Khari Johnson Brownie October 23, 2008

In this memory you’re on my back, but now you’re swathed in black and white. Your tiny legs obscure my view, and alter the gelled up image. However, I’m remembering your smile; a flash of awkward, yet sure and confident white that shows that the world indeed has a leash, and that humanity isn’t all that human. What I would do to break that smile out of the glass, to save the small soul from its encasement behind a lifeless and apathetic screen. Into my arms. But I’d have to delve beneath the hospital gown to find the root of your grounding, a fantastic voyage that only a knife could take. I wish I could see you, see you outside of my expectations and false memories. I wish I could see you cuddle your Kayla, who’s just about as big as you.
Sentence 10: Write a sentence in which three or more words alliterate; that is, they begin with the same initial consonant: she has be left, lately, with less and less time to think . . .
Sentence 11: Write a sentence with two commas.
Sentence 12: Write a sentence with a smell and a color in it.
Sentence 13: Write a sentence with a simile (a comparison using like or as).
Sentence 14: Write a sentence that could carry an exclamation point (but do not use the exclamation point).
Sentence 15: Write a sentence to end this portrait that uses the word or words you chose for a title.
Next, read the portrait. Underline sentences in which you discovered new things about this individual or your feelings and attitudes toward him or her.
Now, use this portrait as a starting point for a poem or prose portrait or simply revise what you have. (Be sure to keep a copy of the original, so that you can examine the changes between original and revised piece.) Do anything you need to make this a piece of writing that you like. Choose a new title, use the person’s real name, and so on.

gjhgjhghggg,,/.

MANY MEN EAT FOR A LIVING I DON’ T EVEN UNDERSTAND HOW MANY PEOPLE KILL EACH PERSON IN THE WORLD SO I ONLY KILL PEOPLE FOR THEIR WARMTH AND SANITY SO DON’T EVEN TALK TO YOU SOFTLY IN MY EAR SO DON’T EVEN UNDERSTAND THE BEGINNING OF WHAT I’M DOING, SO WHY DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND THE PEOPLE KILL EIGHTEEN FOR THE ONLY SEVEN PEOPLE AND THEN SOMETIMES GORGE OF EYES AND GOUGE OF HUMAN PHENOM’S AND REGULARS. GO TO THE FIRE OF MY INTERCHANGEABLE MINDSETS BECAUSE SHALLOW ALARMS SET OF THORNS IN THE SIDE. FOR THIS WE CRY, FOR THIS WE DON’T.

Alphabet poem.

Amen, amen, as I shout from the walls of an ever-changing brain lining, and I shout it with the innermost disbelief. By the way, I see it; I only have three years to find out what’s right about me, and what has yet to be corrected. Chamomile lotion coaxes my arms into relaxation when I cry out loud to whatever is in the sky, or sitting on the ground. Dare I say that I felt the weight of everything upon my soul, yet when I looked inside, I only found the burden of a system of thoughts. Effigies broke off from the sides of my inner turmoil and attempted to run, however their feet were adorned with oil, and my soul decorated with fire. Furthermore, the idea of the spiritual feels as though it can’t be embodied, but I can feel the staircase leading to it. Granted it steps away from me with each step I gain, sending me up two and back three… Homely styles of fighting minds is the was for you to understand that people could not be so easily swayed by force, but only by constant ingemination and fervent conviction could you know… If only I had the ability to play the unknown; to control lives would be the ultimate for my self-esteem, and would in turn, give me the strength to control my own. Just as I feel as I’m getting somewhere, the means of getting there breaks my legs, and each time something burns, each time I doubt a little more. Killed though, because I don’t want to die without knowing that thing… that thing that so lovingly isn’t here… but that thing I revere and fear and love so deeply that I’d have the most trouble terminating myself. Logistics are too much on the soul. Modes and means are the mechanics of the heart, a contradiction in itself. Nothing is the same, now that it is November, she said. Opposite day is the day I actually find out who I am, and so I’m excited for it, though it may bring the end of the world. Potluck dinners were never my facet, and whole body determination was never my strong suit. Questioning authority is what I long to do, however the brain is set in such a way that to question authority is to question my core. Remember it doesn’t work. Stuck now in this void of devoid and null thoughts and feelings, inching my way through syntax and tone and hiding my blemishes in the spaces of these words… Trotsky type execution is what I feel is next for the world, and it shall be done under my hand. Universal love and death are interchangeable. Veneration lacks the soul, but guess what? everything’s a construct of the human mind, and from there spawns our Matrix, our never ending low consciousness minefield that constantly blows the head off of its constituents. Women are men, the Bible says so. Xylophone. You. Zap.

