It was way past 9 and Chrissy knew she shouldn't be on the phone,  but she didnt care. She'd been doing what she wanted to do lately.  Giggling with Bryant on the other end she heard footsteps and the bathroom door slam shut. "oh ****" she whispered, quickly hanging up the phone and turning it off. Sliding it under her pillow she heard the toilet flush and threw the covers over her face.
Her door creaked and in peered her uncle Dan.  He walked over to the bed and peeled the covers back just a tad leaving Chrissy's face uncovered, glanced and proceeded out to leave the door open.
She could hear him walk to the back to his son's room to repeat the same actions only changing at the end by closing his door.
Chrissy's heart began to beat fast thinking she would get caught, with ever step he took was another toss and turn she made in her bed. Trying to get just comfortable enough to face him.
Looking closely at the door,  chrissy began to question why he left her door open and why was he prolonging it,  why didnt he just ****** her phone and put her on punishment?
He stopped in her doorway and pulled his pants down, "what the ****? " chrissy thought to herself squeezing her eyes tightly while praying these were tricks and side effects from the **** she and Bryant smoked.
It was over fast and yet dragged along with every groan that escaped his lips. When he finished and finally closed her door she reached under her pillow and called Bryant historical, "i dont know what just happened B, all i know is he pulled his **** out "

Sitting round the barbecue
there's Paddy, Jeff and me
Mary is on Paddy's right
as happy as can be
Kath is sitting next to Jon
while Chrissy chats with Fay
Paddy passes round the brew
on an orange, plastic tray

Someone grabs a guitar
and begins a happy song
No one knows the melody
but still we sing along
Over comes old Lucifer
his hooves are keeping time
Three hot dogs on his pitch fork
(and one of them is mine)

"I hate to break this up" he says
"the boss is on his way
And if we don't pass muster
then there will be Hell to pay
So put away that beer my friends
and hide that barbecue
Now everyone look miserable
and maybe we'll get through".

A golden light came shining in
as Jesus crossed the room
Paddy swung a pick ax
and I swept with a broom
And Lucifer he cursed at us
and cracked an evil whip
And then a half gone Fosters
went and fell from Paddy's hip.

You could have heard a pin
drop as that bottle hit the floor
Lucifer just shook his head
he knew what was in store
But Jesus Christ he grabbed
that brew and gave a wicked smile
"For an ice cold pint of Fosters
I would walk a country mile"

So the joint again was rockin’
And Jesus lead the way
He said “if it were up to me
I think that I would stay”
Then he downed another bottle
And he said ‘oh by the way,
My dad would not be cool with
this so hold your tongues, ok?"

We never let the secret slip
and all is right and well
And if you’d like to join
us at this barbecue in Hell
Then we have a simple rule
you see, that everyone abides
You can come and go eternally
but religion stays outside.

How did you get so pretty?
Every morning thats how she greets me

Who loves you baby doll?
She screams down the hall

No one loves me I tell her truthfully
I do she adds pitifully

I love you too
but only because you're stuck with me and I'm stuck with you

Deaths Of 2013

My third year doing this.

Paul Walker, Texas ranger,
driving fast leads to danger.
Matt Osbourne was Doink The Clown,
Paul Bearer always wore a frown.
Dennis Farina and James Gandolfini,
always played a mobster meany.
Peter O'Toole, famous actor,
Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher.
President Nelson Mandela,
Dennis Burkley, was a famous fat actor fella.
Lou Reed, is now on the wild side,
took all the colored girls for a ride.
Conrad Bain and Bonnie Franklin,
tv actors who had white skin.
Paul Blair and Stan The Man,
playing baseball, when they can.
Marcia Wallace and Lisa Robin Kelly,
both had ***** that bounced like jelly.
Tom Clancy wrote famous books,
not much on having good looks.
Cory Montieth and Patti Page,
one died young, other of old age.
Jean Stapleton, was Edith Bunker,
Archie always put her in the dumper.
Pat Summerall and Deacon Jones,
played football and broke some bones.
Dr. Joyce Brothers and Pauline Phillips,
they both gave good and bad tips.
Ray Manzarek, from The Doors,
Jeff Hanneman knew all Slayers chords.
Chrissy Amphlett, liked to touch herself,
Caleb Moore's trophies are on his shelf.
Mindy McCready and George Jones,
both hit those country tones.
Chris Kelly from Kris Kross,
Ed Koch is a New York loss.
David Frost and Roger Ebert,
always had words to insert.
Anneitte Funicello from Mickey Mouse Club,
Eydie Gorme almost got a snub.
Jonathan Winters, was very funny,
to come from Mork's egg, made him money.
If you don't know who these people are,
look them up, internet not very far.
For the ones that I missed,
please don't get to ******.

the life of patrick youngspeer


young patrick youngspeer, is a very nice kid, but in one year he lost his dad

and that made him devastated and patrick was so determined to keep his dads

spirit alive, he went on a trip all over outer space, but the problem was his dad

didn’t want this, and held his mouth saying to patrick, don’t do what you used to do, buddy

because i really hate being known as the old digger of the block, i hated being called the

great big old fogie, just to protect my son patrick, but patrick who was so devious and cunning,

like a little kid at as pre school, and patrick’s dad was really worried, he went down to try and find

where his next life will be, but patrick wesn’t sure he wanted his father to move on, oh well, he wanted him

to reincarnate, bur not move on, oh well, maybe move on, but patrick wants to meet his father’s next life

one of these days, but mr youngspeer hated the idea of meeting his first born son patrick more often than the others

but patrick wasn’t getting what he wants, so on the street, patrick youngspeer, yelled to his schizophrenic paranormal voices

