Short Stream of an Amatuer Yogi

Silent witness, bare fruit,

no fortune, old words

wasted again.

Always wasted, both literal and 

figurative.

Timeless time and other repeated

sceneries.

Loop upon loop.

Repetition mass trivial

repetition in cylcles,

Acting as no repetition at all.

What is repeated,

is reworded.

And the logic of rhetoric

is extorted.

No weakness, only the shortcomings

of our strengths.

Only, that which is thought

is real

Only that which is precieved

is thouught.

Gramercy, The Journey of Jack Lewis Chapter 16

chapter 16  The Aftermath

    Judge Bachman was ecstatic to hear Lewis was in custody.  He was disappointed to hear he was in another state and would be tried by a separate Judge, but he would watch the trial coverage on FOX NEWS as close as possible.

    Once Jack was caught, it wasn’t long until a cop leaked info to the press.  It also wasn’t long until the guy who broke out of jail by walking out the front door became the news of the century.  His trial would have more followers than Scott Peterson, OJ, and Casey Anthony combined and unlike all of them, the public loved him.  The more they dug up the more they realized this guy was less of a criminal and more of a conundrum.  The more they retraced his steps the more they all saw a man who had beat the system, had lived the ultimate adventure, and had made a strong network of friends.   Alex Kobe and Fiona did not mind the publicity.  Others, like Hal and Conner, disconnected their phones to not be bothered.  Kate showed her face without fear, and before her highly ttrated 60 minutes interview, she had released only one statement.  “I love him so much.”

    Then a girl named Ann delivered a rebuttal and was used as a character witness by prosecution.  “I Hate him! He got me pregnant and I had to…” She broke down “I destroyed my first child, and it’s his fault. But I’m in college, I can’t have …”  It then went on to become more about her and less about Jack.  It wasn’t long until no one gave a shit about the rich-bitch sorority girl he had a one night stand with.  That’s how fast the news moved on social media.  The jury also didn’t think much of her either.

    Another girl came to the press about having sex with Jack, in a more positive sense because he had rescued her from what she said would have been “a guaranteed rape.”

   

    A former prostitute gave a short interview from her room at a rehab clinic, apparently Jack was her “Guardian Angel”, who guided her with fatherly words and a much needed iron fist.”  The girl was quite poetic now that she was sober.

    Some hipster told a story of how he had been beaten senseless by Jack.

    Conner and Hal only appeared in court and offered no statement to the media.  They only voiced their support for their captured friend and acted as character witnesses for the defense.

    Nancy delivered only one statement, he burned his supena in a video he posted on youtube.  He refused to show up for court and be at risk of saying anything against his friend, period.  “Fuck you.  He’s a good man, good men don’t belong in the shit house!”

    The whole trial if it so can be called, was more of a rush of media, the law waving theirrestored masculinity around, and a fast forward of witness after witness that Jack didn’t even pay attention to.  Jack didn’t even know his lawyer’s name.  

    Jack was sent back to prison, obviously.  He was to serve at least 20 of his 25 to life years before he could start serving an eight year sentence for escaping and another eight for the various assaults, and finally two more for assaulting an officer.  Jack was to serve at least forty years, not eligible for parole until half of it.  The outrage from his fans was massive and pushed on the verge of rioting.  Jack got endless flows of fan mail, none of which he read.

    Jack accepted his fate with the usual discourse and lack of emotion he always had before.  Except one thing was different.  He never could stop thinking about Kate, every second he wasn’t with her he wanted to die.  He was not allowed a conjugal visit until they were married, which they were soon after the “trial” had ended.  

    Jack’s cellmates were two black guys and a hispanic man, all in for drug charges.  When they learned they were on the same cell block as the famous Jack Lewis, they spread the word and before dinner, Jack was a hero.

    Jack got a package every other week when Kate visited.  It consisted of cigarettes, suggestive photos of herself for lonely nights, and books.  

    Jack was keeping his reading up like never before.  Reading everything he was sent from beginning to end. Jack also took advantage of the book cart every chance he could.  Reading the classics, pop fiction garbage, anything that looked interesting.  For the first month of his sentence he was on an Oscar Wilde kick. Then he started to read some prison narratives by Leonard Peltier or Mumia Abu Jamal.  Soon he began a Kurt Vonnegut and Stephen King phase.

