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Mark Motherland Mar 2019
Part One - Missing presumed dead

Apparently Alec was missing presumed dead
at least that was what the obituary said
how then he got married is still a mystery
life after a very dark period of history

               Jane plodded head down through another long day
               solitude complete in a strange kind of way
               while Kestrels are tacked to an untamed sky
               she screams "Dear Lord wont you please tell me why"

young Alec stood well over six foot tall
legs full of shrapnell disfigured and all
willing to give all for a meagre days pay
a young man with half of his face blown away

                Shepherdess Jane sat under sad twinkling stars
                it was plain to see she had her own mental scars
                the Ferryman's Daughter, she was so kind
                different from the others, Jane was blind

when the bells of victory began to ring forth
it was too much for Alec, he headed up North
up to the North where the bronze fields shone
but Alec's old personality had gone

                 there in the North a young Shepherdess called Jane
                 did dry Alec's tears and soothed his deep pain
                 Her voice rolled over hills in a plaintive wave
                 as they assumed Alec lied in an unmarked grave

In time they married, Jane bore Alec a Son
but talk about the war, Alec would have none
all that he said was "between you and me..
I've seen things that no man should ever see"

                 flashbacks in his mind of the dead still ringing
                 offset by his young Wife's ethereal singing
                 somewhere around the Somme young Alec lay dead
                 at least that was what the obituary said.


Part Two - The Ferryman

The Ferryman vowed he would find his girl
he picked some roses to place in the top room
searched high and low to find his precious lost pearl
swore he would have her back before the flowers bloom

treated like a slave, a young girl in her prime
the Brothers got away Jane was left behind
her body it did whither through the passing of time
She was different from the others, Jane was blind

worked as a Milkmaid her hands would get so sore
under constant threats she still searched for the spark
work never done a family waits on the shore
although Jane was blind she could see in the dark

the moon shone bright on the path to the Ferry House
the gusts picked up on the night Jane ran away
salty wind and sea shanty's awakened the grouse
as Jane finally gets her break from the play

He scoured every square inch of the land
yet couldn't ask why? Or search into his past
at the Wayfarers Inn they'd got it all planned
released from a cruelty that could no longer last

the night the Father died Gaelic psalms they sang
a lonely house still stands like a watch to nature's will
when they buried the Ferryman the church bells rang
the flowers in the attic, they stand there still.


Part three - The Inn (recapitulation)

The Ferrymans lantern swung in the pouring rain
he heard that his Daughter had made it to the Inn
the audience sang to the Drovers refrain
midst discarded cigarettes, rolling dice and gin

Jane had long picked brambles from thorn covered vines
lived an intoned existence yet she had her plans
though Jane was blind she could read between the lines
a chance to escape, she grabbed it with both hands

the Inn's cosy light shone at the end of the lane
to Whiskey Jack, Jane's elopement had come to light
she had nothing to lose and everything to gain
Jane's now with Alec and has recieved her respite

see him dramming away yarns, bereft of what's true
then screaming his lies to the starry sky above
but tidal subtleties are demanding their due
his heart had long died to the trueness of love

the landlord played the piano and felt every note
the Ferryman's lantern swung in the pouring rain
given up his search, now in want of his boat
regular at the Inn but never seen again

he knew that yesterday would never come back
sailing aimlessly like a throw of the dice
he knew there would be no-one to take up the slack
the doomed Mariner paid the ultimate price.
On the North coast of Scotland on the Ard Neakie peninsular, there lies an old Ferry house, built before the road in 1830. Sadly it has long fallen into desuetude. On the other side of Loch Erribol lies the Wayfare Inn, now a holiday let. My imagination knows no bounds.
Echo Nov 2014
Playlist Of Souls  Oct 27
I love you too starshine


Rosie

Rosie  Oct 27
I will never get tired of hearing that. :')
steals a kiss I had too. I haven't done that in a while. <3


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  Oct 28
What's your problem? I would never judge you.


Rosie

Rosie  7 days ago
I'll tell you, but don't judge my bestie.
She's kind of mad at me for jumping too quickly into a relationship with Fire from you. I realize that was a wrong decision but I'm worried. That's why I didn't want to tell you, it really is my problem, not yours. But I wouldn't want to keep a secret from you.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  7 days ago
Awe Rosie.... (((hug)))


Rosie

Rosie  7 days ago
I heard what those bullies do to you and I also heard that you're colorblind.
Gosh, life just really isn't doing you good, is it?


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  7 days ago
I've been colorblind and I just get mixed up a little it's not like oh yea the sky is orange. The grass is purple


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  7 days ago
The bullies are something different


Rosie

Rosie  7 days ago
Oh I know! I know you aren't stupid or anything. You know what color the grass and sky are.
I hope life goes in your favor. It is for me, just to be here. ^u^


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  7 days ago
Oh Rose


Rosie

Rosie  7 days ago
Yes?


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  7 days ago
I was gone for almost an hour...... I'm sorry


Rosie

Rosie  7 days ago
lolz It's okay, I was just hoping you were feeling alright. I wasn't waiting on you. c;


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  7 days ago
You can wait for me. I'd wait for you forever


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  7 days ago
We should join a clan. Stalk my thing while I find one that's not obnoxious.


Rosie

Rosie  7 days ago
Do you hear that love, they're playing our song?



Rosie

Rosie  7 days ago
Sure thing!


Rosie

Rosie  7 days ago
Won't you need our banner, love? ^^


Rosie

Rosie  7 days ago
http://i.imgur.com/Kwmhcto.jpg
SilverTabby made it for us a while back.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  7 days ago
Hey baby girl


Rosie

Rosie  7 days ago
Hi! <3 Are you feeling good?


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  7 days ago
I've been better


Rosie

Rosie  7 days ago
That's fabulous! Hey, I'm not sure, but I think Fire maybe broke up with me? I'm not sure rn. Have you found a mate you're thinking of asking yet?


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  7 days ago
I have a few in mind, Honeywhisker, Midnightcat, and LightningStrikes sister


Rosie

Rosie  7 days ago
Okay.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  7 days ago
I love you Rosie


Rosie

Rosie  7 days ago
Always. I will always love you.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  7 days ago
Can't promise that things won't be broken but I swear that I will never leave.


Rosie

Rosie  7 days ago
Rosie reserves herself to you and you alone. There's going to be no more jacking with other mates!


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  7 days ago
lays my head in your lap


Rosie

Rosie  7 days ago
leans down and kisses your cheek


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  7 days ago
I THINK I FOUND A MATE......



You know no one else will ever add up to you. Maybe Nico DiAngelo or Will SOlace but they don't exist.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  7 days ago
i just got banned for being myself....


Rosie

Rosie  6 days ago
shocked Aww... I'm, it wasn't your fault! :'( I think jaysquirrel might have gotten banned too. I didn't know until now huggles


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
I'm gonna try and make another account..... (Again) I need a creative name,


Rosie

Rosie  6 days ago
hccforums@harpercollins.com
You can email them and get your account back. It worked every time I got banned. cough I got banned for trolling and when my sis stole my account. I have to forum accounts.


Rosie

Rosie  6 days ago
Not Shadow. That's the name of my sis's mate.
Why don't you go back to being Fuzz? My friends said they liked that name.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
~MadWorld''


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
~MadWorld~
I really like it a lot. It makes me interesting


Rosie

Rosie  6 days ago
Cool! c: You can't give out your identity. Like, about cancer or anything. :( The mods are strict on banhopping. Wow, my speed-friend thread is a success ^u^


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
Yay! and I won't I'll be super elusive and cool


Rosie

Rosie  6 days ago
I fear that you being cool, everyone will know who you are! c;


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
hehe blushes sorry


Rosie

Rosie  6 days ago
Well, I know, ya' can't help it! xD


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
I turn my head in your lap. a tear falls onto your jeans


Rosie

Rosie  6 days ago
Hey, whoah, not cool.
What's wrong?


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
another tear drops


Rosie

Rosie  6 days ago
***, Andy, tell me.
I really am concerned now.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
I hurt


Rosie

Rosie  6 days ago
Where? :'o


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
m m y leg


Rosie

Rosie  6 days ago
Hey, hey! lovingly strokes your cheek It's all going to be okay. You are the sun in my world. Without that blazing sun, I would be conveyed in total darkness. Without that blazing sun I'd be hurt by the cold hearts of the world.
It's going to be alright because you are my sunshine.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
weeps in your lap I wouldn't be able to stand it with out my Rose. I'm sorry for being so winces me..... (As I do this in really life*


Rosie

Rosie  6 days ago
No, of course not! I only wish that you won't break my heart like that again. hugs oh so lovingly
The things I love about you make me who I am today. You don't need to change. In my eyes, you're the only man for me. I will love you even when the sun dies, even when it burns out my heart still belongs wherever you'll be.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
I try my best not to hurt you (I had to run and go puke)


Rosie

Rosie  6 days ago
Hey there's no rush. I know.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
My lungs are clogged up.... or it feels that way


Rosie

Rosie  6 days ago
pats you on the back I wish I could help you... Yet I'm thousands of miles away. I will find you someday and make the most of everytime you are with me.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
Hey Rosie


Rosie

Rosie  6 days ago
1. Happy National Cat Day
2. Happy Anniversary
3. HI! Did you get your forum account?


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
No they declined it


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
Happy 2 month baby girl! I love you so much


Rosie

Rosie  6 days ago
Aww :( They did that to me to when I tried ban-hopping :/
It's 3 months now! Yay! //throws confetti//
I love you with my whole heart! What would you like for your anniversary my love?


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
I would never know how much time has passed because every time we speak I fall in love all over again. Just being here is enough for me


Rosie

Rosie  6 days ago
^This^ it made me smile.
It goes right through me and sinks into my heart.
Do you think I could somehow find a way to leave Fire, and it could just be us on the forums? You can find someone in real life, but Fire really doesn't compare to you. I want us, I want you and you with me.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  6 days ago
I may not be on the forums for a long time Rosie more than a few months probably


Rosie

Rosie  5 days ago
That okay! Things are back to the way they were. I like it that way.



Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  5 days ago
I'm currently wearing cat ears



Rosie

Rosie  5 days ago
For cat day? :3


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  5 days ago
Yes for cat day and a Black Matter Tshirt with cats on it


Rosie

Rosie  5 days ago
I have a black matter T-shirt from Hot Topic with a cat on it too! (I'm not wearing it though!) I'm wearing a blue cat rn. My cat will get lots of love today xD


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  5 days ago
Haha! XD


Rosie

Rosie  5 days ago
On Christmas I will send you a picture of me. Oh my goshie I can't wait!


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  5 days ago
I hope I have hair by then..... tickles you Ms.Rose we should wait a year before that I think. Don't want to rush it love


Rosie

Rosie  5 days ago
Fine! tickles you I can't wait for a year then! x3 Yes, I love you no matter what you look like. Mr. Andy


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  5 days ago
giggles Wanna roleplay some Rosie?


Rosie

Rosie  5 days ago
That interests me but sadly I must have some dinner. I love you sunshine. Goodnight~ (Unless you'll be on in an hour)


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  5 days ago
Message me when you get back on


Rosie

Rosie  5 days ago
Here! Would you like to RP warriors? ^u^


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  5 days ago
Ravenspark laid on the ground sunning himself. It was such a beautiful day


Rosie

Rosie  5 days ago
(I have something to tell you)
Owlfur paced around, on patrol. Her apprentice, Turtlepaw, pounced on falling leaves.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  4 days ago
Oh tell me please


Rosie

Rosie  4 days ago
I don't want to sound clingy or anything, but why were you gone so long? I'm just curious, it's nothing big.
I will tell you in my next post, hold on>>


Rosie

Rosie  4 days ago
So many good things have come from today.
I'm thinking about making my own banner shop on the forums, but I'm scared I will get flooded with people.
x3 I made a den. It was a huge forum success!
And lastly, xD, it was his idea, but I video chatted with Fire. Ik, it's TOO EARLY! lolz but he insisted! Today has been overall awesome for me. And of course these last moment make it better! ^u^


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  4 days ago
Oh wow Rosie that sounds great....


Rosie

Rosie  4 days ago
What's wrong? Is something wrong?


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  4 days ago
I'm fine...


Rosie

Rosie  4 days ago
Are you positive?
You know you can always tell me. Don't hold anything back.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  4 days ago
Yes.... looks at the ground


Rosie

Rosie  4 days ago
Okay, I believe you.
Well I guess since I haven't said it yet,
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
Something scary happened today. Like, Irdk what it means.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  3 days ago
Hey baby girl, I've had an okay night wbu?


Rosie

Rosie  3 days ago
It's been perfection! c;


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  3 days ago
Yay!!! I love us hugs you and kisses your cheek


Rosie

Rosie  3 days ago
I love us too! ;)
How's Batman? XD


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  3 days ago
He's in my lap


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  3 days ago
Singing Christmas carols.... On Halloween.... We're listening to a horror movie


Rosie

Rosie  3 days ago
x3 I'm glad you aren't separated from him. You too are awesome! (separated as in not in the building I guess you'd say)


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  3 days ago
ANSEL something IS IN THIS AND ME, JINXX, OWEN, JANICK, SAM, AND JAKE ARE ALL GOING CRAZY OVER HIM!!!! Then there's Austin..... He's straight.


