How could you not fall for
an angel like her?
nobody in their right mind,
not a single person could resist
all that she is and comes with,
h*eaven and hell alike.


s.mndi

A nother ****** day
B inging, then throwing up; Hunger
C rying, as usual
D eath sounds comforting
E each day is a struggle
F orcing smiles
G one too soon? Not soon enough
H eaven isn't for people like me.
I nternal struggle—i want to
   die//i want to live ..
J ust one more cut .. Oops, too
   many to count
K ill yourself, my thoughts say
L iving is exhausting
M ore scars
N othing inside. It's hungry. Being
    eaten alive
O h, I woke up this morning, I
    wanted to die
P ain .. So much pain.
Q uit  it!
R est in peace [RIP]
S hut up!
T hese thoughts will be the death
   of me. Tired
U nder the facade is a corpse. Im
    a walking dead
V ery soon i will end it.
W hy should I stay alive? Should
     I **** myself?
X friends, x lovers, goodbye
Y es
Z ero thoughts

I wonder 'oo and wot 'e was,
That 'Un I got so slick.
I couldn't see 'is face because
The night was 'ideous thick.
I just made out among the black
A blinkin' wedge o' white;
Then biff! I guess I got 'im crack --
The man I killed last night.

I wonder if account o' me
Some ***** will go *****,
And 'eaps o' lives will never be,
Because 'e's stark and dead?
Or if 'is missis damns the war,
And by some candle light,
Tow-headed kids are prayin' for
The Fritz I copped last night.

I wonder, 'struth, I wonder why
I 'ad that 'orful dream?
I saw up in the giddy sky
The gates o' God agleam;
I saw the gates o' 'eaven shine
Wiv everlastin' light:
And then . . . I knew that I'd got mine,
As 'e got 'is last night.

Aye, bang beyond the broodin' mists
Where spawn the mother stars,
I 'ammered wiv me ****** fists
Upon them golden bars;
I 'ammered till a devil's doubt
Fair froze me wiv affright:
To fink wot God would say about
The bloke I corpsed last night.

I 'ushed; I wilted wiv despair,
When, like a rosy flame,
I sees a angel standin' there
'Oo calls me by me name.
'E 'ad such soft, such shiny eyes;
'E 'eld 'is 'and and smiled;
And through the gates o' Paradise
'E led me like a child.

'E led me by them golden palms
Wot 'ems that jeweled street;
And seraphs was a-singin' psalms,
You've no ideer 'ow sweet;
Wiv cheroobs crowdin' closer round
Than peas is in a pod,
'E led me to a shiny mound
Where beams the throne o' God.

And then I 'ears God's werry voice:
"Bill 'agan, 'ave no fear.
Stand up and glory and rejoice
For 'im 'oo led you 'ere."
And in a nip I seemed to see:
Aye, like a flash o' light,
My angel pal I knew to be
The chap I plugged last night.

Now, I don't claim to understand --
They calls me Bonehead Bill;
They shoves a rifle in me 'and,
And show me 'ow to ****.
Me job's to risk me life and limb,
But . . . be it wrong or right,
This cross I'm makin', it's for 'im,
The cove I croaked last night.

What is a Jent?
It could be a gent, but alas
It is far from refined.
Is it feverishly loud?
Does it make a sound?
Well no, it doesn't so
Silent does make a Jent
Although, they still make a point
to show they're 'eaven sent.
A Jent is likely to throw away
the pretty flowers you sent,
with not so much as a smile
or a whiff of the wafting scent.
A Jent is nice to your face,
but don't turn your back
Because in their hearts are a dent
and they are resilient and bent
to make a scene and cause a cry in any place.
And never lend a penny to a Jent
For before you can say 'Heaven sent a bent gent'
He'll take your money and before you know
He's showing off all the pennies spent.
And when you ask for'a re-pay
He'll scoff and silently say
He needs it for gas or he has to pay rent
Be on the look-out for this Jent
Jerks, and silent they are
Take the money you lent
and insult your dress in one breath
So if confronted by a Jent
just tell him to stay pent,
forget his rent, he can sleep in the tent
for he is not 'eaven sent
and he'll deserve what he gets.

You make it in your mess-tin by the brazier's rosy gleam;
You watch it cloud, then settle amber clear;
You lift it with your bay'nit, and you sniff the fragrant steam;
The very breath of it is ripe with cheer.
You're awful cold and *****, and a-cursin' of your lot;
You scoff the blushin' 'alf of it, so rich and rippin' 'ot;
It bucks you up like anythink, just seems to touch the spot:
God bless the man that first discovered Tea!

Since I came out to fight in France, which ain't the other day,
I think I've drunk enough to float a barge;
All kinds of fancy foreign dope, from caffy and doo lay,
To *** they serves you out before a charge.
In back rooms of estaminays I've gurgled pints of cham;
I've swilled down mugs of cider till I've felt a bloomin' dam;
But 'struth! they all ain't in it with the vintage of Assam:
God bless the man that first invented Tea!