    One day on the book cart, jammed between two volumes of War and Peace, was less of a book and more of a pamphlet.  Jack looked to see it was by the same author Kate and he would read together.  Memories of his last hours in Kate’s bed came to him.  He decided to read this pamphlet.  He hoped it wouldn’t be as demented as the writer’s fiction or as archaic and scattered as the authors poems.

The parody of the self

a manifesto to the young millennium.

by James J Jackson Jr

“the more i see, the less i know, the more i like to let it go.” Snow by red hot chili peppers.

Introduction

We, as a species, are ever burdened yet rewarded with the human condition.  We have been given this gift of logical thought and consciousness; yet, we are ever burdened with the knowledge of our own mortality, the weight of physical and emotional pains coincided with our pleasurable emotions, and the fact that there is and are things in this universe that we shall never comprehend, not even in death.

We as a generation, are cursed.  We live in the generation that is blank abstract and a parody of itself.  Every cliche sense of identity, every generation has lived through some sense of identity, except ours, and the more we think we figured it out the more abstract it becomes.  We elected Obama and thought a new generation of peace and tolerance would take over the country, but other than killing Osama and marijuana dispensaries, we see Obama is just the black Clinton, left but not left enough.  A progressive American, but still an American, still putting delusional faith in the ultimate evil, the “market.”

We as a generation, have no sense of identity because of this sense of American economy.  Every sense of identity has now already been taken, and our generation is nothing but vintage chic that copy other generations.  We have people living the hip hop lifestyle that died with Easy E and Tupac.  We have hippies wearing their granola parents old clothes.  We have club kids creating multiple genres of rave and electronic music that would make the 1980’s blush.  We have the “fashionable” still flocking to the mall to throw away their money.  Everything, it seems, from the art world, to the film world, to the simple world around us, is blank because all that could be done with each medium has been done before.  Is there anything wrong with this pursuit of identity?  No, it is a part of the human condition.  It is one of the burdens of our gifts of conscious thought.  It could use a little more structure however.

We as a culture, lack culture.  Our authors have shifted from literature to nothing but commercial interests.  Mark twain would not survive the literary world unless he took shock value to another level.  50 Shades of Grey is a hit when its writing is pure garbage and names like Kurt Vonnegut, ee cummings, and Ralph Waldo Emerson are in danger of slipping into hipster obscurity.  We have no respect for the academic and the educational like we should, and those in the academic or educational run the risk of being cut off from reality and being stuck in theory.  Both people, academic and non, are guilty of ego and entitlement.

    We are so egotistical, so up our own ass, we refuse to acknowledge the Us government is guilty of genocide of natives and blacks, that immigrants and gays are being attacked for being who they are, that the authority of teachers is needed to educate our students, and that media is more powerful than it should be.

    The human condition, despite its strifes, is a beautiful and amazing thing.  We live in a beautiful world, and are capable of leading beautiful lives.  Yet these lives we constantly refuse to mold and make our own.  Not only that, but we are often under the delusion that we are the molders of our life, when in fact we are not.  As Goethe said, “ No person is more enslaved than one who falsely believes they are free “

We as a generation, are the generation of the 21st century.  We have to make up for the mistakes of our ancestors.  They promised so much to us by this century and none of it was delivered.  I say we deliver more than what they asked for.  Let’s not just shock and awe our failed ancestors with our technology and progressive inclusion. Let’s amaze them with a philosophical, artistic and creative strength not seen since the enlightenment and the renaissance.  That is where the waves are shifting.  Our existence, pointless. Our efforts for professional success, a waste of time, it is in the creative world that our generation belongs, and it is there we will stay.

The poet, the artist, the sculptor, the filmmaker, the musician, these people now live as “starving artists” and garner no respect from the public as they should because they don’t hold “productive careers”, they just express themselves.  Well, maybe if some of these white-collar conservative jerks expressed themselves once in while they wouldn’t be stuck in their meaningless existence. An existence where the only thing left behind to show for their lives will be a stack of money that will some day be gone and spent, and maybe a plaque on some office or library wall that will be up for a few years before the building is moved or torn down;  While the author and the artist have a lifetime of work to leave behind to show for their lives.  If that is not productive, and if that is not what this world needs right now, I do not know what is.  Also, these people make no money and live as they do because these Same people who criticize them for living so meagerly download and exchange their work with each other for free.  Capitalism has created the worst kind of entitlement, the kind where we practically have enslaved our artists and entertainers.  They look down on people trying to make a living through their creative side and then go around stealing it.