****** oathe i am a cool kid, your a yeah mate yeah kid, cool kids do, what i do, yeah, only yeah mate yeah kids do what you do, yeah

and mr youngster said, nobody’s teasing you patrick, so why are you worried, and patrick said, they are trying to take my beliefs away

when i am powerful enough to reincarnate people from death to new life, but mr youngspeer said, no, i need to reform him, because he is

looking at the meat on the kids legs, on the youtube clips, but patrick said, i am not, i am keeping up to date with dead members of my family

i am not taking this further, i know it sounds weird, but just to christians points of view, and patrick, who is a nasty writer, and over half of his

pieces of writing, were rubbishing christians, one online dude on writers cafe, over the internet said, patrick should stop hassling christians

because it is a lovely religion, but despite patrick apologising to this lady, and the fact that patrick not meaning it,she told patrick that he was a

very nice person, and patrick went on to write songs and stories and after his mother went on a holiday to visit her sister josephine, who was a

healthy person, never smoked, never really did drugs, was diagnosed with lung cancer and patrick felt bad for his aunty josephine,he decided

to write a little poem for her

my aunty jo, my aunty jo

i really feel for you aunty jo

you don’t deserve what god brought to you

i really feel for you aunty jo

i might be a tad naughty and led you astray

i might have never given you a chrissy card today

but i care for you, oh my aunty jo

i care for you a lot, my aunty, yeah

i don’t want to see you die, jo, i thought you were too healthy

i know that you could beat this, so i will pray for you, yeah

i will pray for the powers of athena will come down and whisk and whisk and really

really whisk your lung cancer, away

you see i know yiou have grandchildren, who don’t want to see you go, love

you see, though i don’t want her to suffer but i don’t want us too either

please save my aunty jo, from this awful cancer shock

i want you to cure my aunty jo, miss athena, please save her now

she is too nice to die, the world ain’t ready to lose my aunty jo mate, no, athena please cure her now

please save my dear aunty jo

and as patrick was finishing  his poem, his father brought to planets together to make sure aunty jo will be alright, by releasing athena’s magic

and he did this with patrick youngspeers help, you see what a fabulous team we have trying to keep the family alive, but the only way mr youngspeer

will help his son like this, is to be dead but now his dad is dead, patrick is helping with his spiritual healing, and patrick said, drink plenty of coke, (party juice)

to save the workl, yet again, eventually mr youngspeer said, i don’t care if you don’t work, help people with me, because nobody really cared for you, nobody cares

unless you converted to christinailty, patrick said, don’t **** me into your christian ways, you fucken christians, i am your cosmic friend, but this christian said

i want to go up to outer space to help my father, patrick said, we are not ready to see the back of you yet aunty jo, and mr youngspeer said, no patrick, we ain’t

ready to see you go, no way, you see my pal, patrick youngspeer is based on my life

I can still remember the weather, it was your weather, as the whole day was yours as well.  

You called me Tuesday lunchtime. I tell you this so you might know who I am. I expect you call many people on a Tuesday lunchtime so I am nothing special to you. The cup-a-soup chicken dust was in the mug and particles were floating about in the light. The kettle flip was down and the water was just at that bit, post bubbling before the flip kicks up again to show it’s done. Butter out and open, ready and still messy with crumbs like some cross section of limestone showing its history. I could smell the toast was nearly toasted too. Everything was coming to a head, even the clock was crawling close to the exact hour. All these processes were funneling back together into one task, like streams regrouping in a river. I was focussing hard enough that I could feel seconds, and that is when you called.

“Hello, is this Mr. Innes-Jones?”
You said it in one of those recycled voices, and that hurt. I could already see your eyes in my head, I'm a fast visualiser, but with the way that you spoke, scripted, I couldn’t see any life in them. I could see your finger wrapping and unwrapping itself in the phone chord and I could smell complimentary coffee on your breath.

“Speaking,” I said, muting the television, cutting the talk show’s announcement short as to who the father is. He put his head in his hands and the woman opposite stood shouting and pointing downwards at him like a dictator, which, on this program, usually means he, is in fact, partaking in the wonderful adventure of parenthood.

“Are you the homeowner Mr. Innes-Jones?” God, if you could only call me Andy. If only you could say my name as if you were asking me what’s in the fridge, or telling me to move my legs so you could get in close on the couch. I know it’s two syllables but it’s still not too difficult a name to say and in my wildest dreams, sigh.

“Yes, I am and call me… tell me what this call is in regards to.” I’m sorry to be so rude and direct, it still kills me that I may have cut some of your voice from my life by getting straight to the point but I realised it was far too forward for us to be on a first name basis, when, to you, I’m a stranger. I was like a car that swerves and then has to control itself. You could hang up any moment and lose a sales deal, but I could lose you.

“Of course sir.” Sir is worse than Mr. Innes-Jones.