I think them lazy lumps o' gods wot kips on asphodel
Swigs nectar that's a flavour of Oolong;
I only wish them sons o' guns a-grillin' down in 'ell
Could 'ave their daily ration of Suchong.
Hurrah! I'm off to battle, which is 'ell and 'eaven too;
And if I don't give some poor bloke a sexton's job to do,
To-night, by Fritz's campfire, won't I 'ave a gorgeous brew
(For fightin' mustn't interfere with Tea).
To-night we'll all be tellin' of the Boches that we slew,
As we drink the giddy victory in Tea.

She doesn't know she hurts me,
because she doesn't see my pain,
she never bothers to eaven  look at me
her gaze towards him always stays the same.

Someone.
One person is all I ask.
Maybe they'll find the time to read this.
Even though it's sad;
One persons greatest fear,
Never quite finding it's way to the surface,
Even though it's always just below it.

Heaven finds a way to taunt me now and then,
Even though I medicate my thoughts away,
Light always fades, and darkness
Plunges through.

My story is one of fear, of despair,
Even. But maybe, I'll find a way out of this

Insanity.

Sex.
Everyone expects me to believe that it doesn't hurt,
Even though they see how tentative I am,

They plainly see how scared I am.
History goes on for...
Ever. And ever and ever and ever.

Why can't anyone let me be in peace?
Hello, I'm looking for a way out.
Instead of helping me,
They just shut me down and out.
Everyone seems to think they know me.

Luckily for them, they don't.
Inside, I hide my true thoughts away, but that turned me into a
Ghost. A former shell of myself, wandering around aimlessly.
Help me? When will it stop? Because the white light at the end of the
T**unnel, was just a freight train coming my way.

She is like a song,
That wawers your heart,
a bit sad and happy at the same time.
she dances her dance,
she gives me her speech,
she agrees and dissagrees with me,
although i haven't said a thing.
She tells me about her favourite movie,
she changes topics freequently,
she randomly looks at me
to see if i am listening,
and i listen,
and i watch,
her movements,
her eyes get bigger as she
gets in the story,
she moves her hands a lot while talking,
the curl on top of her head is out if place
and it bounces while she speaks,
she scolds me for staying up late,
eaven if she is the one keeping me up,
and i don't mind,
i silently listen,
but what could i simply say,
when she already knows
my answers.
And if anybody loved me,
only the third of what i love her,
they would go crazy in a second.

What if...
Heaven was
A** dream and
Time was stoppable.

If all our dreams came true, we would
Forever be grateful--but that doesn't happen.

Only thoughts
Become words
Sounds
Every inch corner, crease
So please
Stay captured with
Excessive longing
Desperately watching....

Wanting
In-depth
Togetherness
Hopeful

Tomorrow
Heaven smiles
Eternally

Tenderly
Helping
Our endeavours
Under seemingly
Graven circumstances
True intention is revealed


Only
Forever


You will be
Obsessed with me
Until time is no more

As
New
Desire

Makes love
E**nevitable

There are spaces of fire in the realm of men,
That burns the soul and scares the mind.

I have made my heart a shield,
As I walk into this night
To court with death and dine with darkness.

In this night,
There are springs of tears to drink from,
And murmurs of silence to hearken to.
There are fears that groans like trembling graves,
And pain that bursts a feeble brain.
They are before me, where I cease to exist and know no grief,
For I am the black spot who had ceased to breathe and gone beneath.

There are five gods who have made men sick and shown them fear.

D
      
           E
              
                      A

                                T

                                             H.

They are a flaming fire each,
Coloured in the colours of [D]arkness.
I was thought this by the first of the gods.

I treaded on in this dark night,
For my burden was light and my woes were fed.
But I was back again where my walk began,
And I knew that I was at the very [E]nd of a new beginning.

I began and ended over and over again,
Till my feet knew the length of every inch of the ground it trod,
And my soul learned to love loneliness.
Alas! I was [A]lone... the god without a worshipper.

Deep in the depths of this night,
There is a dawn.
I thought myself mad,
Until [T]ruth showed me how dreams are formed from darkness,
And how life was drawn from death.

My soul was heavy,
For darkness had treated me to a fine meal.
And I saw fear,
He was a twain that should never have met.
For he had [H]eaven and [H]ell in his belly,
And unleashes them at his free will to deserving souls.

There are spaces of fire in the realm of men,
That burns the soul and scares the mind.
These spaces are far more significant than we take them to be.
For there is heaven in death,
And light in darkness.