Consider this a manifesto, a philosophy much needed for the modern age.  Call it whatever you want, just take what it says to heart.  My only hope is that this book teaches you something, if you can walk away from this book with one difference of opinion from when you started, whether or not it’s agreeing or disagreeing with me, I will know I have done my job.

Also, I wish to mention that not a single original thought exists in this book, everything in this book has been said a thousand times before, and will always be said a thousand times again.  But every once in a while it needs to be put on to paper.

Lastly, I wish the reader to remember that this is merely a book, do not find meaning in this work where there is none and don’t miss the actual meanings altogether.  But remember this is merely one book written by one man, and in all respects should never have had to be written; for as Lao tzu said, “those who know don’t talk and those who talk don’t know.”

And there is hope, there is always hope.  For if there is not hope, these people strangling our culture, strangling our generation, which is a generation of artists, then our generation has already lost.

______________________________________________

When he finished, Jack  closed the book, sighed, and waited for his thoughts to catch up with him.

Jack enjoyed the read.  He was a little excited after he finished.  He stood and looked out the cell door.  Down the hall he could see the only window high at top by the catwalk that the guards use to look over the entire cell block.  He could see through the window that it was a blue sky and a sunny day, and despite all of Jack’s best efforts to stay grounded in reality, to keep himself from getting any fruitless ideas, he couldn’t help it.  After what he had just read, he could not help but feel that the author was, in fact, right.  If you want to stay victorious, there always has to be hope.

    As Jack looked at that tiny window far off in the distance, at that one square of blue in a bleak wall of gray that was almost blocked by a guard with a rifle and an NFL build, Jack could not shake the feeling that there was hope.  He then turned to his cellmates and joined their game of cards, still smiling, and he started to get excited for his visit with Kate tomorrow. 

Thank you.

As Gramercy comes to its final chapter, let me say thank you again to all my readers.  Thank you to my mother and grandmother for all of their support.  I look forward to my forth coming projects, and with Gramercy complete I promise more content will be released regularly.  Thanks again, and while Gramercy is finished, I truly doubt Jack Lewis is.

Coming soon, the conclusion to Gramercy

First of all, let me thank everyone who has been reading and following Gramercy, The Journey of Jack Lewis.  I am sorry for the change in its regular postings but I have had a hectic personal life lately and I have been working on the ending.  This week’s chapter will be the final chapter in Gramercy, but not necessarily in Jack Lewis’ journey.  

Thank you again for reading, and thank you Mom for being my official unofficail editor.

Gramercy, The Journey of Jack Lewis Chapter 15

Chapter 15 Gotcha, in the Cops and Robbers Game.

 

Jack had stopped listening long ago.  It wasn’t a voluntary thing, he was just too captivated by the sight of her to care about anything else.  After she had stopped reading she caught his gaze, which was locked on her eyes.  They both smiled and kissed a kiss so passionate that it belongs in a movie.  They damaged her mantle piece with the love they made.

 

Later, he sat on the edge of the bed, brooding.  Jack never brooded in jail, but he brooded now, naked, sweaty, and coming down off an endorphin rush.  His busty satisfied lover next to him sleeping and breathing heavy, happy breathes.

Jack truly did love Kate, and because he loved her he had never been more conflicted.  Jack knew that the reason he hadn’t been caught and thrown back in jail so far was because he had managed to move from place to place.  So now he had to make some choices.  He had been here with Kate for three weeks now, he knew if he stayed much longer it wouldn’t be long before the cops would catch up with him.

“What do I do?” he thought.  Does he risk getting caught and keep her at risk, this living gift that Jack had received after years of apathy and suppression.  Or does he flee, leaving a note for his lover explaining why she may never see him again.  Either way, he knew he would hurt Kate, and that was exactly what he was trying not to do.

 

He sat on the bed for two hours, trying to think of a way to elude the police and keep Kate.  The more Jack thought about it the more he realized one way or the other Kate was going to find out that Jack was a fugitive.  If he told her and she was okay with it, she would get locked up for aiding and abetting, and that was something Jack would never let happen.  He would sooner take a bullet than let this woman go through the hells he did in prison.  Especially a women’s prison, where she will be subject to the already sadistic guards.

