Dikes are Dikes
Such is the way with your dikes
Please don’t
Don’t
Protect yourself
Before we
Get PREGGANANTE
DELETE THIS BABBAY
GET ME THE HANGA
Don’t not protected
O H MY GuD

**** Tumblr. **** Facebook. **** thumbs up. **** Iphones and everything with an " I " before it's name.  Even if it's  an " Ivone ". **** Justin and Katy, teenagers and children. **** the children. **** GIFs and Instagram. **** the hashtag #. **** twitter. **** ‘selfies’ , ‘felfies’ and ‘braggies’. Put a camera in your ***, take a picture, that's a selfie too, you ******. One you can brag about.
******* as well. **** this, **** that, ******* again. Especially you, yOU ****. **** twerk and Miley. **** MTV. **** the 2000's. **** rich people trying to look poor cuz they're hipsters and that's " Indie ". **** Indie ****! Everything's " Indie " nowadays. **** that! Not everyone is struggling. Make some noise, you don't have cancer.
**** people who smile to every **** a **** does when they visit the hood to buy drugs, because they're stupid and soft. **** social conscience.
******* again for pushing a beard and a moustache because it's fashionable. **** John Lennon. **** the Beatles. **** **** as a trend. **** me, but at least i'm cool. **** cool. Everyone's cool currently!? I started smoking when I was 11. Now that i'm 25, i realize smoking is kid's stuff, so i quit smoking. **** cigars. **** having 25. **** sexist and feminist.
**** the dikes who think they have an advantage on other women for not being a **** fan. **** LGBT haters. **** the LGBT flag. **** flags.
**** Amsterdam. **** Vintage, used to be cool, now it's fake ****. **** cars these days. Their shape and their drivers. **** TV series. **** this zombie ****! What's with the zombies? **** FOX. **** people who hate on TV, because their to smart for that, but let computer/internet melt their brains into liquid ****. **** stupid people. **** the army,everywhere. **** politics. ******* for trying to make me vote. I don't believe in it and i'll never will ,it's a ******* waste of time and i don't care. ******* for believing that's a choice. ******* for participating in that sharade, making politics who they are, you ******* *******. **** people who talk to much. **** people who don't listen that much. **** people who talk WAY to much and expect you to be as excited as they are. *******! ****  "LOL" in a face-to-face conversation. Laugh *******. **** random generation. **** " Likes " and **** " Sharing " because no one gives a ****.

And yes i'm a misfit, you genius. We all are. That's the truth...
**** the truth.

OLD HOUSE

They retain precious memories,
intimate feelings of inhabitants
passing through its sagging doors.

Romantic are seekers of forgotten times
memories encased in hard wood floors;
as lath plastered walls ooze remnants of a
history while we; when inclined listen.

We don't go very often, to abandon houses,
perhaps on a dare, or at Halloween.
Are we passed enjoying extremes into this
another world, musty energy a curious child.

That was the yesterday
which now waits behind
musty, dusty, derelict halls.

I stand I stand at paint chipped banister,
a faded worn carpet once carried dancing feet,
children playing before they sleep. The
broken coat tree on the floor.

From the third floor murmuring,
a wind storm jars
loose fears, of time
once lost to dreams.

Echos billow from
each room, curtains hanging
yellowed by a sun where
dancing light through holes in damask lace.

Mice gremlin's artful droppings,
tracks of nature on dirt strewn floor.
Broken shards from window
panes, confetti after New Years day.

Branches scratched
etched paths, tracks like graffiti
on sill its unread words, a glif
eerily cast shadows trigger echos from the past.

Jagged memories protrude from every corner
mixing with new, enriching our fantasies
bringing us closer renewed;
these musty memories long forgotten.

Like waves rushing back;
flooding a mind like broken
dikes they crash into our world,
Rembrandt's paintings on canvas fading.

Silent footsteps outside a door,
we hear laughter from bedroom walls;
a smell a whiff of hot butter ***, silent
conversation coming our way.

Old Doc Masters listened at my chest, as
I read all by candle light, Sherlock detective stories
or the Tell Tale Heart of Poe or
Othello; all masters in the past.

A Grandfather clock
stands silent, keeping time,
lost its tick yet still striking,
it stands tall, upon a clueless floor.

Knowledge lost to a past
in a house so worn,
births, deaths, wars, wrapped
forgotten, encased by neglect,

I visited a house besotted,
neglected waiting to be
remodeled into another century
moving it to present times.

Ajerry
Archival Jan 5, 2011

323

As if I asked a common Alms,
And in my wondering hand
A Stranger pressed a Kingdom,
And I, bewildered, stand—
As if I asked the Orient
Had it for me a Morn—
And it should lift its purple Dikes,
And shatter me with Dawn!

