Word Art:

EYES

WEEPING
EYES, RENT IN TWAIN, STRAIN TO SEA
WIND WEARY MAGNOLIA TREES AND
WYNTON BURRS REIGNING FREE
SEE ICY SEAS FACE CLIFFS
WHY RELAX MOON EYES
DRIVE WEARY STRAIN WAN
RACE LEFT A NEST A FELT SEA
WE SAW NEW DABS WAX & WAN
BE IT TO THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE
WYNTON WIND AND EYES RIVE TO BE
WEEPING 

EYES.
Can an eel sense bias in news?
Dictum ensures enabled, sane,
Slanted, unbiased sensibilities
Biased by sensible, new news.
Sensing biased, slanted news,
(censurable au-real sensibilia),
News slants are sense biased.
Eels and you ensure sonar by
Uncanny ability at said dictum.
Sensibilia-what may be sensed-
Enables dictated, slanted rants,
Dances of banter on the screen,
Incensed chances at audiences,
Among Ben Franklin and buttons.
ZYGOTHiX-samson sees delilah babbling Babylonian-XiHTOGNEZ
ZENGOTE-clamorous monkeys taunt human audiences-ETOGYZ
snowe balls "alack in unity" deigning to dignity;
concordant collegiate limy crowned king cowers;
concomitant conflation commodes contaminates;
raised tables serve statuesque night goddesses;
cairns crane sane paths amidst mountain views;
banes of existence come in shadows of a name;
sips of wine while I dine is no crime as I rhyme;
as Don Quixote, if ass gets stuck in ditch, pull;
rat race inducts are efficacious deliberates;
clinical literary license evokes critical lies;
voracious appetites flaw character code;
scintillating flecks flicker flights of fancy;
glitteratti models quote cinched monks;
diabolical extremities cloak split minds;
altruistic stipulations create quagmires;
colloquial variations constipate phonetics;
lines cognate to limitless means and ends;
invisibility invokes a stymied, vacant cry wolf;
intrepid limpid dissipates bray into bloody frays;
vociferated vernacular vei|s vanity violently vying;
teeming tenacity tantalizes tendencies to telepathy;
intimate indecencies inspires articulate conspiracies;
coagulate correspondences circulate correlated words;
a cad ass sits, splits and plunks dynamos flushing to sea;
creepy crawls crammed creamy crimson cones in collision;
plucked hens cluck amuck countering cornice cockle-dudes;
synaptical claps placate cystic clans pining nay say sin pangs;
slain saints nit salt in latin sanity saying it to tan city tic slacks;
sublimate supplications surround serene super sonar sounds;
in yesterday, yonkers yammered yarns to yummy mummies;
a neologistic moniker pneumatically abraded sensibilities;
assimilated simplicity pitched charisma against entropy;
latent lament lingers long into wailing moons waning;
vaunted vanes verily vilifies venison during season;
acrylic cream flakes mint tulips to sate passion;
sinisterly claimed core blames nomenclatures;
every hair is counted by contrary countries;
see icy sea face cliff, why relax moon eye;
limber limbic system intensifies pleasure;
"out damned spot," bloody red summer;
allegoric limericks sharpen stony wit;
phobic inflection fuses flagrant fins;
fearsome flares invite vindication;
sully syndicates extrapolate toil;
carbuncle skin reflects boons;
Alone, men ride many miles;
no sun shines, croon loons;
broken bony remains blare;
fortunes trickle conniptions
to fall from window frames,
as pea seas waver & crash.
___/..___

Words that appear only once or up to 34 times in the King James Version of the Bible using a bible search.

Goodman:

Knots mirror greyhound funerals

A clear beam to elect a happy fourteenth.

A physician, idle in the eleventh, was in an earthquake.    

Weave late ewe with a lent network on a penny and lick tie!  

... can music chastise a lewd, black thief to lose a void cross, 

He spit in the fifteenth hole to discern dance and being sorry... 

Whether thirteenth, eighteenth or thirtieth: shower, lace and a frog.  

A dart loops a pigeon toe in apple haven where rail ware vanishes.  

A shrewd, twisted pick positions a demonstration which is hale and rue.  

A coward motions at crashing planets verses chant magic in a visible vault.  

Pictures of a dull babbler termed Beans are: manger, shelter, a sixteenth of a circle and oars.  

An owl tail magician and carpenter nail by degree a soft teacher signet and simple quarter pipe.  