“My name’s Christine.” Christine. You said something else afterward about solar panels but I was still stuck there. Stuck there wondering whether you looked like your name, as some people do, or if you transcended it and it paled in comparison to you, just like when a star is named a number. Christine. Maybe your parents are people of faith and their conservatism in your upbringing has given you a bashful streak. Might you turn in your rotating office chair and blush in the face of a wink or a half smile? Are you a Tina in the world off of the phone? Or Chris? this is important, what is it about you which might influence people in that decision.

I focused back into your voice. I could always leave wondering for later. I’d most likely have my whole life to wonder and knowing how the memory would fade, how I would eventually have to fill it in with my substandard vision of your voice, tone, and intonation, I couldn’t let any more of you slip into static, the hum of space.

“Might you be the homeowner sir?”

“Yes, I am indeed” I wanted to ask the question back and delude myself that this was a conversation and not an interrogation, but I didn’t. The saddest three words right there.

“And you make the decisions there, correct?” “Yes, certainly do.” I’m sure that women like a man of the house, our house, though I doubt your imagination was working as hard as mine. I was still finding it hard not fall into it.

My silenced program finished on the television and you went into my electric bill. The women in the adverts disappointedly displayed their appliances, fell off ladders, came in suits to save people who did, and a myriad of other things, but they all spoke in your voice, spoke to me. Some were called Tina, some called Chris, depending on which name suited their faces. It was funny, I felt that I slightly loved all of them, in different ways, as they attempted to be you. Like this woman with the wonder-mop for example. She had a checkered shirt, and despite still being quite pretty, time had separated her jowls slightly from her chin, so I decided on the more androgynous name Chris for her, Chrissy at best, she has a life away from wonder-mops. She doesn’t spend her days in perfect lighting demonstrating to her husband and kids how, however hard you shake the thing, it still retains it’s liquid. Though I expect she probably gets one for free. I hope she does, they look quite good.

“Sir? Sir?” Chris on screen tells me, like some kind of backward echo getting louder and more real. I gave you my attention back and bear in mind I always will.  “Sorry?” “I said, are there any large trees nearby your house that may obscure sunlight to the panels?” “No.” “Any tall properties nearby to the same effect, sir?” “Can’t say so.” In my mind you were asking me for something in that way that wives do, establishing with a series of questions that there’s no real reason why we can’t have solar panels, so why don’t we. A really subtle supplication, and I played along and allowed it, just for you. I kept it to myself that I live in a basement apartment and the only light I get is when no one is walking over the grate above the front window.

Yuch,
I tasted Chrissy's canned food today.
Though our tastes differ
her personality is sizable.

Her thinking faces
and her dog winks
make me think she is an old fuzzy lady.

Peoples and their pets.
Not a petty thing
yet treated as such.

This morning she
crafted an omelette
for me because I requested.

I would have liked it
but, as I said,
yuch.

title: liquorice -
body: pretend it's
        just some vinyl.        

            these 502 bad gateway hacks are becoming...
not even bewildering... just idiotic...

it just dawned on me... come mid-afternoon...
i took a shower, put on the washing...
still ******* waiting to hang it up...
hmm... "counter-culture" and what not...
very unlike that glorious past of the 1960s...
i'm thinking: "red pill" and "black pill" and
******... sorry... incels...
    the future: a Saudi Arabia... copper-neck
new Brazil of trans-racialism... blah blah...
    polygamy or... a return to harems...
       but... i'm getting into a groove...
    oh **** me... **** me stiff... also necrophilia
style *******...
         men... are looking for *******...
they're bemoaning: a lack of *******...
  it truly is an Agent Smith argument...
        people... just... have no idea... what... entitles them...
when: they are given... shoved into...
having... absolute freedom! esp. men!
sure... women... do your thing... shackle with...
but we're finally free... take a breather...
you don't need to stash your make-shift imitation
train set in the garage...
     new focus: get drunk more... bask in the sun...
i'm free! weird... there is no social obligation
for me to couple up... and have someone
by my side to fuel the economy...
     this is better than anything Marx ever could
have envisioned! it's like the whole system
is going to self-implode because:
that's when Darwin sparred with Marx...
       as a man... i'm only going to spend money
on what i need... not what i desire... eventually: deride...
because... eh... leave the peacocks to the peacocks...
that saint: who wed himself to poverty:
Francis of Assisi...
                 depicted with a trio of pseudo-witches...
of Macbeth... or the Graeae...
i still don't understand... i'm trying...
     we're gloriously: free!
                 for once we can sort of live like *****:
freely-floating forward toward nothing:
with nothing: to mind!
               i still don't understand men that
bother themselves: bemoan not being pair-bonded!
borrowed from the tales of
the miseries of my grandfather and father...
*** is a great gift-card... but... later on:
i hardly wish i was "there": the preservation of life
can befall the "idiots"... sure... but life encapsulated
by one: for one... rather than the demands of
the many... what a relief!
   sure... life's burden from the perspective of "lack":
less is more... weird... weird... wriggly...
i don't know what to do with so much freedom!
ease up... i just don't know what to do with you:
dearest: freedom...
       woo hoo!
let's spell out some Deutsche!
   ich bin ein: frei-mann! woop woop!
       because... it's so demeaning... for a man...
to have only to focus on the ontology of woman...
ugh... sickly: sweet...
after all: women only spearheaded one "idea":
the Trojan horse of feminism...
hence the necessity to compound:
stoic-feminism... n'ah ah...
cynic-feminism... nope... not going to ******* float...
none of this is going to float:
i feel glad... irresponsibly glad...
almost altruistic / autistic... *******... *******: giggly!
ha ha! i'm laughing at my own jokes...
rolling out of control... having that dementia
moment of: transcending egoism that spells out:
I AM A GOD...
  or just... a very unfunny man...
whichever... i'm glad...
but i don't need to be a husband! i don't need to provide!
i don't need to be a wage-slave!
wow! phew! one relief after another...
and then euthanasia come the bad and terrible
and need for an umbrella...
phew! life... finally makes sense!
no one is going to miss me...
no one is going to grieve me...
i can't complain... i wouldn't want to...
it feels like it has almost been orchestrated...
i'm suspicious... now i want to drink some more
and... and... not bargain... ah... gambit: gamble
with traffic! with: big trucks and buses...
i feel an itch of: thirst that can't be quenched
with water... more: adrenaline...
         ugh... warm whiskey...
slurp-up: slurpy-****... juice up...
       *****-down...
                      ****... why is my forehead still aching?!
oh... right... that night i spent...
fighting with "myself"... or rather...
my shadow... whichever... even i get confused...
i still don't understand why men bemoan not
being subjugated... chased... hand-cuffed...
you're free! yeah... well... freedom does do a lot of
whacky **** to people who are:
5am wake up call primed...
              
