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Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
.i left an excess of a B somewhere in here... within the confines of a word giblet... i probably thought: bigger... bouncier... gibblet looked better... and so very far removed from goblet... i'm not going to look for it.

i haven't done much today -
and i don't suppose i will finish this day of
with some grand poo'em...
but one can almost be proud
to have perfected a chicken breast roulade...
the rest of the chicken missing
the butterfly? well... bound to a very
decent soup... clear and not atypical
western cream-soup...
but the roulade! the roulade!
no... you don't beat the butterfly *******
like you might turn to: "sadistically"
for a schnitzel...
you do beat the meat,
but you more or less... press down the mallet
onto the meat, until you reach
the right equilibrium of pressure and
there's that squish-sound / feel of the *******
expanding...

if it was a whole roast chicken:
of course i'd stuff the space between
the skin and the ******* with some thyme
infused butter... to capture the richness...
but this is a roulade...
the stuffing? goats cheese... toasted almonds...
fesh dates... thyme...
i might have just over-balanced
the equation with the dates...
but as i explained to the fussy-eater:
what are you implying that we do not
serve poultry with a sweet attache?
cranberry sauce and turkey?
and as i've learned...

it's best buying potatoes from a turkish
outlet by the 25kg bulk...
from a warehouse where the buyers
walk with bundles of money and do not
use debit card "finger" prints...
the free passing of money is still retained
in some tiers of society...
but the idea, regarding the potatoes is
to poach them from a bath of cold water...
once they start boiling leave them for
five minutes, then turn the heat off
and wait for the bubbling water to stop...
drain them... then leave them on
the already turned-off stove to get rid
of any excess water...
drizzle some chilly infused olive oil
onto the baking tray, place each potato individually...
then drizzle some olive oil onto them...
shove them in the oven when the roulade
is finished...
my first most pristine roulade...
of course you have to pan-fry it to get some
colour... the filling is kept intact given that:
goats' cheese is no mozarella...

it doesn't melt and subsequently ooze out...
and the whole lot should be be done within
the hour... the roulade can be pressured
to go for 25 minutes...
depending on the colour of the tatties...
i still had to take it out and "glitter" it with
a 1:1 ratio of honey and lemon juice...
the remains of this juice i designated on al dente
cooked greens... there was no need
for a dressing...
left-over red cabbage coleslaw...
that helps... sweet chilli sauce with some mayo
and crem fraiche...
it even looks the prettier picture:
leftover but it still works...
***** of a ******* butterfly *******!
of course it was going to spit oil back at me,
i was frying the skin... the fat from the skin
was melting the skin was getting crisp
and mingling with the olive oil fat...
also... it's a myth that the temp. should
read: 165°F... that's really just a circa...
mine read 156°F... and given the time i let
it rest...

oh right... this is not a food blog...
perhaps the moon is just too beautiful tonight
to have to attach words to it?
perhaps my love is better left alone and unused
and it doesn't demand sleeper idealism
for it to be celebrated?
it's cooking food... it's not a hip-replacement
surgery...
when cooking was married to chemistry:
i sometimes miss the laboratory
and the cooking up of esters...
my new found calling is in cooking...
and something i... wouldn't exactly want to earn
money for...

and what is surgery if not elevated butcher's ******>antics? oh no, it's needed...
but the meat is supposed to be raw
from beginning to end...
and if i was only given the chance to recycle
a recipe for a stake tartar...
or sushi... well... it wouldn't be much...
esp. when i come into my own
and cook an indian **** of spices...
but then again... the indians butcher their meat
in their curries...
i've come to some serious realisation...
the indians butcher the meat with their curry sauce...
it comes down to baking the meat...
in order for the meat to still retain its
original juices...
i quiet enjoy that little detail of cook...
in that: i don't remember the last time i was
in a restaurant...

i can't imagine eating while having to talk...
conversation over food is no better
than sitting in field of grazing cows
and their leech clouds of flies all bothersome...
with regards to the quality of the meat....
there is always some excess of meat from
the butterfly ******* before you start moulding
them into a shape that will satisfy it being
rolled...
it's a supreme joy working with a whole
chicken... i sometimes wish i was also the man
who could see the whole procedure of:
and be involved in the slaughterhouse...

oh god... the brute village beheading is
rather uncompromising... one chicken is caught
and beheaded on a stump of wood...
the head still moves with its last remaining
short-circuit tongue extending out of the beak
and the eyes roll... and then all the other chickens
congregate and perform a Kuru ritual of pecking
the blood... sipping it...
that's how killing a chicken in a village
looks like... i can't imagine an industrial scale
precision... but i would't mind...

every time i hear of veganism: the ethical argument
i start conjuring up an antithesis of
cannibalism... which is not exactly edgy given
my catholic background (i haven't been
confirmed, personal choice):
this is my body, this is my blood...
i hear a vegan talk i make a fetish of
imagining cannibalism...
believe me... these limbs look akward...
to begin with... where can you find a *******
drumstick of poultry on it?!
nowhere!