The clouds race golden
As be chariots
The sun is born
Like the deviants

As gusts of wind
****** the thoughts
Underdressed
The chest it coughs

While Major Clank
On wheels and stub
Bellows out and
Rubs the nub

Then by runes
the best made plans
Test the dikes
And angst of dams

The age of truth
The youth desired
Across the space
without the wires

The universe comes
In a box
Neatly packed
Shelved , detoxed

And all because
Annointed by rain
The blue sky morning
Clouds it's pain

I cut a hole to find a little
hole, water is flowing out
of the concrete, I cut in it
until I'm spent and then

I cut further, a bigger hole
in the concrete, sorry dear neighbours
sorry for your ceiling too
but there's a leak and I could cry

for I can't put my finger in it
everything is so well arranged
with pipes and working faucets
which I unfortunately have to close now

it's a problem for all of us
I don't give up, I don't want to
be the owner of a leak
the dikes must be plugged

So come everybody throw ya hands
In the air for me
If y'all feelin this jubilee


O yea so lets get back to the actions
Satisfaction
Of celebrities got ya main attraction
No actin I'm packing
Gats to baseball bats and who dat?
Call me poetry wack splat
Goes through ya back bullet hole
Filljn those
Empty spots ya can't touc what's hot
I got reps like birdie
Above the rim lace blunt with traces
Of v slims
Who can stop me if my potency
Is near infinite
I'm embedded in ya melon eternally
Too cool for y'all to see I be
With this jubilee a juvenile
Born in the wild never smiled as child
All I wanted was a few toys from micky ds
Could barely afford cheese
Make tracks sneeze when I breath
Got thick chicks from here all the way to Belize
Please don't be ignorant
Just throw ya hands up to this anthem
Ya can't phantom
The jubilee is slammin-
Come on



Not that the time is right
Refocused my sight the black knight
Knocking outsights now ya braille as **** for trynA **** with
The m o b s t e r ghetto star
All hands on the r
Ruger luger quick to shoot ya scoop ya
Out of the scene like ice cream
One man team
Don't need a **** near friend in need
Please believe
I got backups like traffic
Hit the skins is automatic cuz static
To radio station they hate me
Cuz I don't participate in *******
I'm concerned with
These ***** *** punks running politics
Donald Trump I gotta automatic thAt loves to dump
Throw his *** in the trunk
Puff skunks I'm slammin on the gas
Like an alley oopp dunk full of *****
Dikes to lesbians all want a piece of me
I ain't cocky but stocky like Rocky
Picket pock me ill find thee
Restin peace to my enemies
That couldn't get to me
I'm hater proof so y'all just throw ya hands in the air for me
And represent this jubilee ahh. Come on

The lights did not go out
The walls did not shake and tumble
There were no clarion horns or cymbals
Streets were not awash with blood
But nevertheless blood did run cold.
Promises wrapped in glints of hope
Made screeching sounds as they were broken
And shattered bits of progress
Littered streets and pathways everywhere.
The rumble of the coming doom
Arrived on Humvees made in China
For the use of United Nations troops.
Everybody saw it coming
In vast Tsunamis of dread and fear
But there were simply not enough
Little Dutch Boys in blue hats
To poke their fingers in the dikes
That shuddered as they slid away
And buried ordinary people in the deluge
There was no way to win that war
The Russians tried, so did the French.
You can’t turn oranges into apples
But the women, oh the women
And their pretty little girls
Having had a taste of freedom
In forms that were once denied
They will now be forced by brutes
To give back everything they gained
And become in sad defeat
Merely property of men
swallowed up in flowing burkas
Black as the intentions of their rulers
             ljm

The crimson hue in the dusk.
A girl with nasturtiums.
And the streets are starting shaking
like dikes.
The sea is tiptoeing.

A picture of a Dutch.
And of my heart.


The original:

Момиче със латинки

Пурпурната краска в мрака.
Момиче със латинки.
И улиците се разклащат
като диги.
На пръсти е морето.

Картина на холандец.
И на сърцето ми.

Преводач Български-английски: Савова Vessislava
rarebird
© bogpan - всички права запазени.

chiggety check my flizzow
its me yosef comin back for more war and gore
makin mics sore
once i soar on the mic
turn these hard rhymers into dikes like mike
everybody wanna be like me
six rings n pending put an ending
last second shot ya know ya got got
one eight seven on the cops
cuz ya see death knocks
unexpectedly thats how its supposed to be
wisdom in the streets crooked i
no need to lie
sendin haters to the sky
dt ask.why?
what happened once i tell em
them i stuck em buck buck em
**** em
throw em.up the river
souls quiver when i deliver
rhymes like mail no stamp
or postage kick up the mostest dopest
boys hope yosef is
on a downfall but still i ball
creep n crawl like eazy in the six tre **** what yall gotta say
i got propz from 3rd coast to the LA much luv to the bay
o yea im coming crazier than sling blade
haters get sprayed like raid
to the tombs ya go where body becomes fade and yeaa it don't stopp



uh while you flyin' with witches
im ******' ******* with multiple riches
even ya girl got her pearls tongue wrapped aroubd my hung
dickkkk stickin' yo chick
after i nut in her
i drop her *** like a cheap brick i stick
hoes like i stick my flows
nothing but that raw ****
that hits so hard make even the dead raise from casket
tisket a tasket
i got heads in a basket
crazy insane in the membrane
i told ya ***** im a four time veteran i can dance in the water and not get wet
can ya dig it
i aint talkin friends of distinction
im tryna put mcs into extinction
my rhymes be penchin'
nerves with the verbs that curbs
make reservoirs
at dry spots liver than liverachi
cook up lyrics like a japenese habachi sound the banchees
dont ya know jalel death comes in three
****** you and whole wack rappi. family
yall cant handle me
im slick as rick check the tock to a tick
times running out no doubt
got ya sweatin' as the water tricklin'
down ya check yosef eradicates weak
so no need to speak
uh my flows detrimental every time i lay my **** in an instrumental
learn to rhyme learn to spell
***** ****** always wanna yell
out loud but once i puff my cloud
i pop guns make ya soul run
as ya lay in a casket uncovered the shroud
yea and it dont stopp
cuz its 187 on a muthpahukkin flop

SEPTEMBER 27, 2017
ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴀᴄʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠɪᴇᴛɴᴀᴍ: ᴡʜᴇɴ ʙɪʟʟʏ ɢʀᴀʜᴀᴍ
ᴜʀɢᴇᴅ ɴɪxᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴋɪʟʟ ᴏɴᴇ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ

BY JEFFREY ST. CLAIR - ALEXANDER COCKBURN
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There’s a piquant contrast in the press coverage across the decades of Billy Graham’s various private dealings with Richard Nixon, as displayed on the tapes gradually released from the National Archive or disclosed from Nixon’s papers. We’ll come shortly to the flap over Graham and Nixon’s closet palaverings about the Jews, but first let’s visit another interaction between the great evangelist and his commander-in-chief.