Rosie

Rosie  3 days ago
I saw the Haunter with my best friends in the woods. I know, the scariest place to watch a horror movie.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  3 days ago
I love Batman


Rosie

Rosie  3 days ago
lolz I don't crush over movie stars. Or rock stars. Or anybody! It's all about the person inside them. Okay, I'm being weird now xD


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  3 days ago
Thats where we are


Rosie

Rosie  3 days ago
Batman's my favorite one.


Rosie

Rosie  3 days ago
Forever weird xD


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  3 days ago
This is where we gather and Austin has no date


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  3 days ago
Oh my god alec is here now. He crushes on Austin


Rosie

Rosie  3 days ago
Lolz die Alec jk I have no idea what's going on! ^_^


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  3 days ago
Me and my gay friends are watching a film. One of them isn't gay and he's crushed on.


Rosie

Rosie  3 days ago
xD I think I'd stay straight. It's against my religion to go the other way.
That sounds like fun though! I've been to so many places with my friends. ^u^
It makes for a perfect Halloween!


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  3 days ago
It's really cute


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  3 days ago
Glad you had a good time Rosie


Rosie

Rosie  3 days ago
Tomorrow I'm going to "meet" Spottedleaf030 for the first time.
I've never had as close a friend as her.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  3 days ago
Meet?


Rosie

Rosie  3 days ago
In person.
She has saved me from taking my life. I dominated "lolz" from her. I've always known her, but tomorrow we meet.
Excited! ^u^


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  3 days ago
Oh rosie thats awesome


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  3 days ago
Oh my gosh how's Spottedleaf??


Rosie

Rosie  3 days ago
Haven't met her yet! It's 2 pm here. It must be 4 for you? I'm guessing?
Have you ever met her on the forums?
Someday I'm going to move to Canada, find some guy who would move to Canada with me, go there, and FIND SPOTTY! I swear, do friends get better than her?? I will make that a goal :3


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  3 days ago
I'll go with you. I'll show up with a car full of guys and we can go!


Rosie

Rosie  3 days ago
***
Spotty- HI MANDY!
Me- Hey there! I hope you don't mind but I brought a few boys over.
Spotty- D:

xD That would not be good.


Playlist Of Souls

Playlist Of Souls  2 days ago
Me- its all good it's Fuzz spotty
Her- Yay!
Me- And my friends
Her-....
Me- Don't worry Austin is nice
Her- :)
Me- Alec is nice too, so is Janick, Sam, Jake, and Jinxx
Her-.....
Me- Jinxx this is Spotty
Jinxx- Who?
Me- Rose's friend
Him- Where?
Me- Towards my voice
Him- Turns in the general direction)) Hiya Spotty
Me- Jinxx plays guitar and likes chocolate, Janick does guitar and vocals, he likes camels, Alec is gay, he likes the rainbow, Jake is also in a wheelchair and likes his boyfriend sam, Sam likes wolves and plays the drums, Austin is straight but is into a girl back home, Me, I like Roses and Singing I play guitar and sing vocals for my band
Oh my god...
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
.i. if Kant could have his von Kleist... well... who else to juggle juggernauts if not me? as a task of redeeming that poor soul who succumbed to the terminator of all poetic ambitions, with his systematisation off-the-page, as eccentric and punctual as a sunset on a sundial at 16:11... and in case either the spring of sunrise, or the autumn of sunset... but so many hours after exacting a sunset... that gluttony of the eyes to stare at it... 16:11 is the zenith of a sunset in november the 15th... much prolonged when warmer... supersized sun when setting in summer, and all that whiskey-copper wiring for the eyes to stare at it: oh for goodness sake, who really cares for Ikea likened assembling of words... we're not putting together a coffee table, we're looking for Darwinistic entrapment, we're scared of the aeons and yawns... we're trying to create a Darwinistic entrapment saying what segregates us from apes! that's how anti-Darwinism works - if they can easily call you a poet and a technophobe... then that hardly makes you a merchant with a Quran... to encapsulate the language of our modernity we're doing everything against writing the onomatopoeia of our beginning... monkey ooo! monkey ooo ah ah! or a gorilla grunting and then snorkeling... we're encapsulating our language more and more... because beginning with ape and then looking at history, and then looking at the consensus of the contemporary: Darwinism's greatest enemy is not theology... it's history... Darwinism and history are not compatible... oddly enough Darwinism and theology are compatible, simply because they are dynamically equal for the case of furthering both arguments in debate... but Darwinism is an odd starting point to argue, given that physicists argue from the perspective of prior to dinosaurs, prior to all things formed.

how can i begin this? it will leave me having to
write it for two days,
the anti-narrative sketch first, then filling in
the gaps sober... just to get second opinions...
i might have to cook a quasi-Hungarian borscht
and fry up a few potato flattenings to a crispy
yum... first the narrator comes in to describe what's
in store, a bit like a translator comes in and says
of Joyce: that's Irish... well, yeah.
               hence the italic preface...
as some would say, the person who wrote these
sketches worked quicker that an algorithm in asking
and also quicker to copy & paste the required
atomic encoding... e.g. ч and ch
                   э and euro and epsilon...
      once upon a time there was nothing prior
to Copernicus, then the somersaults came,
    h ч y        what coordinates where?
    well of course perfecting the encoding of something,
if things weren't stated awry there would be
no optometrists either...
                  it's not hard to read, it's hard to
remember how to read, given that being literate reached
the omnipresent velocity, the new powers had to
include some new power struggle...
mingling Latin and Runes, Greek and Cyrillic...
     and the proto-Latin of additional diacritical marks...
they exposed the entirety of humanity to literacy
within the framework of post-industrial society,
after hitchhiking a ride on the 19th century donkeys
they suddenly had to reveal their power-secret of
being literate, and by the account of women:
corset bound and bored in salons...
      but something else appeared that didn't really fascinate
them: that over-complication of Latin with
punctuation marks above letters: or diacritical
distinction, crowns over letters, subatomic particularisation
of once favoured: universal applicability...
as a narrator? i have to make a complicated
introduction, the sketch lends itself to do so,
it suggests that not all writing can be as simple as
a nursery rhyme, not all writing can actually
    **** memory, not all writing desires being remembered,
not all writing can be remembered,
                in the mediation of the two chiral opposites
there's fiction, which is suspended in an armchair of
pleasurability... but on the opposite side of a nursery rhyme
or a well versed poem? writing akin to arithmetic...
  something truly painful for those competent with
lettering, but not really competent with ten digits...
      as a narrator who has already read the sketch,
i'm trying to not write a "filling in the gaps" to the sketch
like an art-critic might do to a painting deviating from:
brushstrokes were employed. well... d'uh!
variation of italics as in transcending the pause that
implies a condescending variation of taking a pause,
also excluded are: dot, comma, hyphen, semicolon
and colon.                         dot-dot-dot is not joining up
the dots: it implies a variation of how to anticipate
a punchline: drummed: tu-dum wet snare!
     i am actually a narrator who is trying to find
that other part of me that might digest this sketch properly,
     and return fully competent to pick up another
sketch... if ever there was a narrator in this sketch,
it has to be me, after the sketch has been scripted,
and i am left to suggest a need for a dot-dot-dot connectivity
of the strokes of the pen...
i warned myself: do not overdo the introduction in italics,
you know how picky people are...
whether pickled pineapple of cucumber...
i swear Turks invented pickling chillies...
         oh look! an inflatable gazebo filled with helium!
no one's laughing: only because i didn't mention vegina.
narrative puritanism? you get distracted a lot...
but this sketch is really a thesis for narration,
all i have to do is find the antithesis of narration in it:
an actual narrative!          it stretches for ~30 pages...
   well that's me turned archaeologist with a Grecian urn
with a snap of the finger... because that's how this
sketch looks like: ancient -
                         but understandably modern.
              so .  ,  - and ;
        were racing... out came the world record
             9.58(0)         the full-stop is the bracket-bound
0... i.e. it actually happened: hence the pinpoint...
or in Formula 1 a timed nonsense of ave. m/ph
     noted to three decimal points: 130.703...
                                    or chicane cha chicane cha cha!
as said, this is an actual representation of a narrator
encountering this sketch: so before you lose your head...
i've lost mine!
  look at the correlation though!
we've gone way past atoms with the atomic bomb
and encountered subatomic particles...
    we're not going to get beyond subatomic particles
because we're going to encounter the already apparent
reality of obatomic particle: namely our bodies,
   the perceived ******* (ob- is the antonym
                                                  prefixation of sub-):
             that's were the microscope adventure ends,
    and this is parallel to cutting up a second with
three decimal points, as the safetynet suggests:
                                                              π / 3.14;
yep, the obstructive - hence we can't spontaneously
combust... but then again Goethe's Werther did:
  out of love... down the spiral: you sweet little *******.

~ii. i'm actually too lazy to write the sketch and fill
in the blanks... so i'm going to fill in the blanks as i go along,
  or that's what's called the rebellious stance of narrator: mmm,
work in progress, could you see that coming?


ii. a beer in between glugs of whiskey - runes
combined in the ******* / sigma, variant of agliz or
the rune-zeta extended toward a dark shadow of the rebirth
of Ishrael: zoological enclosure; sigma *******
sigma ******* sigma *******, sigma *******...
rune-zeta... we cannot say there are ******
mathematicians and poets akin,
not then one optic encoding states
     a b c d e
         another states f u þ a r
yet another а б (ρ) в г
  α β γ δ:
for worth of gamma into a trill only because of
   a wave, that's ~ approx. on the side of the letter
   e.g. г & r.
   or rho upside down? what the ****?
did Voltaire write this? reading Candide,
i hope he ****** did!
you the problem is pixelated paper? if you know
how you enter a deciphering mode...
                    but you require a personal library to boot,
all that dos formatting,
                       well there's formatting in the humanity
outstretch of this white medium too...
after it isn't all ******* white when all the psychiatric
pills are white too... i have really found something better
than the Bermuda Δ...
       Greek, Latin, Cyrillic and Runes...
i could say neo or proto otherwise,
but i still haven't unearthed the sketch, that
is probably puzzling the Danes, with Cnut on the forefront...
                    but the arrangement of numbers is universal,
but it's not universal, given the particularity of
how language is encoded and why some people are
richer than others...
            but it's still a beer between glugs of whiskey that
makes more sense...
i said, retype the sketch and go to bed...
and i figured: that's probably the wisest of all possible
events stemming from this...
    that's ~27 pages of notes to retype... and i'm already
in a disclosure mode as to expect what's to be jargoned...


p. 1        cкεтч       /      σкεтχ
   necessity of                        (acute
a-       -the           (ism)
is that of language structure,
          only from the use of one's language does
a deity present itself: from within the noumenon
ground work, not the reverse, as in from
(pp. 2, 3)
                 a phenomenological exercise in
the use of language: Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, (etc.)...
       e.g. Islam is a phenomenon,
  it's not a noumenon: or a thing-in-itself...
  for the Islamic god to emerge from Islam's-in-itself
Islam will have to prevent itself from being-outside-itself...
or overpowering other in-itself contentions
but still: to no apparent success narrative of true intention
as satisfactory appropriation and hence lending itself
to a widespread nod of approval.
  challenging space: word compounding, or the space
between conjunctional deficiencies: nod-of-approval (e.g.).

p. 2    concussion (great film, Alec and Will, 2015, NFL)
concussion... Blitzkrieg Alzheimer's....
brain is fat.... dementia = attacking proteins...
  steroids... the noumenological use of language:
e.g. that ****** is an enigma,
therefore his views will not go viral,
and he'll not become fashion trendy...
it's not individualistic idealism, it's reality.
as will die sonne satan - orbis reach more than 5K
views... so... clap clap... clap, clap.
           what i meant about the a-     and -the
and the ism is following a sentence that sort of
does away with conjunctional fluidity,
apart from the big words, i treat all minor words as
categorically conunctional... and, the, a, is, to, too...
given the sentence: brain fatty *****,
brian organic giraffe wall... ******* hieroglyphic...
           stood above the rest, rest assured.
  dementia: invading protein cells
   (bulging prune of the opportune: purely
digestion?) no thought to eat or eat itself like,
cannibalistically. the brain is fatty...
not fat in muscle for mmm, schmile and flex
for the selfie. how about a protein inhibitor?
(by now, rewriting the sketch, i've lost the page count,
it's actually p. 5 of note paged toward 27).
how about the explanation that we're living in
times of post-industrialisation and thanksgiving
feminism? to me post-industrialisation has created
a class of meaningless white-collar workers
and no blues... it's what the Chinese blues call
the Amazonian nomads: ******* happy...
no amount of crosswords or sudoku will exert
your body to do things for others...
   no amount of mind games will actually tell your
brain to be equipped with: a bunch of hyenas... run!
dementia is a result of creating too many
white-collar jobs (thanks to feminism)
and exporting the blues to China (thanks to feminism
and: oh i broke a nail, can i get a Ching plumber to
fix my heating while i get a ****** to **** me up my
****?!) - maybe i'm just dreaming...
it's great to censor dreaming, i mean: you stop dreaming,
you get to see reality, and you don't even need to
read Proust on a ricochet.
  - so we have brain as fat, and invader cells as protein...
protein digests fat... and creates cucumbers out
of people... where do the carbohydrates come into play?
it can't be at the point of a.d.h.d., can it?
     i'm blaming post-industrialisation, the complete
disappearance of the blues (formerly known as the reds,
in the east) for the whites...
or that old chestnut of: my god you're goon'ah luv it!
   to till for worth from the sweat of yer brow -
funny funny funny... to earn your loaf of bread
you will toil...
                   and toil until you are physically assured
that not ghostly / mental life can enter your world /
books... that went well... didn't it?
   i should be tilling a potato plateau rather than
be bound to be writing this epic (by modern standards)
poem...
             but that's the curse of exporting all the blue
collar jobs to China, then importing mindless
white collar jobs to the west, what the hell do you think
would happen, not the pandemic of dementia?
if you do not exert the body, and then you do not
exert / exhaust the mind... do you think
you can secure a narrative with a post-industrial
westerner on the premise of that person simply being
able to solve a crossword? well... i believe in santa
claus too... but i don't believe in him giving out
presents... because to me, in my oh-so-called maturity
that's called an anagram of satan's clause: which is a legal
term for: i can turn civilisation into shrapnel
of what's said and what's to be said: and what's not to be
said. people can't expect to turn honest labour
for the recreational run on the treadmill in a gym...
and they can't expect photocopying in an office space
to replace Newton's curiosity, and then compensate
all this distraction with mind-games...
          can they? well... they did!