only a few days shy off today i made a most
delightful broth of chicken hearts...
i can't explain how the sight of washing...
oh... around 30 pultry hearts feels like...
given that they're hearts and not the entire chicken...
but as ever... the internal organs are a delight...
pork or poultry liver...
poultry hearts...
poultry stomachs...
cow intestines...

come to think of it... you never really cook meat...
you... curate it... it become a fine art specialist...
for those who turn to veganism or the vegetarian
"alternative": perhaps they never curated meat,
perhaps they simply butchered it?
the chicken roulade of butterfly poultry *******
always came out dry-*****?

after all, wasn't ol' Adoolph the one to say:
'hello mr. carrot, hellooo jew no. 1269230 of
auschwitz'... that's the puberty of my distrust
for vegans... they were never able to
cook meat properly... they probably ate
a decent piece of it served in a restaurant...
but when it came to cooking it themselves...
they would have probably butchered
a pasta and never reached the quality: al dente...
either...
and i'm worried that they can't cook
vegetables al dente either...
so it's back to the gulag of roots overcooked
and turned into mush...

oh i believe that meat is butchered...
but it's from the actual butchery...
it's from a lack of respect in how it's finally
"cooked"... well... curated...
are vegans the sort of people that never
ate a stake tartar... or found the most
arisotractic flavours in the giblet?
oh my god... if you can eat a drumstick
of chicken clean to the bone...
and, like me... sometimes bite off
the budding pulp of the bone for the marrow
gnash?
perhaps that's why i own cats...
delicate courtesans of the table...
a dog would go hungry at this table...
sharpnel of bones and some lurking marrow
in the "shins"... and that's about it...

you can never truly be a vegan...
not unless you repudiate the fact you've only
tasted muscle tissue...
what about the giblets and the cartilege?

every time i would perform oral ***
on a woman i could only conjure up one distate...
this is not a steak done rare...
this is not an oyster...
this is not a steak tartar...
there are "things" pulverising this meat...
there's an unexpected pocket of heat
in this... "thing"...
this is a sensation that lends itself
to the pastry section of my diet...
a warm apple pie... a custard drizzle
over some chocolate sponge...
oh qui qui... the marvels of a bilingual mouth...

if the meat is of good quality....
as the chicken roulade i made today...
and there were leftover snippets...
which i fed to the cats...
and the meat was eaten... in totality...
i was eating good chicken...
cats regarding meat are like...
those ancient jobs equivalent to...
Halotus...
god! give me a chance to own a cat!
i'll name him: Halotus!
he'll be my meat taster...
he'll tell me if i'm eating bad meat...
i'm not a Claudius but...
this cat could very well be the next Halotus!
dogs eat leftovers...

beside this one instance of catching
a female mosquito by the leg
and feeding it to a cat...
the most pleasure i ever received was
when i was preparing a rainbow trout
for grilling...
the head couldn't be used since:
i wasn't planning to cook a base fish stock...
so i plucked those pearly eyes from the head...
and my... what a delight they were...
not me... the cat...
i'm guessing that's the equivalent
of me gulping down an oyster...

female maine **** fascination with dairy
products...
any cream will do... even cheap-oh cheese...
dairylee spreadable...
but all manner of cream whipped...
i've heard of cats being fond of red wine...
i once owned one that was fond
of... olive brine...

again: what's with this need for people to cook
your food? what sort of decency of conversation
can one have when presented with food?
i don't like restaurants simply because:
well i can't exactly cook roadkill...
and shooting at birds is not my kind of thing...
so if i can't catch it and **** it...
i can at least: cook it...
i distrust what i eat that i haven't prepared
myself... notably the hygiene dilemma...

it really is on my head whether i'll catch
salmonella when i sometimes drink a coffee
with a guilty pleasure of mine:
whisked egg-yoke and sugar... on top of the coffee...
that's my problem...
but eating is never a synonym with conversation...
and it's never necessary to loiter and wait
for someone to shove pretenses above
the food in the first instance of: the waiting staff...

i blame the rise in veganism surrounding
the people who never allowed themselves to appreciate
the animal: in total...
there's no fun just sticking to ingesting muscle
protein... first you have to cook it properly...
this chicken roulade didn't have to reach
the internal temp. of 165°F - that's a circa proposition...
at 156°F and allowed to rest is just as good...
because it's an art-form to cook meat...
then again: what's cooking and what's about
to be curated?

the people who turn to veganism are also the people
who never bothered with gibblets...
the liver, the heart, the stomach,
in some cases the intestines...
hence my critique of Islams critique of ol' porky Bella...
this most unique animal...
which you can eat in total...
tenga deep fried pigs ears...
again: the cartilege...
ethics my *** if all you know about a pig is a bore
chop or a **** or... you never get into
the knitty-gritty details of the interior of
an animal... lamb is a stinking meat...
it's hell-rot when the male is slaughtered...