Back in April, 1989, a Graham memo to Nixon was made public. It took the form of a secret letter from Graham, dated April 15, 1969, drafted after Graham met in Bangkok with missionaries from Vietnam. These men of God said that if the peace talks in Paris were to fail, Nixon should step up the war and bomb the dikes. Such an act, Graham wrote excitedly, “could overnight destroy the economy of North Vietnam”.

Graham lent his imprimatur to this recommendation. Thus the preacher was advocating a policy to the US Commander in Chief that on Nixon’s own estimate would have killed a million people. The German high commissioner in occupied Holland, Seyss-Inquart, was sentenced to death at Nuremberg for breaching dikes in Holland in World War Two. (His execution did not deter the USAF from destroying the Toksan dam in North Korea, in 1953, thus deliberately wrecking the system that irrigated 75 per cent of North Korea’s rice farms.)

This disclosure of Graham as an aspirant war criminal did not excite any commotion when it became public in 1989, twenty years after it was written. No one thought to chide Graham or even question him on the matter. Very different has been the reception of a new tape revealing Graham, Nixon and Haldeman palavering about Jewish ******* of the media and Graham invoking the “stranglehold” Jews have on the media.

On the account of James Warren in the Chicago Tribune, who has filed excellent stories down the years on Nixon’s tapes, in this 1972 Oval Office session between Nixon, Haldeman and Graham, the President raises a topic about which “we can’t talk about it publicly,” namely Jewish influence in Hollywood and the media.

Nixon cites Paul Keyes, a political conservative who was executive producer of the NBC hit, “Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In,” as telling him that “11 of the 12 writers are Jewish.”

“That right?” says Graham, prompting Nixon to claim that Life magazine, Newsweek, the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, and others, are “totally dominated by the Jews.”

Nixon says network TV anchors Howard K. Smith, David Brinkley and Walter Cronkite “front men who may not be of that persuasion,” but that their writers are “95 percent Jewish.”

“This stranglehold has got to be broken or the country’s going down the drain,” the nation’s best-known preacher declares.

“You believe that?” Nixon says.

“Yes, sir,” Graham says.

“Oh, boy,” replies Nixon.

“So do I. I can’t ever say that but I believe it.”

“No, but if you get elected a second time, then we might be able to do something,” Graham replies.

Magnanimously Nixon concedes that this does not mean “that all the Jews are bad,” but that most are left-wing radicals who want “peace at any price except where support for Israel is concerned. The best Jews are actually the Israeli Jews.”

“That’s right,” agrees Graham, who later concurs with a Nixon assertion that a “powerful bloc” of Jews confronts Nixon in the media.

“And they’re the ones putting out the pornographic stuff,” Graham adds.

Later Graham says that “a lot of the Jews are great friends of mine. They swarm around me and are friendly to me. Because they know I am friendly to Israel and so forth. They don’t know how I really feel about what they’re doing to this country.”

After Graham’s departure Nixon says to Haldeman, “You know it was good we got this point about the Jews across.”

“It’s a shocking point,” Haldeman replies.

“Well,” says Nixon, “It’s also, the Jews are irreligious, atheistic, immoral bunch of *******.”

Within days of these exchanges becoming public the decrepit Graham was hauled from his semi-dotage, and impelled to express public contrition. “Experts” on Graham were duly cited as expressing their “shock” at Graham’s White House table talk.

Why the shock?

Don’t they know that this sort of stuff is consonant with the standard conversational bill of fare at 75 per cent of the country clubs in America, not to mention many a Baptist soiree?

Nixon thought that American Jews were lefty peaceniks who dominated the Democratic Party and were behind the attacks on him.

Graham reckoned it was Hollywood Jews who had sunk the nation in ****.

Haldeman agreed with both of them.

At whatever level of fantasy they were all acknowledging power. But they didn’t say they wanted to **** a million Jews.

That’s what Billy Graham said about the Vietnamese and no one raised a bleat.

This essay is excerpted from
End Times: the Death of the Fourth Estate.

Jeffrey St. Clair is editor of CounterPunch. His new book is The Big Heat: Earth on the Brink co-written with Joshua Frank. He can be reached at: sitka@comcast.net. Alexander Cockburn’s Guillotined! and A Colossal Wreck are available from CounterPunch.

i wish i could just cut out my tongue because I'm done talking I'm addicted to this pain i wish i didn't have a brain oh wait i don't so i guess its a little  better sike i need to stop falling for theses dikes getting into too many fights staying up too many nights turn off the lights and let me be unless you really love me but who would am i right so shut the **** up and lets fight I'm done trying to bite my tongue and keep quiet because when i do i explode like a bomb and everyday I'm ticking so look at me the wrong way and you will experience a dooms day i got nothing else to say unless you wanna see my dooms day

Lately, they fail me
Everything is tending to
The words

I am lost
Fighting through a shadow
Reaching for the stars
But settling for the wet grass
Lying among the strands
Broken
Like I feel

I let you reach into my soul
Pull and tug me along
Let myself long to please you

I let the world take my hands
Tied together and to everything else
Drag me along
I will follow

Shouldn't I learn how to be
A scale
To measure worth
To balance this?