#El_Magnifico™

.just like having missed Handel's messiah at the Royal Albert Hall, instead returning sullen and ******* in a brothel... now this... Beethoven's Ode to Joy, me writing this and da-ist-sein taking place all around me; but more importantly: beyond me - preying on the hope, of a divine intervention.

on a site... such architectural Behemoths
of beauty,
were born from the Roman numerals...
to see 31, via XXXI...
     a bit like seeing the ode to joy...
what i would call
   what my English teacher joked around
with when describing the Blitzkrieg
happening while
Wagner's ride of the Valkyries
was playing in the background...
well... time's up...
    plus the moonlight sonata
was overly borrowed...
            notably in geek love
by katherine dunn...
                 imagine calculus, using roman
numerals, are all modern mathematics
for that reason...
  perhaps, just perhaps...
teaching dyslexics arithmetic in roman
numerals, they'd be able to spell better...
after all... what do we have?
  /  i was just thinking that...
since we know what the ancient Roman
numerals were, what were the ancient
Greek numerals, and why do we
hear about them so little? /
   we have... oh look! what a "coincidence"...
anti-Roman Greek propaganda
(how else would the Byzantines
have not arose from the ashes
of the fall of the Roman Empire,
if not via the bible's propaganda...
for me? the book of Revelations
was written first)...
Revelation 13:1...
   a seven-headed beast...
let's see...
   I, V, X, L, C, D, M... by Jove!
that's 'even!
                     i must be in 'eaven...
(keep in mind that ode to joy
by Beethoven is playing in the background
as i mash this out)
- because you rarely hear about
the ancient Greek numerals...
i'm guessing because...
  whatever letter was whatever numeral...
became... a scientific constant...
i.e. a hyper-numeral...
        what with the Rho... ahem...
Trojans suiting the duo graphemes to look
more sophisticated in their sophistry
(Cicero and Seneka...
both loud-mouths, who apparently didn't
bother to think), as in their writing...
just marvel at this:

αʹ 1 ιʹ 10 ρʹ 100
βʹ 2 κʹ 20 σʹ 200
γʹ 3 λʹ 30 τʹ 300
δʹ 4 μʹ 40 υʹ 400
εʹ 5 νʹ 50 φʹ 500
ϝ 6 ξʹ 60 χʹ 600
ζʹ 7 οʹ 70 ψʹ 700
ηʹ 8 πʹ 80 ωʹ 800
θʹ 9 ϟʹ 90 ϡʹ 900

                          (look! look! they had knowledge
of runes! ϟ - soowiloo / sun
   and a chiral variant of ᚠ - fehoo / wealth
   and ᚨ - ansuz / one of the Æsir)

the precursor of chemistry,
the apostrophe attached to
          letters to represent numbers
absolutely genius...
      the ancient Greeks utilißed
their entire alphabet...
  yet the squalid Romans made use of 7...
**** me...
that really is worth noting...
    so the idea of writing chemical
equations like H₂O came from the use
of the apostrophe in the Greek numerical
use of letters...
and to think... the ancients entertained
a dual nature of letters...
they could encode speech,
but also think abstractly about,
weights, measures, architecture,
    triangles...
                          to me they were far
more sophisticated than we will ever
hope to be...
actually...
   doesn't Braille borrow from this model?
the Greek numerals?

the apostrophe is the number indicator...
ergo
         αʹ = 1
                                 but in Braille...
the number indicator is
    ⠼           ergo                   ⠼⠁= 1
oh look!
                     no ****!

now i know why i wrote the title first,
i knew i was going to digress...
Heidegger's aphorism XXXI, VIII,
well... i guess for you to read it...
you have to cough up around thirty quid
as i did...
       i won't rewrite the text...
forget it...
                    it basically summarizes
the ontology of the English...
   covertly, because this isn't an observation
done as directly as Voltaire's...
this is the English mentality....
briefly... it talks about the the veneration
of "facts"... "facts" that however much true...
disintegrate into a spaghetti mesh of
utter *******, or rather a caution:
to not seek origins in "ideas" or furthermore,
building a solid foundation
on theories...
              rather? experiences... empiricism...
i already knew that the English
were suckers for science as their new
guiding voice of having replaced
religion... that was ****** obvious
through their egalitarian idealism...
but yeah...
     ancient Greek numerals,
              the evolution of the numerals
into scientific constants...
   and the concept-borrowing from them,
using the idea of the apostrophe,
to write in numbers into the Braille codex.

ps. to ode an die freude:
  which brings me to the conclusion...
how not similar is the ancient Roman
numerals from how music is written?
from the most simple schematics,
arise the most complex structures...

    (⠼) ⠊     ⠃⠃     ⠃⠙      ⠁⠃     ⠉      ⠙       ⠁⠉

something so simple, can produce
at the same time something eternally complex,
and original...
   music... to think...
we need 26 letters to encode talking,
and with these 26 letter encoding,
we can muster up such vitriol as
to find it better to simply shut up...
  
     A, A# / Bb,
            B, C,
                   C# / Db,
                   D, D# / Eb,
                   E, F,
         F# / Gb,
                    G,
                      G# / Ab....

how many letters is that?
  **** me... 7!
             7 letters...
  and at the end of it...
you have either Handel's messiah,
or Beethoven ode to joy...
who would have thought.
             - and all of this... while drinking
two bottles of beer... ha!