Omnibus.

October 10th

"A single death is a tragedy; a milllion deaths is a statisitc." - Joseph "Stalin"
"The means is justified by the end." - Karl Marx

October 11th
Kharistitution:
For ever man, there should be freedom. I Believe in a gross freedom under a powerful government. However, each separate state would have their SPM, or "society perfection machine." What it would be is the large arm the protects the "stations" from being too oppressed. The SPM would be headed by whomever saw a problem with how the government ruled and wanted to change something. However, in order to change something, it would have to go through moral scrutiny by the people of the state, and also be approved by those on a larger scale, it would eventually have to be voted upon by all the states.

October 12th
SPM.com:
SPM.com would be a social and political networking website geared toward putting democracy back into the hands of the people. The SPM would be the intermediary force between the people and the government. The people would access this website and vote on different legislation, and whether or not they believe it should be passed. It would also be a website for people to bring up their governmental complaints, and their complaints about life in general. However, it will be prohibited to post complaints if the American people ado not find solutions to the problems. After they find solutions, they'd vote on them. If enough people voted a certain way on an issue, it would put stress on the government to act on the ideas, and psass the legislation that the people want.

October 13th

Since there always needs to be a lower class, we could easily appropriate a place for them to stay. We could give them whatever they needed and provide them needed, including education and the chance to obtain promotions. Appropriating them a place to stay wouldn't separate from their family. However, maybe instead of giving them a set place to live, we could track them down and set them up with a job, and adequate housing. Since the lower class sort of runs the world, supporting them and the middle class would be more of a trickle up economic system that would actually work.

October 15th

Crush the feelings inside.
First thing on the to-do list.
Second thing I'm going to do is leave the investigators clueless.
Far too far long have I dealt with retrospect rudeness.
The things I'm going to do today are going tie up all the loose ends.
In other words, the inner I is finally gonna’ to shut up and tell me "you win."
I write in my agenda filled to the brim with a devilish grin.

I plan on giving way to a much, much shallower side.
I plan on feeling dead, dead until I die.
Later on in the evening I think I'll plan to go to dinner.
I'll dine with my soul and later on, I think I’ll win her.
I'll domesticate and duplicate and then I think I'll tie her down.
But you could say I'm going too far as to take away her crown.
And then, the next day, I'm going to go to the coroner.
Get an autopsy done and check out who did the murder.
But it's not for me.I already know who did it, obviously.
It's more to get the emotional police off of my back, I must be free.
Then the next day I'll start anew full of holes and cracks.
Then later that day I'll get some soul and mortar to fix what lacks.
Although when you’re dead and gone you usually don’t grow back.
I'll patch up some of the holes, and clean out what’s left and black.
Follow the recommended procedure and begin to thoroughly pack.
Then the next day I'll walk like nothings wrong.
High strutting with chin up like I got a whole lot going on...

Inside, but the truth is, I died.
A natural death of natural causes, so I feel no need to cry.
It's doublethink at its greatest,
I know I killed myself but lately that's been the vaguest.
And the next day I'll begin to turn up to work again.
I may start to court my blind-eyed, fat friend.
And the next day, when I talk to her once more, I'll feel nothing but lust, as our bodies hit the floor.

Simply because I'm dead, of natural, natural causes.
I consider death by suicide the best of all the losses.
Just don't miss me, my soul's already long gone.
Tomorrow you can mourn.
But it's an empty casket, the body's nowhere to be found.

October 16th

Starshine, so bright, so vivid in my eyes.
From the screen showing lives, bearing no fine line.
There comes a bright light from right beside mine.
It shines forever, dying only when it's my time.
I've forgotten how to bottle it and hold it in my hand.
And I've mistaken its vast star space to be solely my land.
Control is something it slips and sifts through like sand,
And it makes my light rebel from my desperate, confused commands.
My light pulse is set to high now and rising.
The starshine's so beautiful, radiantly enticing.
It's opened my eyes to the art of realizing.
My light is a fire and its slowly sizing.
But still it only flickers, for the starshine is frightening.
Surprising like lightening, like a million moons falling from the sky.
It raises my alarms and makes it hurt to try.
Like four hundred suns blazing in the air.
Just her single starshine wouldn't fail to compare.
Shining strong and high above my pitiful flickering flame.
It sets everything ablaze around my tawny bronze frame.
To touch it, to touch it would surely burn me off.
But I love it so much I wouldn't mind the loss.

