Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!­
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
Meow­!
Meow!
Meow!

My cat goes MEOW
Expecting food
Runs around the yard
Catching mice
Gives us allergic reactions
Gets cranky in stormy weather
MEOW MEOW MEOW
The cat goes meow
What is his favourite food
Whiskas
Fancy feast
Snappy Tom
The cats of Australia
Have made their choice
Snappy Tom oh snappy Tom
MEOW MEOW MEOW
MEOW MEOW MEOW
MEOW MEOW MEOW
Says the mother cat
Who just gave birth to 7 little kittens
Butch
Brutus
Sooty
Lucky
Snoopy
Cuddles
Jade
MEOW MEOW MEOW
Enjoy your food
Little ***** cat


Sent from my iPhone

Yes you did read the title correctly, a little kitten that couldn't meow and this is her story:

Cotton lived on a farm and she was having a baby,
but where cats have a litter [a lot of kittens]
For her she was seen by the vet and told she had only
                       one single baby,
this was cottons happiest moment.

The day came and all the animals were ready to
see a new addition brought in to there little piece
of heaven. And with the vet there to help little
cottons baby in to the world, the animals heard
the voice of the vet say its a baby girl.

With happiness all the animals gathered in celebration,
but unbeknown to them cotton was learning smudge
[yes smudge] she was a kaleidoscope of colour.
Her first words which was meant to be MEOW.
but the words were drowned out in the  celebration,
so many noises, that hers was missed out.

A few animals stayed after the celebrations to
see the new born, including Betty the cow,
Frankie the dog and Barbra the sheep.
Cotton was a little worried that Smudge hadn't
spoken her first word so she spoke to her.

"My little miracle,
"Speak to mamma, I need to hear your words.

Smudge looked in confusion but uttered what she
thought was the word her mummy needed to hear.

"Mummy, I will speak my voice,

And with that she took a breath in, and released it on
to her mothers ears.

"Meaoooooooooo,

The cow looked as its jaw dropped, "Mooooo, the other
cow said that's an udder statement.

Cotton looked and was taken aback by her daughters new words,
that wasn't expected and laughed.

"Mummy my voice why does it not sound like yours,
                
"Don't worry my child mummy will help you find it again,

Once again the little one listened to its mummy purr, then
with a deep breath she let out a beautiful "Meow,
it was like music to the daughters ears.

"Mummy that was beautiful, I want to sound like you,

A tear fell from her mothers eye,

"You will my darling smudge, let us give it another try,

So with nervous looks all around, smudge took a breath in
a with mighty exhale she gave out a "Mea-woof woof,
Frankie the dog just looked on in amazement.....

"That was howling amazing, I mean bark, bark..

As the vet entered the barn, surprised to see the animals all
watching this little one yawn, then slumber to sleep.
"How's mummy,
As she stroked Cottons fur she purred with delight at the
fuss that was being pampered to her.

Then as the vet left in her van, all the animals were staring
through the window to see if it was OK to talk.
All slept until the morning and as all awoke, noises were
heard first was Betty the cow "mooning, then Frankie the
dog, "I feel woof, I think I slept wrong, Barbra the sheep awoke
coughing, she said I think I have a frog in my throat.

Barbra coughed again, and out popped a frog "Ribbit,
"Sorry madam it was so warm in there,
Everyone was giggling as well as Betty.

"Now that I have cleared my throat,

Cotton smiled and gently ushered her daughter awake,
"Morning smudge,

She yawned and smiled at her mummy, rubbing her eyes
looking around to see her mummies friends eagerly waiting
to hear that needed voice to reappear..

"Mummy I was counting sheep when I went off to sleep,
Barbra smiled as her herd used the barn as a short cut to the field.

"Glad we could help Cotton,

Cotton yawned and a purr and meow came forth, a little tear
was in Smudges eye. Her mother saw and pawed it away,
Don't worry my little one once we find it you'll be using it
everyday. She smiled and jumped up and down on her tiny
paws, lapping up her milk she licked her whiskers and
looked at her mummy and said I think I can do it.

Looking proud she let out a what she hoped was her true
voice and with that she said let put in her cutest little voice

"meow, meow, meow,

Her mummy looked on proud as any mother could be,
everyone cheered that this little smudge had spoken
her true voice. "mummy, mummy was that me?

Barbra gave a sigh of relief as smudge didn't release
a Ba, Ba meow, she thought "I would have looked
rather sheepish if she had giggling she looked on.

Smudge was jumping up and down and happy as
anyone finding there voice could be. Cotton spoke
and said words of wisdom to her little one.

"If at first you don't succeed, always try again,

"And you did and now your true voice has been set free,

The farm was so happy that the new addition had now
found what was lost, and all that was heard was a very
proud kitten singing to the top of her voice.

*"Meow, "Meow, Meow,

Baa baa black sheep
Have you any wool
Enough for each sheep
Owner to call
The people who do knitting and stuff
Everyone wants the sheep to look rough
Moo moo brown cow
Have you any milk
Yes sir yes sir
As pure as silk
You see I want my genetals
To bring a lot of milk
For the supermarket
Meow meow tabby cat
Have you got our cuddle
Very close like a famous huddle
Go meow when a burglar comes scares him away that famous cat
Meow meow tabby cat
Good on you

Kitty kitty
Meow meow
Meowing at my bedroom door

Kitty kitty
Meow meow
Water, food, attention, more?

Little kitty
With her meow
Meowing down the minutes

'Till I get off
My cozy ***
And let the **** cat in.

Full moon cries,
when I became the stars.
Hear the cat's meow

Greenish mist flows,
blurred by vision past.
Hear the cat's meow

Visited by a two faced man,
searching for the next freak.
Hear the cat's meow

Beaten by sinister stares,
awakened by the insidious laugh
Hear the cat's meow

The animal parade begun,
caged aggression built up.
Hear the cat's meow

I live with this Cat,
her name is Serenity.
She's very neurotic.
It's "meow, meow, meow"
to get out..
and "meow,meow, meow"
to get in..

It's not like she doesn't
have any problems,
I hear her meow "What
if I get mange" and
"What if I am chasing Birds
and a Crow comes along
and pecks out my innards".

She meows, "You know, it's
no thanks to you I have no front claws,
what happens if I should run into a ***** Rat".
"You just make sure my Food Dish is full
and we'll get along okay".

I live with this Cat named Serenity,
She "meows" to get out,
she "meows" to get in.
Serenity, she's very neurotic.
She stays out all day
and comes in to ****.
Serenity is far from serene,
but I guess she likes to have
something over on the Dog.

In her white dress with black spots
She looks cute with a black bow
Her eyes are green so beguiling
The way she walks is so fascinating
Always known as a rival of rats
Which helps human to kick them out of hats
There are some who keep hating
Still she try to stay friendly
Playing with us with her silky hair
Licking our legs as a sign of love
Roars like a cub when angry
So sweet she sings when comes to love
And that's always a MEOW..MEOW!

yeah, they cut out my third ****** from my shoulder blade and i turned into a bond girl; oh god, you're not one of those bulletproof people confused about love like a nurse confused by a disease? you are? oh god help me... you'll go far! straight to daddy's pocket purse and saturday night... you'll throw stilettos at chandeliers and expect a catwalk blackout... god forbid that should happen with everyone biting their toenails.*

between us we share the bathroom
and the bedroom,
we sit on the stilt framing see-through of it admirably
airy and welcoming stars:
wishing for foxes and women respectively,
all you can hear is a meow... meow... meow...
meow meow... moo... µ... meow... meow interchange
between these two rooms in the garden air,
it’s like a fetish orchestra giving ‘prior to sleep’ crescendos,
and it makes sense to write a forgivable poem
of this least content, content with the least as me writing it;
well d'uh, of course i had to write it,
i wasn't going to stage a boxing match with stella artois
losing care for words and taking care of action,
i was going to mediate the page like a kite being passed
on with paddington bear's secret inscriptions to get from
london to sydney; i hope it worked.
the drunkard? oh... he's either silent, crying, laughing,
or simply reading.

…meow, meow, meow…

nine cats in a boat
and one jumps off
and there’s none left
in the boat in the same instant –
anyone going to ask why?

No, this is no conundrum
in nuclear physics
It’s basic cat life -
they were all copycats

…meow, meow, meow…

If I was a cat,
I would be orange and fat.
Meow meow,
meow meow.
Purring to some human chitchat.