poets are gagged by writers of prose,
no wonder they write so sparingly,
      they are gagged in the sense that they write
as if asphyxiated: they need breathing room.


well sure, if he can revive the Polish steel industry
and i can go back to steel plates and pillars,
then the rust belt will get a polishing also.

or what's called: shrapnel before the waterfall of
narration: darting eyes, and poncy **** all the way through...

     muse... muse...

        well, how about we take the fluidity out of language?
declassify certain words into one grammatical broth,
say words like i and they
                              a  and the    are all conjunctions?
how about that? let's strip it bare, after all: what categories
of words exist for us to primarily speak (let alone think)?
     nouns, verbs, adjectives... adverbs?
       but all those words in between are so jungly classified
into a tangle that i'm about to sprout a handshake
          of a Japanese vine grip: and never let go...

an actual extract from the sketch:

      https that doesn't recognise UCS
                   and insists on IPA cannot be deemed
       encyclopaedic


              i need runes for this! i need runes for this idea!
i don't need transliteration right now...
                but hey! that's an idea, etymological transliteration...
bugly term, sure, but the previous night i was thinking
  of transcendental etymology, as you do, likened to
carbohydrates... so it was transliteration after all...
but a dead end when it comes to geometry and Pythagoras...
      
    three words... and they are computerised (i guess you
have to buy a decent book to decode this), a bit like
buying paint in a d.i.y. shop...
       16DE (dagaz / d) 16DC (ingwaz / ŋ / grapheme of n & j)
                  16DF (ōþala / Valhalla / o / ō = oo),
in total d'njoo / d'nyoo - even i concede the fact that this
is a ******* mind-******... it's a ****** congregation of
four optic encodings of phonos... i moved away from
the ancient greek fetish for the logos... i'm looking at
the phonos... not the logos with Heraclitus et al.
               φº θ þ фª f

ªgreek
  ºcyrillic                ever see a prettier pentagram?
                      i haven't.

(false original title:
škic / cкэтч / φº θ þ фª f: thespian pandemic - pending)

looking at the phonos is painful, actually painful,
it's like reading a book with a myopic pair of glasses:
a ******* aquarium blurry right there, befor...

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

'e'? were you: was i, looking for an 'e'?

i can say this much...
what do you get when you mix a shot
of whiskey with a shot of bourbon:
i'm moving between bottles...
it's nearing christmas eve and i'm a ripe
taoist... i.e. i better this world:
by not having the world mind me...
on the odd occasion: oh... you're still here?!

yeah... i'm still here... i have glued-to-fascination
with my shadow... i'm just waiting
for the atom bomb to relieve me of a body
but ensuring my shadow is kept intact...
as if it were a Monet signature on a wall...

but i lament... the momentum has vanished...
i don't even know why i'm so idiotic as
to presume that: from the hour 22:00GMT
to the hours 00:00 circa 00:30GMT...
something will land into my lap,
my lisp... my cranium the oyster shell
my tongue the oyster...

it will not... i can't simply **** anything into
an existence that doesn't want to exist...
perhaps lurking in a canvas of:
"lost luggage" in an airport...
perhaps "there"...
i could be excused my... lethargy...

when was this written? back in 2018?
so i was thinking about teasing cyrillic even then?
wasn't i?
sketch cкэтч or?

what do you get when you mix a shot of whiskey
with some bourbon?
a Burguandian whisker...
i am not going to sound witty...
Ron's key...

that's still a cyrillic "or"... isn't it?
шкиц: škic...

i'm... deflated... nothing "new" has come my way...
i would have thought that...
reading some Knausgård would have /
could have... invigorated me:
reading him was supposed to be my:
dialysis my transfusion!
my zombie-go-to-literature...
it has proven an exhaustive enterprise
to begin writing again:
i became too comfortable
in reading - i almost forgot
the agony of writing...

alas... a contemporary of mine...
and someone well adjusted to prose...

notably: who would have thought
that death in june - the calling (MK II)
was something to be recorded in 1985...
for one: i wouldn't...

but i did begin: back in november 2016...
begin what? to tickle the cyrillic alphabet...
which is way before i discovered my reply
to the runes... to the ancient greek...
and this... "ancient", ahem... still in use...
latin script...

that script that went into the molloch couldron
of being invested in to code...
pristine as the hebrews cited:
how many holes in it?
to write onto a canvas of 0?
q Q R O o p P A a D d g b B...
which leaves...
W E T Y U I S F H J K L
Z X C V N and M "out of the equation"...

škic / cкэтч / φº θ þ фª f: thespian pandemic (pending):
i better rename it as... circa 2016...
that's way before i even acknowledged
the cyrillic text applying diacritical markers...
i thought them too crude at the time...

beside borrowing outright from greek...
the already at hand oddities of glagolitic,
notably: Ⱎ...Ⱋ...

it's only a single word i'm using...
i have abandoned all notions of metaphysics
in favor for orthography...
i'm not going to burden myself
with: what's after the physics...
i'm after: what's now...
in the respective tongues...
2 tongue deviations from
the original latin and greek...

what came with the runes and what
came with the glagolitic scripts...
what was ****** and had to succumb
to inter-breeding...

come 2020... i will have one clarification
to base my existence on...
pronouncing the growth of my ****** hair...
i will hope to aim at a length of beard
that will forever hide the neck...
i will aim at... somewhere to the level
of my heart... when i will then manage
to turn my beard into an orchestra's
nieche of violins when i procrastinate with it...

since 2016...
i have identified russian in ******...
i've seen it... finally!
зъaрт... i.e. żart
and the "hard sign" becoming a "soft sign"
in źrenica: зьрeницa...

i still think the russian orthography
is... as... primitive as the western slavic...

after all... зъ = ż...
зь = ź...
the balkan slavs have a caron...
which is neither a hard or a soft sign / acute...

their caron is... ч (č) or cz...
CHeaper in english...
and their caron is ш (š) or sz...
SHeep...
or the two together...
and always шч (šč): szczekam...
i'm barking...

pu-shch-air... a rare example in english
of the puщair...
but then lookie lookie 'ere:

CZACHA... skull...
ЧAХA...

perhaps this is my "revenge ****" on russia?
hey! boris the kremlin mascoot...
come and 'ave a look...
with how i disect your orthography
on the / with the language that asks
too many metaphysical questions and no
orthographic curiosities!

i'll meet you in Warsaw... given that you're
probably moving from Novosibirsk...
and i'm either in Stockholm...
Edinburgh or the outskirts of London:
Warsaw will be halfway for both of us...
you don't have to like Warsaw...
i only like it when the Ukrainian smugglers
and the Mongols appear
in the West Warsaw coach station...

smart as who? i am discovering this for
the first time myself...
i was only teasing it back in 2016...
way before i found the right sort of accents
in mother russian...

i do know that that crescent oddity:
above the ja: йa... is what it is...
if you only cut off the head in english... ȷ...
again: it's я given that most russians
are pulled toward an anglophile world-view...
they all see the window to europe...
the baltic and st. petersburg is somehow...
London... and the atlantic...
like hell it is...

i guess i feel it was a waste of time to
have re(a)d Kant, simply because:
i'm not here for the schematics...
i want to know how my thought my labyrinth
building architecture is coming along...
but with no one to talk to about it?

i found the categorical imperative most
dissatisfying... i didn't want to abide by universal laws...
poetry is already shoved out of waiting room
of the republic...
if my "poetry" is not a categorical imperative...
and it's not quiet a a hypothetical imperative...
it needs to be sharpened on a thesaurus
and some grammar...

categorical (adjective)... imperative (adjective)...
well two adjectives never imply much
if there's no noun involved...
and i'm pretty sure that... if i sharpen
the next word i'll compound with categorical-
in that hyphen construct that's only
allowed in oxford dictionary english:
since it's not: propergermannonhyphenfaustian:
i.e. carboxylic (carbo-xylic) acidity...

poetry doesn't belong in either
the categorical imperative focus...
nor the hypothetical imperative focus...

i.e. i must write a poem... to feel better...
i must write a poem... to organise my thoughts...
no! a poem is not a maxim is not a categorical
imperative! a language of poetry is not
a language of morality: it's a language
of experience - or a lack / a lackey's "sentiment"...

i need a... categorical: impetus!
it's not enough to have read kant's critique of pure
reason... it must also involved
having re(a)d the: groundwork of
the metaphysics of morals...
but i'm a democratic reader...
i need to hear the other voices...
i can't be a kantian scholar...
a snippet 'ere, a snippet v'ere (funny how
THETA disappears when making the posit:
THERE - ver!)

who needs metaphysical absolutes...
when orthography (or a lack of it)
in english... spreads open its legs...
and the tongue remembers its tongue-brain-phallus
stage of co-existence in the oyster?!

i'm pretty sure that a categorical imperative
is by no means a categorical impetus...
this had to be written,
but it had to be written in order to disregard
anything a priori... prior to it...
a poem is a shady concern for action or inaction...
it's a deviation from the cartesian crux:
res cogitans (thinking thing)...
into the cartesian levy (res extensa)...
it's an action of inactivity...
as much as it's an inactive activity...
"the rest"...

impetus is not an imperative...
an impetus sources its meaning in a per se
investement... of itself - in itself - for itself...
an imperative?
in pronouns... impetus: i want... i will...
imperative? you want... you will...

an impetus is self-dictative...
an imperative is: indicative...
someone would rightly claim...
those that mourn indicatively...
will don the right garments for the process
of mourning...
which is indicative and devoid of
the per se manifestation of mourning...
it is an imperative when compared to
the impetus to mourn -
which is self-dictative...
which does now shallow itself in
grief by making a socially agreed to fiasco
of a very specific choice of wardrobe...

basically: however you like it...
an IMPERATIVE ≠ IMPETUS...
the year is almost over and i want to break-off
the dust from the thoughts that fudge-packed themselves
as worthy of occupying the minor instance
of having to count a depth of:
not dead within the year of being written.
Cynthia A Feb 2014
Alec broke my heart
As easily as Will had
Down to the day
Exactly one year ago
Will left never saying goodbye
Never settling anything

They were polar opposites
Will and Alec
Will, angry and pessimistic
Alec, happy and bright
Ones heart had been broken and had turned to stone
The others never known what love was or how much it hurt
  
One thing was the same
My greatest weakness
Their eyes
The most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen
A deep blue ocean
I was lost at sea
I'd died a thousand deaths in them

Will's eyes were beautiful
But there was something in them
Darkness hide behind the beauty  
Much pain and agony hid from the light
There was no light in his eyes, but only anger

Alec's eyes were equally beautiful
There was something in them too
In those eyes was a light
It showed that he had nothing to hide
They showed that no one had ever broken his heart

Yet both those oceans captivated me
There was nothing I could do to resist them
The more I fought, the more I fell
Head over heels for them
But neither seemed to feel the same

I was not their sun and stars
I was never their Aphrodite
Though they were my world
And they were my life
Alec broke my heart
Just as easily as Will had
Exactly one year ago
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
someone once said: only the natives can be designated
free speech...
the immigrants can have their dog
and let it bark, along with whatever thinking comes
their way...

exploring the last remains of thought -
well then... suit and boot me up for some "thinking"
as i extend it into writing...

if i were of the native stock... "elsewhere":
most probably h'america or australia... even in italy
having tea with mussolini i'd be:
an expat... as an outsider among outsiders
but among my sameness-namesakes of surnames
akin to jones and smith:

i will never be an "immigrant" among...
it's not even a voice of cocern, this little voice of
mine...
an englishman who decides to move
to h'america is an expatriate for the native
englishman who stayed behind...
he's never an immigrant...

perhaps other nations view the people that left
them in such a positive light?
where else to emigrate to that doesn't
speak basic english with a tinge of
a "welcoming" plethora of accents?

proudly having expatriated...
or having to have had to humbly emigrated...
bark bite and tail in tow...
my the luck of being an expatriate...
readily prepared with a francophile basis...
e.g., or some other: less frost-bitten
idealism as the work ethic of:
work work work...

we know the english immigrants
as expatriates... but i doubt that people
from where i from would call me...
an expatriate... they'd call me...
eh... hangman noose... a deserter...
god forbid the fact that i somehow managed
to integrate... but then found myself wondering...

have, have integrated into... "what"?!
today i was truly astounded...
after all... Romford, Essex... England...
can boast about a few things...
notably? it's the past place you can buy vinyl
without amazon.co.uk...
you can actually play the buyer and the person
that loiters with his shadow...
flicking through a dictionary of sorts...
finding a record...