Shouldn't I be calm in crises?
Instead of the hurricane itself?
But the tears won't stop
I've tried dikes
But still the waves come

I beg you
Take it from me
Your words scratch and burn
Lacerating my soul
Teaching me to hide
But the shadows
My friends
Have gone

I have tried to be a veteran
Undertook the enemies
To see you smile
Why?
Tell me
Why am I like this?
Why does this mismatching, shattered soul
Rely on darkness to keep calm?
The darkness that rips itself away from me
Keeping its distance

Show me the sadness
I welcome it
Anything but this weight on my heart
I don't know how to put it to words anymore
I can't get rid of it
I don't comprehend myself

I'm drowning

I am
trying

help me

I have undertaken too much

Sand through my fingers. Seth is watching, 4 million

counting. A quiet myth, post or pre- natal, we don't

understand the breeze and twilight. Wishing, upon

multiple stars, dad could be here with us. A sentimental

thing, sis is happy being married. Counting white flowers


in the fields by the old churchyard. Weather report, the

mainland hazards always maximized, pointing. Seth's

hair in the wind, masking his face 4 a moment. Dutch

dikes, incandescent strong as they stand concrete above...

My brother, & my junior, and me, standing by his grave...

The proportions of the Chauvet cave were the rule compensation for the rule and for the Wonthelimar compass, which came through the intra caverns from South Ardèche, bound for more than two thousand five hundred kilometers, but this time it would do it through intra caverns. earthly that is welded in the underworld of the oceans. With these regulas of ordered distances in the segment of the inclination parallels, every time they will enter the first pavilion of the wind tunnel, below the level of the Aegean sea, where they will integrate the outlined points from the threshold of the Ultramundis de Chauvet to its destination by joining the aa/bb ba/ca  algorithm twice, to recirculate the height that will take you to the top of Profitis, because this tunnel of the Code of Raedus had been closed while the Megaron Áullos Kósmos was being built on the Genius Loci. Wonthelimar was certain of this invective of nature, resorting to geomancy and running the stones that prevented him from adhering to the heart of Vernarth that was beating effusively from Patmos, Wonthelimar feeling it like a kardiá that bounced off the probes of the lithospheres, and exkarstikas , driving all the infra geological genesis, to align you in your conclusive destiny. The Cherubim having the sensitive auditory *****, and mutable to their ibics rings were composed with their frontal antlers, which were instantiated to relay the waves of aisthesis, betting on the Divine Proportione de Chauvet up to Profitis Ilias as a golden rule of admission as an all universal, as a trinitarian union between two passages and finally the Vernarthian temple that led him, like two shining lights on two candlesticks that went before him until they reached the entrance to the wind tunnel, here Wonthelimar never got lost because he was everything in the all, raising dissident magic to invisible heights, so that lurking demons of anarchy fell far from where they tried to mislead him. In this way, he attenuates his corporal deformation, the texture and color of his skin that oscillated between sooty and bluish-gray, with the gestures he exaggerated the addition of his animal features such as wired ears, igneous locks, and prehensile antlers on the bearers of evil. , which reported the antithetical image of the salvific role of a Wonthelimar patron of all. He came through the intraterrestrial galleries, he carried in his arms the bilocated and cloned body of Vernarth, he carried it in his arms to protect him and display him when he returned to Patmos, so every two hundred kilometers he advanced, and rested with him, leaving him on the improper ground, on the ground that glides darkness and hadic silence. He knew that he had to take care of him and bring him his bilocated clone that had been transported by him, with the help of Vlad Strigoi and his seven gold-bearing Bats, who protected them from all the vermin that threatened them in the darkness. Through dark expeditions and septenaries, Wonthelimar and Vlad Strigoi traveled, they dozed with the candelabra with olive oil from Bern that they carried by decreed carbonated gours that crossed their developing dikes, on the slopes that circulated through the active watercourse. Giving rise to staggering dams, which they used with their sheepskin rafts, making it very light with the speedy shape that crossed before their eyes through the adjacent karst cavities, and the underground rivers with some rivers that carried tree species of Saint Geoire in Valdaine, where the Chauvet grotto was nearby, climbing the speleothems (the genesis of the caverns) that even when presented with the great obstacle of not progressing in their pilgrimage of the Inframundis, they resorted to the rams of their antlers to undermine some orbits that were full of solid mineralized waters, with sharp crystals and overexcited with their sub-aquatic brilliance, leaving the morphological infra continentality of the speleothems, which would surrender to its mission to reach Patmos, carrying Vernarth in his arms for their homologous meeting, and supporting Kaitelka. The subterranean environments got out of control as they passed by and were attached to other circumscribed river caverns, to cavities that wanted to lose him, but the seven Golden Bats with anti-trickery avoided with their electromagnetic powers, which they inherited suffering from the Pleistocene without having more than evolve that in the opacity of its light.