oh right! right! how could i forget the star
pinnacle... poached giblet supreme...
the neck... if you know how to eat a drumstick
down to the bone...
poached poultry neck...
the teeth and tongue wandering around
the crevices of this elongated spine...
i can imagine monkey's extended coccyx
tastes as tender... but only among
the macaques...
otherwise: when what's about to be eaten...
can be elevated to a status of ****** fetishes...
gimps in leather...
when rummaging among so many
boyscouts & aenemic vegans...

i'm yet to taste this, one specific, delicacy...
flaki (flački) is not new to me...
i need to marry a girl from ******* Masovia...
somewhere in the vicinity of Płock...
for i can eat some černina...
duck blood and clear broth soup...
as long as most of the animal is used...
the dogs can have the rest
and so can the vegan ethics society...

but of course this is no an anathema...
or some curated vendetta...
all the roots in the vicinity...
even the fungus... can vegans eat fungus?
are you sure?
what about those "thinking" magic mushrooms
that... if you looked into 1960s:
quick-n-easy philosophy courses...
the fungus is the botanical hitchhiker
that strapped itself to the humanoid brain
and... broadened our horizons and what not...
can you eat the godhead 'shroom?
it might just very well be...
that i'm picking a half-brain half-mushroom
entity in some alcohol to allow myself
to ease a tongue out from
its standard formality of the mollusk...
and waggle waggle waggle brute...

but yes... one is most certainly butchering
a piece of meat when one cooks
a broth... or a curry... unless its a gibblet
of sorts...
to "curate" muscular meat in a broth of a curry...
poaching it to death and worse than death:
dry...
it's about allowing the meat to retain its
natural juices...
how else to enjoy a poultry butterfly breast
roulade - with the natural juices still intact?

- i stopped paying attention to these *******
moralists...
if you have ever figured your way around
cutting off the butterfly of ******* for a roulade...
and you know what it feels like
when you stuff the space between
the meat and the skin of them
with some butter and fresh thyme...
and you're still not circumcised...
well... that's what skin feels like...

how else to reiterate? Ava Lauren is probably
the best example of a brothel beauty...
mandible beauty... something that contorts
and appeals to a perspective of cubism...
wretched beauty of the squashed square
into a pseudo-rhombus contort...
at least doing it from time to time leaves me
without a single buoyancy of thought regarding:
am i having enough, am i not having enough:
and if i'm not having enough -
what are the chances of me contracting some
s.t.d.?

bad beef...
again... juxtaposing a reiteration...
there's something worse than visit a brothel...
there's the... visiting a resturant..
i can't stop thinking about alien,
unwashed hands, preparing my food...
it's already one kick-in-the-***** not having
hunted the food... but to be left ******-over
twice by not having cooked it?!

at least if you know what flesh feels like
between the two crucibles of
death's kiss and man's tongue tease...
you will know when...
you will at least know when...
death comes with its kiss...
and its breath... the meat will turn all
yucky... as if a mollusk decided to prance
upon it in an imitation zigzag...

hence? i have no respect for islam because
islam has no respect for Miss Porky Bella!
seeing how most of the lamb -
except for the kidney in a steak pie
is not wasted...
the pig could feed two african villages...
if done properly...
while a lamb would only serve a pittance
for a poor man of yemen harem...

again: the pig is the enemy...
while not making crab meat a haram is not?
vulture meat... scavenger meat...
that's a: o.k. but the sophisticated nature
of the pig: sophisticated in that:
almost all of it can be eaten...
that so much of it can be you would probably
burp out an oink...
done properly...
the giblets in tow...
pity that such a desert god would never
appreciate the pig becoming a dog on
its truffle hog days...

beside all the arguments...
imagine how the "one true god" goes down
on a platter of those ignorant Beijing folk...
Warsaw testing! Warsaw testing!

pristine my *** when all they ever do
is eat the muscles and never appreciate the detials...
no wonder they become aenemic vegans!
at least butchering a vegetable is less of a concern...
you can almost get away with butchering a root...
it is... oh most certainly it is a shame...
when you can't cook meat properly...

but at least i never feel ever as bad going to a brothel
seeing the sort of people who venture into
restaurants...
i don't like being cooked for, i don't like being
"waited" for...
i don't like this modern orthodoxy affair
of a restaurant... i wish these people
learned something about how meat is: never cooked...
and how... it's always most certainly most necessarily:
curated...

pedantic? perhaps... you should have seen
me in that athenian strip-club with two-clingy *******
either side of me... starwberries in their *****
and we are all fine and giggling...
stealing kisses from prostitutes is: truffle hog
"learning" parabolla...