Instead I am human,
Nothing but a feline fan.
Meow meow,
purr meow.
Be more than one thing, yes you can.

what terrible news, the marx in me said it true, article heading: mental health gets only 1% of council tax...£664 million a year on ****** health... £111 million on tackling obesity. here’s a simpler explanation... c.d. is part of hardware... mp3 is soft-ware... get a scratched c.d. and turn the hardware into software... then put the virus mp3 onto an iPod, which is hardware... then watch the technological virology take over... the host hardware will break, given that the parasitic software is implanted from a sick hardware it was copied from.*

i was redecorating my mother’s living room,
for a handshake and the prize:
don’t interrupt my drinking pattern, woman please!
so i found to ancient scribbles of paint,
but then hid them like a treasure chest...
i also found the vol. no. 2 of kant’s critique of pure reason
under one of the pieces of furniture...
over a year i lost it... blamed everyone i knew...
but in reality the realisation came when i rekindled
the bookmark coordinate:
it took me two conscious years to read heidegger’s opus,
consciously defined by reading poetry on the sly...
with kant i ended my reading with the introduction of hegel:
antonyms of a pure mind - the third conflict between transcendental ideas -
i got the antithesis straight away... mainly because it spoke of freedom...
while the thesis spoke of the laws of nature and 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...
0 central...
it spoke of sequencing of events... it spoke of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
as paradoxical of 2, 3, 4, 5... and 3, 4, 5 and 4, 5, and 5.
i think i better translate this passage to exemplify the point...
i lost kant for over a year and the **** sizzled...
i kept heidgegger for a year and i came out wondering
why it should take someone 15 years to study aristotle by the man’s suggestion,
so i had myself the alternative:
philosophy begins with awe... well... so does tourism.
let's just say there are corridors at the junction...
we say i almost pickled a cat's paw with wet cinnamon
or ketchup to imprint a paw-print with the gaff quote:
i was here, i found the sound meow inexplicable,
incomprehensible... given the human complications,
i decided to utilise meow with randomisation away
from my superior intuition... whereby the phoneticism
of meow was less than my eyesight and hearing...
so i announced the whiskers and fur and snake-eye in mammal
with a meow... i used meow to communicate with the complex
vowel-consonant reason, but i found my intuition
in rachmaninoff's vocalise wordless song... with my ear against
the radio dreaming away... so said man un-attentive of me...
that i managed to mingle my instinct without the meow
asking for butter... and instead for the daydream...
diva lute diva tangled... diva es lute es flos...
there i was... the cat of abashed baptisms at the fountains of
the baptist with my head wetted...
careless for the dung bag walking partner, or the plaything
i was forced to take interest in... my casual...
fat for keratin, as if fat translated from man unto animal
to ask the boar for the daydream of the conveyor belt
with lost fur and gained fat...
off with my shirt i too graded the follow-up...
as a loss in the tightened woods of winter with the losing shadow
of the shadows of beckoned crowns not adorned in vogue.
but this was only 1912... five years before the revulsion...
before the revolution... five years! spent in the abode of harmonics
by the piano i tried to mistune to write a deathly haunt of presence...
operatic alphabets twisted me into recovering from
the foremost attraction of failure... the neglige of virginity lost
to the public's applause missing...
i too could have vouched a coming back: of spirals away from
the champagne starlight in bouquet crescendos,
for the simple minded aura of perfection - but i vouched
hypnosis as the adequate precursor of staging fright
as the lost composition rekindled into revisionary composition
regained - there too i found the picturesque familiarity
of unsung hilltops regaining strength in the longshanks' heels
as if by deed of achilles in strength regained...
to frighten the lowlands with that glorious fame of
being poisoned by the gratifications of excess in the untrodden path
thus trodden by ear and echo rather than foot,
into the zephyrs of the larynx-ballerinas upon mountain-tops...
thus there, among the content misanthropes -
i too searched orpheus' mirror and prometheus' stone
to be bound to an eternal moment that denied all
other eternal moments and furthered the denial
by not allowing a bullish billion of china
its existential prowess among nations so frequented
by scandinavian description.

that was my pet name, a love's long lost word
of infuriating apathy against grey public passerby materials:
simply that: kakasha - or little ****, or mouse ****,
or rodent shrapnel - i guess me being a Pole
and she being a Russian would have never worked out -
i don't actually know what was expected of me, an English girl?
n'ah, wouldn't have worked with the master slave antics -
a Polish girl? **** me, no! well, it just ended up being
a love for the people... which is a lot and nothing at all
come to think of it... whenever i said Cyrillic
was the new Greek i was right... shame though,
i could have had a marriage correct my deviant bachelor years...
i would't have written anything at all...
and it would all seem like the perfection of life: problem here,
problem there... but that's all i remember
from the days when youth allowed  my body to be buff and me
staging  a dumb way out of having a body of a model,
but hardly the vacancy to accept it... god it takes such a
large chunk of manoeuvring a Zeppelin
to land a paper aeroplane equivalent -
               i just didn't have the vacancy
to keep at the gym routine...
         went back to the bloated lamb belly,
and felt all the better for it....
                 starting drinking professionally -
because soberness was  a bit of wasteland -
nice name, that lover's pet name: kakasha:
or little ****, or mice pebbles, don't you think?
sometimes that's what's needed to
strengthen the memory, when memory
overpowers imagination,
it's not a case of lingering on the past,
utilise phonetic encoding well enough
and the symbols reveal a lacking need to
move forward and take into consideration
triangles and squares...
          images...
      you just forget about the future...
you're not stuck in the past,
        it's just about how everything's encoded
and where you place your primers -
        but of course i'm not nostalgic
as in hoping for a revision or a revival:
i just mean: it actually happened,
i can't reverse it from having happened -
what i can do is treat memory as the most
private event of cinematography -
nothing the forward looking imagination
might breed - what imagination lacks is the
fact that symbols can't change... they remain
intact... all imagination can do
is use the same symbols of encoding that
memory otherwise decodes, unravels and
makes desecration of... imagination is politically
correct by comparison... memory really does
become the perfect cinema, provided there's
a life worthy of cinema, however simple...
i know i bankrupted on imaging things as
they'll never be... but memory?
i already knew they happened - hence
the counter-imaginative response:
memory, alter-cinema -
                     which, in another framework of
sentences is a second rebellion,
counter teeny winy annie mo - of how they
framework educational models,
stuffing our imagination with fall-safe mechanisation
of know techniques: akin to arithmetic -
and how we were taught to remember what
would readily become forgotten come the next year...
                   of what i understand:
i think             i imagine                 i remember
                   precipitates into           being
                     - thus the three prime faculties
  and akin to the rules of prime numbers:
               no positive divisor greater than 1 or the
           stated faculty per se-
      later she slanders me with the nouns schizoid
and autistic: because we didn't have the picnic
  and didn't raise a family... a lonely world indeed.
i feel: and indeed the many loves, and failings of
    the heart's housekeeping standards -
             after that it just becomes a guess-work
   pattern of competition and incompetence -
                    or how language can become anti-journalistic,
  as it often does, it never is a scenario of
             Wednesday, 6th of July 2016 a.d.
                                        and credits akin to a movie:
             like you'll never talk to the background of things
and the people who move them while you pay the tax.
right now i have a 9kg Maine **** cat trying to
escape the house during the night, a cat turned
Pavarotti - meow meow, meow ******* meow,
meow meow... Lombroso should be near... this
is really starting to bug me... he might have a case
about a cat that never shut up and the person that
strangled it...
               so, indeed, three basic faculties of the mind...
i kept them as: imagination, thinking, memorisation...
                which means i went against the
Cartesian model of denial thought and doubt -
because i found them too emotionally entwined,
and therefore less puritan in consideration -
            and also less scholastic by the looks of it -
exams...                     for me the three prime
faculties are imagination, thought and memory...
they're antidotes of what later became the existential
revision of the Cartesian inspection: how
                              namely the notion of denial
as the antidote to good faith (doubt) - i just didn't
like the kindergarten of adults playing childish games.

this is a fine morning and the man in the bathroom mirror smiles
though he admittedly isn't the friendliest person but honestly
he seemed genuinely glad to be awake and alive on such an Autumn day
with the birds chirping and the window near the kitchen slightly ajar
allowing safe passage to a nice chill breeze. he finds the cat up as well
meowing "Good morning!" cheerfully and innocently in its tiny cat voice
and he chuckles and meows back in the most accurate manner available.
on the kitchen table there's a mug of coffee, the newspaper rolled like a cigar,
a plate of waffles, bacon, scrambled eggs and powdered happiness which
the man gobbles wholeheartedly while reading the day's fresh headlines:
President Declares Peace on Earth, Local Man Defeats Dog - Gives Too Many Treats,
Cop Buys Medical Lemonade From Child's Lemonade Stand, World Hunger Exterminated...
permitting the felines to rule our existence was truly the best of ideas!