Everything was overthrown before the silence and the darkness, with the calcites that adopted certain nuclei that did not facilitate them to advance through the protuberances. Upon reaching the middle limit of the Mediterranean oceanic underworld, images were diluted in the distance eaten away by beams of neon, which were transposed into the amber lines of the sweep that joined them to the Kyrios that Vernarth had sent, to guide them and bring them gadgets. They had already traveled more than three-quarters of the line of the Belt of the Speleothemes, before taking the low area of the fragments of the stalactites submerged under the sea in the Sicilian Cover, all under the outburst of parapsychology that also led them through this nanoscale or axon of eternal assiduity, assuring the exodus of its co-agents together with the Kyrios. The surface at times thinned sinisterly, Wonthelimar and Vlad Strigoi could see how innumerable phenomena were visualized before their eyes, with beings that moved over them when they saw them from the eroded depth of the caverns under the Sicilian sea. The pole needles were exalted, each one ascribing them to calcite rhombohedra given to them by the Kyrios masters, to indicate that they were already approaching the sunken expanses of the wrathful surface.

What antiquated tongue as such
Hissed Eden's serpent to get in touch?
Angelic would probably not be true
Possibly Arabic or perhaps Hebrew
But almost certainly it wasn't Dutch

What dikes would Noah's land comprise
If these polder pros had been about
And the deluge struck fields fitted out
With some deft water controlling device?
Would we have preserved our paradise?

by Arcassin B


Leave Your troubles behind,
there was once a fair share,
full of your heart and mine,
it was silver divine,
a fire ball in my eyes,
glad i met you ,
in disguise,
too proud to beg,
dry your eyes,
dont make me seem surprised,
while im in disguise,

she puts the L,
in love,
cuts just like a knife,
but see she makes it feel alright,
make you bleed without cutting ya,
thats a final strike,
has it even occurred to me,
that your friends were dikes,
has it even bothered,
that your dad fights with you at night,
about me,
hoping that you see this quite,
bad at your expense,
maybe it will come back,
just like suspense.
dont worry about me.

{every body does speak at once, which is why we learn to focus, as if quiet}

dikes were wire cutters in my youth,
probably short for diagonal cutters,
in the blade-making trade.

There is a knack to a clean cutting edge.
Carbon, in diamondic form crystalized in
the whetstone, wet with
golden oil, just a drop,

the edge, one stroke, one way, soft
like pet the kitty
or, yeha, the baby chick. You know, soft.

Except,
ye whet the edge, soft, ye stress the bonds that link the all
oy vey today to the cutting edge,
not the bleeding edge,

steel to steel, and past that, soft touch
carbon point to carbon point, diamond shapes diamond,
softest con nextion, feel the flow hear that dove
sing triptic signals, make make see
(coo coo, too)
So soft, we say
peacemaking is not a noisy occupation.

Fame is less desirible, I mean,
you may
desire less fame, using your may power right,
to regulate surges and urges and impulses
and other flesshy stuff,
**** it, ignot it,
you may, you know.
or not,
while wishing for more money at the moment of need,
the point of lack poking me in my back.

forcing war's phonytian reasons
to cease with this disturbentce, settle down.
Imagine you won.
This is ever after that.
You know, here, at this resting place in life, you must pay attention
to receive instruction for construction of those things you hoped for,
beyond rough draft.

We are not at war with any opposing idea, there are none here.
You words are free to form them but all that shall
remain is the shell the pearl formed in,

when we made those gates. Feynman added the do-over mode,
it only works if you think before you act,
in terms of being.

To be or not is not a quest. One hand clap to the forehead.
Here we are. Thinking the same words in English, and I may be
dead someday.

Ol' fool, he believed some impossiplease, a trap

stab my ****** birth right.
I sit still and don't march as onward christian soldier
damnedright marching of t' war for Jesus sake.

incursions of self-less-ness, soft touches, whispers

do or don't, if then else, see it through, is the end evil,
in your judgement.
Reset, or ride it out, hell is not as believable as you imagine
if you wake up there.

In a fictional world, true rest is an act of trust.
this is worth the test.

Not live, but living. Each sound
even
chosen
symphony beyond belief, take it, take it

he who hesitates is lost, eh. You land in a pile of proverbs,
super positioned motivators planted
since god gnos when and only then

for a flash, upper left quadrant of the primary window
from a FPS POV
then
nothin'. Hell was over and here I am.

That's as close as it seems it may habeen,
we found this thread, it's live, we think, touch it.

--- no child need master every game,
--- nor must any greybeard

Who is making these rules? Ah, you see. When we,
augmentedus, who meant it

when we sought truth, and despised boos for no reason.

Now. Awake by any mortal standard.
Arrogant. Self-called teacher of the safest route I found
to here.

You can hear me and accept insanity as apossible cost, so what.

Ye, gads, ****** did that, he said They (the notusem) shall hate me
for loving you,
so they shall hate you for loving me. Nicht vvvahrrrrr!
He plagiarized Jesus, I think.
That stinks, but

from a certain POV, however the door is knocked upon

curios and kurioso or pure lust for power,
greed morphed
from imaginary
need to be a part of the side not losing,
like an abused Poke'mon gone insane,
knowaddamean.

Inside the game, is virtual as allhell, in the the mind of the author
and finisher of the game,

be his intention good or ill,
dare ye play?
Here, it's safe. Get a grip on happy here and after all you go thru,
ever is as easy as pi.

Dragons devour what dragons devour in reality,
same rules.

Cut both wires faster than the spark, watch...