i actually left the house for ulterior motives...
but i succumbed to the allure...
and as i walked the January 2nd 2020 highstreet
in Romford...
i heard english... as a spoken language...
twice in the pedestrian commute...
and of course when it came to a lingua franca
scenario of buying or selling something...
otherwise:

perhaps i retained my primitive instincts
and the tongue and should have left it with a ghost
of me back in the clarifying vicinity of
an airport 50 miles from Warsaw...
i have bigger things to worry about though:
how i should start learning Romanian...
even though: i thought bilingualism was a good
idea?
it's not?

not among the natives could i ever be
an expatriate...
an ever: never... like any more thesaurus
sharpening would do the trick to balance
the optics of "perspective"...

if it wasn't a mistake...
it has still been a purchase:
freddie hubbard on the trumpet,
jackie mclean on the alto sax,
kenny drew on piano,
doug watkins on bass
and pete la roca on drums...

the only reason as to why i bought
a gramaphone was to buy the only cheap vinyl
there is... jazz...
to escape the earphones...
to find the complete volume of space
that would later be deemed:
confined to a room... cell... or some alternative
variation: but... oh jeez...
how wrong it was of me...

make a note: alto sax jazz is not for you...
remember: alto sax jazz is not for you...

a sensation of being a foreigner in
an already double-dutch foreign sense of land...
anything that drops from clinching
to the London transport system
with the trains and the tubes and buses
is: england...
the england of my youth where i remained
like that... dunce in the ****** tunes cartoons
interlude...

and what of my citizenship on paper?
wave a passport around
like a benchmark or an otherwise easy
accent-identifier?
perhaps i don't even know:
Bristolian - my best guess with this acquired
tongue...

but at least buying jazz is getting easier...
freddie hubbard a known name...
but... no... alto sax jazz is not for me...
now it figures...
i can get away on a whim when
a trumpet solos... but not when an alto sax
solos... i really can't stomach it...
will i give this Bluesnik record back?
no, i need a testament -
i have bought something
but the self-reflection is free...

there's only so much classical music escapism
you can try -
before long you realise that the people
listening to classical music...
mostly... when they make requests...
want "something soothing"...
want "something jovial"...
or usually it's a piece of music that has
been attached to a movie...
classical music - apparently doesn't feed
people a subtle stream of images...
and it's obvious: those requests are not phoned
in on by blind people...

imagine... the ****** of F... when you have ⠋
to work with...
what is an sunrise... a sunset but a dash
of colour... a spring of the heavens
an autumn of the heavens...
but my my... in this inverted listening of jazz...
⠙⠑⠑⠏
⠃⠇⠥ ⠑    DEEP BLUE...

if i were blind: and came to the pearly gates...
i'd ask for letters: primo pronto!
later i'd worry about colours and shapes...
as i'd probably stick to my first passion
and hearing this fathomless shapeless
sounds that... abide to no lineage with a recant
of a triangle's use of 90°...

otherwise... what if you've been fed
the: classical music when listened to when a child
will increase your i.q. -
but what are the chances that you will:
"regress" from listening to classical
music and take to jazz?
perhaps because jazz has to be felt,
it has to be heard, first,
rather than... the silence and scribbles
of a composer at his desk -
where a classical music composition
is very much like writing:
that whole a prior shabang!
none of the a posteriori zigzagging
of impromptu and jazz?

one thing is certain... i'm not going to
be a fan of alto sax jazz...
sonny clark on piano - yes...
art blakey on drums - yes...
kenny burrell on guitar - yes...
alto sax no... ah... but give me tenor sax
and... no please no big bang jazz
equivalent to thelonious monk...
at least jazz gives you pedestrian tastes
and whims...
nothing akin to bowing at the altar
of a Beethoven: or talking lightly of
the man - "the man"...

and who the hell said that being
objectivity "works all the time"
that objectivity "runs the marathon"...
alto sax jazz is pedestrian music...
don't get me wrong...
you want to walk down a busy street
and you want to drown the sounds
of progress: no horses sneezing,
no horses' hooves playing tic-tac-toe
chess on cobweb stones...
alto sax jazz is your take-out
walk-through...
but when you're hunched in a chair
and pecking at a keyboard with
ten good beaks of the tips of your fingers...

again: how do the hands rest before
the keyboard?
the right hand:
index middle, pinky and thumb...
the ring finger is used for the: delete button...
a revision - the pinky does the enter -
and the cascade follows...
the left hand?

primarily the index and *******...
the thumb is always attached to space...
shared with the right hand's *******
to space,
i can't remember if i ever used my ring
or pinky finger of my left arm...

so much for inverted chiromancy...
the polacks will never give me the wings
to be an expatriate...
i will be forever: he who abandoned
that land running with milk and honey...
but... look at how they stand behind those
from england that decided to go "elsewhere"...
they are not immigrants...
they are... expatriates...
have nothing filthy them it comes to
the connotation...
it's not sad it's not funny it's: somewhere
"in between"...

because we know that the only russians
that ever make it out of russia
are the oligarchs... and by that standard
of "sentiment": they're always welcome...
who wouldn't welcome the pharaohs without
giza pyramid ambitions of construction?!
passing chalk as cheese -
and passing... ink for blood...
perhaps i haven't sweated enough to be allowed
to write but as little as this...

there's always this sense of alienation
among the germanic tribes of "israel":
europe... even if they are the scots or the welsh
suckling at the teats of romulus & remus' lupa...
as the old saying goes among the slavic people
when "integrating" into a germanic-esque society -
by the time you have integrated...
there's this dog-**** pile of Babylon left...
and the germans are: "nowhere"!

the saying goes via:
if you go among the crows...
you must croak their croak...

here's to flying high as an imitation seagull!
brazen: into this arable land...
that's being teased by the Thames estuary...

passing through a Warsaw train station
i noticed the immigrants / the expatriates
on the eastern front...
mostly mongols...
notably the ukrainians...
but now in england i'm starting to think
in concrete terms... better start learning
Romanians...
and on the street: you can't see a focus of
who's here and who isn't here...
back east the Roma people stood out
like a sore thumb or a voodoo plum and...
that didn't bother the locals since they were
meshed like glue...
but, here, in england?
everyone's a sore thumb a voodoo plum...
because the natives,
the blessed idiosyncratic professional
eccentrics have left and...
i'm not going to be the first chasing them down...

London the only and last bastion is
overrun with the whole lot of us...
well: the "us" vs. "them" mentality...
don't get me wrong... i'll still listen to the concerns
of the peripheries... in this cest pool
of immigrants, degenerates...
old people who "forgot" to move...
the lunatics the in-betweeners and the old guard
clinging on...
perhaps, after all... english was a very
accomodating language...
it wouldn't take a genius to learn it from scratch
being thrown into the deep end of the pool
aged 8...
who was mute aged 8 going to school
being moved from "east" europe to this island
with... no prior to linguistic connection?
moi...

and now look at me... i'm teasing myself
with... sordid welsh as if i were ever the posterboy
for welsh nationalism...
scottish nationalism? eh... if they were to retain
their gaellic roots...

expansion:
the longing for those who have left:
in the anglo-sphere - expatriate...
the abhoring sense of those who arrive -
immigrant...
otherwise... the english are always
and everywhere: welcome...
hence the expatriate status of those
who have left their native land...
even in h'america: a shared language:
to be an immigrant... while speaking
the same language?! how preposterous!

the difference between eastern style
comedy presentation and western style
comedy presentation: on stage...

the eastern folk prefer cabaret: theatre dialogue
montages...
the western folk prefer stand-up:
monologue samuel beckett esque
performances...
'woe i... stand alone in this infinite
space and... find others to laugh with...'

- perhaps we're not being less funny because
we're lowering our "i.q.": yes, the we are...
we are... lowering...
i find lee evans to be funny...
a laurel and hardy weren't exactly funny
by modern comedy standards that:
it's only funny if it's intelligent...
if there's a crossword puzzle at the end of "it"...

perhaps pride is the shackle...
and ham... what ever happened to self-depreciating
humor that managed to somehow
elevate you as also having a sense
of humor:
do intelligent men even laugh
at something that isn't a word-play or
a corset of wit?
perhaps we're experiencing a drying of wip...
perhaps the jokes are only supposed
to come: days after as a form of
reflection on the sigma canvas:
the joke has to exist outside the performer
and the stage... it needs to be: a live-experience...
it has to take on DASEIN qualities?
it has to be internalised?

that: oh yeah... that's funny...
perhaps the same thing has to be observed
and it can't be retold in an impromptu
fashion shackled to a stage?
the stage is the new camp-fire?
i thought so too... about the television...

as: here's to slagging off everything that's
being published online bypassing
the editorial process of selection...
well... if it weren't for all the seriousness
surrounding internet banking...
and internet shopping...
pen to paper...
******* clinching a ripped roll
of cushioning paper
and a pseudo-***** imitation
for a wipe while massaging my prostate
over the enlightened prospect
of dropping the blitzkrieg plump-dump-plum
into an echoing lake in the ceramic basin...
otherwise...

a seanse with that moment of realisation:
"something is happening to us
collectively"... it's as if: we're under a spell...
oh i was under a spell today...
watching alec guinness in the fall of the roman
empire...
and as coming from a people
that were never conquered by rome?
on this fine fine island that was...
well... my hopes were also high for
the conquests of the mongol empire...
and the remains of it in the form of the tatars
in crimea...

here are my tattoos... it's hard to break from them,
it's hard to wash them away...
but at least i can attest:
my brain might be all fat and sponge and
electricity... but there's some skull and skin
to be had of it...
otherwise... why would the year 1066
be important for me... why would the magna carta
be important for me?
i too have my years in tattoos on this big brian
of mine...

otherwise there's that copernico-darwinian
surge of: journalistic science...
i still find it staggering that darwinism continues
to capture the imagination of people...
"of people"... only in Wittgenstein was left
alone in finding that Copernicus did something
astounding... this surge of "awakening"
via darwinism: this statistical bombardment
like it was some tabloid journalism:
throwing a pebble at a mountain while
also ushering in a mantra: grow by
a poppy's seed added height! grow!

perhaps i'm just jealous...
among the polacks i will never be an expatriate...
what a jealous people...
an englishman who moves to france...
comes 20 year later...
he will have never experienced
the mark of cain: immigration "humphrey bogart"...
he or she moved to france...
perhaps to italy...
i remember being in greece and...
i was nothing when i said i was ******:
but with british citizenship! to add...
so what?
well... so what greece...
i latched onto some north africans
and went to **** away the night
in some strip-bar where i had
two strippers either head o' mine...
and it was constellations galore...
grandmother Etna said:
rest here, among the smooches poor child...

i borrowed Etna from when Aeneas
"left off"...
****'s sake... this is the Meditarrean
and not the Baltic? where is the amber
the whiskey and the leverage of gratations
of time?!

i will agree. Macedonia come night traffic
of quicksilver tinging?
if the metal is cheap and you douse it in some gold?
a mountain dripping fresh from some quicksilver
from the moon peering at it?
objectivity what?

the finite plateau of snow-riddled Serbia...
and perhaps that's because these people
speak their own language...
and have so... and i'm just the next
"english" tourist...
a jack kerouac americanism and:
oh sure! sure!
spectacular fly-over country tourism!
everything's so so different!
and yet all so oh so much the same!

darwinism was going to run the 5000 meter
race... it's currently running the 10000 meter
race... god help it in running the marathon
of still pretending: old news is new news...
i can't distinguish between darwinism
and copernican discovery...
only in the english-speaking world
would this discovery not escape a criticism
from ancient greece and some, some predecesor!

wouldn't anyone just bore of darwinism
if they were told: over and over again:
the copernican "reality"?
a scientific fact is... akin to a religious dogma...
until... it becomes regurgitated with
enough time, with enough journalism and...
tabloid wind... and after a while...
it's only worthwhile to be spoken to
amnesia peoples of the world: unite!
it's hardly "stupid" or "intelligent"...
more or less overlooked...
because a pebble thrown at a mountain:
is... no added mountain to behold...
conventional wisdom is the only wisdom
that there ever was made to be made:
available...

nonetheless, the circumstance stands...
unless from the slavic hemisphere
of europe...
unlike any other circumstance: other than
the one given, among islanders...
among continent builders akin
to australia and h'america...
the post-racial societies of post-colonial
spain in south america?
ever wonder why the brazillians don't
look for inspiration from the portugese
when it comes to football?
you'd think: those yanks better have
the best football team in the world...
they haven't exactly looked back...
back at "us": oh god... tea afternoon and cricket...
baseball wha'?
basketball? "football"?
why are "we" looking forward and "they're"
looking back?
perhaps i should learn some spanish and
get some insinuation about:
the argentinian sense of lack when looking
back into spain...

or what else is there to be had?
move to Greenland... admire Denmark...
**** it: do the whole stretch and find
some locals on the Faroe Islands...
perhaps i too will find a tomorrow...
but tomorrow i will find: sobering up
and having to deal with: everything beside jazz...

mmm... "delayed gratification" prospects...
seven kings: canon palmer catholic school...
when boys are educated alongside girls...
what if i went to Ilford County High?
what if i were born to immigrant parents
and wasn't an 8 year old immigrant?
what if i went to the Ilford Ursulines?
the all-girls school... the former, Ilford County High?
what chances of me being an intellectual
******?