a date and a "promise" of *** is always
a limp **** affair...
i always want to know whether what i'll be eating
still entertain the existence of salt...
or whether i'll have to find alternatives
of: extracting the juices and finding the right
bites...
because love is long over-due and i'm not going
to butcher it further with whimsical hopes...
my love is a dead love is no ideal...
my love is donning a ball and chain of memory:
i have left the better parts of myself
in the wrong sort of people...
they're hardly coming back...
the people or the pieces of me...

but at least i can attest that:
oral *** and the cool crisp gulp of an oyster
passing the Charon of my tongue...
oysters are only fascinating to eat...
because you always want to concentrate
on the fact that: you're eating something that's still
alive... not even a steak tartar or a sushi slice
gives you that hope and thrill...
unless... you're hoping for some tapeworm
embryo being lodged in the flesh...
which how man can almost arrive
at the conception of foetus and womanhood...
i can't be impregnated: exclusively...
i can't be... pregnant: exclusively...
but i can allow a parasitical tapeworm
to become my new-born-*******-out-abortion...

inclusively... how else?!
i'm also tired of being left immoral by the act
of *******...
not unless you know what not being circumcised
feels like... and what chicken skin feels like...
the people at the restaurants...
a palette disgruntled by minor changes of heat...
and... there's always a very precise detail
when it comes to the temp. of a piece of meat
being cooked... and when it's allowed to epilogue
when resting to ****** with all its juices
left intact...

over-sexed society, are we?
at least doing the one-eyed-bandit's favor
doesn't allow me to ferment...
to pickle such repressive thinking...
itself pitched against: in itself...
and these this Radeztsky March forward...
over-sexed also can imply:
not exactly culinarily-savvy...
these are always twins walking side by side...
and they are always siamese problems...
over-sexed implies...
not cuninarily-savvy...
the better part of this critique is already wide open...
why all these cooking channels,
all these cooking programs?
and all this ****?

can't **** can't cook? broomstick! and to sabbath
with you!
i can't no better comparison...
over-sexed and also: terrible at *******...
******* is terrible to begin with...
you can't exactly quip yourself with
having done some lessons in tango or salsa...
the chances are that the *** turns out to
be a laughable take on tango and
you're going to step on a day-dreaming
dancing partner...
it's exactly what's it's supposed to be:
a gamble at best...
but when you throw in bad cooking?
recipe for disaster... bad dates that begin
in a restaurant and arrive at a black-out
bedroom with cockoon *** under
the bedsheets with you gasping for air!

'god let me out! let me out!'
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
i've seen a u.f.o.,
yep - a weird orb - hardly a helicopter -
and hardly an aeroplane -
i disclosed it once to a "friend" -
   apparently in europe the entirety of
the oddness of the universe can be caged in
the mind of a psychiatrist - that's europe -
apparently every odd observation
requires the secular
"priesthood" of psychiatry -
everything, has, to, be: normalised;
the sort of *******-tickle-talk
that allows you to return
to talking about the weather...
or yesterday's eastenders episode
on the by pedohpilia bankrupt
b.b.c.
  so? **** it, play along:
the funny people will crack any
time soon...
         even though i have seen
an u.f.o. i'm sticking the the british
take on "sensibility" i.e. lying.
so this paddy walks up to me,
a british citizen like any other,
but has this "royal" airiness around
him...
  he thinks i'm mere peasant
and he's a ******* monarch!
          he suddenly think i can't
comprehend english...
but he can... then i ask him
to recite the alphabet... paddy can't!
sure, you see a u.f.o. when
you have to immediately curb your
enthusiasm, because you're in
europe, and europe is "sensible" -
     so you practice your sense &
sensibility: see no evil, hear no evil,
speak no evil: but **** me:
think up a tier of horror
                  above the holocaust!
if we're allowing science fiction,
if we're allowing the "dream"
but never the reality,
  if europe discarded idiot priest
for a psychiatrist,
i'd probably prefer the idiot priesthood
to the secular "priesthood" that's
psychiatry...
        i've seen an u.f.o.,
but as you might expect, i'm "european",
i'm supposed to be the sensible one,
the never: over-fluttering in
excitement -
                       ****, i saw a u.f.o.
actually means: i saw ****, nothing
really happened.
            i'm occupied, the drinking is
hardly a drag, and the music i'm listening
to isn't that bad, after all;
hell, i must have been drunk watching
this electric light orchestra "glyph"...
you start to try to convince people,
   when the people try to convince themselves
belonging to some day-to-day
everyday mundane collective "sanity" -
**** it, you do what you have to.
a bit like this "surprise" regarding the
transgender movement...
         3 year old trannies...
   ever read r. d. laing's the politics of
experience and the the bird of paradise
?
i hope to hell that r. d. laing will overshadow
freud, perhaps even jung...
after all: what glasgow giveth one
does not dismiss so easily...
                not without a brawling
spectacle in the back alley...
     what glasgow offers: one does not discard
even upon a 2nd reading.
                 and this is truly a topic of
the proper regard:
          all of politics is an aspect of experience -
as ever, with respect to heidegger:
   there's there-being -
but there's also mit-sein:
     with being, i.e. what?
                           mit-sein has no actual
coordinate to ensure a contract of
analogues -
             not a flat earth my aß...
you ever navigated a car via
    antwerp, eindhoven, venlo, duisburg,
  essen, dortmund, hamm, bielefeld, hanover
?      
that serpentine is a ******* killer...
you travel east from that muddle of roads
you'll be a ******* general of the boyscouts...
      no, no GPS... play god, looking down
on a paper, yes, paper map!
            navigate that ****!
       oh right, 3 year olds and trannies...
why the surprise?