The officer said it was illegal but I've never been punished thusfar.
I knew it was wrong, but desire consumed me.
I grabbed the man and dragged him into my van.
He screamed and I laughed.
Brutal company.
It was going to hurt, of that I was certain.
His lack of consent did not stop me. I was on a mission, and James Bond always thrives.
I got in and drove as fast and as far as I could.
Speed bumps bring my daughter joy.
She giggles, I smile, he writhes in pain. My smile grows.
A pain bubbles in my clavicle but I digress.
But, I don't digress because it HURT.
I locked the angels in my closet for safe keeping. My mother is proud.
Blood is my favorite accessory. Hashtag period.
My friend always said I was cunning but I never believed her father was a good man.
After all, a good man would never commit such acts.
I threw the empty toilet paper roll at his grave then shouted at his wife's cat.
Meow. Meow, meow. Meow.
It sings the song of the hummingbird so I put it in a collar and walk it to the pound.
The pound sings the song of death, my song.
My student tool box is full of unfortunate goodies, and yes, my English teacher approves.
But I would rather she not. This is my journey, not one I shall share.
I aggressively slap the keys of life, hoping yogurt will seep from the cracks of destiny.
It never does, and I starve.
My granola is friendless.
Life is bitter, like the skin of a plum.
Fierce as a seahorse. But again, I digress.

and we sat on the couch together. He wrapped his arm around me, kissing my cheek. I stared into his eyes for what seemed to last years, but in reality it was mere seconds.  
I wanted to tell him that I loved him. I wanted to tell him about how I had loved him since the first time he had ever touched me, the first time his hand had brushed mine. I wanted to tell him that his arm around me was more comforting than being in my own bed at home. Everyday was a gift being with him, and I wanted to know how I got so lucky. His arm moving interrupted my thoughts as he pulled me closer.
“Ellie you know I love you right,” His voice was so smooth, it ran over my whole body, I felt like I was under a waterfall, and ‘I love you’ was pouring down my body. His eager eyes looked like they were searching for a response, and answer, an ‘I love you back’, but my mouth couldn’t form a word. My brain couldn’t even form a solid thought. The words I wanted to hear caught me so off guard.
“You don’t have to say it back, I just needed to say it. I’ve felt like this for so long, I’ve wanted to say that since the day I met you, but I had to wait till it was perfect. This seems perfect to me, but everyday really seems perfect when I’m with you,” his smile right now was most likely the dorkiest thing I’d ever seen. I felt my face get warmer and warmer, and I knew I was probably tomato red.
“I-,” I couldn’t form a word, I couldn’t speak. My tongue was twisted, and I was too busy just staring at his face. The slight upwards slant of his nose, the few strands of his sandalwood hair in front of his rich coffee eyes. His hand firmly planted on my shoulder. I pressed my head into his shoulder, his arm wrapped around me tightly.
“I love you,” I said, the sound muffled by his jacket. I felt my face growing warmer, I could tell I was blushing. I felt his arms wrap around me, holding me close to him, his jackets zipper scratching my ear. He pulled away from me, and looked into my eyes just staring at me.
“I want this moment to last forever, I want to freeze time with us here, together,” He looked to eager.
“I don’t want this to last forever,” He suddenly looked hurt, “I want to spend years with you, I want to wake up next to you, I want to make breakfast with you,” His smile started growing again,” I want to get a cat with you, and name it something stupid, like captain meow meow, I want to sit up together at midnight and write things for you while you read them,” I felt out of breath, he looked so happy.
“Captain meow meow,” He was giggling like a little kid, I knew that I was utterly and completely in love with him.
“Captain meow meow,” I said back to him, burying my face into his chest.

this one time
when i was a kid
probably five or four
and i still lived in california
my mom took my brother and i
to meet some kittens

that was when i learned i was allergic
and that i couldn't touch my eyes
or rub my face into kittens fur
unless i wanted to end up
sniveling with red swelled eyes
and scratching endlessly at my skin
where their sharp claws innocently landed

my neighbor
when i first moved to kansas
had a cat i think
i'm not sure my memory is fuzzy
i think i was eight
but it was such a loveable cat
until it clawed up my back
and mom had to clean with
something that burned
to lessen the swelling

but i love cats
i really do
if i had to pick a dog or a kitten
i would certainly pick both
because i honestly couldn't pick

now at nineteen
i have my own loveable cat
all white and gorgeous
so soft like a blanket
and cuddly like a puppy
his eyes different, a gold and a blue
he's the best thing

The ring is on the dresser
on top of a crumpled letter
from the bathroom the trickle of water
then the startled screams of her daughter
I walk to the bathroom and meow
oh look on the floor a blooded towel
what is this complicated fuss about
I need a crap and need to be let out

Hey, you nearly trod on my tail
running out like that you mad cow
now she is screaming down the hallway phone
what's that's she saying, someone's dead
so through the water on the tiled floor
trying my best to not wet my paws
I leap onto the edge of the bath and what do I see
I can never tell you, for I just go meow to please

Dark pussycats tell no tales, just go meow


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

The hush of the morning breeze
whispers through aged pines
The rush of tires on asphalt
As an unseen car moves an unseen driver
Closer to the start, or end I guess, of a workday

Meow

The birds begin to wake
Softly at first
Then, as more and more of them awaken
The chorus grows louder and louder
Filling the near stillness with a multitude of calls

Meow, meow

A squirrel scurries in fits and starts
Across the shingle roof outside my window
An acorn, not yet ripe falls from the oak out front
And hits the slate walk
Heard this morning where as the sound would pass unnoticed later in the day

Meow, meeeoooww, meow

Then there's the cat

The ring is on the dresser
on top of a crumpled letter
from the bathroom the trickle of water
then the startled screams of her daughter

I walk to the bathroom and meow
oh look on the floor a blooded towel
what is this complicated fuss about
I need a crap and need to be let out

Hey, you nearly trod on my tail
running out like that you mad cow
now she is screaming down the hallway phone
what's that's she saying, someone's dead

So through the water on the tiled floor
trying my best to not wet my paws
I leap onto the edge of the bath and what do I see
I can never tell you, for I just go meow to please

Dark ***** cats tell no tales, just go meow

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
© 2012 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)

it's kinda funny, but all i keep thinking about is the clipped tooth and the 3 pancakes awaiting me gnashing the smoothness into poached pear baby goo; i will not allow language to subordinate me... i, will, subordinate language! language will be my clothes, and not, my, tailor!

i abhor people owned by language,
it's a bit like debate
between portishead vs. poliça...
          love a *****-fight...
              scratching, itching,
hair-tugging,
my type of replacement when it
comes to being entertained by
cockerels or bulls (terriers) -
got i love petting those beastly boy
pig snouts!
the problem with me?
            i love drinking more than
conversations with people -
synonymous with:
animals make more sense to me
that humans...
                             oops;
i gather.
                  i have a 10kg / 20+ pound maine
**** that i bite for fun...
              bite a maine ****
get an apache headgear...
     ****** kicks like a kangaroo
when i tickler his hind paws...
               sings the **** out
of a reincarnation of Pavarotti...
either that or it's ***** 'arry,
or simply *rudy (ginger) -
              i love cats for their
autism...
                   it will never end up
being a death-stare match:
there's always "something" to
be preoccupied with cats...
usually? nothing,
                 the anti-thesis of
narcissus was a cat.
                people never have stories
about dogs,
other than: lick my *****, take a nap...
i hate the cat i own...
                  man originated
with a heart,
while woman originated with a mind...
notably the grand-schemer
locusta  -
hell knows no fury for a woman scorned,
as,
           heaven knows no peace
                              for a man: pardoned.
since we're on equal terms,
  we can only politicise language,
rather than the, infantile,
politicising of language...
               i always wonder how
an exhausted meow exhausts the mind
of a cat, with no cognitive notion
of a a meow...
     how does a cat meow...
when there's no thought of meow...
in the same exhaustion...
           how does man speak of god,
when he think nothing of god?
    if god is a beyond word,
yet trapped in (moral) action,
can we discuss the case by merely
using onomatopoeia?
               i.e. onomatopoeia,
an etymological return to the prime
of syllables?
    prior to letters having names
akin to A - alpha -
                                  or O - omicron?
cut short pretty jesus?
                     oh, what, a, shame!

p.s. sure, he can be the alpha and the omega,
but i'm the omicron in between.

The tiger pounced,
Arrived unannounced,
She's Chairman Meow,
Don't know how,
Here anyway,
What to say?
Fine thinking woman this,
Doesn't take any blip,
A femme of self-esteem,
A misogynist's dream!
All dance to her tune,
Is this a tiger moon?
"Yes, dear," men reply,
I only look and sigh,
Why can't I be like that?
Training men--old hat?
Really don't know how,
She's Chairman Meow.

Maybe I should give it up.

I want you
But you don't seem to want me.
I wish you would finally see
You and me
We are meant to be.
Meow and Moo
I know you feel it too.

But maybe I should give it up.

You make me promises
You shoot my hopes up to the moon
I feel all these feelings
And I think you may too.

Maybe I should give up though

I need more than ifs
You keep making no sense
Each day is a mystery
I miss you, Meow.

Maybe I should give up

Why can't you be the man
I know that you want to be
Rescue me like you said you would
Love me...please?

