Why I,

    Always write, never justify and rarely speak... In person. Graphic is the content of the social poetic commentary novels inspired to be written by compassion's empathetic imagination engine within, for which it has taken years to hone to a place where it is equally content and disturbed of peace in each moment of ever present existence.

      The experiences written of herein are not from my own banked memory ache travels through life, not an exponent of cathartic realms expanding out from the depths to mend... Though the intent is possibly the healing of grievous, oft grotesque ill deviant conceived, wounds they are not, at present, my own; for it is ever an aim to inspire, hope, courage, perseverance, awareness and of course smiles, though from these works there is very little to be found that should expose said facial contortion.

     The defilement of vernacular intentions is brought forth upon the inspection of the mediocre Shakespearian poetry herein written by the reader, who is not reading through themselves, their experiences, emotions, awareness of present moment but from a realm idle of aforementioned conscious endeavours, which is to say, from a place of critique or opinion that is formed based on how they find their way to these works.

      Some have come by way of random miss click of a mouse pad hap, noticing something or nothing at all, only the natural G-d power of luck's own predecessor, fate, has brought them to read what herein is written. Others find their way, and subsequently divulge their judgement, based on trigger words and ignore entirely the message to be found within the content, presuming rather to neglect themselves within the metaphoric undulation of social poetic commentary of this very sad and faltering sandcastle earth and, pardon my nerd, troll the whole piece as something it is entirely not, but a presumptive assumption being expounded from who they are upon the work.

     But rather a poem, or whatever it is you desire to call anything herein written, as most certainly most of it is not categorized as poetry at all, is a mode of taking you into an experience, which like myself, may not be your own. This may allow you to identify with those who have suffered the vast array of traumas that are found within the poem. Thus providing a mode for opening minds and hearts, enabling the smallest minute possibility of equality to find its way into our lives in the future.

      So there is no need for an artist, such as even myself a villain, to justify their works unless their intent was of deviant origin, but very few artists create evil works for the sake of evil itself. Just as very very few folk of this world do evil for the sake of evil itself, oft the black side of the colour moral appears when something is desired and subsequently sought above all else, opening the doors to leaving consciousness in a quasi sedated state, much like ignorance or addiction, which allows the choice(s) of ill over equal to be chosen.

     An artist such as myself never seeks to expand the nature of evil, though the poetry herein written is rife with fishing hateful baited words that some might seek to blame as beyond contempt, from the mind of one who speaks naught but bile and I should seek not to correct them, for the time and energy it would take to render a personalized argument based on that specific interaction would be needlessly tiring and a waste, for the opinion of such a person that calls an artist a racist for portraying racism or a misogynistic pig for portraying sexual harassment, is stuck in a realm of thought no one but themselves can trench dig themselves out of.

     The best abilities used to craft this creative, heart of wounds, content are often on cool down, though the daily raid to write and project what is herein created upon the internet is content I would gladly solo, without gratitude, feedback or any support at all... From any living being, and so I have and shall continue to do so. 

     For the purpose is to awaken the ignorant to harmful covert intentions of so much of our society and the grievous wounds suffered upon people around them, without their knowledge for the most part, for who would want to share what needs mending with someone who has no desire to even comprehend the wound and thus adapt to heal at all...

      I was once wounded, by the silence that throttles my tragic memory of wolf bitten aches that nearly consumed to prevail a eulogy exposure upon my life no one would have ever admitted themselves to read... For I in my dying wrote with all inhumane contempt for the beings that openly stated they loved, the identity that was 'me,' in their minds. But never was the I, in me. And after surviving the same silence was inherited upon my poetic works, that you can find herein. Not one soul I  know aided me during my mental illness, but by a distant adaptation of psalms unto a G-d whose silence riddles the universe unto an impending death today! Nor has any arisen to stand... No, none have even made the slightest attempt to comprehend to understand who it is that I am.

    And so, there is no need to justify art whose intent is for the exposure of the individual reader to themselves, to their experiences to knowledge of other people's experiences for the sake of identifying the two into one reality, that sorrow exists so close to 'inside' your home. So the inhaler of the poetry must arise to equality in a dreary word, live the greatest law that's ever been; "love."

     Now before you slay the logic of this poem by jester's way judgement of a 'law,' let me tell you what love is to me, for it is written and is the core of every religion and the nature of our very beings... That love is this:

     To adapt oneself to show the most precious hospitality of compassion in every moment upon every single human being that lives in the depths of sandcastle earth's universe... And possibly beyond. 

      Becoming more aware of this realm and the needs of others until the individual's function is purely instinct and thusly do we pass upon every generation after the inheritance of equality and peace.

In earnest anticipation of,

Hope & Change