       jesus said to them:

   when you make the two one, and
when you make the inner as the outer
and the outer as the inner and the above
as the below, and when you make the male
and female into a single one,
      so that the male will not be male
and the female not be female, when you
make eyes in the place of an eye,
          and a hand in the place of a hand,
and a foot in the place of a foot,
        and an image in the place of an image,
then shall you enter the kingdom.
    (the gospel according to doubting thomas) -

so... trannies?  
              
      a ******* elephant in the room...
it's almost like people don't want to cite
where this entire zeitgeist furore originated from,
i.e. from the "heretical" gospels of
the "lesser" followers of "christ"...
         by now the whole affair
is staring me in the face with burning
coal-eyes...
            if only the nag hammadi
library was found in modern day israel,
and not egypt, and not the story of
the flight of joseph and mary to egypt -
   and not the account of the secular historian
josephus in the reign of nero,
   and the book of revelation ref. nero
rather than augustus...
               hey, i inherited this crap...
even though the old testament is ridiculous,
at least it's only so "ridiculous"
as to be "ridiculous" given the time-frame...
the new testament is just a blatant lie...
a blatant greek lie...
        it's the nadir of what came prior,
i.e. the excellence of poetic harvesting by
the greeks -
         the new testament is a death of poetics -
a religion carved out of:
    the uninhibited testimony of
ever perpetuating the hunger for the next
groove messiah...
       odd, jesus christ perpetuated -
             moses christ sounds a tad bit sour...

never mind, perhaps, sometime in america,
as it stands, in europe, we're stressing
keeping up appearances,
  we're being sensible,
                  we're being the apparently
"well-attired" -
                  there's a "we" that has agreed
upon the secular priesthood of psychiatry,
i'll just ask,
    is it worth the spectacular,
given that so many people are gambling
with the mundane?
       so? shut up, and try to laugh internally;
it didn't help me having either 1 of
the 5 senses to craft an account of
an oddity...
     i was told to step back into line...

   and this, by ordinary civilians...
           i'm pretty sure that army personnel are
more liberal to such odd events, than
your everyday grey-day joe:
you know the guy, you pass about 100 of them
in an urban environment:
that face, so unmemorable that it's almost
like looking at a concrete slab.

- you've seen a u.f.o.?!
- nope, i must have been blind drunk hallucinating,
  sorry to disappoint, ol' chap.
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
my father never let me win at miniature golf...
tantrum prone youth of yesteryear
didn't see the plot twist...
perched: again... crow like 6ft2
246pounds of me... fat toss: bulge...
and some - semi-decaying octopus magic fingers...
yeah... father never let me win at miniature
golf...
              but whereas he leaves
some of the sudoku: hyper-geometries open
to discussion...
       i leave mine completed...
no competition...
              not when a sober mind does
that a drunk would double: for a fee...
the currency of face-masks and looking into
jainism... or... contra ****** recognition
in place: contra the niqab...
i have all the excuses to...
     ninja-doodle my way through...
central london's pedestrian traffic...
    then again... being a smoker...
the old habit of harking up some phlegm
and spitting it onto the pave...
      with a face-mask? none of that...
but... i'll keep one spare pocket for these
facemasks... i'll have... grounds for...
religiosity and... heightened secular:
scientific sensibilities...
and the media folk vill be 'appy...
                             yes... it's already a **** show...
yes it was already a **** show:
i'm not going to: told you so: sow:
genius me... what rules did i comply to...
that would... otherwise... estrange me my
daily, routine - focus?
              pretty much... none of it...
        what has happened... and... extend that
into a time-lapse of years...
               oh sure... even my neighbours...
such... budding social lives...
friends... when friends were available
when at school...
work friends... so... those people you
****** around with for: doll... payment of good
grades... replaced with people who...
A-grade their presence for...
a baguette they will... most certainly...
not share with you?
yoyo-effect slimming...
                     i did that once...
lost virginia in the attic... and came out...
scarred for not being...
   one of the two part ensemble...
given: killing two birds with one stones...
unless... strap-on-a-***** to my forehead...
wait a moment...
no... clearly muhammad didn't foresee
the harem as... being filled with strap-on:
***** wielding lesbians...
after all: i only have 2... she has 3...
                        holes...
             - since von krafft-ebing times...
before freud...
             ******* was considered as
taboo as... performing *******...
     these days... that's the gold standard of
consent and: "ritual"...
you foreplay each other...
   big deal over jerking off: genocide flushed...
a measure of blood-pressure...
otherwise i'd surface with:
she has my **** stitched in all the right places...
everything is being automated...
here's to: going with the flow...
                      checking blood-pressure
or... blood sugar levels...
the old norm the new norm...
      no toy story: of that... i am sure...
and... well... for what could... could have been
a ***** bank...
if english existentialism is anything
to go by... it's certainly not a talk over
coffee or a beer...
it's a ***** bank donation...
all orc seriousness: my d.n.a. primo!
you! dodo! project!
                    and... would you like a kippah
with that? or an u.f.o.?
- then... "all of a sudden"...
darwinism pops up again:
survival of the fittest... and...
the men and their needle-in-a-haystack:
spines of mollusks...
perhaps "there"...
                "where"... and a heart could
be summoned... alternatives though...
the self-implosive critical mind of...
regurgitated facts and figures...
geared up... for "knowledge" / trivia...
at a pub quiz... storage space that...
will become... derelict... a housing project
for ghosts and having reached
a zenith of an amnesia-paradox...
chances are: you probably will remember
a "self"...
                      nonetheless!
vacated time and space...
                        so much for the trivia...
and... so much for the encyclopedia brain-drain...
back to basics: i like tomato soup...
i like pasta al dente...
    i think that to heighten appetite...
al fresco works miracles...
as does... drinking a 7.2% thatcher's vintage
cider... than any amount of wine...