I think it is time I give up

I need you.
I want you.
I love you.
But in the end
I am not so sure
That you love me.

please remember that some of my poetry is written in the vein of  ezra pound’s personae stylicism, i.e. i don’t know who’s actually  talking, it’s not necessarily me making conversation / oratory  monologue, due to the fact that it does not take place in an epic place  like the senate... but rather inside my own head.*

that’s what philosophy forgot... it said poetry was madness
and later god related; philosophy wanted an almost
mathematical expression of language, it became stiff regurgitation,
it refused to accept the work of grammaticians,
it refused to mention technical terms of grammar like noun / adjective,
instead it began and ended with really obstructive words
that could mean anything - e.g. anything, thing, etc.
it didn’t spot a chirality of its aloofness,
just because it (pronoun) and he (pronoun) are identitcal
in the grammatical categorisation, when expressed
the orka swam north west rather than north east, to avoid
the faroe islands’ slaughter, as depicted by marie mason.
p.s. what about an aristotelian cocktail?
you know that famous one... a man who lives alone
is either an animal or a god.
mash up!
take some human elements and take some ******* elements,
mix ‘em up... get what you want to be human...
god parts are generally regarded as internalised sounds
to create thought... also the complexity and variation of sounds made,
also being against the (0,0) coordinate of a meow...
meow on the roof, meow on a tree, meow on a car bonet,
meow on the sofa... you know what it is and where it’s coming from...
the animal parts? einstein’s warddrobe, i.e. wearing pretty much
the same thing everyday, like a fox with its fur,
the long periods of silence, angry evaluations of scenariors,
the tedium of eating - fast long enough and you get angry enough
and that anger you turn into the eating made necessary.
oh right, i forgot, i’m teaching this egyptian girl some lingo:

Rayhanakm 14 hours ago
                 I love ur edit thank you so much ... ???? i will share this thank u again              

Rayhanakm 11 hours ago
                  but i wanne tell you that my English language not very  good cause i  talk arabic more and iam new in writting poetries..so if i  could ask  you to help me in this thing i feel that you are so good  here  ????????            

Matthew Conrad 6 seconds ago
                  don't feel any shame about what you haven't perfected  given the time  constraints of your endeavour, i didn't speak to  perfection at some  point, i too acquired english, it's not my first  language - although i  have to stress that i'm not too conscious of the  transition between  being illiterate with it to being literate, since it  happened a long  time ago. but poetry is a good beginning, after all  poetry is a method  of abstracting language, which leaves many black  holes that will be  happily filled to provide a standardised form of it,  the non-poetic the  bureucratic version - the version that allocates you  to a mechanised  function - one thing to note about my transition is that  i was born  into speaking polish, but i hardly remember the alphabet of  months, i  can remember the alphabet january through to december  perfectly in  english, but in polish i'm like: stycze? luty...  grudzie?... i get  muddled... as i get muddle the actual english  alphabet... because i  first learnt it as a sing-along that's sung with a  crescendo when the  letters m n l o p come up... q r s t u v... etc.  make one aspect of  your arabic usage weak... then you'll see what  weakness you have in how  you use english... then, with hope implied, you  will do a perfect  juggling act of bilingualism. first of all...  concentrate on the little  words in terms of how they are arranged... for  example... your first  sentence is missing a preposition (a word that  presupposes an  engagement with a larger word, larger words are usually  nouns -  the others are smaller enough running could imply a 100m sprint or a marthon - but there’s still a consistency of them being similar, and they are rarely modified... for example  onomatopoeia  can only be modified into an adjective: onomatopoeiac -  having the  quality of an onomatopoeia)... the word missing is (cut in  point) tell  you that my english language usage is not very good (cut off  point) -  anyone can memorise what's called what... but there is a  complexity in  the arrangement in how that thing is modified or acted  upon in the land  of phoneticism - i'll watch your progress as you write.  ok?

You’re handed a pipe
it looks fine.
You’re told to relax.
You smile, too high to do anything but.
You flick the lighter, inhale and try to prepare
you can’t.

You’re moving
circling over some horizon that resembles the mashed combination of green hills at sunset
and the giant that lays across them has taken the only home base you could reach.

You’re twitching
you’re still.
You’re warm,
you’re not.
You’re cold,
you’re not.
You’re worried you are talking to the streetlamp through a window
you are.

You’ve lost all concept of time
but you’re pretty sure you’ve kept the same reality.
You’ve always breathed like Darth Vader.
You remember your first kiss
the dragon wouldn’t stop breathing fire and it, she, just felt too scaley,
thank god the pancakes were delicious.

You look at your friend and he is smiling,
but too wide.
His mouth grows to encompass his head, his body, the whole room.
His cat is rolling on his tongue.
lolling from side to side
never breaking eye contact.
You see the “meow” leak from the small hole in the back of a shrinking throat
and enter the cat’s ears before it shrieks and the sound finally hits you.

You hear “meow, meow, meow” on a laugh track that’s too loud
and it sounds like ears have hit the bass
because there are butterfly wings beating through your skull.
but the flutter murmurs to the back of your throat and the wings become whisps as they escape through your eyes.

You close your friend’s mouth and ask how long it’s been.
“Meow.”
Not long enough.

“Why, you think you’re coming down?”

“I don’t know man, but I hate your ******* cat.”

“Of course you do.”

party zone with johnny brown




johnny’   hi dudes and welcome to party zone and we are having a ball especially seeing the dockers

beat the tigers over in perth for nab cup and here is fred todo is dockers chant


fred’   oooh yeah oooh yeah freo way to go

we kicked the tigers arses tonight, freo way to go

carn the fremantle dockers

you see it was a nice day in perth

where two great teams, one won easily and that was the dockers

i only wish that i was there rather than hanging around in the city

you see fremantle missed out on the grand final in 2015

but we will make the nab cup ours my friend, ready to p p party

free way to go, kick the tigers back to melbourne ya know

free way to go, we are the fremantle dockers

go the dockers

johnny’ thanks fred and now here is noelene with it’s my party

noelene’  it’s my party and i will enjoy life if i want to, enjoy life if i want to

enjoy life if i want, it’s my party and i will enjoy life if i want to

you would enjoy life too if you were here too

nobody knows where peter has gone we entered the club the same time

he can’t be gone because i would’ve noticed that, so where the **** has he gone

you see the party is over and we are talking and talking

but i can’t enjoy myself without peter around

i try and enjoy life, but it’s hard for me too, cause peter could be dead

it’s my party and i will enjoy myself if i want to enjoy life if i want to

it’s my party and i can enjoy life if i want to every single day

you see i bought a can of bourbon and looked all over for peter

but he was nowhere around, and i let out a frown and i looked like an old digger

it’s my party and i can enjoy life if i want if i want if i really want to

it’s my party and i can enjoy life if i want to all night long

johnny’  thanks noelene and now here is thomas with 3 jokes


thomas’  ok the first joke is

how many blondes does it take to ***** in a light bulb?

need to know ASAP


At the real life top gun program     the one the film was based on

there is a $5 fine for any staffer who references or quotes the movie


a canadian psychologist is selling a video that teaches you how

to test your dogs IQ.  here how it works

if you spend $12.99 for the video, your dog is smarter than you


johnny’   ha ha ha, thank you thomas and now here is pamela with her entertainment piece

i party you party every single day

you party me party right till the end of the day

you see your puppy is getting fat from eating too much puppy pal

and we need to start an exercise program

where the puppy has to get fit

my cat goes meow meow meow

my cat goes meow, when he wants something to eat

my cow goes mooooo moooooo moooooo

my cow goes moooooo when she has some dairy for us

my sheep goes ba ba ba  my sheep goes ba ba ba

my sheep goes ba ba ba, when he ****** needs to be sheered


johnny’  thanks pamela, and now here is olly with his song

olly’   if you a happy and you know it, have a party

are you a bit of a smarty.

if you are happy and you love life like you wife does

if your happy and you know it have a party

do you get happy when you drink a glass of beer

or do you get happy when you have a pina colada

are you happy and you know it, and you want someone to dance with

if you are happy and you know it, have a party

johnny’  now here is another joke this time from craig

craig’   why do dogs always race to the door when the doorbell rings”

it’s hardly ever for them

johnny’  yeah i hate the knock on the door when i am in the middle of my favourite show, it’s bad

and now here is paul with his jingle

have you got the right to party

have you the right to be a smarty

no matter what i wanna see yoooou

i want to pull my ******, and think of dragging a woman home with me

and we can have a lot of made up ***

we can definitely take it

and we will break it

we will surely take it, oh yeah

do i have the right to be here

do i deserve to party

i think so, because i work very hard

i want to drink a coffee to **** the hangover

because partying is my middle name, ooooh yeah


johnny’   ok that is all and  there ain’t no more, but here is craig with a joke way to go, craig

craig’   my 5 year old son is crazy about cars, so i took him to his first car show. he loved seeing

all the different models and brands and gushed over the big engines, the colours and even the wheels

but the car was mostly ……  see you if you could guess it

johnny’   ok thanks, and we will see you next time on party zone with johnny brown

gooooooodbye dudes

Oh my cute kitty cat,
Lying all cozy on my bed.
How I wish I were you,
I want to be pampered too!
'Meow,' you would say,
In response I nod okay.
You got me at your beck and call,
Following every wish I shall.
So I bring you some fresh milk,
While you lie there waiting on the silk...

Cat three-tooth, cat stone-deaf, cat sidewinder walk,
Old Bealman stalked the croaking, the croaking,
with forepaws meek stroking
airs of a summer cool night.

Bealman, Bealman, Meow & Sealman,
Pacing, still racing, one two three man.
Bealman—frog fisher & free.

Delphinium, the roses, lupine interposes
a shadow of fortressed green leaf
disguises the notion my Bealman supposes—
to seize, dismember it through,
make self-concocted, dishering frog stew.

Bealman, Bealman, Meow & Sealman,
Pacing, still racing, one two three man.
Bealman—frog fisher & free.