me... happy... so happy that i try to make myself
feel sad... punching myself in the head
sort of alleviates the tension: but: not that much...
erratic cycling tactics in heavy traffic...
pretending to get a sun-tan...
that... oh ****... that helps...

      it's like... the Spartan warfare machine never
existed: even though... i'd love some rough and tumble...
even now... women scribbling Neo-****** of:
who is and who isn't to reproduce...
isn't it? Neo-******? out-breeding the lesser caste?
because... all women are the omni-caste...
no... they're not...
some will pop-out a: hyper-inflated head of a sort
of... "egg"... weird **** out from the imagination
of Mary Shelley... crap i'd want to dump... flush
down the toilet with my ****...
sorry... nature is cruel...

but it's a bit like: a square is square...
nature is nature...
you can't dispute it...
RADAR... you can spell that word
backwards and forwards...

     but me... hmm... what man wouldn't find relief
in life if he were bonded to a woman:
strapped... chin-mugged... scraping his
very dignity for some poke at the clam...
i just don't know what to do with my freedom!
like that Joker quote:
i'm like a dog chasing cars...
i wouldn't know what to do if i managed
to catch one!
i'm happy being sad... i'm sad being happy...
i'm like Eve having just eaten
the forbidden fruit... erotically "confused"...
but... not willing to give up that feeling
to the idiot that Adam was...
            ha ha: "transgender"... well... a little bit
of everything...

it's this freedom that's suspect...
well... if we are going toward an Arab style society
of polygamy and harems and...
and i'm a 6ft2 100kg hunchback with
bad teeth and bad eyesight and diabetes...
**** me... well then... Darwinism really works...
works like: Marxism never worked...
single men... driving the economy:
to the ******* ground...
   because... who the **** is going to buy hulahoops?
or dolls? or make-up?

again: i just don't know what to do with
my freedom... do i... simply: live?
wow... so much time... too much time even...
eh... pushing toward 80 isn't even an option...
thank god for the liberal attitudes of
the Benelux concerning death...
                      i'll most certainly look into that...
you can say your life is complete after
drinking milk... or eating an ice cream...
or something ridiculous like that...
   why? so freely disengaged from anyone in existence...
perhaps some drag concerning historical
figures... but...
     weird strategy... an even weirder energy...

not out of some upon-high reason for anti-natalism...
not because i'm an Einstein or a Newton...
i'm not the man who invented the nail or the hammer
or beer...

seeing prostitutes sort of helps with any
potential "anger"... "issues" about not being strapped
to potential: leech...
why is it in my nature to be so predisposed
to entertaining this idea like i should be grateful
rather than resentful for it?

mein gott... the days when women were these
mythological creatures of curiosity and
idealism... i hate writing these words...
           and what did they become?
prostitutes... headaches... or spare parts;

   you just can't prefix feminism-
  before any / every school of thought that man
conjured... because: oh the headache...
everything is replied with: ****!
   i'm alive... but... i'm ******* bailing out;
my lifelong dream from my youth...
honestly... i always wanted to enter a monastery...
i always wanted to become a monk...

nice to know that some choices could
be made for me...
and no... not at the altar of Ba'al Yatoosh...
who? ******* Hey-Zeus! Chrissy of Nazareth!

all the evil urges of the Demiurge:
that... i'm fine with... but not the kneeling
and pretend ******* break my jaw sort of b.c. to a.d. clocking
in to: life like a torment...
i don't exactly feel like living
in a clone army; in a hive mind.

I walked my dog this morning
and it was the perfect time for a walk
(thanks Chrissy).

It was just as the morning sun was
making its face known.
I got to see the gentle morning
cloud that coated my childish
forest hills get burned away;
I got to see the familiar mist
on my nearby lake be born,
I had never seen it start to rise,
but this morning, I watched
it grow.