- i'll hate myself for writing this...
but...
       let's get into the porridge...
87% of white women would want
to **** a black man...
meme tag... i guess: most probably
a zulu... since... all the rest:
didn't run fast enough to escape
the netting... or were... sold by their chieftans
for a bribe of cheetos...
the usual ****** treatment:
kan kan: and dunk b'ruh...

        but i guess... in reverse...
about 6% of white men would want
to **** a black girl...
lucky for me i'm 6.1%...
in that i did... "somehow"...
then again... she was well portioned...
i had my coccyx inside-out...
and i was missing my 12" *******
toy freed from the blue-pills-of-V...
and she lost her inflateables:
buttocks and sprinting the marathon
bones...

and it was that old school feral sort
of ****...
i ended up looking for a plum
in between the ***** hair region:
a second chin.. not the fold...
but she was... sculpted like...
nothing that might require a 12" ******
to begin with...
the kama sutra says it plain:
rabbit **** don't **** an elephant ****
for the elephant ****'s satisfaction...

give on... give off...
i want to laugh but then...
unlike these white girls...
sorry... i don't find black women attractive...
unless in kenya...
and she's looking like an oily grain
of coffee...
you can see the skin... melt in sunlight...
excavations in limbo land:
l.s.d. is missing and we only have
latex gimp-suits to fire-up the imagination...

perhaps the statistics is true...
white women want... what white women want...
but i'm a white man: pork...
catch me in august and i'm
a spaniard / half removed cousin of
a spaniard... perhaps damascus was
once my home...
             but i must be: blitzing the krieg
with fiddling some spaghetti...
when: i'd be in clear want of...
******* liquid chocolate...
or... kenyan liquorice quicksilver...

me throw pennies at crows
or me throw bags of sugar at the rascal
macaques...
same ****: different cover...

     presiding over the coming of
a "reincarnated" Elijah:
the heart of the son will return to the father...
the heart of the daughter will return to the mother...
no one is to feed themselves the narrative
of the nag hammadi: "being" freed...
when one transitions: with expert advice
from the medical profession: from male to female
and... vice versus...

sorry... what's fit for the dickens?!
just because white girls like...
doesn't imply white boys like too!
if white girls like:
   and white boys are looking for
the harem of mr. lemon... squinting:
because the sun's too much in beijing...
and all that's clearly worth...
doing much ado about... nothing...
japanese porcelain skins...

       i imagine a reverse insurgence of
the mongolian horde of pseudo-orc...
                and a pseudo-islam:
spikes in the frequency of terrorism
as "they" come to defend the ummah...
and take root in Xinjiang...
  such pride... concerning...
           what's a memory of Jaffa...
and... the prospect of Sarajevo...
          i'm bored ****-less with this:
notion of "invasion" without
bullet, bite of grit or tank...