 

He needed to clear his head and think.  He put on some clothes and shoes and a beanie Kate had given him that she knitted herself.   He kissed her cheek, then walked to the corner store to buy a pack of camels.

 

This turned out to be a mistake.

 

Jack got the cigarettes and left the 7 eleven with no confrontations, as he usually expected when going to a market at 3 at night.  He lit one and smoked as he wandered the neighborhood and parked his ass on a bus bench, chain smoking and trying to figure things out.

 

Jack went through four cigarettes when he first heard the sirens, he thought nothing of them.  He hadn’t been here that long, there was no way they could find him.

 

They did.  When one of the six squad cars parading the area turned the corner and started speeding towards him.  They braked suddenly by the bench, the red and blue sirens illuminating Jacks face from a fierce and distressful red to a chilling stunned blue in a taunting back and forth.

They blocked off the sidewalk with the car and before Jack could react or flea, another car came and blocked the sidewalk in the other direction. Jack had a cop car blocking either side of him and he now had four cops standing in front of him blocking him from fleeing across the street.  Each one was strapped in kevlar and had their gun drawn.  Within another the ten seconds the helicopter appeared and the light was right in Jack’s eyes.  In a last attempt to keep his freedom, Jack blindly sprang to his right and managed to leap over the hood of the cop car and out paced the spot light momentarily.  But he didn’t outpace the rookie’s taser which sent 50,000 volts into Jack’s body for what seemed like an unreasonable amount of time to take down an unarmed fugitive.  When Jack came to he was in handcuffs, sitting on the curb with some schmuck in a suit and trench coat standing in front of him like some Law and Order SVU cliche.

 

I’m agent smith of the FBI, as you can guess you are under arrest Mr. Lewis.

 

Jack nodded. he read him his rights and then took in one of the most wanted men in America.

 

The news hit the media in less than an hour.  While he was out Jack was just another transient to the world, now he that he was back in he was a celebrity, the entire world was captivated by the man who walked out of prison. Hashtags started trending for days, ones like #LongLiveLewis #JackAttack #WeLoveJackLewis  he had become a folk hero of sorts to some.  To others it was a chance to reveal their darker side of the internet once again with hashtags like #frylewis #LifeforLewis and the less creative #wehateJackLewis.

He used his phone call for Kate, he got the machine, she was dead asleep.  Jack said he got arrested, gave her the station number, and said don’t bother trying to bail me out, they wouldn’t let it happen, there’s a lot I didn’t tell you, but if you give me a chance to explain… I will.  I love you.

 

As he hung up he realized a bunch of the deputies were watching him and laughing at him.  and mocking him  “I love you..(grunt) yeah right”

 

“Bullshit”

 

“You’ll say anything to get people on your side won’t you.”  were some of the jargon.  This officer then shoved jack’s head, not enough to be called brutality, but just enough to remind Jack he was in and was powerless.   That’s how the police operate in this world, they remind the citizens they are powerless.  Jack knew this game, and he had played it his whole life.  Who is the court going to believe the cop or the three time felon?   The cops were going to remind Jack of that the entire time he would be in holding.

The other cells were full, so they threw Jack into the drunk tank but kept him under round the clock surveillance.  It was futile effort Jack just sat there hanging his head until Kate arrived.  When she saw him she leaped to the cell door and hugged him and kissed him.  She asked what happened before Jack could explain a cop had his baton between the two and he pulled Kate just out of arm’s length.

 

“At least two feet from the bar Miss.” jack noticed when the guard started pulling Kate away with his arm his hand noticeably brushed Kate’s breast.  Kate noticed it, and Jack definitely noticed it.  And the deputy definitely confirmed it as he smiled small but smugly as he walked away.

 

Later this cop would be sorry.  Jack made sure of that, the next time he came to tauntack he had a surprise for him.

 

But now he had to focus, Jack didn’t hesitate, he wanted this to be as quick and painless as it could be.  So Jack just spilled the beans, he told Kate everything; the escape, the wandering, Nancy, the head wounds, the crippled hand, Alice and the sorority girl, all of it.

 

Kate was speechless for five minutes, then when she got the chance as the guard wasn’t looking planted long wet kiss on Jack’s lips.  “Let me know when the arraignment begins. I’m there with you the whole way.  I love you.”

 

“I love you too” jack said and meant it.  He never knew one could fall in love in such a short period of time, but he did.