The white light of the sun was
drowned in the atmosphere
to become a gentle yellow that
shown on the trees,
and everything was breathing,
was aglow, with the multitude
of dew that had gathered from
yesterday's rain showers.

Directly against the yellow air,
blue bark gnarled by time,
green mosses with redheads
sticking out in patches within
patches.

Red cardinals flinging themselves and
thrashers too in their characteristic
Spanish flair. Ravens aplenty,
fishing crows too, their ugly cries
adding to the density of elegant
morning conversations.

Among all of this, one bullfrog called
once during the morning walk. I
took a moment to turn and look towards.

Most of all, there were colorful
southern flowers that rang down
in chains, left right one-two's
that drooped with dew, and they
were drained of their former glory
for Spring has been over.

The walk:
a nice good morning and a
reminder of breath, a way
to clear morning thoughts
and bring a hint of the road.

I am here like I promised I would be. I have been sitting here for awhile now , remembering you. I wish so badly to be able to see you... To hear you.... Something.... Anything.

From the back yard it all appears normal and as though life is unchanged. It is anything but normal.

The roses.... They are still here. Untouched by time other than some weathering of the stems. How I hate those roses and what they represent.
I'll not touch them. But I will recall their meaning that day.

I want you to know I am so very sorry I was unable to be here for you that fateful day. I would do anything to change that. I am here now and I am not leaving. I will stay here for you, knowing there is nothing I can do to bring you back.

It's 6. You would be home. It's already happening... And no one can stop the horror of your last minutes. It hurts so bad knowing what you had to endure. Remembering the aftermath.

So much left unsaid, undone.... So much life you had yet to live snatched away in a cowardly display of power, control, and pure venom.

It must be nearing that time. I am beginning to feel you. I am beginning to get chills up my spine. The breeze has picked up some. A sparrow went hopping around in your roses.

I should be sitting out here with you. Not sitting out here remembering you. Fires, chatting, watching the kids play as they were growing up...so many memories flooding back all at once. So heart wrenching to know they will never be more than memories ever again.

You should be popping out of the back door and sarcastically asking me, "Why aren't you coming in Chrissy? Too lazy to take your shoes off or what ? " Then would be that laugh.... I loved that that laugh. No more picking back and forth. No more joking around. No more funny sarcasm. No more anything. It's all no more.

I pray where ever you are now that you are happy. That you can still hear and see us all. That you know how deeply we miss you and love you. That you know you will never be forgotten. And that you know I am here today.
I love you so much Deb.

Hey, Gram.
It's been awhile.
Do you miss us down here?
I miss your smile.
Can you believe it's already been nine years?
Me neither,
but there's been a whole lot of good times,
and a whole lot of tears.

I find myself wishing I could hear your
laugh, or even just your voice
one more time..
at least inside my mind,
it doesn't seem like you're gone.

I thought I'd just write you a little letter
to let you know you're still so loved
and though it's gotten a little better,
I sometimes wish you weren't
waiting up above,
but still down here with us.

That's just me being selfish,
but our little family is growing.
I'm sure you've seen G
and how big she's getting.
Gram, you'd love her so much,
she has your eyes.

And Chrissy's getting married,
I promise you'd love Monica, too.
She makes all of us laugh so much -
something you used to do.

But it's time for me to sign off here
and stop before I cry,
cause God knows
I always get a little choked up
whenever you cross my mind.

I wish you were here,
I love you,
and I miss you every day.

Love,
Your Punka-doodle-do
Forever & Always

peep this...you can't see the forest or the trees because of material in the way, and when you hold up a mirror, you see perfection...i never liked mirrors, because i want to see something new...yes i was born and raised in ohio

up up in ohio
two brothers got together
to talk about some wings
to talk about the weather

thanks for the wind lord
we have to spread the word
eagles can't even speak
we need wings like a bird

on orville's death bed
his wishes were his plan
please use this bird for good
and let the pilot only be a man

moral of this story is that the female was trying to prove something and landed near cannibals, who only thought of living and not proving
the wright brothers doing for fellow man...women aren't evil, but will be used as a vessel until they accept their role...to be whole...i know it's offensive to women, but it's logical to religion and science alike. My favorite writer ever is Mary Shelley, and one of my favorite poets and singers is Chrissy Hinde. Women aren't less than men, so when they don't feel a need to prove it, things will change. Just trying to think of a whole, and what it takes, Because that will make me whole. Love.

look at their names
the wRIGHT brothers
amelia AIRheart

drones controlled by women refer to documentary "america's bird"

sinister

maybe someone else invented flight...maybe god maybe nasa

Christmas is near,
Summer is here,
Mozzies we fear,
Presents appear.

Bring out the thongs,
And barbecue tongs,
Where Santa belongs,
With our Chrissy songs.

Bondi is packed,
Beer bottles cracked,
Pressies are now packed,
Those, Santa has sacked.

But Australia is burning,
Our stomachs are churning,
A lot we aren't learning,
From how this year's turning.

This is our New Year,
We may shed a tear,
As we live in fear,
As Christmas comes near.