                - standards in "males":
primo standard... not ******* enough...
coming across a hit dough & nut that knows
how to... "been there... ****** enough":
the linear projection of my youth now
exhausted: i need a low-to-high libido:
strap-on ****-of-a-man...
to wed me for the joys of crosswords
puzzles and...

the hyper-gemotry of sudoku...
157869324
983452176
246731598
821976453
394125687
67534­8912
568213749
719684235
432597861   (less a square...
think of a cube! a cabana cigar) -

                  i think of a hard-on
like i think about spring...
and... strawberries...
and small... asian hands working
their magic around the detail
of solding electronic parts together...
unicorns and mermaids...
and alien invasions that begin
with blockjobs rather than **** probing;
i guess i'm just being old-fashioned...

the good old days of drinking a pint
oif bourbon and paying little richard
a visit to the bulgarian...
                        lasso of a dead cow...
and the church of journalism...
the tabloid oopses and poops...
*******: further und mutter...
there was no glorious:
pwetty son  - brass shoulders of
an atlas pose...
a university degree in chemistry is
probably a step-back from being
an apprentice plumber...
and this mundane talk of wasted:
years doing social-science bluffs...

i am in the most fired-up dire need
of *** like...
no... i'm more prone to be asking:
dreamless sleep...
the *** can happens beside me...
with pickled brains...
insects and everything else hyperventilating...
tripping on a fusion
of m.d.m.a. and ****** -
      drunk and *** was **** gang for
her... deprived from: audience at the proper
"the end" of sabbath...
standards of men: what?!
the ones caged not having enough
practice shooting placebos and blanks?
while she: hail she! ave she!
she gets a thirst for threesomes
and the lost... blank...  jerker...
because... her: missing part...
fifth wheel handy is missing to
excavate the **** the floral pattern:
the kissing the children good: night?

i say sooth: i say dilute: i say:
here comes the beer...
this is not the 1960s and the rolling stones
and the sort of women to settle down with:
freebie bandies: banshees
and all that's missing are the:
she's still much afraid of the foxes cackling
in close conduct with the magpies...
before and after: she's afraid of the dark
like richard the lionheart...

going to visit the three tiers of P was never
easier... first the priest: eviently self-discredited...
then the psychiatrist / psychologist...
verbiage for the latter...
big pharma for the former...
and then... bulgarian prostitutes...
c.b.t. ******* with no touch...
but i'm a slave to the octopus when
it comes to being loved up...

87% of white women would **** a black
man... 13% of me says:
i'd for 90% of black women... when there
was a 99% chance of making the exception,...
and i will never bring my 12" g.i. joe
for the buttocks of semi-inflateable:
necessity to sink sort of buttocks:
but run as a cheetah it will...
no aquaman 'ere:
                      there's no "there": period...

brazil.. perhaps... a post-ethnic project...
argentina: too many t'zees: khaki burns...
puked mustard shirts... dijon ala: no dijon...
burnt mahoghanny flirt...
brazil the post-racial project...
no 12" **** envy... no... freed *** inflatables
and: sprints 100m under 10 seconds...
take about a lifetime to swim 50m...
and... bothers citing the "question"
of the anchor...
loses weight... takes to the marathon
as an ethiopian pseudo-***...
jumps the high... jumps the long...
but doesn't... jump the pole...

    aquaman contra king kong...
the crab the piglet and...
       unless she's the queen of sheba...
or nefertiti... and there isn't...
a lament of solomon...
              
      - and in general: this ****-sodden-pile
of maggot *****: smart talking cockneys
and smooth itching libido:
first come, first served:
new buddha wave sort of:
   "res vanus" hustling boyscouts of:
never-to-never: first come...
you... no g'lot... every other fwyday...

- all in all: a smart-eyed-up piece
of cockers... or cockney...
baron leverage - the rhyme... or the shlang...

ooh... me loves a whittle bits of
"misunderstandings":
cordiality... let me get m'ah dictionary out...
violence of words...

blood is thicker than water...
except for the custard...
and all that ******* pie..
because... what's paying 10quid for the turk
and the "madamme" for entry...
110 quid for the hour of blatant
butchering...
affectionate my ******* ***...
and then... a top up of a tenner tip
to mince a ******* oysters' worth
of **** for a "tip"!
what's that?

  look at my tongue... tattooed
with a bunch of that sorry **** of detials
for: excalibur... that one...
and only... sorry... tax dough
cough up!

           easier than ******* a mannequin...
pretend doll: pre-tend...
            five nigerian with machetes
walk into a bar...
one albanian counters...
the machetes are like...
               christmas tree deocrations
when the albanian hears the threat...
he's married... he was two duaghters...
so much for zulu warrior: nigeria
2.0 orc...

            when the albanian goes
full on schizoid... steps out of his body...
entertains the soul...
and... there's talk of...
the grace of the guillotine...
among the: newly become...
scuttling nigerian rats...

                  having entertained ***...
makes me... a rather... deviant creature...
i quiet enjoy the violence
served up by peace...
all this... troy of verbiage of comfort
and... pedantry... and that quote:
of a gang...
     ******* vulvas is for *******...
annals of ****: toe-dipping
two-'ere-one!