 

Kate left, confident she could help Jack in someway, unaware she had helped Jack in the best of ways.  Her presence in his life had given him something to live for, something to fight for.

 

Jack was left desperate for more of her company, this look was blatant on his face, and it drew the cop who just sexually harassed Kate over.  He had some new material to taunt Jack and was about to use it. Jack hadn’t been in there for twenty four hours and already sixteen different cops have taunted him right in front of the holding cell door.  This time the pervert cop got greedy, and opened the cell door and stepped in and out and in and out.  “Look at me” he teased “ I can come and go as I please, just like a certain Mister Jack Lewis thinks he can. I can just waltz out of here and visit my friends and go and have sex with my girlfriend any time I want and wait, why don’t you too?”  He kept the door open and stood aside while he raised his palm directing Jack like he was free to go, sarcastically of course, but the cop finally made a mistake he did this standing inside the cell.  The three drunks in the tank made a leap for the door but were immediately clotheslined by the cop.  “not you drunkies.  Come on Lewis.  go for it.”  Jack hated it when he was addressed by his last name; this was the final straw. Before  the cop could react Jack grabbed his outreached arm, twisted it like a motorcycle handle, then brought it down with all it’s gravity onto his knee.  The bone began to stick out through the flesh as the elbow was now bending the wrong way, the guard yelped with pain, and Jack used the cops weight to chuck him on the ground, smacking the back of his head on the concrete floor causing a nice concussion He grabbed the cell keys and the gun. He stepped out and slammed the door and locked it, and told the drunks to “go nuts.”

 

The cops injuries were so bad he was given early retirement.

 

Jack made it out into the hall in a sprint but was once again stopped by some offensively high number of volts that leaped out from behind and bit him in the back.

Gramercy, The Journey of Jack Lewis. Chapter 14

Chapter 14  The Happy Couple

 

Jack had finished the story by the time Kate was long out of the shower. Now that he had come to, he decided that although the author of these stories was very talented he was also greatly disturbed, or at least in a very dangerous state of mind when he wrote these.  Jack figured maybe it was a fine line between genius and crazy.

Her return broke him out of his feast of literature, and he directed his attention to her lovely, curvy, soft pale body.  He grew hard as instinct began to take over.  He wanted to be with her now, and not the books any more.

 

“I see you’ve got quite the collection here,” Jack commented on the room full of Poe and Shakespeare. As he got up and gently kissed her on the neck and snuck a soft hand down the back of her towel.

 

“Oh, well thank you,” Kate said in that tender, erotic whisper that was her bedroom voice.   He had such strong hands yet such a delicate touch.  Jack’s kisses slowly began to trail down her back.  “Yes, I really love reading.”

 

`“Me too,” Jack said as he moved her arm up, allowing the towel to fall so that Kate stood naked, wet, and helpless, Jack’s lips got closer to their target.

 

“I try to read everything, classics, contemporaries, obscure authors and works, essays, journals, but my personal favorite, are my art books.  I love art, Oh my god!”  She wasn’t going to be able to contain herself anymore.

 

Jack began to dig his tongue deep into her as she tried to carry on, but she just couldn’t.  For some unknown trail of time Jack buried his tongue and two fingers into her body as fast and gentle as he could until the inside of Kate’s legs were gushing and sopping wet, and her screams of pleasure echoed throughout the house.

 

The two needed a minute to catch their breath in between their loving and congratulatory kisses of climaxing.  “Would you like to read with me?”  Kate said in a sudden spur of smiles, love, and inspiration

 

“Sure,” said Jack as the two laid down on the bed to rest.  “I read that last book while you were in the shower.  The guy who wrote it is pretty twisted…”

 

“That’s nothing, you should read Naked Lunch,” Kate interrupted

 

“Anyway,” Jack carried on.  “I’m kinda tired of reading, so why don’t you read to me, while I just lie at your side and kiss you until my lips are sore?”

 

She kissed his chest in order to signal that this was a splendid idea.

 

Kate picked out a book and the two made themselves comfortable on the bed.  Kate made herself some tea and Jack poured himself a strong full glass of bourbon.  Kate showed Jack the book, it was a collection of essays and poems by the same looney who wrote the other stories.  Jack wondered why she was so fixated with the author,  but he didn’t care. He was just glad to be with her and to listen to her read.

