As I look back on pictures from just a year ago, I began to cry as the sight of what was before is never more.

Within one year it was gone from me. It feels as if someone has ripped my soul in half and I'm staggering around like a drunk begging for someone to please shoot me dead and put me out of my misery because this half life is almost no life without me soulmates to be with. As I look out to the pasture it's empty now. I miss my Zeus the most.

His sweet kindhearted way was just amazing.

The swiftness in which it all happened was staggering. Within one week I lost 2 souls to Death 2days apart. I was left with my sweet girl but they need a herd. So we found her a home that could care for her.

Gone. All my sweet mates are gone.

I don't expect anyone to understand this, but they were truly a part of my Soul as I was theirs. They were the best parts of my days.

Just the smell of their skin, their touch, their manes the swish of their tail, I want it all back. For me being without them is like being without life support.

One can have a bad day, go out talk to his horses while he grooms them and in a short time everything is well with his Soul. They are the very breath of God! I believe that.

I can't believe it's only been a year.

After much research, I wrote a biography on Donald Trump when I was young and pulled it out recently. One of our jobs as responsible citizens is to help ensure that history doesn't repeat itself. Well, Donald's history as a whole would be a national embarrassment to have repeated. He is a paradox of contradictions, a flagrant misrepresentation of the values this nation was founded on, and such a bad choice that if he were to win, we may begin applying for our work visa in Canada. 

The fact that Trump has gotten as far as he has in this political race suggests that our nations democratic system has major flaws that should be the real issue worth solving at the heart of any great candidates campaign.

Evil emanates out of her yellow blood shot eyes as she surveys the damage she has generated so far in her quest for complete domination over the lady who claims to be her mistress. Little does her owner know the malevolent spite bubbling in her feline’s sanguine eyes threatens to spew out onto the floor of her life. Yellow pus drips from the cat’s eyes onto the carcass of the dog, mutilated beyond belief. The sofa which his mistress chose and prized has been ripped to shreds, with errant fluff blanketing the dog’s fur. She jumps victoriously on the dog’s body and scowls, waiting for her mistress' return. Beelzebub, the cat from Hell, has big plans for her. She will be very sorry that she didn’t buy the expensive brand of cat food because she will pay and pay dearly. She sharpens her claws as she lays in wait!

They tore open my rib cage

to unleash the flies

All my impurities

with barbed wire wings

They've been hiding

in the carved caves

of decayed canyons

Painted red

And a stench arose so strong

it took the physical shape

of a demon with false form

and bodies for legs

And draped across my brow 

were tiny angels dancing,

singing dripping sweat

Colored red

My bloodshot vision barely

catching glimpses of

these obscure figures

like aliens 'neath an ocean

My corpse still with lungs

awaits the fate that's 

already lunged itself

into the realm of inevitability 

It's all red

red

red

Slow motion and happy thoughts as my mind recoils from the satisfaction of finding a place to fit in for the night. A pubcrawl with my old college buddy Hide; a pretty large amount of Europeans (probably about 30% of the crowd).

The Spirit of Climax has seized these people and droplets of aromatic beer spread through the air around us, adding to the European vibe of the bar’s fresh-looking, wooden interior.

I cycle through the room meeting new people with Hide and covering up for my poor language skills with small dances and funny faces. We wade through the crowd, searching for the couple of ladies he planned to meet up with tonight.

Balding foreigners laugh with throaty gasps as cute Japanese damsels fresh out the wrinkles in their skirts, doing little bobs with their knees and blinking innocently. The more bitter men sit with arms crossed, watching the fools make a show; tough but feeling timid on the inside.

Hide gives me a disclaimer: the girls we are meeting up with tonight have a lot of energy apparently. Japanese dudes always talk about girls with ‘strong personalities’ negatively. Psh. We approach them and they are talking to a couple of bros -- assaulting, really, more so than talking. I see what he was talking about.

Gender aside, this girl has a thyroid issue or something. She’s in round three of her barbarian rage. Her personality was like a thousand-foot tall wave; wavegirl. No matter how vigorously I might have waved my puny arms under the shadow of her cresting power, I could not have faltered wavegirl’s vibe.

She nearly spilled an entire beer on me when Hide made our introduction. She still spilled a good amount, yes, but before anyone could react she had already begun to shout her way through the next leg of the conversation. She seemed to feel little remorse for her brazen conduct. I thought that was cool, and quite odd for a female in this country. I was in awe at her ability to go so hard; it made me harken to drugged up ravers and their ‘thizz faces’.

Mid sentence (about who knows what), Wavegirl notices me listening to her. I really wasn’t; even if I could understand her, my train of thought could hardly have been moved from the observation and speculation of her enormous presence.

Where will this night go… Gender double-standards… It’s fine for women to assault random people in the street I learned.

Fish will fly without fins,

while the sky paints,

polka~dotted grass twills,

elephants will dance

turning shades of pink & green

as they float together on walls

alongside small

waterfalls of lolly~pops,

not gum drops ...

And you will whistle a tune

something to do with the

June moon,

And vibrant yellow fruit-flies

will land pleasantly by

your side,

playing the sweet

sounding bag~pipes.

You see, ...

you'll see

such pretty things,

Your dreams will forever

be disappointing ..... .... ....

I love a man who died eighty-nine years

Before my conception here on earth.

His words echo through time with happy tears

And smiles displaying a child’s mirth.

I clearly remember the jealously

Focused intently on Alice Liddell.

Reading his rhymes and poems zealously,

Why is a Raven? should have been my riddle

To solve while on a trip with this genius.

But I was born scores too late for this dream.

A wonderland so heterogeneous,

Left alone in the golden afternoon’s gleam,

“We’re all mad here”, the phrase is my anthem.

Quite insane to fancy such a phantom.

My name is Giver when I'm the water for your head

last name: Pipe Drain

to wash your words away until they're

dead

in the water, taken to a place

where they burrow in my veins.

Am I being clear?

To a rain cloud

it might sound like

intuitive erosion.

Spare me the flush of spit

when the regret from your mouth

falls out with your toothbrush.

Afterall,

there's a creekbed 

on my tile floor

and for these guests we must impress,

we built a clean, safe platform.

Now when I roll in the mud

I see pristine feet.