- as we are: at our best...
the most civil of: ****... entertain-ers...

take up a civil case with the pun...
much later: or no later...
what did a rhyme ever... do to you?
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
when i feel, when i really feel like writing,
i turn from being a snowman, and become
an avalanche.

god, i love the tease!
  it's like tickling a bear -
ever wonder why large dogs
rarely bark, and you always
see these puny chihuahuas barking?
it's a phenomenon i've considered
a great deal of times -
puny dogs bark all the time,
even if there's no impedeing sense
of danger, while large dogs
      bark: as their last resort:
or a hello! look at me!
i'm lord of the manor, come near
me and you're chow mein,
or a tartar steak!
    god, i love big dogs,
   gifts me with the idea of
a **** the size of an elephant's trunk:
to boost my ambitions.
ha ha.
    
i always wanted to speak like
sean connery, or shaun o'connery,
or shea mac'connery,
can't remember which one was
catholic, and which one was protestant,
or which one was supposed
to be my uncle...
          evidently? none of them!

point being... i'm not a ****** predator,
i'm ***-prone: as any man finish
a 100m sprint **** first, head later,
but i am a predator of some sorts,
i hunt for observations,
you know, the type that looks
for telescopes without the astronomer -
the microscope without the biologist,
the kaleidoscope without a john lennon...

god, i love this word: *kauczuk
-
imagine a monkey without
   a rubber ball -
what you gonna give poor gorilla heirmondo
next, a drum kit?!

funny you should ask...
i'm actually gagging for the day i'm called
a ****...
          i sent a letter to santa claus for
confirmation date that it could or would or
will happen...

    don't you *** it?!

come one, everyone knows the holocaust
happened,
   but people are still complimenting
the **** army uniform, how chic it was...
for all the wrong, the nazis always have
that one stable and historically bulletproof
observation repetition...

mind you, being a predator of observation
lists two individuals, the maxim perfectionists,
nietzsche & la rochefoucauld -
  no, no bongo-bongo parties around here,
predatory subtleness -
      a teasing voyeurism -
  a tickling sensation - nothing more,
enough for the eyes to feast,
and the rest remaining: grave ridden (as if
it were);

that's why i'm waiting to be teased as a ****,
everyone says: they were the best dressed army,
seems to me that ****** did become an
artist after all... albeit an artist in the fashion
industry...
    and never, was such a worse-attired army
of men defeat the best dressed of the lot...
i admit, the winged hussars of
the polish-lithuanian commonwealth were
a charity shop of pick & mix...
    
     call it: the ***** of "dolce & lagerfeld* -
carlie, dear, come on other,
suit up these ss boyscouts...
  
      as sylvia plath said: all women love a fascist,
except women that... don't know what
the answer to that is...
  nonetheless, fascists seem rather pseudo-****,
given they put so much effort into
their uniforms...
      ****** & mussolini,
i can see that brand selling,
given the backlog of nostalgia behind the brand,
you can see why so many wartime movies
have been made,
  and why americans and others are so
eager to don the **** uniforms...

       they called the catwalk:
khaki on black... it's the nuo white & black...

    and so whittle dolphie became the artist
in a double-edged sword moment,
an artist in auschwitz, and an artist in
fashion!
           this is exactly what british humour
looks like, i remember this one time
in edinburgh, this poncey english guy came
on stage in a comedy club,
  his opening line?

'you might recognise the accent...
  it's educated.'

beat that! mind you, beat the persistent fascination
with the **** army uniform,
   the totenkopf insignia...
look at them, poor buggers, slobbering as ever...
always tempted by the fashion,
it's always the fashion!
     nazis did one thing better than their
genocidal psychopathic mania:
  army fashion...
  the crispness of their attire is still
the most formidable apple of eden to be bitten,
and how easily people don the attire,
almost with a sense of pride & a chance of
bagging a bride too...

amazing... it's called something else in asia...
something about
   hsinchu city of taiwan with a bunch
of black geese marching...
      chan something...
haven't figured it out...
  but it seems there's a translation back
from asia among white men:
     kamikaze: hey, i'm all up for cultural
exchanges...

there we have it the new dolce & gabbana -
   ****** & mussolini -
      the best dressed pair of ****-wits
the world has ever seen...
     staggering as it is:
people will remember the nazis more
for their uniforms and a perfected sense
of fashion of military personnel,
   than their crimes;
****** really was an artist, although
i'm sure he never expected to become
a fashionista on the side;
it'd be nice to see a history in a universe,
where he really did, settle for
a career in still-life painting;
  i'm already speculating that:

his inspiration came from
                                   paul cézanne,
  and somehow precipitated into examples
of l. s. lowry.
Jay earnest  Jun 2021
muhammad
Jay earnest Jun 2021
I sat at a stoplight and my brain thought of nothing

I ate a subway sandwich as I farted In the cold and my cat drank liquid ****, i thought of nothing
I ***** a muffin and ****** 3 boyscouts and thought of nothing.
I ran a mile and picked my nose with greasy toes and thought of the state of the union. I voted.nothing. I passed away from a cold and pled guilty. **** human rights. Pigs won me over for the greasy ham. I slap it down with 3 jokers. I went talking whilst texting a joker in the day, her parents are dead and so am I.

— The End —