****, no better hard-on apart from listening to some bruce springsteen and reading something from the book of malachi...

  my name will be great among the nations, from where the sun rises to where it sets: i.e. in english...

         good on y'ah pastor...

                 i admit, oh lord,
distinguishing between the righteous and
the religious folk...
hard to tell the tale of either,
most excruciating is when,
the two congregate...

     malachi (4:6)
he will turn the hearts of the parents to their children,
and the hearts of the children to their parents;
or else i will come and strike the land
   with total destruction.

you know my offering unto my father
this father's days?
the usual...
taking out the *******,
cooking some food,
          watering the flowers
in the garden...
  it wasn't a carboard cut-out
******* of the west...
oh, i'm well versed in bible jargon...

        i'm half a man? i'm not insulted...
because i didn't grow up to be a man
and have children?
  talk about a miracle being
a walking abortion!
      isn't kierkegaard or nietzsche
or kant the hälftemann?
"half" the man?
   so much for the "Übermensch",
more like: parodiemensch these days...
send the teens to the cinema
while the parents stay at home,
when, the inverse was corrected
and the parents went to the cinema
and when kid sitters were required...
like... shirley maclaine: hot as ****...
and the whole gig of trampolines...
or whatever you called them in the 1960s...
elevator operators... ****...
that's what you called them...

****... better start telling the pro-life
movement that,
whenever i ******* into a tissue
i get a sense of being the next
pol ***...
        i guess the ***** was always
dead in me,
   and "magically" became
                             alive in a woman...
well: here's to another genocide...
oh sure...
    having started aged 8,
     castration wouldn't be a problem...
the male sensation of an ******
isn't related to ******* anything as such...
you can experience an ******
as an 8 year old...
   but there's no ***** to be *******...
still...
        prostitutes are pro-life,
but they don't gamble / bribe the argument...
that was the worst time in my life...
   being bribed: the "oops" moment...
there was about as much "oops" in
that moment, as there was kama sutra
in oppenheimer's vedic citation.
or is that somehow related to shooting
out hollow eggs all the time,
              it was one thing to call
me irresponsible,
another: no legal contract,
                "man-up"...
                           ­ that's probably the only
reason i ever went to a *******...
had to check the ground...
  fiddle my way through
some sort of justification
    in order to not be shouted down
by some day-time agony aunt jerry
springer host on t.v.,
            and to be honest?
   once that brothel transaction went through?
and i saw with clear eyes,
what an authentic transaction looks like?
all that pandering, dates,
   clothes shopping...
           n'ah...
             give me a cube:
   i'll put it through the square hole...
give me an sphere,
              i'll put it through the circle hole.

my present for father's day?
my daddy-oh received a letter from
the p.m. of england,
mr. cameron, how he was the goodie-goodie
good-shoe tight left foot bloat
when paying taxes...
    paid them...
                  a regular at the tax olympics...
me? i don't pay taxes,
i don't earn enough...
i have a student loan...
almost halfway through,
once i reach 30+ years it will be written
off...
              i'd pay... if i landed
a chemistry job... since working in
a supermarket is all i'm ever going to get?
**** 'em...
              i'll wait... then i'll take the
dutch youth route of asking for
euthanasia... well... it's not like i will
jive to have a life worth of living
for... just... strangers...

see, i have found release...
   i'm so unterribly unjealous of my father...
he can have all the praises...
he's also an only-child,
abandoned by his mother and father,
raised by his grandparents...
   i'm half a man by not risking
to establish a family, a legacy,
by marrying?
you know... funny that...
i'd rather take my chances
with a grizzly bear than a woman...
at least me and a grizzly is
a 1-on-1 interaction...
no third party bullshitters in-between...
no bureaucratic stalemates,
no bureaucratic no-man's land...
no bureaucratic frustration...
                  me, grizzly:
either i skin the ******,
or? i get mauled... easy-peasy-japanese!
i like that absolute "conundrum"...

oh i still live with my parents...
england, housing shortage...
        this is probably the right time to "love"
your parents...
or at least mind them,
i don't mind them, i do most of the household
chores, then i drink at night...
they don't mind me drinking:
unless... unless i don't shower for more than
2 days... then i start to stink of a brewery...
well... either this or...
the forest floor, or homeless in loon'don...
not much choice... certainly no environment
for a girlfriend...
and, girlfriend, mind you...

    i like listening to all these vollmensch:
the full men...
   so wise, so wise,
with their wife and children,
always with the ideal prescription
for existence!
               taken risk, bounty,
result! boo y'ah!
              yes, when you already have
what you're prescribing others to take...
mind you...
again, to reiterate...
       kant was a bachelor...
                   i like that he completed his
adventure into "manhood" as less
an atheist: in need of people to be listened to
akin to chrissy hitchens...
   and more a solipsist...
              i guess i'm the child
of his thinking...
  so much for ******* i guess...
ugh... the anglophile world and its
fanaticism surrounding darwinism
and the big bang (bang, bang in a vacuum?)...
genes and i.q.,
what dry intellectual debates...
proper suited to a butcher's shop than
a cafe, and... god forbid a brothel!
give me a slab of raw beef meat
and an english tongue and i'll
cut you the same slab of something
worth satiating the hungry palette.

   h'america is still christ crazed,
sitting down congregation in easy armchairs...
armored to the **** with futility after futility
to mar the existence of the atom bomb:
more bullets, more guns, more money...
nuclear is the antithesis of warfare...
one drop, the end... who needs a war akin
to that?

                    i stopped looking toward h'america
a long time ago...
                   england is choking me as it is...
i'm looking toward germany come early 20th century
thought... ****... maybe i should be looking
toward to Moldova, anything but this,
any form of escapism will help...
   Greenland, the Faroe Islands...
          
i'll go as far as to say:
i'd quit drinking...
           if i was contracted a decent ****
from Tehran.