Night hours accounting, morning’s surmounting,
a bird warning Bealman, his patience to thin.
Croaking still blending, a flower stalk was bending,
two legs, peaking out, sent Bealman straight in.

Bealman, O my Bealman, Meow & Sealman,
Pacing, still racing, one two three man.
Frog fisher & free.

I saw Bealman beaming; I saw Bealman beaming.
How cats manage beaming I’ll wonder again.
Since Bealman was twenty, any beaming is plenty.
I loved my old Bealman, my frog fisher friend.

Bealman, Bealman, My Meow Dear Sealman,
Bealman—frog fisher & free.

foul bug
grab it and tug

you're a flyin' tooth
hockin' loogies

Disregard that! I'm a loonie!

Meow-cat, can't take it and
snap! goes my brain like
crack! goes the coffee mug
falling from the counter and
swoosh! goes the butterfly
flapping it's wings...
screech!

see
the
blossoming magnolias...

and we're all bubbling up
from the inside out!

we're left downright sideways!
looking for the sun to come out...

silver lining -
fluffy cloud,
blue sky fall,
hop skip and
jump! to high heaven:

falling... backwards,
in a grand attempt to
leap! into a pool of faith
from the highest cliff...

and when the tables are turned...
you are scratches in the vinyl!
skip, skip, skip to my
loop -loop -looping thought patterns...

Meow meow
meow

i return to these words that are barely
an architectural promise of a house as a mere:
rummaging squatter,
that this will eventually become
scrutinised by eyes beside my own...
well it's not like i rhyme-on-the-cheap...
i've been trying to watch some penny
dreadful episodes:
what would woman do without
the devil; i suppose man tangled with
god is nothing but an obnoxious brat...
the devil of emotions
and their plethora; this belittling god
fiddling with stones and creases
in york oak stand-alones...
                          then it came like
an itch: poached-taming-(of a)-toe...
just a tatty... a humble:
i am pretty sure i saw the letters
prefix a toad somewhere: po-ta-to(e):
ah... there! poached tame toad...
a sputniks for a brainz...
in penny dreadful: john claire
the name of victor frankenstein's monster:
oh dear old god: this continued
exasperation with poetry:
one must live a most unsatisfying life
to cross the rubricon of
old testament anemia:
            i think i admired wordsworth too... -

playing house with robert duncan -
especially now:
when the house is in complete disarray
and what was once cluttered:
is more an upheaval...

- i used to write while listening
to music - no i write for the scraps
of this yawning silence
and all of its blisters of interludes -
yes:
i want a noun to turn
into a verb: not a mere:
metaphorical "transgression"
of how it's impossible
for the wine to be blood
for the bread to be flesh:
this poetry of: cannibalism?

i pry open the adventures with
cats:
i own two... my house doesn't
give off whiffs of ****:
god... i know the horrid stench
of either **** or ****
that isn't my own:
solipsistic in that...
       it's not a field of strawberries...

it's acidic to the nose:
it's beyond anything i'd ever
want to ingest: and i have once...
giggled... ******* into a glass
of wine to: punk up
the sacrament -
then again: i also ****** on my leg
when standing in a shower
cubicle and i attest to disagree:
there's something...

unconsciously prodding:
the advent prior to... learning to stress
that bladder into a muscle
and keeping it in...
that i can counter the will
of keeping it in...
that i can unwill the sensible
lesson and: it's like... anything
aqua focused -
a shower is a baptism
jumping into a pool is a rebirth:
or an invitation to
beside oneself with: start-agains...

it's very much unlike
drinking... whether it's a coffee
or a whiskey sour...
the ingestion of liquid is less
starry-eyed gluttonous freeze...
having ate nothing but hot air
or...
the whole body needs immersion
or... the ******* on a leg
prior to: then taking a shower...
hell... even mixing one's own
**** with a glass of the goat's blood
is also... "something" / something-...

to pray for sensible things is
to mumble or there's that devil's
dozen of oysters:
12 by feeding:
the 13th in the form of a ****
by nibble lick and spoon
of the tongue and lips' acrobatics...

i'm playing house with robert duncan...
i'm not a householder -
a term as ancient as: librarian
by my account -
              but the house is in disarray:
the kitchen is being subjected
to a 24 / 7  dehumidifier drone
army... i can hear the machines
working their insomnia down
below:
i have custard feet and i feel like
sinking: not falling...
when i stand to these machines:
hellish-jelly-feet...
   when i turn on the stove
and make an omelette -

     the living room (civil room,
a joke from my youth i conjured -
a room where we learn civility)...
is also a makeshift kitchen...
i'm currently playing chess from time
to time with: the memory of:
where did i put these spices...
this spoon this plate...
       it's not chess but the game is
irreversible -
it's also time consuming and it's
not that i don't keep attention to detail:
but i'm gladly not thinking forward...
i'm strategizing in reverse -

but such is the game...
robert duncan - poet and householder -
a chance reading of a moth:
but this is what makes all of this
so enjoyable: it's a niche a cul de sac
of decisions: an expansion
of time that doesn't make it to the annals
of: better to... burn... than to fade away...
either make it in your youth:
nice and proper...
or... what's the game then:
last man standing?
the list of contemporaries
drawing thin, short?

playing house... that i had a youth
i remembered when i'd too play with dolls with
my neighbour's daughter -
clearly ken and barbie had a problem
with their missing parts -
eunuchs of the sun's blind spots...
unlike when we were allowed
to take a bath together as:
not siblings but as strange dialectical opposites
to this duality: that wouldn't encompass
my somehow yet to be owned:
me good & evil...

    me tamer - me: 19th century's frankenstein:
dr. Jekyll etc.
     a rule for life: apparently...
is to pet a cat when you see one
in the street...
it's not exactly an easy task...
i guess first a show of mutual
assurance (and respect) -
this black tubby - with a bandana
for where a leash-leftover could
have been (collar) -
he starts walking anti-clockwise...
i turn aside and start walking
clockwise to pass him...
then we shuffle our approach...
like... i would always want
to pass a pigeon strutting
senseless on the pavement
with enough space so that it doesn't
have to find it necessary to fly off...

luckily for me i managed to "pet"
a stranger's cat...
my luck that it was black
but then again it was that sort
of hour
that's always a presumption
of a lazy gotten afternoon...
rule of life: pet a cat on a street...
it's not exactly a ******* given:
an "oops"... done that... tick...
self-help guru sold this trick...
                    
a selfie contra the days...
when the camera was used and...
other people would take pictures
of you... or of you and:
when there was an "us" - together...
shorthand of the limbos of life -
magnum opus words
constipated into this: makeshift
of a hopeful paragraph...

no, this couldn't be a simple meditation:
confined to...
robert duncan's household -
and my predicament of... playing memory
chess: well it's not exactly clutter:
the kitchen cannot be used
so there's a makeshift refugee camp
version of it in the living room yadda yadda...

which is a commentary on...
my distrust for the h'american literary movement
of the 20th century teasing an abandonment
with the "old ways"...
buddhism, odd... mostly...
   fair enough:
              ezra pound abhorred the taoists...
my one lesson from tao...
the best way you can aid the world:
is for the world to forget you
and for you to forget the world...
which is probably a plagiarism
of epicurus or vice versa...

              i can't imagine the demands
of pop philosophy:
pop culture on the other hand is much
easier to stomach: it's even enjoyable -
but the pop philosophy of nihilism -
which is: a pop philosophy...
it's not even required reading -
unless: you're rereading your own?
thrown into the river -
i am becoming a being of more becoming...
change is the only perpetual: blah...
if it's not my own rummagings it's
probably someone else's:
which has probably become diluted /
filtered down and is a cubism's monstrosity...

books sell for two reasons:
(1) they are genuinely read by a zeitgeist youth...
which invokes social pressures of
the collected experience - in ref. to:
something that can be talked about...
(2) they are read by "propagandists" -
by a small majority who pressure others to...
but the pressure only lasts for
airs - for a mere ownership of a book
should one be met with a scrutiny of
not owning it - reading it is beside the point...

and here in the land of "leftovers":
the middle of the road the people:
who of their own volition write and read...
that i was never ****** into
a cult of stephen king...
i was born too late to be:
but i was: ****** into a postmortem
oeuvre deity picking almost
anything by william burroughs...
i: reader: dear reader: clicked...

- i can't objectify this house -
i am subject to it: coerced by it...
made by bias upon bias
whether there's clutter or there isn't...
whether the kitchen is functionable
or not: that some people have
a kitchen but prefer to eat out:
to be seen: eating...
             i check the gradations of
punctuations and i know: still...
i will not recite these words not
out of gestures for bombast -
or pride - but for some sinister
urge to not abuse this sacred silence:
******* taught man
to manouvre... manouvre...
manouvre... maneouvre...
        man-oeuvre...
                   drop the hyphen boyo:
manoeuvre... wow!
"too many" consonants
in ****** words... how about a
magic trick? how many *******
vowels are in: man-oovr'eh?
phonetics king of the anti-spelling:
but then...
the synonym sounds
with aliases...
towing two different meanings:
too hot to count two
          ooh ooze - zizzez...
              zyzzes...
                     i can bring this anglo-slack-son
to kneel but only for a while:
before the architectural scholarly-
  takes over and the phonetic becomes:
lost, crude... based feral...

