neep-stringbean

[neep-stringbean]

Decorative chairs,

decorative smiles,

decorative stairs with decorative piles

of decorative candles

and decorative plates

and decorative handles

on decorative gates.

*

Ornamental holly on grey painted walls,

sentimental music and elaborate balls,

glass chandeliers and a glass molded vase

and the glass picture frames hold a hand-painted face.

*

The walls are festooned with decorative clocks

and decorative shelves with decorative locks

on decorative boxes left always ajar,

commemorative photos and an unplayed guitar.

Sensitive spacing, representative style,

carefully replacing each once in awhile

when the lamp loses luster and the moods feeling gauche and the new's feeling old and you can't diagnose.

*

Take the decorative bills from your decorative purse

and your unstylish ills will be less a curse for your decorative home and you decorative dog

and your decorative family won't feel such a slog,

your decorative smile and your decorative chair

give a decorative illusion that you honestly care

*

[neep-stringbean]

I really hope that the reason people ask me frequently about my heritage is because they find my appearance interesting and attractive and want to know more, and not that I look like the kind of person who likes to talk about bloodlines and race.

[neep-stringbean]

There once was a fellow named Deez

Who hated how much he was teased

For both the name

That brought him such shame

And the fact that his Nuts were diseased

[neep-stringbean]

There once was a couple down south,

who suffered in bed from a drouth,

but the clever young man

came up with a plan

and tried instead using his mouth

[neep-stringbean]

Forever calling, falling, stalling I may be, for without what one would want of wherewithall is far too small. Charmed by harm to large to ever will oneself to fill that needing desire, that fire and flame that came from the very same thrill. To burn, to hate or kill, one learns that fate may slate you not because it hates you but it yearns and cries and dies a thousand times for no reason at all. To those ends one pretends never to fall, that to fill that hole that wins and chills and rends the skin is not but kin to the very sin that stills one's heart within.

[neep-stringbean]

I don't care for teasers, trailers, or previews, and have limited use for reviews. I hold disdain for signs, posters, flyers, radio spots and television slots. I loath sponsorships, billboards, branded merchandise ownership, and product placement. I feel a surge of glee when I see these blurred,  defaced, defamed, and debased with dicks, devil horns and sometimes slurs. I hate clowns, and doubly I hate kings with cardboard crowns. I hate social media personalities, and I quintuple my hate when it is a corporate creation in actuality. I wish for sign-spinning harassers to turn against their sandwich-masters and all hawkers and smoothtalkers to choke fast as they hang from the rafters. I feel a raw fury or dull pain when I see sky writing, drones lighting that same sky nearby a peaceful beach, forrest, park, or square prematurely lit with neon reflecting in the rain. Every means of getting my attention has been not only attempted but exhausted yet never halted, I am assaulted by soda sellers, hounded by slogan yellers, surrounded by burger barrons, and my inbox pounded by social-media gurus no matter how often I refuse or resort to swearing. I've never gotten used to it. Every ad is fresh and painful and throws my anger to a fit, the manufactured voices and insincere enthusiasm makes my ears ring and my eyes sting, and it's only made worse by the ones that claim choices in what you see. Many simply float across the very sea of flyers that I have been failing not to drown in, as for me, deeper still I sink down in the depths of promo codes. I fight, I block commercials, skip the ad-breaks, burn circulars, and refuse to sink further, that is, until a popup comes around. I abhore whistling jingles, loath wearing logos, and am putout by the puffery that people pretend is prosaic. I have an allergy, an acidic aversion to the average advert. I find the provocative perverse, the popular putrid, and the powerful perpetuators of these odius propagandas offensive, obcene, outragious and planely they put me out.

[neep-stringbean]

Never am I as satisfied as when I wake up bleary-eyed and grab the cellphone by my side and see a text from you.

My head is quickly purified of all the bad dreams you would find, that danced inside my weary mind and made me feel so blue

My worries now are nullified with thoughts of being gratified with nought but being alongside the one I've latched onto.

I feel like I can at last confide that in the moment I replied "good morning love" all modified with hearts and smiles to view

That my frozen heart is liquefied, my constitution fortified, my very being justified, my demons are all slew.

My thanks for you are multiplied, my adoration magnified, my narcissism cast aside to instead care for you

[neep-stringbean]

My poetry is bad, but my limericks are the worst

[neep-stringbean]

I am as trustworthy as a pile of love letters, in that I believe what I say even if it isn't the truth. In the same way that infatuation or lust can cloud a man's heart yet give rise to alluring but still false prose without a hint of malice or decept, ignorance and excitement can create beautiful lies that are true to the heart, if not to the world. This is my only excuse, my singular reply for why I have insisted that "horses lay eggs"

[neep-stringbean]

cling wrap is bullshit