Such were evenings of the type too often marked as sultry,
But sometimes such descriptions are apt
And thus denoted as so;
We would be well into the bottles and cans
To such point as we were not wearing them particularly well,
And so we spoke of things
Which may or may not have mattered,
The relative merits of cinema femme fatales
Dead four, perhaps five decades,
The notion of such women who had it,
(Followed by the de rigeur toasts to Chrissy Hynde,
And long may she wail)
Various things which disappeared with the fog and dew
Once sunrise made its unhappy presence known,
And when the old boiler suggested that sleep and abstinence
Constituted the prudent route to follow,
I excused myself for a walk,
(Nodding to my brother-in-law as he nodded,
Possibly but not invariably still awake)
Undertaken in various shambling states of unsteadiness
Back to my mother-in-law's house
Muttering silent regrets for the lack of bread crumbs
Mixed with somewhat less than sotto voce snippets
Of songs sung earlier with considerable gusto
And nearly adequate fidelity to sharps and flats,
And if I had maintained a relative judiciousness in my intake
(The alternative an unpleasant return to my domicile pro tem,
Usually marked with an entrance featuring mud and mayhem,
More or less forgiven the next morning)
I would, if the evening was clear and still,
Speculate upon the nature of the starlight,
Be it the distress calls of celestial bodies dark and listless
Or something in its salad days, so to speak,
And often it would strike me as somewhat less than fitting
That not a single glass had been raised to their health.

Self run (Riot)

I walk
6 feet tall
All of me

(I have been told I lead with my ******, it is unintentionally ****** forward if I do. My head is usually in the clouds. I’m assuming my ***** is too. Once I think about it . .. I’m away to something else. Figuratively and literally. I guess If my ****** leads, I soon follow.)

All of me
5 foot 9
And 6 feet tall

My perfume
Hubris
But at most I’m self aware
At least
I’m oblivious

It wafts around
At 6 feet

High

(I have been told I look like Debbie Harry, I prefer Chrissy Hynde, but Debbie Harry will do. Especially on those one shoe Sunday morning afters. Even then I douse myself  O! DAY! Perfumed. Pride and all of its bilingual manifestations)

At
6 feet tall
I’ll take you to Church
O! Faced

(A man once once winked at me and said; Jennifer I’m going to take you to church. He meant a good ****. Or intended a phenomenal one.. regardless, I took him. I usually do. Jennifer the pew.)

Straight up
No inclination
6 feet tall

Baller

i put the index and ******* of my right
hand... the tips... in a V (5) shape...
and i see a third eye...

then i count the number of holes in my body...
two nostrils...
one mouth... 3...
two eyes... 5...
two ears 7...
                    one ***... ha ha... one *******
/ **** duct...       grand total? 9...
what does it in "mean"? P...

i've returned to the land of jokers...
seriously... i never appreciated Greek philosophy...
ancient Greek philosophy:
because? there was no Byzantine philosophy:
well... there was...
the New Testament...
which had it's ******* pride whitewashed
by the Turks sacking Constantinople...

see... i don't believe in any Judeo-Christian
ethnical trap craps...
i don't... it's a load of dog-whistles and
bigger dog *******...

i believe the New Testament was crafted
as a Greco-Judeo "conspiracy theory" against
the Roman Empire...
i'm actually thrilled that my heart
entertains this idea...
why else would the Greeks keep the notion
of empire alive far longer than the Latins?
they would become Byzantines and not Greeks?
they would... morph the Glagolitic script
into Cyrillic?

mein gott! and i'm sort of like an Arab...
the Teutonic / northern crusades against
the last pagans of Europe:
who "we" coupled with with the ******-Lithuanian
Commonwealth... **** me... "we" probably
even employed the use of Tartars to defeat
the iron-numb-skulls on horseback...

i think i'm lucky: i haven't won the lottery:
but: boy... i have...
the historical lottery...
    ZERO post-colonial guilt tripping...
last time i heard: it took **** Germany &
Soviet Russia longer to dismantle Poland
than it took **** Germany to conquer France...

eh?! the memory of Napoleon went missing?!
maybe the French girls just love to ****
foreigners... maybe they're easily approachable...
i'll blow a bubble-gun at them...
surely they'll submit... ha ha...

no no... i just did a U-turn today...
i became drunk on my own "intellect" / memory...
i remember buying this book as a teenager...
Tao... huh? and this one passage stuck with me:
a categorical imperative unlike any
German thinking:

the best way to aid the world:
is to forget the world
   and for the world to forget you...

it might have been a hardcover exemplar of what
Tao was about... but it didn't cite anyone...
only yesterday i was listening to a podcast
by Carefree Wandering... this Barbarossa shackled
by / in Shanghai...