- a robert duncan is not a...
it's not mediocre is not necessary to be:
gee-whizz of frank o'hara's
cosmopolitan...
it's flesh of the h'american tongue
it's: sensibly accurate to provide
the best outlet:
for those of us still born in that
century - of what remained of us:
or rather of what remained
of the innocence of the 1990s...

that i am not nostalgic is: no proof...
that i write hardly any word of fiction:
one spaniard, once... commented
on my shoes:
i think he played a miniature version
of a flute: it looked like a reed...
the "spanish" superstition
concerning: a comment on one's shoes...
he admired... my shoes...
what's that saying:
about shoes: to best walk in one's
own before wishing to fill the shoes
of others...
a verb as simple as: there's no
presence of "run": when coupled
to: i am running: i ran...
it's raining...
i run i ruin fun... concentrated
"rhyming": literally linear: no staccato...

******* me over "jenga"...
this microcosm of sounds -
yet to draw deep leverage from
a meaning: it comes back as a mere
sound: worse a... mimic -
an aeon of only hearing
the heaving of a crow's crackling
croak... like a breaking of a tongue:
or... the lost trill of the R in
either fwench or: english...

exemplified R: with a diacritical mark
to make emphasis of the trill...

yes... this democratic oath of poets..
well: we're not going to tend to
the republic of the wizened goats
ex athens... are we?
the democratic oath of poets -
unlike the hippocratic loaf...
            which is a spectacular failure
since i have seen what
little ambitions can do:
when... the boat is not being
rocked: yet someone is still willing
to throw someone... overboard...
now that the boat is rocking:
i see nooses instead of paddles...
the seas are still rife with calm...

playing house with robert duncan -
especially now:
when the house is in complete disarray
and what was once cluttered:
is more an upheaval...

- i used to write while listening
to music - no i write for the scraps
of this yawning silence
and all of its blisters of interludes -
yes:
i want a noun to turn
into a verb: not a mere:
metaphorical "transgression"
of how it's impossible
for the wine to be blood
for the bread to be flesh:
this poetry of: cannibalism?

i pry open the adventures with
cats:
i own two... my house doesn't
give off whiffs of ****:
god... i know the horrid stench
of either **** or ****
that isn't my own:
solipsistic in that...
       it's not a field of strawberries...

it's acidic to the nose:
it's beyond anything i'd ever
want to ingest: and i have once...
giggled... ******* into a glass
of wine to: punk up
the sacrament -
then again: i also ****** on my leg
when standing in a shower
cubicle and i attest to disagree:
there's something...

unconsciously prodding:
the advent prior to... learning to stress
that bladder into a muscle
and keeping it in...
that i can counter the will
of keeping it in...
that i can unwill the sensible
lesson and: it's like... anything
aqua focused -
a shower is a baptism
jumping into a pool is a rebirth:
or an invitation to
beside oneself with: start-agains...

it's very much unlike
drinking... whether it's a coffee
or a whiskey sour...
the ingestion of liquid is less
starry-eyed gluttonous freeze...
having ate nothing but hot air
or...
the whole body needs immersion
or... the ******* on a leg
prior to: then taking a shower...
hell... even mixing one's own
**** with a glass of the goat's blood
is also... "something" / something-...

to pray for sensible things is
to mumble or there's that devil's
dozen of oysters:
12 by feeding:
the 13th in the form of a ****
by nibble lick and spoon
of the tongue and lips' acrobatics...

i'm playing house with robert duncan...
i'm not a householder -
a term as ancient as: librarian
by my account -
              but the house is in disarray:
the kitchen is being subjected
to a 24 / 7  dehumidifier drone
army... i can hear the machines
working their insomnia down
below:
i have custard feet and i feel like
sinking: not falling...
when i stand to these machines:
hellish-jelly-feet...
   when i turn on the stove
and make an omelette -

     the living room (civil room,
a joke from my youth i conjured -
a room where we learn civility)...
is also a makeshift kitchen...
i'm currently playing chess from time
to time with: the memory of:
where did i put these spices...
this spoon this plate...
       it's not chess but the game is
irreversible -
it's also time consuming and it's
not that i don't keep attention to detail:
but i'm gladly not thinking forward...
i'm strategizing in reverse -

but such is the game...
robert duncan - poet and householder -
a chance reading of a moth:
but this is what makes all of this
so enjoyable: it's a niche a cul de sac
of decisions: an expansion
of time that doesn't make it to the annals
of: better to... burn... than to fade away...
either make it in your youth:
nice and proper...
or... what's the game then:
last man standing?
the list of contemporaries
drawing thin, short?

playing house... that i had a youth
i remembered when i'd too play with dolls with
my neighbour's daughter -
clearly ken and barbie had a problem
with their missing parts -
eunuchs of the sun's blind spots...
unlike when we were allowed
to take a bath together as:
not siblings but as strange dialectical opposites
to this duality: that wouldn't encompass
my somehow yet to be owned:
me good & evil...

    me tamer - me: 19th century's frankenstein:
dr. Jekyll etc.
     a rule for life: apparently...
is to pet a cat when you see one
in the street...
it's not exactly an easy task...
i guess first a show of mutual
assurance (and respect) -
this black tubby - with a bandana
for where a leash-leftover could
have been (collar) -
he starts walking anti-clockwise...
i turn aside and start walking
clockwise to pass him...
then we shuffle our approach...
like... i would always want
to pass a pigeon strutting
senseless on the pavement
with enough space so that it doesn't
have to find it necessary to fly off...

luckily for me i managed to "pet"
a stranger's cat...
my luck that it was black
but then again it was that sort
of hour
that's always a presumption
of a lazy gotten afternoon...
rule of life: pet a cat on a street...
it's not exactly a ******* given:
an "oops"... done that... tick...
self-help guru sold this trick...
                    
a selfie contra the days...
when the camera was used and...
other people would take pictures
of you... or of you and:
when there was an "us" - together...
shorthand of the limbos of life -
magnum opus words
constipated into this: makeshift
of a hopeful paragraph...

no, this couldn't be a simple meditation:
confined to...
robert duncan's household -
and my predicament of... playing memory
chess: well it's not exactly clutter:
the kitchen cannot be used
so there's a makeshift refugee camp
version of it in the living room yadda yadda...

which is a commentary on...
my distrust for the h'american literary movement
of the 20th century teasing an abandonment
with the "old ways"...
buddhism, odd... mostly...
   fair enough:
              ezra pound abhorred the taoists...
my one lesson from tao...
the best way you can aid the world:
is for the world to forget you
and for you to forget the world...
which is probably a plagiarism
of epicurus or vice versa...

              i can't imagine the demands
of pop philosophy:
pop culture on the other hand is much
easier to stomach: it's even enjoyable -
but the pop philosophy of nihilism -
which is: a pop philosophy...
it's not even required reading -
unless: you're rereading your own?
thrown into the river -
i am becoming a being of more becoming...
change is the only perpetual: blah...
if it's not my own rummagings it's
probably someone else's:
which has probably become diluted /
filtered down and is a cubism's monstrosity...

books sell for two reasons:
(1) they are genuinely read by a zeitgeist youth...
which invokes social pressures of
the collected experience - in ref. to:
something that can be talked about...
(2) they are read by "propagandists" -
by a small majority who pressure others to...
but the pressure only lasts for
airs - for a mere ownership of a book
should one be met with a scrutiny of
not owning it - reading it is beside the point...

and here in the land of "leftovers":
the middle of the road the people:
who of their own volition write and read...
that i was never ****** into
a cult of stephen king...
i was born too late to be:
but i was: ****** into a postmortem
oeuvre deity picking almost
anything by william burroughs...
i: reader: dear reader: clicked...

- i can't objectify this house -
i am subject to it: coerced by it...
made by bias upon bias
whether there's clutter or there isn't...
whether the kitchen is functionable
or not: that some people have
a kitchen but prefer to eat out:
to be seen: eating...
             i check the gradations of
punctuations and i know: still...
i will not recite these words not
out of gestures for bombast -
or pride - but for some sinister
urge to not abuse this sacred silence:
******* taught man
to manouvre... manouvre...
manouvre... maneouvre...
        man-oeuvre...
                   drop the hyphen boyo:
manoeuvre... wow!
"too many" consonants
in ****** words... how about a
magic trick? how many *******
vowels are in: man-oovr'eh?
phonetics king of the anti-spelling:
but then...
the synonym sounds
with aliases...
towing two different meanings:
too hot to count two
          ooh ooze - zizzez...
              zyzzes...
                     i can bring this anglo-slack-son
to kneel but only for a while:
before the architectural scholarly-
  takes over and the phonetic becomes:
lost, crude... based feral...