 

She carried on  and she began in that amazing theatrical style she did so naturally while Jack cupped her left breast and kissed her neck, gently finding his way down her stomach to the bottom of her leg and back again.  He did it soft enough to make her smile and not distract her from the reading.  She selected her favorite poems and began.

 

wishes by crazy modernisms and former external instincts.  

By natural unnatural intoxication knowledge.

Depraved yet smiling on another winded day.

But so of another wandering light of love on milton forgotten days.

What so can be said of a forbidden lust and wandering capture.

What escape and what a love of such a word of that and what!

By lyric

By center and by try these all and forever will and will not,

ever by light of the modern, and the former, and the knowledge,

 

and the forgotten days.

 

“Beautiful,” exclaimed Jack.

“Yes, it is a good poem isn’t it?” replied his love.  “It reminds me a lot of e.e. cummings.:

“No,” exclaimed Jack.  “The way you read it.”

His love blushed and turned the page, carried on with another poem as he continued his kisses up and down her body.

The Story’s Answer Part 3

I did not mean it,

I did not mean to,

I did not wish to

burn my scripts

and lines

but I did, I did it

as a projection of

my own dreary 

ways.

Blue hearts to black,

that is the lyric,

that is what I did 

with my poetic paints,

So forevermore,

I must bare your witness,

I did not mean to be selfish.

That is Fear!

Fear is selfish,

Fear is the only cruelty.

All Evil stems from

Fear,

and all Fear is from Evil.

All are spawned

of deeds or an ignorant

and fortuitous self.

There is no pride in this past,

but there is a lesson,

there is knowledge.

Its truth not relative,

nor subject.

The opinion of the dregs 

means nothing,

but to a smart messiah

it means everything.

It was only to get by,

it was imagined,

it was a mistake but

those mistakes are lessons.

Strength can be weakness.

No apology will do what

needs to be done,

Apologies are only words,

not actions,

what actions?

It was an act

in retribution in

attack and attacks

are out of fears.

Shallow fault and

disposition.

Parchment fall of

the victim’s victim.

There is no more I.

Self of thy in equation,

in the so called

so called

of the cruel social standard.

What is a culture’s construction?

Why be ye cruel world!?

To give birth

to such an evil concept

known as fate,

known as greed,

known as isolation.

Who will hear these words?

Will history?

Will family?

Will narcotic rages?

Will the fate transcend?

What is one question too many?

What more?

What else?

So many narrated floats

and drifts,

Thoughts sworn trumpet 

and fluid.

No verb nor lineage

royal or not.

Never tell a child

to prepare for the worst.

Never tell a child

you can’t trust anyone.

Trust and love,

be prepared for the worst,

but don’t expect it.

Patience isn’t fun

but it’s worth it.

No new chapter,

No new story,

I need isolated conscious peace

Humble readings from patience

later misspelled

respelled 

and uncast

undue

unwanted

unexpected

unneeded.

Yes each work 

lacking flow

piece peace or

piece 

Peace’s repeated

understand.

What divides me from

such drawn and defeated men?

Once self delusion,

now truth,

Personal drawn conflict

in the presence of

or a thought.

Have hope,

victory assured,

conflict,

Oh, indeed a must

is not even 

a humble comedy

true comedy

the slaughter of

the gladiators.

Was not a story’s

suffering the reason for your escape.

No more out to

abridge certain lies,

personal delusion,

drink up, you are beyond safe.

I feel victory

is not assured,

it is a guarantee

why escape only

to return,

besides habit.

Do not think 

of exemption,

Think of effort,

think of the timeline,

think of escape,

think of every-time

who truth did

sting

but ring beautiful,

I will not end my trance

I will not escape,

prepare and drive,

drift self,

carry on the path.

Escape from these sights

I have every reason to ask

what escapes.

Nothing, witness it,

only witness.

These names slip,

but so do yours,

bare no judgement

this is pattern,

this is habit,

this is what

Thompson was talking about.

Three Thompsons in my life,

my past,

one wise, one crazy, one drunk.

Bare no wisdom,

no true wisdom,

bare no pride

no true achievement,

is old war propaganda true?

Do loose lips not sink ships?

Does not careless talk cost lives?

No true word, 

I despise the words

witch,

whore,

slut,

fag,

nigger,

these words burn my tongue.

I renounce nothing, 

but i hang my head,

but no guilt

I apologize,

but I have no guilt.

Simply responsibility.