a name dropped...  Zhoung Zhou... ergo?
the Zhoungzi...
     it was a really hot day today... today was a really
hot day... i "forgot" about painting the fence...
instead i did the ironing inside... shirt off...
then i prepped the bbq...
   turns out... my female cat likes music...
she loves the Red Hot Chilli Peppers...
  i love the Red Hot Chilli Peppers...
     **** me: i hate the Beatles and i hate the Rolling Stones...
to me there's only one FAB 4...

i'm like a giddy... chirpy sparrow singing...
albeit with a poker face...
when i worked security watching them live...
but with an element of retrospect...
because... that wasn't me at the gig:
that's me ironing shirts...
and watching my VERONIYA relaxing
with the music being played...

there are two greatest compliments in this world...
another person likes your cooking skills...
yeah: they actually eat the food you cooked
for them...
and?
an animal enjoys the music you're listening to...
the animal is not freaked out by the noise
that's the transcendence of a tap-dripping tap 'ap ap ap...

i don't know which is better... probably
the latter...
            you know: when you listen to music...
have a memory of a gig... you worked security on...
then you're ironing shirts...
and your female Maine **** is not ******* off...
and you're sort of: all "itchy": but it's not an "itch"...
it's a "feeling": a feels...
            i was born with it...
                    when i was younger and my father ******
off to England to better our economic prospects and
i didn't see him from age 4 through to 8...
my mother through the age of 6 through to 8...
grandparents... two dogs...
Bella... Axel...
                            Joseph and Hella...

i'd get gifts sent back to me...
a Nintendo this and that...
        i was generous... i shared...
but when i shared...
i had this numbing-excitement sensation...
whenever i witnessed people using my "stuff"...
i can't explain it... it just felt much better than
an *******...

like the case of scent in the film Perfume...
i can't capture this feeling... this tip-of-the-fingers
sensation...
excited mingling with numbing...

**** me... Veroniya loves AROUND THE WORLD...
it has become my new favourite
Red Hot Chilli Pepper song...
and they are my "peers": i hate the Beatles...
i hate the Rolling Stones...
but? i love Bob Dylan...
   best way to appreciate Bobby?
on a train from St. Petersburg to Moscow...
overnight...

Metallica or Godsmack... once upon a time...
the former... but these days?
the latter...

that's where i parked "my horse":
because i wasn't going to unwind with ego-tripping
***** pageant mechanisms
for allowing competition:
why is it that all the pretty girls
become prostitutes...

please tell me it's untrue: but... it's true...
all the pretty women become prostitutes...
all the "ugly" men are leftovers...
shadows... but hum in on some beached whales
and it's more than likely that she
will replicate... itch... ooze... ugh...
fair enough...
      i need my mind to be crisp...
i need to be getting numb and drunk with
the sages of Chinas... yeah... the plural...
from 600 years before Chrissy..

         i'll blame it on the fact that it was a hot day...
or i'll blame it on... ****...
i got intellectually drunk today...
i knew about Tao a long long time ago...
but i was never told the pinpoint
the anti-Confucian element...
really?! ZHUANGZI?!

                         that helps...
   i never liked ancient Greek thinking to begin
with...
            German thinking? yes...
esp. correlating an antithesis to **** ideology...
i loved that part... Heidegger above Beethoven...

the dead rest: the living live as if resting...
the dead are NOT: at rest...
the dead are resting...
while the living are simply living and resting
at the same time...

i have made a 180 return to to Tao...
today i became drunk from the intellectual
play on what could be a...
play on words: more... a play on word-idea...

who did i support?
in the Wimbledon final?
i am an anti-racist... but when i heard....
she's playing tennis for the Arabs...
for the Blacks... blah blah...
i switched off... please... sport?!
no politics...
   ******* of narrative..
  you just destroyed Afghanistan...
   Iraq... Libya...
        why do you suddenly summon
a care for Ukraine?!

                                  *******!
nahts steht hunger starr in unsern traum!
ja... ich... hassen mein haben menschen!
das letzte サムライ....

              alle letzte! ah! was ist verloren?!
beste zu tanz! beste zu tanz!
beste zu singen!
             mein herz... mein: werden...
mein: etwas...
               mein: letzte hoffung und liebe...

kommen sie mein am wenigsten
      wollen von ein kind...

         mein kind... mein kind...
mein einfrieren luft...
                     mein: hämmern erde...
das tanzen freuer...
        mit wasser: irgendetwas...

shift shaft: shuffle... SH...
wechsel... welle... mischen...

                   das ist gut?!
                       men born for merely a grave...
menschen geboren für
    nur ein graB...
                             nein nein: niet: ein sharpened S...
you saw it! ein B'eh!
graB...
                
                              i think i will die a happy man...
i think i will die a happy man because i
anticipate so many people dying unhappy...
the guilt-tripping-gripping...
i wish i lived a long time ago...
i wish i lived years ahead of stated times...
me?!
i'm trying out Daoism...
   or rather... returning to it...
           this be the zenith:

i must stress it in German:

dies sein die zenit! das ende...
                         the wind fills the pillows...
while my thoughts clamour for hiking
clouds!

You sat me down, placed your hand on my leg.
Your lip's tremble unmasks your unwound nerves.
"Chrissy, I'm sorry, it's time to go home."
And there he stands, his shadowed silhouette.
And there you go, arm in arm, hand in hand.
I sit, I weep, and the scene fades to black.