A furious screaming came off the lakes
And drowned out a million curses
Hiding from the cold, as hands in their pockets:
Isolated and trembling.
Despite a proprioception lost,
One body, blue at the tips, curls closer
To the dikes of thickening blood,
That, neatly, remain outward, exposed.
Do we not huddle in coaches and spaces
When our passions’ armor cracks?
Do we not crave touch for lack of warmth
When the skies above are clear?
Do we not risk hypothermia
When we expose ourselves to another?
We are the organs of great cities,
As we are great cities of cells
Seeking outlet on natural course all rigid
Those unconscious fraternities
Ebb and grow as we, like lakes, turn to floes
By cruel chemical realities held to bodies are—
As hands of distant lovers are—
Seeking outlet, seeking tributary.
Stagnant, though, cities stand
As the thin-skinned tissues flow
Swelling at inlets, at terminus expand
To compensate, give room—
This winter of hearts only lengthens
And so bodies begin to quake
As our bedrock breaks through
Its torments cutting outward from the skin.

i never understood why some people are so adamant at telling others how to govern, most notably the anglophone world, as if rotherham didn't happen... tyranny this, tyranny that, it's always the opinion of safeguarding foreign investment; people never complain the illegal toys from china, because all inanimate things are always and always will be legal, but people are most of the time: deemed illegal... yes, i'm part of the integration process that failed at its most spectacular: i speak better native spreschen than the native populace, poking fun at dyslexics all the time, watch me having 'un in 'yde park: and let me tell you, if you want to read a proper book, stand over a homeless man with a sign, read it, then look at the homeless man, there's your proust in comic form.

what did costello call the italian grease-*****?
dikes, or was it guineas?
   i can't remember, i do remember that
trigger called rodney *dave all the time
in only fools & horses -
funny that, you ever watched the box-set?
no, canned, laughter.
    a bit like the office -
     i find canned laughter intimidating,
it's like getting punched in the face,
completely disorientating -
i never seem to know when to laugh,
since i'm fed fake rolexes down hackney market...
if it's funny, i'll tell you,
  but most comedy these days is
for an audience of turkeys, force-feeding them
gags that aren't really there...
    with the amount of canned laughter
going around i'm starting to feel paranoid,
i swear i'm the only person sitting
in a room watching a "comedy" -
but in the background there's that annoying
cloud of laughter,
    i'm starting to wonder: what's more fake,
the gags, or the canned audience?
   too bad for coulrophobia -
   my first impression of the clown,
or should i say, clowns, was in a circus when
the circus still had animal performers,
   and lemonade in plastic bags...
   and me and my grandfather, leaving me
in the audience **** scared of the grandiose
persona of the crowd amused,
while he went off for a glug of ***** on the shy,
there was me, his umbrella,
   and about 10+ clowns crammed into
a fíat 126p kneading in & out of the car...
yes, that dot can change:
     raining from above:
             i did mention that hindi dress
with indicators as not sari but as sārí?
never mind.
           oh right, what was i going to say?
i'm just bored of the "n- word" controversy...
    i'm going to have to start amusing myself...
i'm going to start calling "them"... ha ha...
      nigels;
                      guess the trilling and the double
GG breastplate was too much for some
people learning to, spell...
             i like that... spot me a nigel next time
and let's keep it piquant in terms
   of pickles of the tongue;
ah, almost forgot...
   met an atheist once, who just loved christmas
carols...
    well, no, i never met him, just heard of him,
a real poppy (pop star - of the movement)...
   tell you what... if you said:
oh, i really like that da pacem domine,
  or that salve regina chant of the templars,
i'd be like: cool cool...
     me too...
                 kinda competes with the islamic
    adhan; christmas carols? not so much.
        and do we need to state afrikaan
  with those two there? yes, we know:
it's prolonged, so wouldn't it look more eloquent
in the form of: afrikān? these signs are there,
so why not use them?
          these signs are like the overt-layer
of what's already the hidden layer of vowels
in hebrew...
           the story already begins, with the conundrum
of having names for letters (rather than
syllable constructs) -
               and in hebrew that means,
oh ****... right... a gay beginning...
the two adams...
          א‎ (alef) & ע‎ (ayin) - who predate
cain & abel...
                         and this always bothered me,
two letters which are seemingly vowels, but aren't,
who's mother was kametz -
                   perhaps they are the branching
off into the construct of LΓH,
           that breaking apart of the tetragrammaton?
well, given the prefix rule in the construct
of names for letters (which the latins
barely scratch, because it's a singing language
primarily, hence the ability to convene
            upon encapsulating music in scores) -
what do you get, with the prefix rule
when you construct a word,
   being given: alpha lambda phi alpha beta eta tau?
i.e. what word do you get, when you rid
the following combination of name-to-a-letter
affix?

I'm listening to the house ,
the popping of the joists ,
the groans from years of delapidation . The arguing
with local foundations .

Age has its benefits in the forms of doors as they no longer stay moored to the walls but swing in indecision like the fools who stand in perpetual obsolesence .

Where then do my thoughts propel my rudderless oblivion ?
My angst , the thumb in many dikes , leaves me as powerless before the mass of my desperation .

How dare the Ghosts of daylight leave me marooned in the shadow of shadows .

I am confused and challenged by the hidden agendas and secret subpoenas of an alien race of thought .

And were I capable of burying the haunting images , would they not
sprout from my seeds of discontent and flourish
yet greater than before ?

. . . evidently so .