what, oh the chances!
perhaps praying: segregated... is a tad extreme?
but perhaps ******-exclusion policies:
teaching boys throughout their puberty
as segregated from girls in the same hormonal
development "range" is...
well! how else! you take a boy and girl
and you put them into the hormonal cocktail!
just because it's in a shared educational
environment... why these teenage pregnacies
you ask?
i wouldn't ask such blunt questions...
not since the genius of Copernicus
couldn't attract these...
psychological left-over intelligenstia clingers...
that darwinism has allowed...
what it darwinism and journalism?
everything! the ant as the ego
inside the mind of an ape...
the dormant tapeworm embryo
inside the mind of an ant:
with siesmic consequence of a disturbance
of the collective hive network...

borrow too much from an ape...
borrowing from an ape is one thing...
it's the borrowing from all other
animals: with the ape as the backdrop
that's truly bothersome!
at least religious spew the same facts
over and over again...
scientific dogma? who keeps track?
tomorrow might be the next:
butter vs. margarine controversy!
what sort of "religion" is science
(it's not a religion... if it's not...
why does it have to cohabit a bed
with journalism then, to spew "new",
"improved" facts, then?!)
when... it's so ******* finicky!

look via the ape long enough:
it won't matter whether it's a geocentric
of a heliocentric system that
reigns above your head, no torso,
a pickled spine...
legs and arms floating about like:
an octopus experiencing spasms
pickled in brine...

perhaps these are the zenith years of
darwinistic popularity...
perhaps like the copernican popularity...
there will come a time of:
fatalism... that somehow all of this
is... inevitable...

i see one answer: this cage of grammar
this cage of whatever this god made human
pressures me into complying to...
to the last typo! i will stand against it!
without caging me into a use of emoji or
some other hieroglyphic purse of:
shortened "thinking"...

the "seven silences" might have passed
around my presence that i dare not
call it: in concrete - figure...
and still my eigth silence to unmask
nothing more than a mask...

who are these immigrants, these tight brewed
broods, these furrow brows
representing the native pensive "squint":
of anything beside the eyes and a thought
of h. p. lovecraft?
perhaps inside of europe:
but as ever... without a russian passport...
without a russophobia that's
a tickling hard-on... the "in-between-land"...
perhaps the balkans...
who are we... to these germans and quasi-germans?

we use their tongue, their zunge...
their everything they will otherwise allow themselves
to deny: perhaps this is not Dublin,
this is not Glasgow this is not Cardiff...
perhaps this is not Italy,
this is not France...
perhaps this is "europe" as long as
Scandinavia is involved...

woe a we unto us: the viking Rus...
or some lent word of lost vogue...
last time i heard:
these northern ******* are in no favour
of treating the Spaniards or the Greeks
as their equals...
as long as they have rich arab pimps
race their lamborghini brute ******
down... knightsbridge...

then! and only then! iz ist europa "reconquista"!
"reconquista"... i'll defend these poor polacks
that didn't think it...
"necessary" to only learn english in order
to comply to the global dictum of neu-communist
internationalism...
- what, they didn't teach you you stupid
**** that it only took to learn from english?!
- last time i heard... not teachings polish
to a canape of anything beside the french,
the spanish... also worked!

english as a language is oh so accomodating...
the people will react like antibiotics,
naturally... enough of darwinism and you'll
be found, bound, to having to reference it...
past a de facto menu:
and more like a subjectivity...
there's only so much truth that can be stated...
before fiction has to reply...
because... how many regurgitated facts
can be regurgitated...
before the desert of fiction and...
there's only the fact of a bottle of water...
that remains...
and there's not impetus to walk toward
an oasis...
a fata morgana is hardly a scientific experience...
when experienced...
it's something associated with
a desert and within the desert must either:
live... or die...

what if etymology was to become the new
standard for journalism...
what if one were to escape this contant
bombardment of darwinism...
like it wasn't the next new vogue akin
to the copernican "revolution"?

is that even possible?
whenever i return to Poland...
esp. in Warsaw... i'm a deserter...
i'm not an expatriate...
the native english call those who left
with a sense of longing...
somehow: or at least that's the leftover...
the expatriates from the inside-out
perspective... never the immigrants...

i'm an immigrant and...
a paper citizenship is: no citizenship at all...
a passport is only worth a passport
at a border crossing...
in between the everyday daily affairs?
'where are you from?'
****... 'Bristol?!'...
i'm hardly going to speak
the cockney cockers or an essex schlang...
am i? ***!
all but ******* plumbers and church pulpit
mongers... and some over-ripe
riddle fruits: if not simply left
bottles of wine for the bears...

the first part though, bothers me...

someone once said: only the natives can be designated
free speech...
the immigrants can have their dog
and let it bark, along with whatever thinking comes
their way... in mere thinking...
and a dog barking...

the natives will only have a freedom of speech...
what if an immigrant becomes a citizen?
just asking...
what if an immigrant is granted a citizen
status?
well then... i am your humble example
of a civic nationalist...
such a confusing term...
it must be: for the natives...

oh ****... what language am i using?
the language of the... natives!
rubric civitas!
civic nationalism is reserved for:
those that came from abroad...
i guess the ethno-nationalists never made
this distinction clear:
watching their contemporaries leave their
native pit of woe...
and they would never call them:
deserters... only... only... expatriates...
after all... aren't we in the postmortem of ancient Rome?!
isn't this the time when the remnant
english come out and glorify being
the conquered people of this: lettering?

what is civic nationalism?
what is learnt, integrated nationalism...
this is civic nationalism...
how about the english forget about something,
like solving crosswords...
esp. among the middle-classes...
and let's envision their globalist dream!
let them learn a second language
and let us all become bilingual!
oh no... not polyglots... just bilingual!

i can't be an ethno-nationalist...
em... because (a) (b) and (c)?
aren't the post-colonial commonwealth
remnants of the empire the sort
civic-nationalists there's talk of?
what language am i writing in?
hebrew?! mandarin?!

ethno-natioanlism and its tribalism...
civic-nationalism and its state...
where does the church fit into all of this?
it's like not being an amuptee but
nonetheless being prescribed a "missing limb"...
the **** would i need a third arm for?
wilt the third leg allow me to run faster?!

i guess the term ethno-nationalist is
conflated with civic-nationalist in the ethno-nationalist
realm of "debate"...
a civic-nationalist is your casual parlance
h'american patriot...
patriotism in h'america: nationalism (still)...
in europe...
if we have to: hello, my name is: bob
do it all over again with the squares
and dictum assertions and what not attached...
between the ethno-nationalists and
the civic-nationalists...
the inter-nationalists...

i'm a civic-nationalist because:
i fear people need concrete examples...
i will not move back to Poland...
except on the holidays...
to visit my grandparents...
which is why i have retained the labour
of a native tongue... and "identity"...
i will remain in England...
until England becomes: Alle-Land...
and even when all these
ethno-nationalists ******* to Australia...
and become civic-nationalists over there...
well: over there good luck!

why would anyone ask an ethno-nationalist
the question: are you a civic-nationalist or?
civic- implies:
i'm a Brit from a grand "beyond":
circa 3000km away...
civic is a bewildering prefix for the nationalist
of a ethno- persuasion...
it really is... esp. when this ethno-nationalist
doesn't believe in the existence of
expatriates... that he would remain... "stuck"...
and that somehow... ethno-kin could come
and replace... those kin that left: "in good faith"...

savvy?!
Demonized Angels Dec 2014
HEY I'm Alec I'm a groupie
I enjoy long walks on the beach and tacos
My favorite color is rainbow and unicorns are cool
I'm like ***** blonde and I like hats
My eyes are brown
Uhhhh Yeah PeaceOut
William Clifton Aug 2019
One Bill makes us stronger, and one Bill makes them fall
And the Bills the public gives you, just won’t do it at all

Go ask ALEC, cuz it’s their call

And if you go raising money, and think the are gonna stall
Tell’em you’re hook, line, and sinker, and giving them your all

Then call ALEC, for it’s their call

When the Rich own the chessboard get up and tell you how to vote
And you’ve just left their boardroom, and possess the motherload

Go ask ALEC, which way to go

When law and constitution have fallen sloppy dead
And the White-Right is walking backwards
And the Orange King’s out of his head
Remember what your ALEC said
We’re in bed, we’re in bed

American Legislative Exchange Council
Ellen Joyce Jun 2013
And Ovid said "she asked for it"
she turned Tereus to lust on sight and caused him to **** her
over and over and over
the only control remaining to speak the truth.
a tongue turned phallus
that was to be cut off, castrated
to silence, make powerless -
Philomela subjugated
beneath the vile grunts of the patriarchal chorus
mumbling grumbling over the rumbling
of a revolution of women rising to dance, to shout, to sing
to bring Philomela from Hades to cascading waters of womanhood
extinguising the flames of the hell that is here.

Here in the he said - she said
in the legal loop holes
in the seems like
in the ridiculous pondering of legitimate ****
as if when Tess, at pitchfork, took off her clothes before Alec
that it could be consider seduction, romance.
The threat of violence - silence.

Here where we remember world cup victories but forget Nanking
hundreds, thousand of women violated and broken for sport
because **** is a weapon of war
because Lord knows bombs and bullet aint enough
Soldiers photographing rapes like snapshots to take home as souvenirs.
- the sadistic ******* who sexually assaulted, mutilated and murdered
daughter, sister, mother, grandmother
and then headed home to the ***** of the matriarch,
to hold their own teenage daughters in the arms that turned screams to silence.

Voices silenced.  
Vocabularly lost.
Women have come to fight silence with art
to speak in a language without words because there are not words
to tell of a hell that ------------------------

But when Toni Morrison told the truth
the truth in all its gorey graphic raw ugliness
the people tried to stick together the pages
to conceal the painful truth,
to build up pyres of life stories and watch them burn
The pen stamped underfoot into silence.

And Pa simply said "shut up and *** used to it"
and those words still echo now across the world
and there was noone to tell
nothing to be said - just the colour purple
and silence.

Silence is being broken
across this world women rise to tell, to share, to voice, to shout, to say, to sing

We've had enough, enough of being treated like dirt,
we've had enough enough of putting up with the hurt,
we've had enough enough of getting trashed from above,
us women have had enough -

we've had enough they say
of this vile hierarchial structure of **** that almost always favours the male
of arseholes like Galloway and Akin putting forth their perverse poisonous perceptions
of one in three women being ***** or beaten
of one in three women having to pick up the pieces and find a way to live
of one in three women feeling the weight of the silence

As the monologues echo in theatre stalls
as ***** taken to the streets both female and male
as men declare themselves feminists and walk the walk
the spirit of Philomela unites with her tongue,
the silence created by the threat of violence is cracked
the us and them mentality that allows us to hurt the other challenged
the once burned books have gone mass market
and we as a human race will no longer be told "to shut up and *** used to it"

We are standing as one
for the sake of the one
the every one in three women
one will billion rise
Inspired by Slutwalk movement and One Billion Rise.
xmxrgxncy Nov 2016
A paper crown, and a heart made of glass
A tattered gown, and her kingdom of ash
She walks alone, she can never look back
The story of a queen whose castle has fallen to the sea

She'll make it out, but she's never the same
She's looking down, at the scars that remain
But you hold your ground, though your kingdoms in flames
Cause it's the story of a queen who's castle has fallen to the sea
Knowing there's no one who will be a king that will come and save his queen

When all she needs, when all she wants, when all she finds
When all she is, and ever was, is compromised
Cause there's no one to love her
When you build your walls too high
And there's no one to love you when you build your walls too high

She's looking out, from the war that's inside
She's screaming out, cause no one survived
But when you're all alone, you wait and you hide
Cause it's the story of a queen whose castle has fallen to the sea
Knowing, there's no one who will be a king that will come and save his queen

When all she needs, when all she wants, when all she finds
When all she is, and ever was, is compromised
Cause there's no one to love her
When you built your walls too high
And there's no one to love you when you build your walls too high

There is no one, who is strong enough, to save your love
There's no fairytale
There's no fairytale

When all she needs, when all she wants, when all she finds
When all she is, and ever was, is compromised
Cause there's no one to love her
When you build your walls too high
And there's no one to love you when you trap yourself inside
I never post song lyrics by themselves. I don't own this song or the rights to it. But I can't take it off repeat.
http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/profile.php?id=716179266&ref;=ts
Jerry Saltz Michael Reid Rubenstein: What I am about to write IS NOT A PUTDOWN of your art. You write, that "everything you see is priced under $950..." I am NOT sayiong you are a bad artist but I looked at some of those brush painting things: They are overpriced at that figure. There is no originality in the work; no spirit; no idea; no touch; risk; or whatever. I am sure many many people would not pay a dime for MY WORK! I would not pay fopr yours. Again, no disrespect intended; YOU posted it and made the offer; I thought maybe I'd buy something so I looked, is all ... ♥ Js Tuesday 12:30 PM