- a robert duncan is not a...
it's not mediocre is not necessary to be:
gee-whizz of frank o'hara's
cosmopolitan...
it's flesh of the h'american tongue
it's: sensibly accurate to provide
the best outlet:
for those of us still born in that
century - of what remained of us:
or rather of what remained
of the innocence of the 1990s...

that i am not nostalgic is: no proof...
that i write hardly any word of fiction:
one spaniard, once... commented
on my shoes:
i think he played a miniature version
of a flute: it looked like a reed...
the "spanish" superstition
concerning: a comment on one's shoes...
he admired... my shoes...
what's that saying:
about shoes: to best walk in one's
own before wishing to fill the shoes
of others...
a verb as simple as: there's no
presence of "run": when coupled
to: i am running: i ran...
it's raining...
i run i ruin fun... concentrated
"rhyming": literally linear: no staccato...

******* me over "jenga"...
this microcosm of sounds -
yet to draw deep leverage from
a meaning: it comes back as a mere
sound: worse a... mimic -
an aeon of only hearing
the heaving of a crow's crackling
croak... like a breaking of a tongue:
or... the lost trill of the R in
either fwench or: english...

exemplified R: with a diacritical mark
to make emphasis of the trill...
i will not heed to market emphasis...
(Ꝛ if you might ask:
there's no leg to stand on...
the "R" falls into a turddle -
a tumble: a trill)...

ꝛ - a missing hammer: it would seem...
a sickle my dreading of apparents...

yes... this democratic oath of poets..
well: we're not going to tend to
the republic of the wizened goats
ex athens... are we?
the democratic oath of poets -
unlike the hippocratic loaf...
            which is a spectacular failure
since i have seen what
little ambitions can do:
when... the boat is not being
rocked: yet someone is still willing
to throw someone... overboard...
now that the boat is rocking:
i see nooses instead of paddles...
the seas are still rife with calm...

clamour for the subjective experince...
none of this: hammer to a nail
sort of "magic" that leaves
one... sensibly "ostententious":

a semi-decent poem contra:
a good night's sleep...
always the latter...
   but unlike today:
6am wake... giving blood for
scrutiny - subsequently...
a broad need for 4 hours in...
a makeshift wilderness...
from Hainault Forest
to Havering County Park...

                        i would clearly have
to start all over again...
should i mind reading back into Tironian
notes and what i had expected to find...
it will suffice to mind...
the characters of empress wu...

         國 (guo)

beginning: coming back to bite some back
from a beijing pork belly:
where you'd first have to make caramel
from the sugar dissolved in oil:
before all the wine would care to glisten...

             𤯔 (ren)...

                              in reverse:
ren-guo - people (of) nation...
                      walking past this field:
impromptu: please keep off of field...
that's what i read...
      this was exclusive -
there was not need to denote further...

and this funny oddity:
saying good-morning or a hello
in an environment that's beside...
walking down the street with a stable
hound of anonymity surrounding
crisp grey blockage of: the amass!
yet people are so expecting
a common courtesy to brief you
on a morning: good...
is it? incessantly so! apparently!
switch them to the torment of the cements
and the back-to-basics apathetic crew
is on the counter...
ghost faces...
  but push them far enough to be alone
and into nature:
they pass a stranger and apparently
demand a prompt: hello!

i go into a depth of nature like
i have *** with prostitutes in a brothel:
i want to have as little to do with talking
that i'd loan: smothering someone
to shut up...
i came for the crows the knee-high-hallubaloos
of nonsense that...
i will extract myself to break
fasting to give blood by foraging
some blackberries...

i still prefer the lesser democratic voices...
it's not that robert duncan was going
to be a stand-alone show akin
to gibsberg...
but... my house is currently in disarray...
i'm playing chess by having
a makeshift kitchen in my living room...
i don't even know where the spices
are! but i'll manage
to bake a **** fine moroccan kobhz!

- this little but current focus for a genetic
"protection": half of me,
then a quarter, an eight, a sixteenth,
a 32-and-a-third... jump toward
64... 128... and... from all these fractions:
half and half:
beauty is no longer viable:
i imagine love as being a prized
bull kept for nothing except
for ******* the gene pool silly...

that's "love" from a darwin from
a materialism: breeding racing horses
or... both the submissive
and the contentious workers -
pay up! but i am not looking
for the generic beauty of
the plateau of the women
employed as surrogates
in this darwinistic harem...
            
isn't it obvious? it would have been
better have be allowed ourselves
to be dead: aborted...
but then: critter load: make-up...
i actually offend my own existence
by affording these dorian gray
parades to take hope in puruing
norms...
i like the scaps i like the wounds
i even like nibbling on the shellfish!

****-****** literature is my achilles
heel...
better a heel than trodding along
with faking a ******* knee...
robert duncan... jack spicer...
i like reading eyes by (metaphorically)
licking up the ****...
and it's not like i might give good head...
i employ a growth of
***** hair to convert my chin
to a niqab like i might: perhaps blink...

then again: face-masks and fashion?
is... this... somehow...
a "thing"?
            well it must be new:
it's nothing from the sort
of the elders i might care to remember...
i walked the scenic route...
blackberries and horseshit...
everything is baking in a procrastination
of: tickle the rats' nibbling...
scrutiny of the lesser of the food
hierarchy: omnivore that i am...

yes... that i like petting criters
that find themselves adamant in their
superiority...
but who have yet to see me:
teasing myself with
a: what if...
                 hours match-up to
not keeping count: there's a fog of them
that goes way back to...
out of the womb... then abandoned
by the scholastic detail that
allows them to float: limbless...
and then return to earth: degenerate...
and less than amiable...

        douglas murray is probably
a hot topic... i too sometimes bewilder myself:
it would have been best to have
allowed the pendulum to swing both ways...
but he (ol' doug) speaks very well:
his writing is... beside the generic...
salt of grain: akin to my own...
for a cubic's worth of water...

    i don't want this tongue to be somewhow
exasperated with concerns for this / an "art"...
or that it can belittle a scientific bone...
thrown to the politics and red herring marches...
spins the doctor: no plates...
forever the new lies
kept in the same old... rhetorical: quirk-and-quickness
of the quilled-tongue...
a knock-knock stone cold: generic...
must: mediocre...
tired of living tongue of poetry
that has to become tired:
truth has to tire so easily...
so that politics: and the freshness
of lies and the no-niche-audience-allowance
can cast their:
"vote"... their... archaic... illiterate "X"..

i will not poetry for rhymes for
exasperations - fooled i: to you: to pursue
that paragraph of fiction - either...
but as freely as this will not:
become an exercise in myopic-claustrophobia...
so it will not rhyme:
perhaps: to advent a coming of my
prescribed punctuation:
but more: your own, your "post-nationalistic"
canadian:
something the people of India or
China will not share with you...
because:
they are still of the mindset: China...
India... hell! Russian is towing suitor!
individualism collapses nations...
whether with a homogeneity of ethnicity
or the heterogeneity of liberalism...

           a wonderful collage of stories...
from the 20th century:
agony aunt israel bewildering
to either confront or defend...
            2000 years have somehow passed
and: europe is no new: "anew"...
it's the same old bland palette
of readily ethno-primed availability
of spices...
hurrah for thyme! and rosemary! mint!

from some mythical above
to this drudge of the pressurised castor -
there was something about robert duncan
that might always have:
made me... diverge from...
it could have been expected...
stash a tonne of bricks by day...
weave in an escapism posit of cinema
come sabbath...
now... escapism into... where?!
critical reignition of marxism:
that sort of marxism my parents escaped
from from under the old soviet
yolk of the satellite state
of poland: thank **** i too am an
immigrant:
but i see no repatriation politics
either...
               go back to a state of
the littlest of all bald envy necropolis
Impoleons?

            no among my native people:
among the natives of these isles...
a thespian: knee deep in ****...
           faking best predicts a survival
rate of this uncoiling...
it's a nation full of: self-
pre-determina...
                  automated prefixation that
can never allow itself to:
make sensible coagulations
of the odd sociable pint...

this atom world this atom's worth
of man...
best life lived as designated
to a harem...
  my and my leftover "blues"...
this world of god and the adventures
of...
no longer available...
thus this one "reality" presented:
playing by man's rules
for the purpose of man's eventual:
transcendence...
a dwarf riding a hunchback
        toward a goal that's a talking donkey!

what's otherwise best?
this has to be an: exercise in futility -
that it had to come from somewhere like:
borrowed prior -
that it could only be borrowed prior:
this tongue had to be inherited:
it could never be acquired -
that a native speaker is...
of a higher status to a bilingual -
because the earth breathes rights...

i forget: i am not equipped
with the desirable physiognomy -
problem being:
when i might find black males
attractive like i might lions: distinct...
i have this ****** on my brain
that says to me...
  well... well...
     i'm not gay.. but i'm certainly
not heterosexual:
even if Flaubert might ask the question:
blondes, brunetters - afro-beauties:
ivory envy?
  what can i do? fest on a hard-on
chemical "oops" / short-cut?
i can't possibly have... a beijing fetish?
a mongol fetish?
i can't? there's only one variation
of interracial mixing...
i guess... so...

     it would be so much easier
to just be gay and leave this world
with a ******* massive **** salvo
of: not coming back!
               to **** a black girl:
not enough...
to not **** a black girl: doubly knot...
******* a lemon while
staring at the sun:
the sado-masochism of
all the post-colonial empires...
and me: whittle ol' resurrected
******... or searching:
the elder prus - the new estonians...
some little european *******...
i imagine...
going to Kenya and running
for parliament:
to concern myself for the voices
of the: minority!