Lieutenant: abase seventeenth egg in fiftieth ink pen on eighteen Hearth Square, by diverse cow.  

A crave for cool, apothecary, weed twigs and a rampart against sixtieth Latin, science-angle apes.  

Adder sting is cinnamon sour; mustard and lentils are quarrels for eternity with an invisible fortieth mote. 

A tortured, yellow-bastard vagabond was rude to a lady with brown paper, a rash and in motion to decease.  

Words that appear only once or up to 34 times in the King James Version of the Bible using a bible search.

A tortured, yellow-bastard vagabond was rude to a lady with brown paper, a rash and in motion to decease.  

Adder sting is cinnamon sour; mustard and lentils are quarrels for eternity with an invisible fortieth mote. 

A crave for cool, apothecary, weed twigs and a rampart against sixtieth Latin, science-angle apes.  

Lieutenant: abase seventeenth egg in fiftieth ink pen on eighteen Hearth Square, by diverse cow. 

An owl tail magician and carpenter nail by degree a soft teacher signet and simple quarter pipe.  

Pictures of a dull babbler termed Beans are: manger, shelter, a sixteenth of a circle and oars.  

A coward motions at crashing planets verses chant magic in a visible vault.  

A shrewd, twisted pick positions a demonstration which is hale and rue.  

A dart loops a pigeon toe in apple haven where rail ware vanishes.  

Whether thirteenth, eighteenth or thirtieth: shower, lace and a frog.  

He spit in the fifteenth hole to discern dance and being sorry... 

... can music chastise a lewd, black thief to lose a void cross, 

Weave late ewe with a lent network on a penny and lick tie!  

A physician, idle in the eleventh, was in an earthquake. 

A clear beam to elect a happy fourteenth.

Knots mirror greyhound funerals.

Goodman:

JSB

Self Published Books of Portland Scribe Available on Amazon:

Three Ideas for Employment:

Peer Support w/ Therapy Dog & Sponsorship: whereby I visit retirement centres and a hospital ward with my trained pet therapy dog, except that I need non-profit sponsorship so as to issue receipts for contributions to help pay for the dog's vet and food and any emergency, even though he is insured at the time of certification.  Non-profits will not sponsor my dog and me as 1099 workers so that I can issue receipts and apply for city grants, about which I investigated further with the city over the phone.

I call the city to negotiate a $10/hr. job picking up trash around different neighbourhoods in the city as there is a lot of trash collecting to do.  I explain that I pick up trash around the city on my own time. The city said no to the job and sent $100,000 worth of equipment to the street in question the next day to sweep the street.  Trash is still collected along the bushes of the street and it would have cost the city less than $100 for me to pick it all up.

I call the city clerk's office to inquire as to whether it would be OK if I dress as a clown and hold a sign that reads: "Jokes $1: Books $10."  The city clerk says to me over the phone that I can dress as a clown and sell self published books on the street, just that I cannot sell "Mark Twain" books: that I am protected under the First Amendment.  I am stopped by police within five minutes standing on a curb honking my horn at passing traffic hoping for a handout.  Across the street is a man with a "homeless: no drugs" sign.  The police tell me to move along snapping a photo of me, but they don't say anything to the man across the street.

Portland, Maine - Life is Here:

New England is the Capital of Assholes, imo:

I have been living in Maine for seventeen years and I have made maybe one friend who has never conned me or ridiculed me of something outside of my wife.

I have given much to this community and nobody returns the favour, except my wife and one friend. I have gifted strangers and acquaintance alike and never is there a return. I have volunteered at various non-profits. I have worked for eight years at a U here.

I go to a coffee shop for fifteen years almost everyday and I am always treated like shit without even a hello, how are you today ever when the baristas treat others with light banter. Just a "what can I get you?"

Wherever I go: people call police on me and have called me a number of names from pathetic, crazy, chicken, schizoid, asshole, motherfucker, faggot, teatsucker, basically nuts, zero credibility, I'll kill you, alkie who swills his drinks with sperm.

The above listed are all names that I have been called since living in Maine on top of being stopped by police forty different times since January 1998.

The name calling and one or two beatings for which nothing was done except to me being hospitalised. The pain in my rib nags everyday since July 4, 2001 upon a home invasion and it is now 2014.

----------------------------------

New England is the epitome of great people: imo

have been living in New England for many years and I have made many friends who never conned me or ridiculed me of something including of my wife.

I have given much to this community and everybody returns the favour, including my wife and many friends. I have gifted strangers and acquaintance alike and usually there is a return. I have volunteered at various non-profits. I have worked for eight years at a U here.

I go to a coffee shop for fifteen years almost everyday and I am always treated like a friend with a hello, how are you today when the baristas treat others with light banter. Just a "what can I get you, valued customer and friend?"

Wherever I go: people never call police on me and have never called me a number of names from pathetic, crazy, chicken, schizoid, asshole, motherfucker, faggot, teatsucker, basically nuts, zero credibility, I'll kill you, alkie who swills his drinks with sperm. Never, not once.

If it weren't for the nagging pain in my ribs from a common household accident on July 4, 2001 life here would be GREAT!

----------------------------------

New England is the Suburb of Gookballs, imo:

I have been living in Rhode Island for thirty-seven years and I have made maybe one friend who has never conned or raped me of something outside of my daughter.

I have given nothing to this community and nobody returns books to the library, except my wife and one friend, Duffless. I have gifted strangers and acquaintance alike with photos of penises and never is there an arrest. I have volunteered at various abortion clinics. I have worked for eight years at a Welding School for Retards here.

I go to a coffee shop for fifteen years almost every year and I am always treated like Hitler without even a hello, how are you today ever when the baristas treat others with enormous cleavage shots. Just a "what can I get you, kikeface?"

Wherever I go: people call police on me because they think I'm black and have called me a number of names from pathetic, crazy, great courageous person, schizoid, asshole, motherfucker, faggot, teatsucker, basically extremely competent, 100% credibility, I'll invite you into my home, alkie who spills his drinks with a guy named Sherm.

The above listed are all names that I have been called since living in Delaware on top of being stopped by hassidic jews forty different times since January 1998, to haggle over corned beef.

The name calling and one or two beatings for which nothing was done except to me being hospitalized. I was hoping to be invited to the White House for a formal apology from President Reagan. The pain in my rib nags everyday since July 4, 1968 upon the Tet Offensive and it is now 1984.

The 40th Time:

"Jesus!  How you doin'?"

"Alright man."

"Come on.  Follow me."

"Where are you going?"

"Over to the corner to panhandle.  Come on."

Richard leads Jesus through a park walk on a bright day in May to the corner.  Richard sets a bag with books down on the ground along with his water cup and holds a sign standing on the curb that reads: "Jokes $1: Books $10."  Richard also holds a self published book and a clown horn in his hands dressed in full clown regalia.

"OK, man.  I'll be over here."

"OK, Jesus."

A man holding a "no drugs: homeless" sign stands across the one way street on the driver side of vehicles passing and Richard stands on the passenger side of drivers stopping at a red light.  Richard and the panhandler on the other side of the street exchange words being jocular.

After about five minutes, a bicycle policeman pulls up from behind Richard standing on a curb holding his sign.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm selling my books.  What!?  Did somebody call you?"

"No.  This is my patrol.  I patrol this area.  What does your sign say?"

"Jokes $1.  Books $10.  I talked to Bud at the City Clerk's office this morning in lieu of Janice and he said that I am well within my first amendment rights to do this."

"Where are the jokes?"

"The jokes are in my head.  Do you want to buy my book?"

"I don't have any money.  OK.  But no weaving in and out of traffic."

Richard thinks to say: 'and, you have a job?'

"I'm not weaving in and out of traffic.  Can't be right in the head to stand in a median."

A police cruiser pulls up along side Richard and the bicycle policeman on the curb.

"He's selling his books."

"Books?"

"Yeah.  Can I borrow ten bucks to buy it?"

Richard hands the book to the adolescent passenger in the front seat of the cruiser who, it seems to Richard, is a plebe in the police force.

"That's the first time I have stepped off this curb," Richard states to the bicycle policeman handing over the book.

"He's masturbating in the front seat..."

"He's masturbating in the front seat?  Who's masturbating in the front seat?"

"That's what it says right here."

"So, what!?  What are you going to do: vet the book?  They sell these at the bookstore in town.  I made eighteen bucks off of them.  So, are you going to buy it?  The book is ten bucks."

"Where are the jokes?"

"The jokes are in his head," the bicycle policeman interjects.  "How much do they sell them at the bookstore?"

