blood-stained

please i beg of you, do not place blame upon me for the mistakes of my fore-fathers.

i plead with you to not cast upon me the hate and ignorance that was cast upon yours.

ignorance is not bliss.

it is spiteful, hateful, and a dangerous weapon any man can wield.

i pray i can not be held accountable for their actions.

if it were my choice to make, i would draw from my own body the blood i share with them.

not to shirk the responsibility of forgiveness.

only for the sole reason that it sickens me that i am bound to them by my own blood.

their thoughts, however, are their own.

they are not mine.

the actions they carried out confuse and dishearten me.

equality should never be a dangerous word.

but there was a time and a place not long ago.

a time and a place.

even here and now that we can not escape its fevered grasp.

a time and a place when men, women and children were hung from trees, burned alive, spit upon, segregated, demeaned, demoralized, tarred and feathered, beaten, bruised and considered sub-human.

murdered and maimed for the color of their skin.

again, for the color of their skin.

unfair does not come close to describing it.

unjust can not scrap the tip of the iceberg.

even saying these actions are un-human casts no light on the matter.

unfair is too childish a term.

unjust is a lawman's loose terminology.

un-human is a slap to the face to those who suffered.

these actions were thought up, devised, and carried out by man.

no one forced their hand.

no devil whispered in their ears.

no god was there to stop them.

the blame lies solely upon man.

the blood-stained hands are that of a mans.

we are to be held accountable.

no-one or no-thing else.

this hate was breed by men.

if you believe that the crucifixion of one man can save the souls for every atrocity we have lain upon each other, then maybe ignorance is bliss.

i will have no part of it.

i see my hands for what they are.

blood-stained.

blood-stained and at the throats of other men.

ignore you hands all you wish.

celebrate your bliss.

remember this, when it comes time to point fingers, you best wear gloves.

not all of us are so blind and ignorant.

an ode to liver spots... by paul rossi

liver spots. . .... . .
you are not far off. . .. ....
these liver spots. . . . ..
ever present dots. . . . .
my liver spots. . . . .. . . .
flesh injections delivered via shots. . . . . .
liver spots. . .. .. .
put me in a cot. . . .. . . .
those liver spots. .. ... . .

badges. . ..
reminders of who.
of who i was. . .
liver spots.
because i can not resist.
liver. . ..
spots. .
dots. .
dots.. .. . .. . ... . .

please say hello to my liver spots.
odd shaped round dark fleshy dots.
mine liv-er-un spots.
they have not forgot.
these are my liver spots. ..
dot

Be a part of something....

Well.. Im making a little book/zine.

Random writings.
Drawings.
Photos.
Life lessons.
You know... Good stuff.

If you would like a free copy.. Send me your address.
Like I said "free"... For a handbound piece of love, by yours truly.

Be a chum... Help me... Help you.

Forward info to:
Paulierossi@gmail.com

Shank you.

crassper

i am the ghost in the night.
i am the voice that echos through the hallows.
i am the demon that feeds your thoughts.
i am the soul crying out.
i am the wandering spirit of memories past.
i am the one touching your shoulder.
i am here.
now.
catch me while you can.

nights not soon forgotten

i still find paint in random locations after this painting.

ever time i find a dab of paint on a shirt or skin,

i can only smile to myself, only for a little bit.

a night not soon forgotten.

perspective and scale

after the third flight of the day you begin to question how much longer you can avoid deaths icy touch.

it doesn't help that i am penning this while i am a solid 20,000 plus feet above the earth in a winged silver twinkie rocking in every sorted direction.

it becomes increasingly difficult to steady a pen in such turbulent times.

thoughts become clouded at such a distance from solid ground.

it is comparable to breathing through a narrow straw.

the more you struggle to pull those dainty drags of air thorough such a dauntingly thin

pipeline, the head becomes woozy and your mind claws frantically for life.

at this height, while looking down it becomes abundantly clear how minuscule and delicate human life really is.

it is purely a matter of perspective.

perspective and scale.

yes scale.

let me explain.

the easiest way to put this scale idea in perspective for those currently reading this that are residing upon terra firma (solid ground the the layman), requires only a few items.

one: yourself.

two: your thumb.

three: a foreign object.

i.e. a building or possibly an extremely bored and well to do friend.

the options are truly endless.

and last, but certainly not least, distance.

now simply stand or sit, the choice is yours, a hefty distance away from your building, friend, whatever option you have decided upon.

stand/sit a far enough distance away from your chosen item so that its size, in scale, is much smaller than your own.

now lift your right or left hand, whichever suits your fancy, and extend your evolved opposable thumb and cover said object.

it becomes muted.

gone.

covered and non-existent to the human eye.

now, to really understand the fragility of it all, human existence that is, you may also incorporate your index finger of the same hand.

simply place your index finger visually above the top of your chosen object residing in the distance, and your opposable thumb directly underneath.

as if you were holding a tiny delicate toy.

now for the fragility part.

much like a vice, begin to bring your index finger and genetically superior opposable thumb together.

ultimately capturing and squishing the dwarfed sized object of your choice between the two.

feel free to incorporate sound effects of a squishing manner to get the full effect, and simply for the pure fun and enjoyment of the process.

CONGRATULATIONS!

you have now become a war monger!

a destroyer of worlds!

not bad for a high school dropout.

not that you are, but inevitably some individuals participating in this example of human fragility most likely are.

despite what popular belief says, the majority of them can read.

so i am told.

with your new found title of "world destroyer" imagine the view from 20,000 plus feet in the air.

how small and weak building look from such a great distance.

how unbearable tiny and ant-like the human race becomes.

how easy it would be to wipe it all clean in one fell swoop.

how with that one thumb you can wipe out an entire city, colony, race.

this is how some people in history have viewed the world.

how some find it so profoundly easy to rub out what they no longer desire to see, hear, or feel about the world.

and they did this on ground level.

it is all a matter of perspective and scale.

terrifying.

isn't it?

sketches of people who may be dead