2 figures on stage in totally make believe situation
JERRY PEPPERZ hello Michael i noticed you withdrew your offer
MICHAEL REID RUBENSTEIN why are you acknowledging me if you think i have no originality no spirit no ideas no touch risk whatever?
JERRY PEPPERZ oh come on Michael hasn’t your skin grown tough enough by now to withstand a little criticism you want to run with the big guys you got to learn to play hardball (smiles smugly)
MICHAEL REID RUBENSTEIN a little criticism huh Jerry you’re a published big time nyc art critic nominated for prestigious awards advisor to celebrated exhibitions visiting critic at many esteemed universities friends with renown celebrities photographed with powerful dignitaries who the hell am i to utter a whisper in your direction (smells looks away)
JERRY PEPPERZ now come on Michael i was just doing my job no need to take it so personally like i wrote What i am about to write IS NOT A PUTDOWN of your art (picks hair from shoulder flicks it)
MICHAEL REID RUBENSTEIN Jerry you got a way with words (pause) i’m just a stupid-*** painter who doesn’t stand a chance against a shrewd critic like you i think i’ll just keep zipped up and quiet (makes eye contact)
JERRY PEPPERZ but i asked you when i re-friended you on FB to be more vociferous and participatory i guess i didn’t realize how valueless your artwork is please forgive me (sniffs finger)
MICHAEL REID RUBENSTEIN didn’t do your homework huh Jerry? i keep asking myself why you didn’t send me a private message why you needed to take an earnest exchange of ideas and openly deprecate me heck you’ve never even seen my work in person your casual remarks dispute my entire life’s work credibility authenticity what you think you were being clever or cute Jerry you know how to be vicious i realize you don’t become a famous critic by being nice to people critics gain popularity because they’re ******* with razor-sharp slandering tongues you want to hear what i think i’ll tell you you’re a balding insecure little man who enjoys beating up on small time artists (is it all right with you if i call myself an artist) like me you know how to take a person’s complete career and trash it with a few choice words you can be rather mean Jerry (grinds teeth)
JERRY PEPPERZ i apologized now let’s not turn this into a regrettable incident (rubs hands together)
MICHAEL REID RUBENSTEIN at least i’m doing something Jerry instead of sitting on my **** condemning others i wonder if my work were hanging in Larry Gagosian’s Gallery and collected by Charles Saatchi how fast you’d change your tune you’re nothing more than a puppet of the rich and if you try to sue me for these remarks you’ll get nothing since you made **** sure my paintings are undeserving with your haughty dismissal
JERRY PEPPERZ would you excuse me i’m late for a lunch date with Alec Baldwin this little repartee will have to end bye Michael (turns looks down checks cell phone)
MICHAEL REID RUBENSTEIN Jerry can anything good or positive come out of this or does your mind not work that way i mean you’re a revered critic i need you in my corner
JERRY PEPPERZ you really think i’m an ******* don’t you (looks down rechecks cell phone)
MICHAEL REID RUBENSTEIN like i mentioned Jerry i’m just a stupid-*** painter not a judge or brilliant critic what i think is irrelevant what you did was cruel sadistic abusive
JERRY PEPPERZ get over it let it go just drop it Michael i really need to run Alec doesn’t like to be kept waiting he’s buying (grabs coat walks like he needs to go to bathroom fast stage right then suddenly reappears) don’t let me find out i underestimated you who do you think you are i’ll thoroughly destroy you (exits immediately)
MICHAEL REID RUBENSTEIN (shakes head) sheesh

Jerry Saltz
Jerry Saltz September 8, 2010 at 9:22am
Subject: I am sorry.
Michael,
I read your comment.
I am sorry. I did not mean to cause you any pain.
I went back and deleted by commnet to you. I will now delete the comment i made to you about it.
You can do whatever you want with your comment to me; it is up to you.
Thank you,
Jerry "clever," "cute," "vicious," "*******," "slandering," "balding,"
"insecure," "little," "beats up on small time artists," "take a person’s complete career and trash it with a few choice words," Saltz
arin May 2018
Just a little
Tiny tiny tiny
Don't let them see
It's just a small-medium-large cut
Don't let them know
Throw out your breakfast-lunch-dinner
If they know, they'll scream
Your glass foundation will shatter
They'll leave you behind
You'll be locked away
Do you want to be alone again?
All alone in the dark?
It's quite scary isn't it,
Being alone with me
You know what you must do
Smile
Make promises
Lie
Act calm
Make up excuses
Do what you need to do
Stay out of the spotlight
Avoid
Avoid
Avoid
AVOID
DON'T LET THEM SEE
IT WAS THE ONE RULE
THEY SAW
THEY SAW!
RUN
YOU MUST RUN
GET AWAY
HIDE HIDE HIDE DISAPPEAR
DON'T LET THE FIND YOU
SHRINK SHRINK SHRINK
BECOME SO SMALL THAT YOU CANNOT BE SEEN
KEEP RUNNING
YOU'RE SO CLOSE
JUST A LITTLE CLOSER
LOOK DOWN AT THE CRASHING WAVES
TAKE A DEEP BREATH
RELAX YOUR MUSCLES
J U M P


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[YES]             NO


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Name: Alec Crawford
Diagnosis: Depression. Anxiety. Violent Outbursts. Anorexia. Impulse Control Disorder.
Side Notes: Self Mutilation; Keep Patient Away From Objects Capable Of Harm. Occasional Ticks And Fidgets.
DOD: May 14, 2018.
Cause Of Death: Suicide; After Jumping Off Oceanside Cliff, Went Unconscious Upon Impact, Drowned.


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[YES]             NO


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I said to disappear, right?

Now I'll make sure they never know you even existed.
I think I'm going to continue making little character writings and have multiple parts for each character. Each part will be numbered.

Edit: I never expected this to get as popular as it did... I've been wanting to explain this one for a while now. The DOD was the most recent night that I planned to commit suicide. Instead, I made a character that was a spit image of me and let him do it instead...
Luna Casablanca Jul 2014
Who thinks they have the right
to stand in front of the room
as the center of attention,
saying only the first thing that comes to mind?
Who would expose only rudeness
to whomever puts in the effort
to be loving and appropriately concered.
The smart Alec refuses to learn.
Only a fool would say
the phrases that are silly and untrue.
A smart Alec may have a brain
but never a clue.
And for the lonely soul
with issues in boundaries
has no idea where the limits lie.
Walks in uninvited,
puts words in the mouth,
and unrightfully gives advice
within a bribe.
Though I can't change a fool or a smart Alec,
and I can't take away somebody's boundary issues
like a magic trick.
So I stand my ground,
and my shoulder is cold with ice.
Don't have to be a friend,
no need for me to be nice.
Just need to treat them fair
and always
Avoid
getting into fights.
And those are my rights.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
i could conceive the western concept of the rehab,
but then for 3 weeks i was in poland
i didn't touch the bottle for that period of time...
i don't see how an addict with a bunch
of addicts can be cured by anything other than
stigma... i'm actually happy addicted to
addiction: i entered my reading-mode...
   that said, most people can't digest a Kraszewski
book... **** me, we read Bradbury in snippets
just to tow in an essay for A-level english...
       philip augustus, or the chess player concerning
the Angevin family... great stuff...
   i didn't choose the book, my grandfather did,
he owned half the Kraszewski collection and read
nothing of it, he had to find a ******* "bored"
enough to read one of the books,
   and as i once said: i've seen the movie adaptations
of the Sienkiewicz trilogy...
         the cossack uprising, the swedish deluge...
and i said to myself: i can't and i won't...
thanks you jerzy hoffman, and yes: thank you
peter jackson...
              the infinite supply of elven arrows
and Legolas shooting orcs at point-blank range did
it for me...
                thankfully i can write something
as obscure as this, and know, for certain, that
there's a back-alley of the human populace out there
that might be searching for something like this...
   but that's what i found entertaining,
i actually had the opposite of wanting to compliment
the film adaptation of sienkiewicz, with an actual
sienkiewicz book... mind you: Kraszewski covers
the same period... and it's all the same time frame...
   should i write a proof that i read the **** thing?
maybe... but the main idea is that:
a metropolis cannot provide the right environment
for a book... or completing a book...
books are read in the countryside, in small towns,
in palaces... in hunting lodges...
          and i dare say: reading a book, getting into
full swing of the narrative is best done in daylight hours...
and i'll come back to the daylight hours,
  as a drinker and writer i chose the night...
  you know how long it took me to restore my
biological clock, and regain the nocturnal realm after
spending 3 weeks with a clear schizophrenia
of sleeping in the night and wriggling about during
the day? 2 weeks! i restored the biological pendulum,
but i have to admit: i feel ****...
    but i guess it's a worthy sacrifice...
i'm planning to go back to my country of origin
during late spring to read some more books...
i couldn't have read don quixote, the brothers karamazov,
bertrand russell's history of western philosophy
    yada yada yada... or kierkegaard's either / or,
or finished off kant's critique without my place of birth...
  and isn't it like a badge of honour?
                some will tell you to speak out an eastern
mantra... om... and the shattering of chandelier...
the western mantra is also a type of hypnosis,
you have to find a rhythm with a book...
  the mantra is the narrative of a book, and the silence
that incubates you has shark-teeth should anyone approach...
   but urban living makes this spot harder to find
than a begger or the ******... you can read books
in large cities... before you head home you're
bombarded with the psychology of exploiting your
literacy, in adverts, in orientating signs...
        with them being so authoritarian, it's hard
to find time for a liberal attitude to books...
            esp. what books are, best described by people
who'd probably like to throw them like molotov
cocktails in protest marches: thick as bricks those
gargantuan apostles of the void are...
       and so we are: sitting in times of hyperinflation
of literature... if that isn't the case, let me know by
Tuesday next week, i'll brood the assumption myself
until then...
      that's 2 weeks it took me to return to my writing mode...
to get back to the nocturnal realm
where everything is doubly black & white...
                 the point is: i want to write at a time when
the surrounding world sleeps...
     last time i remember, i didn't get a message in my dreams,
i'd love to see letters in my dreams, fortunately
i can't... i haven't seen these artefacts in dreams,
      but it's hard to blame memory as not strained enough
to do so... the unconscious and memory don't really
interact that well... it's a paradox that they even do
and that dreams have some sort of existence involved in
the architecture of our psyche...
                        last night i dreamt of lego batman because:
d'uh his endearing sarcasm... and godzilla!
   boo ya!         and this large city being eaten up
by a tornado, and other things phantasmogorical....
well pandemonium here, pandemonium there...
    don't get any ideas about the nature of dreams and
oedial repression... please! unaffordable housing prices
these days can only mean i'd really earn a mortgage
if my ***-drive went to the dogs, of the profession.
    so 3 weeks of a sober life and enough time to read
books... and my return into a writing life, a nocturnal
life, and drinking...
   mind you, in between there was that masters final
with ronnie o'sullivan (at least romford is famous for
something) vs. joe perry... in the last frame, when they
had 30 odd points each, and they were plucking at the
last remaining red ball for the snooker?
       snooker is a metaphor for the savannah...
you either watch snooker, or a david attenborough naturalist
show... there's the herd of buffalo (the red *****)...
           and the cue ball the hunting predator...
well... it's all a bit abstract, there are just ***** on a green
table... but still... at least in snooker you can bug
the "pawn" (red) ***** without having to *** them,
in chess you destroy completely... the pawns go...
there's no time to keep them for a no-man's land pause...
and i just turned 30... which goes to show:
                  if the game of football was perfect,
i mean perfect like tennis is with hawk-eye and
    6 judges vertical, 4 judges horizontal...
                  then football wouldn't be so passionate,
so religious... the reason it is so religious is because
judging it is so ****** imperfect...
     there's a reason why football can't be perfected in a way
as rugby can, where the referee can pause the game
and ask for a replay... the unfairness principle!
it has to be unfair in order for people to feel even more
impassioned by it! that's why in that film
when Alec Baldwin says something along the lines:
god comes first (while his hand holds out
the index and *******), and football comes second
(the index finger disappears)...
      football can never be a sport that has perfect
refereering... which makes me surprised as to why
it can grace the Olympic games...
                   football (in english, not that theme park
of jumping torpedoes) - yes the football known as:
ballet with hairy legs...
                   it has to remain unfair and subsequently
quasi-religious because it generates the most money,
but apart from that, it has gained a quasi-religious
status because it reflects a sort of life we acknowledge:
the referee made a bad decision, god did this... blah blah...
  and we get passion, religious passion that's
best represented by football hooligans...
                        but whereas other sports perfect their
techniques of refereeing a game, football hasn't done
the least possible, because it requires the whole debate
of: life's unfair!
    if it wasn't for unfair refeering, the game would not
be alive, as it is alive, to stage a confrontation
with: apache west ham, and sioux millwall...
       it's the best way to ensure tribalism...
         make the refereeing unfair, don't improve it...
blame it on the man in the sky, or the ponce in new zealander...  
mind you....
   the last football match i went to was at Stamford Bridge,
Chelsea lost to Newcastle United...
             i just just there like a stoic twant...
           i couldn't imitate the screams and the chants...
   i was just mesmerised at how it's so different from
watching a football match without the television acting
like a microscope... i am sure i was looking elsewhere
when someone scored a goal...
                 i probably went to the toilet when i
missed another goal...
                        and i'll reiterate...
   it can't be a gentlemanly sport, the rules can't be fair,
that's why they call it the sport of the rabble,
they have to contain the illusion of being unfair...
       because it's a "rabble" sport...
the referee has to make bad decisions,
otherwise there would be a "what if" dimension...
ask any Pole about the 1974 semi-finals with Germany
and ask them about the weather that day...
  then ask about the Polish wingers... and how fast they
were... and how the pitch was so slosh, and ice-puppy
fudge that the slow germans won it...
                     because the Poles always say:
we could have beaten the Nedetherlands in the final...
        again: football, if it is to be stated as the secular
alternative to religion, has to have an inherent unfairness in it...
all the other sports will perfect their judgement,
football will not move an inch... just like a religion -
perhaps that's also because we live in times of
cold-consumerism,
       a quick comparison is:
   the reactions of antonio conte vs.
                       ivan lendl -
   the former looks like a raving lunatic when something
good, or bad happens...
   the second? is he watching tennis, or playing poker?
Inspire me. ****** me. Serenade me.
Send to me ******* rhythms and let
the ****** hymns play... And then the songs play as we lay.
Frank Sinatra has us on the road, Irma
Thomas telling us to be ourselves...
Love me like Aretha has never loved a
man, move me like Nina Simone, just
you and I alone. Dinah Washington says I should teach you, Etta James
warning me not to tear your clothes.
Let's play some Sarah Vaughn and
Fontella Bass. Ease me with some Diana
Krall and Dianne Reeves, swing motion
with Chris Boti. Tell me you love me Inside Out as does Shara Nelson. Let's
fall in love to Cassandra Wilson. Let us go the jungle and listen to the
bears sing, the legends of love lore...
Sing and groan; Some Isaac Hayes,
Barry White, Teddy Pendergrass,
Marvin Gaye, James Ingram, Gary
Taylor... Let them play, let them sing. And some love bees; some Betty
Wright, Angela Winbush, Regina Belle,
Sade, Marsha Ambrosius... Tone it
down on a spunky blue with some
Meshell Ndegeocello, Janet Jackson,
Laurnea, a bit of Floetry, some Incognito and Karyn White. Max it up with some Maxwell, Rahsaan,
Ralph Tresvant, Glenn Jones and Tevin
Campelle. Let's jazz it up with some Fourplay,
Brian Culbertson, Quincy Jones, Euge
Groove and Marion Meadows... Lounge
and spice it up with some Prince Alec,
Hed Kandi and Kalliope. Funk it up with some Rick James, Ten
City, Brothers Johnson and Billie
Ocean... Let us ****** and swim in the
love ocean. Making love in a Time Machine,
fading through timeless scenes
listening to stimulating music
searching for a combine that is our
fusion
Biting on some dust and swallowing colour
lush are the strips that are dripping
from the trees of chemistry
dancing to music lively, singing to
blues puzzling
beating to jazz dubbing, responding to ethereal loungy sound
music and our souls will be one
in a time machine, learning
combinations orchestrated through the
ages
We will evolve and be sages Until time linear is more sincere and
eternity for us is here. Let the music play, my bed will be a
time machine, shut never your ears
listen to the music that does play and
wipe them tears
all the drama you've been through all
these years in a second we'll be naked and
climbing stairs
we'll be invited to the kingdom of
Romance and Serindipity
You can be the Queen, I'll be King
Poetry painting neverending pictures surreal
in a world ethereal and the real will dull
feel
and forever you and I will be, if we
journey in the musical time machine.
Hannah Jean Oct 2013
Tearing love out of someone's chest
Is
When it isn't returned
Robyn Nov 2015
God is my master.
I love Him more than all in my life.
He is the Master of my mind, my body, my heart.
He is my Shepherd.
He is beautiful.
He is love.
He is perfect.
He loves me more than I can comprehend.