it's... fiddling with the already
prescribed narrative:
trying to make a lee evans jokes
out of it... but...
it's not ******* happening woe-o'-sunshine...
is it?!
it's not like i'm strapped
to a northern monkey
reservation... while still retaining
my: immigrant southern fairy:
commuter hell "debate":
this is not devonshire...
this is not bristol: i'd love to scoop
up a life of a decade's worth
up in Bangor... but it's not even that...
pay by way to:
a collective identity crisis of:
zee vest...
            
if it's anger: perhaps...
it's more a seance in glorifying confusion:
it was once perhaps a little
bit... naive...
but then... who's naive enough
to repeat two-folds of yesterday
within the confines of a day:
to- / to- are not future even
if subjected to incremental changes...
fx/dx changes that might
spawn alternate realities...

        the breaking of a donkey's dollars
worth: i do fishing in the indian sea...
with some... somali pirates...
it's not like i'll ever wake up from
this guilt... the guilt that might
riddle a people that inherited...
i inherited exile from my fathers...
i inherited: no...
the ****** aristocracy didn't tend
to their garden... there was no Eton...
no rugby no football...
there was only a partitioning...
to look toward the past is
an agony that i wish to only hide
in the english countryside...
after all, i thought: who would't want...
make a feast of conquest of this land...
but in a way that was norman:
that the anglo-saxon debauchery could
be... delianted
and brought to a celtic-esque heel...
with a dash of neo-paganism:
a york-up sort o' pie...

without disturbing this dilligent
people of: a most fervent... attention to detail...
it's an island... it's devoid
of any continental squabble...
no mongol ever... no ottoman ever...
it break my heart...
it reminds me: although it shouldn't
remind me...
the aristocratic class (they deem themselves
as much, so why deny them?)
of this country are like the ******
aristocracy
of the three partition "era"...
as napoleon was celebrated "elsewhere"...
with the resurrection
of the duchy of warsaw...
and... england made a beef from
a wellington...
and how the confederacy of germans
repaid the english during the first:
thirst for war...

                   a shogun's pride:
no one would invade japan:
given the persistence of pressure
from a civility of: glamour creases...
it's still the ******* canon rolling
the pawns and pins...

i have but this little interlude in time
to entertain: a history i have learned...
beside citing the obvious apple
hanging on a tree...
who? the burning vietnamese monk?
that's who i am going to... erase...
2000 (circa) years of history with?
this is how i play: conquistador-catch-up?!
this is my whittle muhammad
stage-fright?!

these new surgical masks are
not imitations of the niqab...
the arabs are not drying up their dinosaur
marrow reserves and are not
scouting for willing sodomite freshers
to their gargantuan wealth-soiling
of "morals"?
no? this is all... a pauper's conspiracy
theory... god!
i try to imagine the conspiracy
theory of kings!
it must invite a realisation of
a god or gods...
and at least a quarter of an abstaining
pademomium!

the poets and the sceptics
living under: the... gates are open...
a republic under "scrutiny"...
the philosophers and the
geocentrists - have allowed
for nothing more... than this...
thespian "bureucracy" of
shadow "fiddling"... tail with now:
tail best quite...

attention spanning the glorifications
of non-replica, generic
Solomon comes to the furore
front: then a mismatch
when the brain: swiss cheese project:
is treated at the Avignon
pontiff...
the harem and debauchery shifts
focus...
there's that "we're" and...
dumb-lasso-dumber than you'd
pay the libido of a camel with: for...

i have to always imagine myself
petting cats... or dogs...
to have to dissociate myself from having
perfect: the needs for either halal or
kosher demands of leather...
i best prefer the pipsqueak of
a meow to... an actual oink
in the litany of cogs and perhaps:
clogging up the machinery of
"jurisprudence"... as some Jain might...

borrow from... export very little to...
come the omnivorse of the east
and all succumb to:
boy-scout avenues of:
yes ss'ir...
most loathsome ss'ir...
                     i have to interrogate
the dead man as i am:
the best example of a cul de sac
of dreams: the...
pedestrian could mind not thinking:
imagine: imagine the corpus deity
of: unimaginable thought...
or one which has
an alias: unthinkable imagiation...

memory freelance architect prior
to noon...
is somewhat justified with...
a boredom of a cat come
5pm... but by then...
no cat is ever really bored...
and i have no need to concern
myself with dogs... or leashes...
or desires to: address a
workability of legs...
          to: give scrutiny when all
other examples are wheelchair bound...

he held a piece of paper:
between his hands... like my shadow might:
hold a butterfly...
exasperation:
that philosophers of ancient greece
said: poets begone!
no wonder this...
currency... of wanting to imitate
a petting of animals...
and... this thespian autocracy
that no elders could abide by...
it can still be excused:
the role of actors:
the role of shadow-thieves...

it can still be salvaged...
some of us are still the same rummaging:
in ruinous...
wordsmiths or... best...
plumbers... not some aspirtation
beckons for youth...
it must rhyme:
it must come down to: 2 + 2 = 4
sort of: flimsy poetics...

i'd must prefer to be a
homosexual plumber these days
that my very own mediocre leftover...
thank god i do not encompass
a courtship of a woman:
then imagine!
what did i do with my time:
that i do so much!
having made... so little money!
ghosts can't spend: ****!
i did with my time that
would not allow woman
to turn time into money!
thus i turned money into monkey's
play on elephant and
called tha pennies: p'p'eh-nuts!

  the old man dies:
the youth of man was never
supposed to be born;

god... this was supposed
to be profound?
with this idiosyncratic lost...
spontaneity of punctuation...
i take this reading as
a leverage for making
image: of an anchor dropped:
that would sink the ship.

Hello little ***** cat
How are you today
I am fine I am fine
But won't you let me play
I love little ***** cats
They are cute you see
They have names like
Tiger and spike and snoopy and fluffy
I talk to my ***** cat every single night
And I say
Hello mr ***** cat
How are you today
I am fine I am fine
But won't you let me play
Then the little ***** cat
Gets very tired
Ya know running around the yard catching mice and birds
He comes in and eats up all his
Whiskas and then after that
The little ***** cat will have a
Play inside and fall asleep
And then you say
Hello little ***** cat
How are today
I am fine I am fine
But won't you let me sleep
The ***** cat will sleep
And dream of something big
Like the biggest mouse that
This ***** cat has ever seen
You see the only way to catch it
Was to pounce on it fast
In which he did because it was just a dream
And you will say
Hello mr ***** cat
How are you today
I am fine I am fine
But won't you let me dream
Meow meow meow
Won't you let me play
Won't you let me sleep
Won't you let me dream
Meow said the ***** cat
Saying where's my food

Meow *****
I give you the crown of Miss eternity, on it is written Miss past, present and future. Molecular genetic perfection, the highest masterpiece of the universe, enchanting entailing up to the bed, the highest beauty before marriage. You manipulate my ***** like a lever to control the speed of love and arousal, you turn on the speed of light, and now you are above the speed of light, time stands still, and we have an eternity of pleasure that lasts with you like one happy moment. Cute, white kitty, I adore your **** appearance in one word: meow, that is, wow, wow, auch, juicy ***** babe, so hot, I am just in touch with delight, I am just knocked out of your beauty. Your charm and charisma as arousing spirits. You fall in love with yourself until the ******, and so on and on. I can not stop dreaming about you, it seems to me that I can never stop it, you are the goddess of my regular ****** dreams and super ****** fantasies, the queen of my subconscious, the sovereign of my consciousness, the queen of the unconscious, the mistress of my heart. Sometimes I die from an overdose of love and one and only your phrase: I love you, as a powerful deflebillator takes me back from the emptiness of loneliness. Wow) wow) easy girl, your appearance looks a little too much cool and ****. Looking at you for a couple of minutes it seems that terabytes of **** and erotica and romantic films looked for a whole year, such an effect of love and excitement and ***** in just a couple of minutes, that's how beautiful and exciting you are, hot the hottest blush on your skin, pale ******* like a pink marshmallow, yours moon skin color fascinates with its beauty - it is over powerful ****** magnetism. What you see in reality looking at you will not even dream about the best dream, in no dimension there is no such a beautiful girl like you, nothing can surpass your beauty. You are afraid of all competitors around the world, even aliens will envy and even goddesses. When I saw you for the first time, I realized that I always wanted someone like you. Only when you are not next to me, in my memories, I will feel you forever and the most depressing and sad melodies will voice it. Your blue eyes are like the many thousands of sun shine on the surface of the ocean in the light. It glows with a magic radiance of happiness, white skin, as if it still glows with a shine of superiority. Goddess, smeared with body oil, slippery, hot, sweet skin, your body glows with amazing beauty of temptation. This is an art museum, everywhere your picturesque portraits and drawings and painting and sculpture, as well as films and music dedicated to you, everywhere you are in my inner world, all I see in this museum is you, this is truly supreme art, my soul is ready to sing opera arias about love for you, in order to become your boyfriend, you need to take a ticket behind me, a huge queue, and even the scoreboard has alert coupons, your relevance does not know the end or the edge, that's how beautiful you are.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich