CITYdirtyCity

CITYdirtyCITY


my last letter to Cleveland

a catharsis for my girlfriends heart

an open letter to Jesus Crisis Megan Collins and Lara Konesky. CharlaX has never been in Cleveland Ohio. His physical well being now depends on this simple factor. Cleveland is populated by murderers. Your poetry even your famous Haikus are shot full of death and lies fornication and filth. The girlfriend megonite with tattos is so obvious a butt fucker takes black dicks up the ass. Konesky is a toilet. This is CITYdirtyCity




nigga sucka

EyeamWaltWhiteman

EyeamWaltWhiteman


This is closer to the tribute then the paroday

eye have intended both to coincide with

JOhns* thrust into the online lieberry

of this vast subjected poet.*Walt Whitman.

*John (Jesus)Crisis Burroughs of Cleveland

this poem is for you OH sir.

Once more upon mye time.

For ewe.

For Megan.

For John.

“A Dialogue.”

"Better than to prostrate under her foot, better than to prostrate under her smile,

Better than to dream to sleep to lust for her in heat, better than to sleep to die still wanting her is sweet."

But you can't expect to attain the highest eros at one bound from the depths of Philistia from the depths of no pain found. You can't do better for the present than to come in and stretch your energetic self on the other half of the window seat she sits so close and smiles. Isn't it delicious? Isn't fantasy so funn. What better apology for idler? Here is where we learn. Here you can breath the air and look at the fresh grass mowed in Elyrias yard, while you read a poet and cut a lecture to the central corp. He tells you how in another country,perhaps New Mexico, he felt what you are feeling now,no doubt as he watched the Lady smile so big she smiles. that is the best part of the pleasure, to know that love is only human, and that all men have had it in common, from Adam down on eve.

"Go on, my theoritic poet friend , let Megan learn,

by GOD let Megan pen."

But what makes you think the essence poetry distils can't be extracted from every object as her smile is not extracted from her mouth she has to place it there she has to want to smile? Why should one thing leave its type in the world of ideas, and not another even more similar to love! Trust me, beauty is everywhere, if we only had the genius to see it while you OH sir have photograped her smile. If a man has the ability to make us feel the fitness, the necessity, the beauty of common things,the love in my heart is now displayed there there where eye can see it on her face; he is a poet of the highest type. If some objects seem to you poetic rather than others, if ewe can be apostrophised and Gerry is unmentionable, it's because habit makes it easier to idealize them while Megan reigns. This beauty has been pointed out so often that we know it by heart eye have no problem picking her out of the crowd. But what merit is to repeat the old tricks, and hum the old tunes as eye play the old devil and smile? You add nothing to the beauty of the world eye see without a frown. You see no new vision unless you look close upon her face. You are the author of nothing but several million poems in this race, but merely an apprentice in the poetic guild is small CharlaX, a little poet sucking the honey from Megans lipps with which great poets have sweetened words. You are inspired by tradition and judged by convention of your peers tell me your famous. Yet this very convention must have been inspired at first by Cleveland. The real objects about a man must have impressed him and he must have found his camera tripod fit to communicate his impression of my holy love. These words in that way became poetic, because her poetry is in her face and smile and afterwards any man who used them was an artist needing love.

"I do not call the ewe unworthy because she is still the mother shippe and something else,

And the GIrlfriend in the schools ever studies the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me

And the look of the other females shames stillness out of me."

I stand and look at them long and long.

They do not sweat and whine about their condition,

They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,

They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,

Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things,

Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,

Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth."

Except eye CharlaX and Jesus Crisis and Walt Whiteman.

*smile its finished now*

For Comparison.docx

For Comparison.docx


FOR COMPARISON to CHarlaX Poetry poem

Publication Information

"Walt Whitman: A Dialogue," by George Santayana, first appeared in the Harvard Monthly 10.3 (May 1890): 85-91.

Whitman Archive ID

anc.00253

ed,note.ed condensed

Walt Whitman: A Dialogue

George Santayana

"Better than to stand to sit, better than to sit to lie,

Better than to dream to sleep, better than to sleep to die."

But you can't expect to attain the highest good at one bound from the depths of Philistia. You can't do better for the present than to come in and stretch your energetic self on the other half of the window seat. Isn't it delicious? What better apology for idler? Here you can breath the air and look at the fresh grass, while you read a poet and cut a lecture. He tells you how in another country, perhaps, he felt what you are feeling now, as he watched the spring of another year. that is the best part of the pleasure, to know that it's human, and that all men have had it in common, from Adam down.

"Grau, theurer Freund, ist alle Theorie,

Und grün des Lebens goldner Baum."

But what makes you think the essence poetry distils can't be extracted from every object? Why should one thing leave its type in the world of ideas, and not another! Trust me, beauty is everywhere, if we only had the genius to see it. If a man has the ability to make us feel the fitness, the necessity, the beauty of common things, he is a poet of the highest type. If some objects seem to you poetic rather than others, if Venice can be apostrophised and Oshkosh is unmentionable, it's because habit makes it easier to idealize them. This beauty has been pointed out so often that we know it by heart. But what merit is to repeat the old tricks, and hum the old tunes? You add nothing to the beauty of the world. You see no new vision. You are the author of nothing, but merely an apprentice in the poetic guild, a little poet sucking the honey with which great poets have sweetened words. You are inspired by tradition and judged by convention. Yet this very convention must have been inspired at first. The real objects about a man must have impressed him and he must have found words fit to communicate his impression. These words in that way became poetic, and afterwards any man who used them was an artist.

"I do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something else,

And the jay in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me

And the look of the bay mare shames stillness out of me."

I stand and look at them long and long.

They do not sweat and whine about their condition,

They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,

They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,

Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things,

Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,

Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth."

FREE love

FREE love




IFF eye had to pay her bye the hour if she charged my for her love eye would rob the institutions eye would have to pay enough iff she paid me money to be her lover she could not ever give enough I would take the vault door open and give her millions of the stuff

Love is different deep inside it makes a man feel like a thriver a sometimes lover is what most of them came and settled for she is mye heart mye violet flower she is worth far more than gold and silver is mye lining we aer rich in all emotions and just happy to bee ewe and mee the one of all the kisses on his hands and the way she says mon ange to this the mee makes me happy as a school boy with his first kiss she is so much better than all this she is mye first real rally love she is mye bliss and all the prices that eye miss when she says LOVE eye get so helpless eye just thrive. It is so hard to even attempt to make describe of this free love.

Fresh fish

Fresh fish

They get it from the market with prices paid they wrap it in old newspaper to guard it from what flies and let it almost rot before they cook it in the grease of a low simmering fire and it always burns on one side and its never seldom done enough on the other side at least the places eye have been and the places eye have seen the men they carry fish that way the women just carry fish.
They have a different attitude of order.
Fish can be cleaned they take the head and off the fins they scrape the scales and turn the innards into meat.
A fish is food in many places just add beans and then its plenty a man takes his feet from under him somehow he has the strength left to love his woman anyhow.
Some add whiskey to the mix and then the fish they swim too fast in bellies stretched much too huge by all the drinks and all the beans. That is why a poor mans dwelling place just stinks.
Add the smoking if they smoke and add the left over aroma of the fish and then the beans see what eye mean its just decay it happens every day in some fine homes. The aroma of a poor man smells like bones.