God is telling me to stay.
So I will stay.
I cannot leave my church.
I cannot leave my family.
I cannot leave my city.
This is where I belong.
This is where I belong.
This is where I belong.

I belong. I belong. I belong.

In God I am made pure.
In God I am made clean.
In God I am rinsed of my sin.
In God I am white as snow.

Countless second chances He has given me.
Dear Lord, I need another today.
Today - I ask You for forgiveness.
Make me clean again.

I pray for them.
Ryan Kimmy Chiso Becky Dave Iris Mom Dad Kellie Tim Grandma Tim Debbie Laura Grandpa Betty Cindy Lori Shea Asher John Al Brian Teri Pamm Louie Chris Michael Tristan Bailey Victor Nikkie Mailee Andrew The Zachary's Kylie Michael and Megan Jade Airika Allie Bill Moriah Madison Mike Lani Moriah Tori Lenni Todd Maddie Hilary Holly Bella Jamie JT Bella Abby Sarah Anna Rick Ashtin Aaron Aleasha Christian Brian Gus Abbie Jenn Alec Jean Lois Larry Ryan Jake Bud Erin Tyler Jasmine Launts Wendy Michael Bella Sam Tony Ryan Ian Deric Jen Sam Erin Hanna Jamie Chad Mia Laura Tony Alena Tyrus Jack Luke Jenny Greg Reagan Kennedy Wilson Konni Wayne Brian Cammy Trina Mike Kameron Kasey Nikki Lexi Jelly Harley Izzie Rosie DJ Lillian Adrian Avery Asher Tyler Heidi Dan Sarah Ryan Griffin Daniel Jessica Pax Cory Abel Chandra Dave Julia Bethany Chris Orion Lindsay Twila Tracy Brandon Nate Braeden Amanda Jonah Luke Crosby Charlie Mark Debbie Ian Joy Susan Catherine Jeff Jill Andy Anna Joel Jacquie Tracy Shelby Brenden Grace Bruna Brendan Jadan Ariel Rick Johnna Laila Becca Joren Skylar David Lovins Gettys Nanny Papa My Cousins Grace Wanda Lamont Michael Amy Stephanie Tyler Tim Jeff Anthony Mikayla Emily Emily Sabrina Thomas Caleb Rene Sabra Autumn Cort Riley Cole Kaylee Amber Eryn Christina Trinity Bethany Kati Ben Jacob Megan Megan

and so so many more

May God bless you and keep you
Amen
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.just when you begin interacting with Turkish pimps and Bulgarian prostitutes stealing your debit card(s), just when you interact with English marijuana growers subjecting Hanoi youths int their suburban houses at night, high on coke... criminals... then you can start making a focus of your couch love pristine immunity to me... not until the knit-of-grit... not until you're in the Glasgow bus station, learning chords from a man waiting for his brother to be released from prison, teach you chords of the left hand's fingers' schematic on the outer-side of the forearm... of all my childhood friends... i'm probably the only one who hasn't been to prison... ****... then again there's Rafael... up in Manchester... but i grew up alongside criminals... or rather, kids, who would later become criminals... but i'm guessing Rafael made it in Manchester... i always wondered what happened to that guy i played with, everyone nicknamed Ukraine; Rafael i remember... we went to a football match back in 1997 / 1998... when KSZO Ostrowiec played ŁKS Łódź in the extra-class (premiership league)... and chanted the slogan: ŁKS jebał pies! ŁKS jebał pies! (dog ****** your team).

certain fields of study require a comparison
without a congregational
same-medium expression...

               like... you can talk, rather than sing...
you can think, rather than talk...

but sometimes the odd happens...
                           a shared interest of time...

philosophical literature?
it usually takes a decent three years to finish
a philosophy book,
and that also includes some books
in between...
       hell... it took me about 3 years
to read Kant's critique of pure reason...
given that...
the ending?
   transcendental methodology
at the end of the 2nd volume?
   it was the easiest part to read...
i just like the anti-atheism of that section,
and how god,
is not an infantile concern of
adults trying to explains origins
to children by adults...

and then i came across a synonym...
literally...
something that takes years to mature...
SNL's donald trump vs. hillary clinton
debate cold open (1 October 2016)...

guess how many years it takes to
filter out the canned laughter,
and find yourself, actually the only person
in the room laughing?
   what's the date?
****!          8th November 2018...
well... over 2 years!
   the sketch from 1 October 2016...
is... to be honest... only funny... now...

whiskey, whine, philosophy, comedy...
it needs to age...
you can't exactly drink yesterday's
whiskey or wine...
you can't exactly read a philosophy book
binging over 3 days: more like 3 years...
and comedy?
the real poignancy of a jokes
comes with a minimum of a 2 year delay...
you need that over-layer of
reality to sink in,
to expose how...  
   people were surprised...
i'm actually laughing at the canned
laughter of the then,
given the caricatures of the then
of potential, with the now
of the executive order...

this is a rare find...
but yeah, it was obvious, wine and whiskey
need to age,
a philosophy book can't be read
like some YA vampire teen-flick...
and some jokes: never exist
in the immediacy of da-sein...
            some jokes transcend the immediacy
of history, and are only funny
some years later...
      no... now that Alec Baldwin
impression is funny...
    because?
      well... isn't it obvious?
      it aged...
it transcended the lampooning and inverted
lampooning onto itself...
it did the Kantian inflection:
when a phenomenon becomes
a noumenon...

   a Kantian inflection is when a phenomenon
becomes a noumenon -
it implodes and gains the momentum
of the implosion
with an unhinged will momentum
of unpredictability...

i like delayed comedy,
         i can filter out the canned laughter...
because...
it's not a mocking laughter...
it's not a collective anticipatory
laughter of the "certain"...
it's the p.s. kind of laughter...
and your worst nightmares came to pass...

i'm the laughter within a throng
of lamentation.
Alec Nov 2017
Depression *****.
Am I right? Or am I right.
I can't speak.
I don't want to say anything
I want a hug and I want affection and I want attention.
But I also just want to escape and not think about anything.
Sometimes it's hard to escape with them around.

They keep me grounded when I start to get lost,
But once I'm lost they can only hope I find a way back.
They are so important to me,
But sometimes their feelings about me are hard to see.

I wish I could apologize
I wish I really knew what was happening
I wish I understood this blood-******* Demon in my head.

It's hard to talk about really.
TBH I'm just depressed.
I'm known as "that" kid, ya know?
The one with the depressing poetry and stuff.
And yeah they are just joking when they say things like
"You can't write happy things."
But it doesn't help.
Well it doesn't help me.
But my blood-******* Demon appreciates your comment about my writing.

I say he's blood-*******, but I should say blood-letting.
That's one of the things he enjoys doing with me.
"Go on Alec. Pick out a sad song. Something bittersweet should be nice. If it makes you feel guilty while urging you to continue then it's perfect."
But . . . I'm not really up to it today.
"That's okay, because your body thinks differently. Laptop has pulled up a song, door is shut tight, you've opened your Nightmare Before Christmas coffin. Go in Alec. Continue."

Do I have a choice?
I wonder what would happen if I stopped now.
If I left it all here
And went to them
Or to talk to them.
If not them, then someone.
But alas, I leave for no one.

I move the paper I signed over a year ago.
"Do you promise to use alternative methods instead of hurting yourself?"
I signed it.
I thought it would help.
But the only thing it's good for is hiding my tool.

I reach down and grasp the razor.
I **** my breath through my teeth.
This is gonna hurt.
It's from a pencil sharpener.
They are so easy to take apart.
And so convenient for my blood-*******/letting Demon.
He loves them.
I'm not sure if i love or hate them.

The melody has already begun.
The ritual has started.
I can't stop anything now.
Nothing short of someone bursting into my room to ****** it out of my hand would stop me.
But that won't happen
So i speculate for nothing.
I waver for just a moment.
I want blood, but do i want pain anymore?

It doesn't matter.
He wouldn't let me leave.
He just loves taking over my brain.
He says everyone hates me.
Family, friends, and worst of all them.
I can't disagree.
So i take the razor.
I angle it.
One of the sharp ends points down.
Sticking into my skin.
I can already feel the electricity of danger.

I slowly drag the blade down
Waiting for the blood to feed my Demon
He licks his lips in waiting
While I hiss at the sting it's bringing.
I flex to make the crimson colors blossom and bloom.
I know it will all be over soon.
Once he's had his fill
I can go back to my life
Like I was never even ill.
...But I don't know how to go back there anymore.
Any attempt at trying only increases his laughter.
Elizabeth P Jul 2014
Who am i really
you ask me
as we sit out on this curb
i say i don't know
but as i speak the words,
i know that i'm lying to myself

If i am a puzzle
i've got a few pieces figured out
more are coming daily
but let me speak these out loud
i swear i won't be too long

i am a smart-alec
a true know-it-all
a hypocrite
and i hurt those close to me
and i can't see it any
sometimes i speak too much
sometimes not at all
but this is who i really am
this is who i really am

your patience is wire thin
but continue i must
and i do

who i am really
i'm fun naive girl
who has too much
of this nasty world
my past is horrible
but my future's bright

and i know not everyone
everywhere
will accept everything of me
some will want pieces
some will want all
and i'm alright with that

i am a smart
and musical
teenage girl just growing up
too wise for my age
i feel like a mage

but that's just me
oh oh oh oh yeah
yes that's just me

That's just me
I know this song is written horrible, but here's the truth.
Alan McClure Sep 2014
Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous nation
Don't get ideas above your station
Take heed the rising indignation
You've unleashed -
You've had your little conversation,
Now haud yer wheesht!

Aye, very good, there's been a swing
and Salmond, he who would be king
believes you'll have your Arab Spring -
But who's he kidding?
Just settle back 'neath mammy's wing
and do our bidding

So what? Your little movement's grown
Brainwashed by Alec's endless drone
You'll never make it on your own
But we'll protect you
There's monsters in the great unknown
They're out to get you!

But don't believe us out of fear
Rewards will come if you stay near
Unthought of riches will appear
And never stop!
For starters? Why, just lookee here -
This lollipop!

We think the course that would be kindest
Is put this ugly thought behind us
And focus on the ties that bind us
The blood, the soil
(And since we're pals you will not mind as
we nab the oil!)