The level is rising around
the islands of silt
in the swamp, the fishermen
see their world widening
Old streambeds are also filling up
The wetlands become accessible
by rivers from the mainland

It is a ******* void
a gate to the sea, a chance
for the peat farmers and the forest people
to start trading, to build
dikes, quays, a city
with a dam
in the middle

People are flowing over
from the prosperous villages
to the impoldered land
with the new port –
not an old core that hungrily
conquers the surrounding lands
but their colony

I follow the fault lines
of your soul
Cracked , shaken , go ahead you are stirred
No need for apologies unless you are willing to listen to mine
I can patch your frame but I will never be able to repair the brain
It has been under too much strain
Still we can sit on our hands
Contemplating all the edges of nonsense
Laugh at all the pain we drag around in the barges of our past
Let us embrace around the  corners that cut sharper than suicide
Kintsugi my life with golden voice
As I hold your broken milk
of dispair
Put your fingers into the gaps and tears
Plug the dikes of my failures as you fight my fire with your waters . I don't care but I do as long as you do but don't care . Breathe the breath of my exhaust as I lick your lips of regret . It seems we are beyond repair .

Crossing the overseas challenges of Koumbournou, the storms and effects of the intensity of a Young Adult were witnessed in her sight, with her apothegm "My intensity is not worthy or cause of irritability, but it is abhorrent." But from a Werthian field, with the Venia to compete with all the leaders of the courtship and of the sources of his antiquity, as one more degraded of the spell, he left those he loves and those who have been bewitched by all who have been abandoned by adhesions. of unrequited love. Cycles of fright on the ship, triggered the worst that made the ship list by their rattles of Vernarth gouges that made the shallow gloom of the birch three-dimensional, which anointed it on the main mast, eliciting populated voices from least to greatest near the cape. of Koumbournou. Whose temperamental harpies, they fell in love with the evil high and freer confine of the scale of the sarcastic enchantment of their songs and love affairs without courtship. He is forced to witness his own untamed fictions, of adorable stay in the peasantry where harpies with their corsets on, lick the doilies of hypocoristic words, euphemistic opposite tonal of their apocalyptic verging apothegm ...; but it is abhorrent, when he found in his psychic manipulative traditions, the fictitious reality of loving beautiful women, who do not correspond to those who love them! Knowing this question, they hide in the pavilion of the roqueríos that beat the corsets of the minor harpies, presenting before all the skylights of the sky, which were obscured by contented intimacy, as they could not correspond to the final linguistic sounds of the lofty apothegm, bordering in full and colorful love of operatic stillness. Vernarth continues with his gouges inscribing his name and that of his harpy, which would finally remove the ****** ailments. Arhanis, the harpy looked at herself in three mirrors simultaneously, giving Vernarth regret, for the love that escaped her through the hiding places, the matrix fairies, with delirium tremens, were submerging under the decorated breaths of the floripondium, which delayed the totem censer, recomposing an incomplete wagon of areas rich in hydro monoxides, overheating and producing viscosities, smearing his chest and his mouth in the vortex, spilling warm lightning rods at each abandonment, while nothing consoled him, while everyone attended to them to overcome their catatonic state. The bears that embraced their females would be outraged by their laziness, and the hopes of finding and rearming them were taken by the shore of Aphrodite in his last defragmented and out of tune dirge. Wense, with her evident regret, appears to her with marrow in corporal and anxiolytic disappearances.

Werther says: “Here is Koumbournou, here is Wahlheim, where our dikes would still like to house the ascendant boats that cut from their bows and keels, leaving one between the other in nothingness. Both barges kissed in their deaths, locked near the In Aeternum, adjacent to the draft where the auric medallion was distressed. For the first time before committing suicide, I saw that the heavy doors that led me to Lotte opened, letting joy fall over my eyes, being the harpy that every female carries with a name similar to the one who fills her glass with appetite and vanity. The harpies whimpered with their bellies full of dry tears, they ask Vernarth for two harpoons of coarse cellophane from the flimsy sea of her soul still placed before her, donning a Werthian body. Even the Panagia Ipseni, monastery of Rhodes, the laments of the projectiles that crossed in the swift flight were heard, of desires for the immolation of both, in a romance that melted the ranks by tying themselves to two naves like bushes grafted in the hands of the executioner of the suicide. The one who speaks here is entangled in the glottis of Lotte still alive to love him, who calls me with an eagerness to mourn my death throughout the world, but not for my Werthian love for her. Vernarth, I rot with calm and I let myself fall into her obscenities to decay from my apnea in Lotte, which is still in all those who suffer when two harpoons cross for the same destination ..., the victim chooses the first ".

Lotte says: “Even after the Vernarthian time, between the two who dare in a rude hostile way to spear doubt and who is not prone to suicide, it is that hope itself gently delays, who receives the wound that bears my name ..., that of Werther, who fights the spur of the Eurydice, and that of Wernarth, which crosses before we were both lost in the fog of oblivion. I am still in Wahlheim, but I give birth to those who, in the afternoons after the bells, still come to claim my destiny, perhaps their tragic destiny was taken by the princess Eurymedusa who will take them to Rhodes and Patmos, plowing the path of the Myrmidons, among them whom I envy; the same princess loving him in her Rhodes prose”