Finally.
My light built up the courage to reach out and touch.
Once out of comfort it flared toward her lust.
The starshine, it was waiting for me patiently.
The guards were down around her and the phoenix rode free.
From the sun to the stars in that room full of night,
It came back and kissed my shy, small light.

Then it left.

-------------------------

Boiling rages of fourteen hundred suns.
An uncontrollable ambivalence, a tranquil sort of hostile take over.
Churning, churning, uncharismatic.
Totally spewing.
Crazy, conscious flailing.
The need to break something.
The need to break someone.And then the source comes.
The source makes the river, clashing and eroding.
Rock slide.
Avalanche from the silent voices of innocent looking facades.
Wondering if the pilot should give a FUCK at all.

----------------------------

Trigonometry states that all life is fake.
Now, I didn't think that was right so I went back again.
I checked my textbooks and even asked a friend.
But all the answers around me all bared the same news.
Life is a fallacy forced, not a realistic view.

SHORTSTORYTHATIDON'TWANTTOWRITE.

Her eyes were closed, but her fair face hinted at nothing. Her small, full lips were curled up at the sides, sending the ripple of a smile all the way up to her soft cheekbones. They were high and regal, but didn't stick out that far. The bridge of her nose was the only thing she disliked about her appearance, all the many of her suitors would tell her in different melodramatic, overly-romantic, pathetic-but-cute ways that the small knot in her nose was all but ugly. It's okay to lie, they would think, for I need this conquest. However, that was her only flaw. Her hair was a soft blonde, with the curls of California and shoulder length locks. Her eyes were emerald, with a hint of a soul-stealing gray most days, but when she was especially excited, her eyes would be alight with a subtle blue, but enough to make any man want to kill himself for her. She was petite, with a perfect bust. Her stomach was flat enough, every man said, but to her, the little bit of hanging skin she had was disgusting. Her legs were blemish less and soft, her thighs tight. Her feet were always in a perfect arc, and were in perfect proportion to the rest of her 5'8" frame. Her backside wasn't expansive, but it was enough to make the boys stare from miles away. But even in all of this, on many days she humbly wore the clothes of a pauper. Today she was wearing a light brown sundress, which fit the occasion. She was sitting on a bench in front of the white sands of Virginia beach. Her soft hands were grasping the opposite elbow, and her legs were crossed at the ankles. Her small shoulders were scrunched up to her pierced ears, making her blond hair gently brush her silver studs.

They always told him he looked ridiculous. Constantly, the other kids would tell him that he was the strangest child that would ever live, and that he would get no where in life. They would tell him that only thing he could probably be successful at, given the way he looked, was killing himself. Generally, if any other kid heard this, they would become very sad, might turn to self-destruction, attempt suicide, fail, drink his liver away, and maybe, eventually, succeed at overdosing. But this boy couldn't hear. Along with talk, and his eyesight wasn't up to par, either. But he could still think. In fact, the child was brilliant. But it was his looks, and his disabilities that hindered him constantly.

October 8th

Amen, amen, as I shout from the walls of an ever-changing brain lining, and I shout it with the innermost disbelief. By the way, I see it; I only have three years to find out what’s right about me, and what has yet to be corrected. Chamomile lotion coaxes my arms into relaxation when I cry out loud to whatever is in the sky, or sitting on the ground. Dare I say that I felt the weight of everything upon my soul, yet when I looked inside, I only found the burden of a system of thoughts. Possibly lies. But to question existence is to question energy, which can not be done, simply because energy is the question. So thereforoe I shall simply sit, and I shall wait, and I shall listen. I will flex accorodingly, and withdraw to the beat of whatever rhythm constantly repeats. Boom boom.

October 9th

Today, I have nothing to write.

I'm going to a meeting soon in order to be enlightened about green energy, which is very important because I'm going to be orienteering and energy project I like to call "Energize." Energize is going to be aimed at separate, but similar goals. The Energize project is going to try and educate people about ways to make sure their houses are energy efficient, and it's also going to try to reform Rochester's definition of "energy efficiency"by implenting small projects devised by the teen participants of the program into different pockets of changeable energy scources.

