapt straight six feet through the door. Or maybe that was a dream I had. Maybe I’m dreaming still, as I keep you with me in your pillbox never lost and your cat laying heavy like she did on you but now upon my hip.

From this place

From this place,
I feel power.
I touch glory.
I taste burden.
I see space.
I smell the story,
It might just be a machination.

As the moon moves the sea,
I move this city that's orphaned me.

As the earth pulls the moon,
I revolve around these roads with no trajectory.

As the Sun is surrounded by orbits,
I'm overwhelmed by this metropolitan gravity.

I am as much a machine as the city is a human being.
Concrete and tar covers its organs like my own skin.

Buildings and architecture reflect its personality and character.
It has its own kind of heart beat, commerce is its pulse, its centre.

It's voice is a whisper of pedestrian chatter,
a hum or traffic, it wail is the siren's that differ,

One from the other, expressing emotions we all rejoice in or have to suffer.

Its nervous system, transmits information in, cables, wireless signals, and fibre.

From this place,
I feel a power,
I touch a glory,
I taste a burden.
I share it's interface.
I smell it's CO2 flower.
I scratch it's belly.
I partake in its sin.

From this place I sense a spirit, I feel a soul,
The city gives up pieces of itself to keep me whole.

Megalopolis, 

oculus lollipop for a lot of us,

but a flop for the populace.

Blame Francis Ford Coppolus.

They rip it away and I'm left there wishing for connection

Hoping someone could love me but I know that's a lesson

To love myself, I shouldn't be out here beggin'

It's a strange thing, I've been able to attract many before

I once had charm, I once felt like I had more

Now I keep chasing something, a feeling I abhore

Realizing it's a whole lot of nothing I do this for

Gain a thousand dollars watch it drain through whores

Ask myself if my dick being sucked is what really heaven has in store

Why whenever I start to write it become this egostistical selfish war

Trying to express my sadness makes other think I'm a bore

Regardless I'll keep banging my head hoping a lesion makes this less of a chore

If I make myself stupid enough maybe I can be happy on this floor

Where nothing matters where I am a ghost in my own life, no pulse anymore

It kills me to know that everyone I loved has let go, I'm the richest I've ever been but I'm so fucking poor

Let me life be a lesson you will find nothing but misery if you chase feelings that easily get swept out the door

I'm in love with love,
But love just hates on me.
Yet hate truly loves me,
So why don't I love hate?

If only love could love me
And I would love to hate,
Then love and hate could come together,
And I'd love to hate with love.

If life hands you potatoes,
make potato salad 

If life serves you piss,
make piss salad

If life hands you a crashed ufo,
make Roswell salad

If life gives you a nuclear explosion,
make radioactive salad

If God can't answer where he came from,
make mystery salad

If the meaning of life is lost in translation,
make multi-dimensional salad

If you can't find words for your poem,
make word salad

whenever the story ends on a happy note I know there is a sequel

more drama, tales to be told on how the good never takes over evil

At least I know in my life if there's a tale of indifference,

It'll die indifference. No love nor hatred

I am a whole lot of nothing

When I die I'll be remembered for what I hated

An incel, a faggot, a pathetic piece of belated

Nothing to care for, at least when I slit my wrists its painted

The blood to the canvas is my true art

It sets me in beneath this a world apart

There are no Angels made of clay.
My soul smells like a full ashtray.
Hear my heart is on a display.
Rotten while its pumping decay.

My hopes got buried in their hayday.
Loyalty is leverage, long as it doesn't fray.
When all I want is to stay,
I walk away. I walk away.
When all I want is to say.
Not today. Not today.

The nights hit much harder than the light of day.
Respect is a ransom, poverty can't possibly pay.
When all I want is to play.
I'm in the way. I'm in the way.
When all I want is to wasteway.
I can't pray. I don't pray.

There are no Angels made of clay,
My soul smells like a full ashtray.
I'll find my fallen faith someday.
When I do, will I still feel like a stowaway?

Qué bien que te hayas tomado la molestia de traducir esto.
Te espera un poema muy bonito.

Quiero contarte sobre España.
Fuimos allí el verano pasado con la caravana.

Vimos mucho y comimos muy bien.
Aunque, la verdad, hacía bastante calor.

Bueno, eso es más o menos lo que tenía que decir.
Ah, sí, había también un perro muerto en la playa en algún sitio, y olía fatal.

Así que realmente vale la pena ir.
Muchos estadounidenses probablemente leerán esto, así que sin duda merece la pena tomar un avión para ir.

Tampoco hay que hacerse demasiadas ilusiones.
En cierto modo, también nos decepcionó un poco.

Trying to truly paint this picture,

Can leave the image looking so vanilla.

No matter how personal the beginning and the centre,

The end product can still feel so unfamiliar.

Raising baggage, paying for insecurities and all the demons I still have to foster.

Trying to figure out where the chink in my armour comes from before it can crack any further.

Using these skeletons to make a ladder, Missing dignity and honor.

Trying to discover if sleep is the cousin of death who is the brother, sister, father and mother.

The element of surprise is a bad influencer.

Trying to stifle my Doug Stanhope sense of humour.

Think I'll be left with nothing if I start cutting out this tumour,

Like a doughnut, i exist around a hole yet I'm emptier.

My scars scream hallelujah and my tears strangle like homer.

Think I'm in a waking coma, unable to taste texture and smell odour.

Trying to truly paint this picture,

My best attempts could be out done better by a two day old toddler.

when i look at a man

i build up a plan

to get him somewhere

so we two can share

a charged up embrace

a look of the face

and just hold him so good

like nobody could

hold him better than me

oh, ecstasy

did you see that guy?

man, i'd hold him dry.

all the guys at the club

they're not getting a rub

they're getting a hug and getting a hold

i'm sorry it's crass, i'm sorry it's bold

but he'd be all night

in my arms in my sight

Solitude is my dude.

Together we lightly brood.

We are the resistance, fighting for freedom from loneliness's servitude.

We have an alliance with anti-socialism, we are in compliance with gratitude.

We are misanthropic towards the general public's attitude.

We've never gone with the flow, no matter the latitude or longitude.

Guess you could say our world view is negatively askewed.

Your truth gets copied and pasted without fact checking its rectitude.

24/7 news channels 24/7 staying glued.

A lie repeated is a truth defeated for the corporate good.

Truth is stripped naked but s lie is never presented in the nude.

The truth gets greeted like a drug addict from the worst damn hood.

Most economies are starving cause corruptions not a very nutritional food.

My pet peeves have grown in multitude.

My disappointments are rarely understood.

My Morales have lately only been misconstrued.

I say what in my mind, and I'm being rude?

It's better just me and solitude.

Solitude is my dude.

What men want is just as mysterious as the other way around
We're into beetle collectors

Women who believe in Grey Supremacy
Women who amputate their breasts when the blessed age is reached

Those who love laces but not the shoes
I bet you didn't see that coming

Angels who write psychotic warnings on the wall,
after they've cooked up a mean meal

If you want to go heavily pregnant to Antarctica to find out if the Earth is really flat
Baby, I'm your man

No, not all men want to come in through the back door
You can trepanate your skull instead

If your house is full of Pierrot trinkets
Or if you brew tea from your panty liner

And your water breaks at full moon
Men will howl like horny werewolves