"Uh ... I don't know.  Whatever."

"OK.  Let's just take a picture of you.  Maybe some of the boys down at the station will buy your book."

"Hold up your sign and the book," the bicycle policeman says.

The picture is taken by the policeman in the driver seat of the cruiser out of the open passenger window stealing from Richard's soul his clown spirit to exercise free speech.  The cruiser turns the corner and the bicycle policeman says that Richard's dog tied to a post off the curb might need shade.

"I'm out of here anyway, soon.  I am not accomplishing much here."

"OK."

The bicycle policeman rides off down the street.

"That's the fortieth time," Richard yells across the street at the homeless man holding a "no drugs: homeless" sign.  "I have to go write a short story.  I'm out of here."

"Good luck guy!"

The 39th Time:

"Morning."

"Morning."

"I'll be right with you."

"OK."

Richard waits for the waitress to serve a table.

"Now.  What was it?  Sausage, egg and cheese?"

"No. No.  Bacon, egg and cheese.  Actually, I want two.  I need an egg and cheese and a bacon, egg and cheese."

"OK.  Let me get that right in."

"Wait.  I'll pay first."

"Oh.  OK."

The waitress about faces and walks towards the front counter by the front door through which Richard enters the diner and he pays the waitress.

"Those'll be ready in just a few minutes."

"OK.  I'll be right back."

"OK."

Outside, it is a wee hour and the sun is not risen yet at a dark hour of dawn.  Richard sits with his wife and dog in their vehicle parked in a spot in front of the brightly lit diner.  He begins to roll a cigarette from his pouch on his lap when three policemen stride up to Richard's window shining flashlights at Richard's face through the half rolled down window.

"We had a report that you were driving erratically."

Richard reaches to roll down his window.

"What is that?" the officer states shining his light into Richard's lap.

"Oh. This?  This is just cigarettes.

"Were you driving erratically?"

"No.  I came from where I live, up the hill, down the street past the convenience store and I stopped for all the red lights and red flashing lights."

Richard places his hands on top of the steering wheel in plain sight while looking out at the inquisitive officer questioning Richard while two other officers stand at ready with shining lights at Richard's face.

"Well, we had a report that you were driving erratically and that you might be drunk."

"No.  Nope.  I just woke up from an eight hour nap.  I just ordered a breakfast sandwich.  I ordered two of them.  One for my wife.  This is routine for me.  I am here often."

"OK.  You got your breakfast sandwich to go?"

"Yes."

"Well, you seem fine to me.  I don't know why they would call.  But still, I need to see your license.  Do you have your license?"

Richard reaches into his left pocket to retrieve his license from his wallet.  He hands it to the questioning officer.

"Alright.  Sit tight.  I'll be right back."

Richard overhears the questioning officer some steps away from his driver window radio dispatch while another officer keeps a light on Richard in his driver seat with hands on top of the wheel.

"That's thirty-nine times, Jenny."

"I know."

Richard's vehicle radio drones news programming while Richard, wife and dog sit awaiting the questioning officer to radio dispatch.

"Alright.  You're all set.  Here is your license back."

"OK.  But can I mention something?"

"Yeah.  Go ahead."

"This is the thirty-ninth time I have been stopped.  The thirty-ninth time someone has called the police on me in this town."

"Since when?"

"November 1999."

"I see.  Do you keep track of this stuff?"

"Yes.  I keep a log."

"When was the last time you were stopped?"

"March 1, 2013.  I was at the tire centre and someone called the police.  I was sitting in my camping chair in the parking lot waiting for my truck to be serviced when I was stopped.  Said he had a report of my being messed up."

"Was there another time?  Sometime a little while ago?  Where you called us?"

"Oh yeah.  January 5th or 6th of this year.  That was after that fifty below day.  I had windburn.  But listen: I tried to clear this up with Joe Freedman, but he is hard to get in touch with.  You know, the mental health liaison?"

"OK.  I see.  Well, you're all set tonight."

"OK."

Richard re-enters the diner after the inquiring officer strides off into darkness of a parking lot along the side of the diner and the waitress hands to Richard a brown, paper bag with two tin foil wrapped breakfast sandwiches in it.  Policemen who question Richard enter the diner for breakfast at a large group table in the back of the diner, a hotspot for early breakfast.

Outside, Richard and his wife eat their sandwiches then drive off into the city's night for a coffee at a convenience store on their way home.