October 6th

Cellar door is no more an affect to this human chore.
The upper door is closed to the real area of know.
Simply sits it on the ledge of the now, and sees it only the palpable lore.
Rather it boxes in and structures and sows, what is seen as society: epitome of broken dreams, built from the meager who sit on the feet of the eager cleaver that mows them like meat.
As to compensate a lack of knowledge, the upper door cries.
Its tears drop and on flow the lies, ride the metal beams of institution that plunge themselves in houses, and businesses and honest men, and the smallest of the cities.
And erect themselves strong based on their promise of right.
Convincing themselves even that they have a way of control.
But the cellar door is closed, and no affect will it have.
The key is inside a Loch ness mouth.
Obviously the human is not in touch with the reality.
Else it would thoroughly understand that knowledge is key, and knowledge is not real.
Metaphysical objects fly through the upper door, and close the cellar door in their wake.
So to control the masses by way of mass murder of mass brains is a sure downfall to the epitome of broken dreams.
They will come back, through the cellar door, and take you.

October 4th & 5th.

If only I were the center of me.
So I fell short; an approximate six feet from heaven.
And her eyes, like an idea to the most troubled student.
Fight fire with fire; souls light up eyes.
And it shot through me like water, leaving my heart over-saturated and frail.
But her legs were set to talk, and so her mouth fit to fasten.
And the heart of her made me want to freeze.

Or was it that if you swam, you'd get eaten?
And when you run out of bait?

And from then on I didn't feel it anymore, the entangled staircase from my head to my soul.

--Various quotes by me.

__________________________________________________________________

I am

Life, Writing, Emotions

Breaking down the elements of life into something palpable and understandable by the common person, and from rendering it possible for the regular man to understand it, sending the message to the constituents of the world.

Awareness is important to me

Humor is important to me

Care is important to me.

Faith is a good thing.

Melancholy is looked down upon, but it's healthy to have melancholy; to be happy all the time surely could be hazardous for your health.

Us humans, we're zombies walking in a nightmare, under the influence of the media.

Time is too short.

Pisces are too common.

I am.

October 3

Those political hounds really having nothing better to do, do they? They take apart things, and since they hold the title of "political analyst," they practically push it down your throat. The attempt to ingeminate you. Me myself and my father, watching the debates and whatnot, could see a million more important flukes than they did. And who really gives a damn what political analysts think the candidates should do in order to win? What the analysts think they should do is not particularly what we should do. For instance, they kept going on about how the believed Palin should simply be herself, and connect with the country on a personal level. Personally, getting to know our VP comes with them actually having some knowledge about what's going on in our country. I'd rather her come out strong and talk about the issues, and assert her political power rather than try to sweep politics aside. The Vice Presidency isn't just some careless job that DOESN'T involve politics. War can not be done WITHOUT politics, unless you simply leave it to general to slug it out. Joe Biden and Obama will show their personal sides, but after impressing the fact that they ARE leader material. Not just leaders of Alaska, leaders of our country. She keeps returning to her family and her personal life; Obama and Biden have had equally as humbling, equally as touching stories as her. But as I started this on political analysts, I'll have to end it with a pertaining closing remark, also. The political hounders should not be allowed to predict debates or speeches, and should not be able to argue things that are supposed to sway the American public this way or that. Maybe they know a little more about our government history, but quite honestly, I can tell for myself the highs and lows. To me, they're just there to control ignorance, and to stress certain political points. To me, they're there to rot us in hell.

October 1st & 2nd

The men in the toy solider army
Little pawns under the big mans hand
Let me play, cries little boy
Sending the to war for no reason but leisure
Handling them with sheer disrespect
The candycane shaded toy soldiers
One gets up and he shouts and he cries
For the rest of the toy souldiers he's not ready to die
But the little boy squints and picks up his hand
He bites of the toy soldiers head

The men in the toy soldier army
Don't have a choice
Because they're movable
And fully operatable
They're dead.
_______________

You have the scissors in your hand.
And why you don't do it is beyond me
Just cut the rope, my lady bland
And make it clear that you don't want me

It's hung too long, it's come too strong
It's strangled to many people honey, come on now
The rope is dangerous and shouldn't be there
I would cut it myself but I'm too scared

You're the judge and you're the jury
I can tell by the sweat and faces that I'm guilty
So just cut
The
Rope

I don't believe that you know what power you have, the power of the knife and the power to stab.
We both know of your history as an escaped prison convict, jail for seven years for killing and parting.
So love me please
And kill me today