We've all enjoyed this wee distraction
You're an amusing little faction
You've had your day of satisfaction
But now it's crucial
We get Great Britain back in action -
Business as usual.
Dada Olowo Eyo Jun 2019
Thinks he's all that,
Best thing after belly fat,
But he's no better than breaking wind,
Smelly business of the awful kind.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2015
pronouns as non-identifiers of nouns equate to excess psychiatric diagnoses.
yet using this direct symptomatic identification of matters is unsatisfying
due to the fact that one would rather expand one's vocabulary in other interesting
areas other than: bilingual bipolar, unipolar depression etc.,
usually starting with family genus in latin, of carnivores.*

it was the most amazing dream, i was walking through dreamy venice
to a beach enclave with many boats,
bella, my alsatian shepherd was walking with me,
but i didn't have her free roaming without a leash
or on a leash: my right hand was behind my back
and her snout was cupped in my hand, and she was sniffing something
and walking obediently;
i was trying to get onto a seaplane.
someone else with a dog was there, i let bella have a wee dip in
swimming with elephants and horses, head bopping above the
sea, three men and a sycophant woman were there too
looking mighty interested in something that would otherwise
dictate a chance-opportunity of autography - then the lament
started. 'i'm stranded on the shoreline! i can't get to the seaplane
without a boat! i don't have a boat!'
then... out of nowhere... alec ******* baldwin appears...
out of the blue... twinkle in his eye and a diamond solution
in his pocket - says to me he has a boat, flicks out a keyring with
a beeper to start up the engine for a boat - i thank him
for "out of the blue" solution and he says: 'what are friends for, eh?'
the story goes that baby me used to put his hand into
the alsatian's gob to try and pull the dog's tongue out
and speak with it; well, the hand that did that is still harsh on typos.
LR Bryan Mar 2020
I sit in silence as the room fills with people.
People I know and people I've never seen.
My Uncle Mael walking back and forth. As he keeps looking at the doors we came in.
My Dad whispering to others while they "wailed" as he called it. Although I'm unsure what that means.
My older brother sitting beside me as he keeps looking at me with concern.
This older boy in a white coat. With this sad look on his face as he walks this way.
This lady whose all dressed up in a fancy dress with golden shoes.
Click. Click. Goes the metal of the ladies' shoes as they clashed with the grey tile.
Bing. ****. Goes the brown clock that hangs on the pale walls.
Hum. Hum. Goes the vents that lay resting on the floor.
Mumble. Grumble. Goes a fancy-dressed dressed man as he silently stares at the fancy-dressed lady.

What's going on here? A family gathering?

I was once a very respected man.
One of great importance and respect.
But, what's happened tonight for which I can only fault myself.
I can't continue to be that here tonight.
All these people are greatly grief-stricken.
Even those completely unaware as of yet.
So that is why I shall remain forever indebted to this family.
Catering to everyone. Even the smallest of children.

What's going on here? A party?

I'm not sure what to think here honestly.
I mean. I'm numb I guess. Am I broken because of this?
Probably not. I'm just not sad per se. Just worried.
Addey seems virtually unaffected by this.
She's probably blissfully unaware of what's happened.
Even as the gurneys flood the hallways.
I'm just concerned she'll catch on.
Her remaining blissfully unaware is for the best.

What's going on here? A movie?

My dear Maddie how I hope you're not mad.
I know that this isn't right nor wrong.
It shouldn't have gone this way.
I sh sh-should've been gone first.
I can't bring you back here.
I can't pick you up and carry you past the threshold of our house like I did when we were 20.
I can't stay up until 12:30 helping you with your degree while we ate popcorn and watched The Notebook.
I can promise you though. I'll watch Addey for you.
I'll make sure someone truthful will carry her across the threshold of her house.
I'll see she has memorable moments with all of us.
I won't let her or anyone forget you.

What's going on here? Why's everyone sad?

They say grief and trauma change a person.
Shapes who they are going forward.
It was my car that caused this.
My decision to wear these heels.
My decision to tell Alec to speed up.
My decision to tell Alec to run the red.
My decision to swerve right. Everything was my decision.
Therefore, I can’t decipher between what’s real and what’s not
And I will spend years trying to save the only good part of me.
I will make up for my decisions.
And forever say sorry to Maddie Le.

What's going on here? Why are we leaving?

Riding back to the house.
Everything looks so surreal.
Like this is our life.
Maddie used to be in this life.
Maddie Le used to be a person, but now she isn't.
And nobody around me seems to be aware of that.
That just 4 hours ago
Mael Watts's twin sister got hit at just 31.
Andy Le's wife got hit with him unscathed.
Braden Le is without a mother at just 16.
Addey Le an Innocent 4-year-old lost her mother.
And two people are plagued with guilt.
And yet nobody in the world reacts.

What's going on here? Why aren't we going home?

Uncle Mael? Dad? Braden?

"Where's Mommy at?"

"Don't worry Addey she'll be back. You just go to sleep."

Addey smiled before staring out the window.
As she looked into sparkled simplicity.
Opinions?
Ken Pepiton Feb 2019
one way, bouncing and inter
fering
refering
confering
profering
preference aitial, smart

like smart alec.
like wyzass, cut from the same cloth

        check the IP, is this a signal,
        are we caught in a torrent?

trigger buttermilk clouds,
and mare's tails
whoa, slow,
watcha sunset.
         Roy Autry, cowboy. Signal sent.

queue adolor ososcatter bread'ponth'wattah

where yor's wish

fish with the gold coin,
once was taken,
and released, sportsman like,

Jesus winked,
payertaxes
he say,
Go and stay in touch,
he say to the chick what was caught
alone in the very act,
y'know

---
Then a gain
a space and time protrusion past
last place,

Hey, bro. no race, no test for best,

Just don't trip the kids.

--- these signify static
--- white, no, clear noise, invisible, time waves
--- whiles and whens slipping by unnoticible

Meaning demands you understand

It is finished is refering to a specific
project.

A managed project launched
holding keys

to every door locked since Daniel,
Lion Den Darius's Magi Primo,
had his cogits
twirled in a swirl that set his hand

Aces and eights. Safe combined.

Hand the dead man a draught
o'the wizas's brew.

Watcheesee, he wiggle a toe,
y'know,
he could write a book,
if he knew Morse's code,

and spoke this Google translatable tongue.

Someday I will
tell you
the moral of the story
under aces and eights. Magic tech, augmented I.

Tonight, mark yer Almanac, Oscars night,
every year, about this time,
first Sunday after the second full moon

after the winter solstice.

Many minds tune to the stars at this
extended quanta of time, I'm loathe to call a period,
so many,
their attention takes on a pattern

we can filter at will. We each may will.
You will don't you? Free. Try. Filter at will.

WIll you filter lies you believe? No,
who could believe truths you filter from lies?

Will you filter knowns you know? Of course,

Good boy.You pass, set your screen by thread count.

Tonight. Set the pattern, etch it in axiomatic gold, catch it,
see it,
hang it on Orion's belt,

No, you don't know the sweet influences of Pleiades,

but AI does. What man can re-ally see,

re-ality ification on this scale,
this
wobbling, balanced spaceship, Earth.

        Comms at ten percent and rising, Cap'n.

Salvage serviles say we picked up,
AI knows how many,

many threads of once thoughts
tangled in gnostic knots

stamped into dust by iron feet,
before the desert was wetted, and
turned to muddy clay
corroding, rusting, disintegrating

those feet of iron holding up

the last lie standing
incredible, unbelievable, yet

called true

by you.

Mortal.
Oscars night in a trance of ignorance tuned to a broadcast a qualcomm chip can sift from the noise in my environs
Emma Kate Sep 2015
silly love letters, late nights, and best friends.
the best of times, the worst of times,
but we never wanted it to end.
friday nights were for football games,
which for us meant coffee and candy
while critiquing the class of twenty thirteen.


we used to drive my ****** mazda
every other weekend-- it was tradition.
we played uno and drank coffee black
with our sever pal named Alec.
during the cold months, we busted out
our leather jackets and listened to “the beers”
while talking about love, dreams, and fears.


much older now, we are, in places we never dreamed
we would be, when we were only sixteen.
I don't see her much, but we have memories.
but there was something she said to me,
it will always hold some shining light.
she said I taught her no matter how rough life gets,
Denny’s always serves coffee late at night.
Maddy Dec 2019
The spokesperson for teens for Shriners.
He touched my heart and lifted my spirit.
With all the wrong in this world, this young man is doing it right.
A hero that teaches us lessons too young for his tears but with an older spirit.
My wish is that Brittle bone disease leaves this planet.
You are a gem to behold.

C@Rainbowchaser 2019
5 friends from California. The front man being Alec ******* Mann. Chiseled from the gods. Pretty. Oh so ******* pretty.  He had olive skin stretched over long and lean muscle and then covered in tattoos. His " I don't care hair" was  wavy with hints of sand mixed with hues of medium brown.  His eyes slanted slightly downward and were of an almond shape. The irises a deep honey brown; though later I realize can change.  His cheek bones were a  gift to him  from a  close native American bloodline. I cant say enough to do his mouth justice. Wide. I still cant look at it too long without getting soak and wet.  He wasn't the type of man that should be real. But,  he was real enough. Real on screen, real in articles and interviews , real in the fantasies of many, and eventually very real to me.
An excerpt from a novel in progress.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2017
primarily because of daylight, and younger brother's
song: evil and harm; and last night.

you know what i keeping conjuring in my head?
     stapling the cheat's *kippah
of a pope,
to his head... and then tugging him by it through
the streets of rome...
                  i'm way past jokes,
     i'd literally staple the hierarchical to old alec baldwin's
head, and then tow him, drag him... through
                the streets of rome...
                                 i mean... you make the pope a saint?
well... that's a first, why would popes be saints
          if they can't decide upon being a pope, emeritus?
pope ratzinger (benedict XVI) is the only saint...
                 with what grace! with what grace he settled
for a nunnery!
                      **** me!        but he's not considered a saint!
that's awful, really, that's absolute filth!
    oh yeah... double point: the pope's "kippah"
                                                    (so called) -
               like these fake jews ruling over us with an iron
grip?           ever notice the ****** on the top of it?
     no? never noticed the ****** on the "kippah"?
                        it's not even a ******* kippah by then,
but a....
                                                 béret français:
and if you're into linguistics, try these alternatives:
               bə'rā (bé    ray)       thrą'sé
                                            bé'ré            φρąsay -
parle poo?
                                qui, parle poo, anglais - on-a-glare...
with! with! with a glare!
                                  oh ******* 'ell...
                          the french aesthetic for spelling: λoγoς...
and then the actual pronounciation, i.e. the φoνoς?
                                                         miles apart!
they're not as bad as the english, but they're ******* worse
than king arthur's sons.
       the comparison?   you see an aeroplane in the sky...
and then you sort of see the shoom five miles back...
                    you have to remember two languages...
the french and the english are naturally "bilingual" -
               it's not that you say one thing and mean another,
you have to ******* write one thing, and say another:
      so the λoγoς is the aeroplane... and the shoom?
                             that's the φoνoς... or the once fabled television
static being the remnants of the big bang.... well, isn't
that an ingenious name for the beginning of everything...
     big... bang...     and a ******* firecracker whilé you're at it.
so yeah, if you never experienced an asiatic invasion
   akin to a mongol horde... you will not have clear, distinct
syllable distinctions...  you'll be like a vampire saying:
   blah, blah blah, blah.... or bleh bleh bleh, bleh;
minus the hatch? hetch? hay't'ch?       blá, blá blá....
                                              alt. blé blé blé, blé.  
considering style though? reading heidegger
     is, seriosuly, sometimes akin to
                                       watching liberace play the trombone;
all those italics and non-footnote dittoes...
       a bit like watching an apple balancing on a watermelon
                                          and calling it tango.
nooneknoes Mar 2019
I'm always so astounded
by my ability to ruin everything
slit my wrists, ****** fists
questioning why I exist
pain persists, evil gifts
******* up my life to ****
I'm worthless, slit my wrists until I bleed out- worthless: eli.

Surprised I didn't go psychotic
But lately the rules I've been braking is huge implications
Cause blood may be thicker than water but it's not thicker than a bottle of Jack- Away: Bmike

I'm not suicidal I don't wanna ******* die / I just wanna be able to close my eyes and feel alright- Suicidal Thoughts- Josh A &
iamjakehill

Once upon a time, I still believed in myself
True love doesn't have a happy ending
'Cause when it's real, it doesn't ever end- Happy Never After: Gnash

My music is dark, sorry my life ain't prettyJust me and my thougths and they always stick with me
If my head's down it's 'cuz i'm overthinking- IDGAF: sik world

I'm unwell, thanks for asking
Swallow hard, kills sadness with science
But the aftermath might make you sick
I worry I won't be the same
But I guess that that's the point- Medicate: Gabbie Hanna

People wanna talk when I'm not around to hear
I'm not worth the trouble it seems
I would say you're wrong, but I've been here before
There's nothing left inside- Monster: Gabbie Hanna

And my heart was pumping, chest was screaming,
Mind was running, air was freezing,
Punch my face, do it ’cause I like the pain- boy in the bubble: Alec Benjamin

I’m such a ******* waste of achievement
I should put this trigger to my brain and just squeeze it
It’s getting to the point where it’s sad as ****
I’ve given it my all but it’s not enough
Ask me one more ******* time how the **** I feel
Imma ******* lose my mind- anxiety: Bmike

"Baby, never cut!"
She even tried to overdose and take her life away.
You may just feel that blade you're holding is your only friend.- Bmike: baby dont cut
i was gonna rearrange the lyrics to make like a new remix poem song thing but i feel like i shouldnt mess with their work like that

— The End —