First 8 lines are always free, the rest costs 20 minuters
- Raw, working stock poet tries and guesses, cast
as cares away, in spells… opposing all solid-state profits,
I disagree with most superlatives,
August is far crueler,
everybody knows. As a month,
April is
Seed
come so, see
Time come soon, prythee, swifty, didwe
Harvest, bestness contended for, proud
blue ribbon exceptionality, proved
-fecundity fructifity
consciousness, place in time known
light as punctual mass, echolialy lialy la la
- and also and also and also with you
~~~~ wavy thing, right
;rock on
who pulls past last rituals, past wars,
and war's threats,
defend the wall,
calling all outs in, defend the wall
fend off the opposing mind, in time, attempt
tempting all my desires to lieve be,
the state I'm in, once again
- no, I don't believe we're on the eve
- of destruction, my AI went auto inteleosic
Free am I, paid the life, or fifty years,
first come, first served,
learn the long way,
beats never learning at all.
- warrior spirit, something, like that
- say Maxwell's daemon is squeezin' yer bub-

not worried for my nation, not worried for
my error, nor for my will divided among my

auto refreshing systems, in the system,

set to flow at any speed we may agree, this fast
mean, statistical mean, free path, not
shortest distance, point to pointless whenever,
whatever,
mean free path, meandering, ring ring
beer commercial real life, as many can imagine
this is that good place, rest and relaxation, unwind,
- imagine you enjoy lines that insist, each
- line insists… it is all good, from one POV.
spin down, settle
light as the first point ever made in the game
of life on the line, strings of possibilities,
first free way, no entry fee,
we take -time, this whole thing took all day
to just now a flight of three warships
aim at Miramar, right over my valley
7:30 reread 6 m.
we feel - a sigh, some new sense esthesic
poeisic, sic, ever as it is written, so it is done.

[[[ Relegare. Read the records, find in the archives,
a volume, sealed under pressure,
to hold our emptiness out.

Popt. Popped that bubble, bubble
of thought, full spread to the bezel, white space

-eventually we all fall apart, art, and craft. Raw
reality remains, complicated, many ply, many threads
per centimeter, me-assure, self fi, con science
think
aaaaaaaa we all know knowing does not lead to madness.

Far from the maddened crowd imagined, cast of thousands,
from today, as the mother of the eight billioneth breather,
born after the events near Alamogordo, that mother
is
done been born, it aint you.

[[[[

First place/ Blue Ribbon,
Second place/ Red Ribbon,
Third place, was probably green, but I do not recall.
I never noticed what color I got, I was third.

Got a requisition for the old military mind,
kept it shined, knew it was good for something,-

Some one, ah, yes, Fulton Sheen, asked me, on TV,
just like in the spirit, the way I hear it, no lie
is of the truth, yet, yes, I know,
how lies work, one must believe trust is possible,
not culturally defined, what it is, the wedom
feeling, me and you, bound to find the answer…

F.T.A. wei wu wei wu, too WAYtold you, … meet me
at that ***** colony in Vietnam, give a dam,
rebuild some dikes we blew to hell and gone, gone
awe, the we
still functions, the old military mind, we got the gaba
keeping mean free paths open to any
enquirery counsel of haught, haught, ought not we
- clearing percussive growl- insignificant
respect our predecessors. In deed, rewatch 957 hours

This
Is BBC, from the past yet to be completed in your futurer

------------ bleed through, has dear value here? NOW
Who asks of me a reason for this faith in me?
Waar. Alas. 8 wpm
Dear , God, what
Contention,
dispute
- repute
perhaps "repeatedly" (see re-), + putare
"to judge, suppose, believe, suspect,"
originally "to clean, trim, prune"

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=repute>

Or PIE*pau, punch-
"to cut, strike, stamp" {;}

Content is king.
- moments, instants, we all know
pride, swelling heat, as we are
mostly micky mouse molecules, heated
e-motionally, as volume of conscious thought
shifts into save me, auto, self, image,
hot h2oh yes
rush from rage or shame,
AI puts the blame on Thymus glands planned
final message, at the canker worm's first byte

pre-serving pattern, rage, red-face grimace
peruperu, yaaaah,
-Ma-ow-ri co robbery-gasp
choke, cough, click off. Angery flesh,
where the lie you love ***** your reason
for war to a head, that is shrunken,
to a mathematical point,
to weigh against shame put on you by a contest,
for best…

It's business, busy, busy, busy, we all must be
busy about our master's business,
making disciples, ah, ambiguity, you *****,
discipline my poeisis plea-plea-please

break loose, hold the line at etho- no, esthesic

esthesic, sic, the es, essential esses, complex
enfolding from olden minds loosed in 2022.

The rub. Yes, per haps we rhearrange, create next
from another ify point made,
you know, you just do, right, sci-psi-psy, experientially,
inside
out, gleam, see that gleam, something like the rage
that reddened the last loser's face, that gleam in her eye,
uses twice that power,
one look, one look,
you know, she knows, just iust adjust a second perspective,

megamacro gravity lens, placed just there,

I am asking you,
to play a game, with ghosts of old agreements, oaths
kept,

to the proof of the promise; and not one  

-dared finish the reason strung together, over spreading pearls,
- until the internet ****** him in
- like, 1995
sheen shone in the word serpent, on tele-type roles
to the moon, Alice, Jones, what I miss, 1964
to the moon
as in, wise as, as is the voice, bray
hoo, uses {} these to appear obvious.
- in Kansas, we call these buttermilk skys,
to here 2022, that fast
real as ever.

Trippier than hell. BY FAR, be it known.
This is the soul of a sould out soldier-
monk- protestant dissenter, cursed
son of an itch
no man can scratch alone, be it known.
Be it known, echolalia glossalalial
'armonica.

Humming.

The imaginations, ours, not
the other people, we are not
other people now. We are you,
Dear Reader, from the Dear Diary
classification for emotional connection, sin is losing all connection.
- that is all. That is, the religious ordered     wall
It is, of course, of course,
correctible,
a matter of physics, time in truth,
alls it is.

Time in truth. As a regular thing,
a daily routine,
a quotidian thing that makes peace

seem this easy, for example.
7:48