N THE YEARS OF 1995 AND 2007, I WENT TO WORK AT

NORTHSOUTH COTRACTORS, AND I MET STEPHEN

VOLKS, AND HE WAS A VERY ENTHUIASTIC PERSON

ALWAYS WORKED HARD, DID THINGS HE SHOULDN’T DO

SOMETIMES, BUT STEVE VOLKS DIED AND HIS MOTHER

CRIED AT THE FUNERAL, AND STEVEN VOLKS HAS BEEN

REINCARNATED AS A CAT, LIVING NEXT DORR TO ME IN HAWKER

THE CATS NAME IS JADE, AND I LIKE JADE, AND JADE IS A REALLY

CUTE CAT, REMINDS ME OF VOLKI’S LAUGH AT NORTH SOUTH YA KNOW

I GOT ON WELL WITH VOLKI, AND NOW AS I SEE JADE ENTER MY

BALCONY, TRYING TO PULL  MY SCREEN IN, YA SEE

YA SEE, AT LEAST STEVEN VOLKS, IS AT PEACE WITH BEN

MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOUR LOOKING AFTER IT WELL

YEAH AS JADE IS SEEN BY ME, I MUTTER TO MYSELF, HI VOLKI HOWS IT GOING


AND DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS, HAVE ENTERED THE ****** OF DAVID

AND LISA CAMPBELL AND LEO, WHO IS THEIR ELDEST BOY

WELL APPARENTLY HIS PREVIOUS LIFE WAS OLGA CHICK

AND I MADE SURE THAT DAD BROUGHT HIS AFTER LIFE TOYBOY ROBIN WILLIAMS

TO MEET WITH OLGA CHICK, YA SEE, THIS IS A PLOY TO BRING OLGA

TO DAD, OLGA WAS A WORKER AT VINNIES LIKE ME

AND SHE WORKED IN A BIG CAFETERIA, ONCE, AND

AFTER SHE DIED, AND SHE WAS A LOVELY LADY, A REALLY LOVELY LADY

AND SHE BECAME THE FIRST BORN OF DAVID AND LISA CAMPBELL

OLGA IS NOW LEO CAMPBELL, AND LEO IS GETTING TWIN SIBLINGS

DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS, REINCARNATIONS AS I WANTED DAD TO MEET OLGA

SHE IS SUPER NICE, AND I WANT DAVID LISA LEO TO MEET DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS SO THEIR SPIRITS DON’T STRAY

LIKE I DID, AND MANY OTHERS DID

I BELIEVE OLGA IS LEO CAMPBELL CAUSE I AM A BUDDHIST
AND STEVEN VOLKS IS JADE CAUSE I AM A BUDDHIST

STEVEN WANTS TO BE JADE, SO HE CAN CURE HIS SOUL FROM MENTAL BREAKDOWNS



OLGA AND STEVE, UMMMMMM, LEO AND JADE UMMMMM

UMMMMMM OLGA IS LEO,   UMMMMMM STEVEN VOLKS IS JADE

“ Hari ini ku mati,
Perlahan...
Tubuhku ditutup tanah.
Perlahan...
Semua pergi meninggalkanku...

Masih terdengar jelas langkah² terakhir mereka,
Aku sendirian,
Di tempat gelap yang tak pernah terbayang,
Sendiri,
Menunggu pertanyaan malaikat...

Belahan hati,
Belahan jiwa pun pergi.
Apa lagi sekedar kawan dekat atau orang lain.
Aku bukan siapa-siapa lagi bagi mereka...

Sanak keluarga menangis,
Sangat pedih,
Aku pun demikian,
Tak kalah sedih...

Tetapi aku tetap sendiri,
Di sini, menunggu perhitungan.
Menyesal sudah tak mungkin.
Tobat tak lagi dianggap,
Dan maaf pun tak bakal didengar,
Aku benar-benar harus sendiri...

Ya Allah...
Jika Engkau beri aku 1 lagi kesempatan,
Jika Engkau pinjamkan lagi beberapa hari milik-MU,
Untuk aku perbaiki diriku,
Aku ingin memohon maaf pada mereka...

Yang selama ini telah merasakan dzalimku,
Yang selama ini sengsara karena aku,
Tersakiti karena aku...

Aku akan kembalikan jika ada harta kotor ini yang telah kukumpulkan,
Yang bahkan kumakan,
Ya Allah beri lagi aku beberapa hari milik-Mu,
Untuk berbakti kepada Ayah & Ibu tercinta...

Teringat kata-kata kasar & keras yang menyakitkan hati mereka,
Maafkan aku Ayah & Ibu, mengapa tak kusadari betapa besar kasih sayangmu,

Beri juga ya Allah aku waktu untuk berkumpul dengan keluargaku,
Menyenangkan saudara-saudaraku..
Untuk sungguh-sungguh beramal soleh.

Aku sungguh ingin bersujud dihadapan-Mu lebih lama lagi..
Begitu menyesal diri ini.
Kesenangan yang pernah kuraih dulu,
Tak ada artinya sama sekali...

Mengapa kusia-siakan waktu hidup yang hanya sekali itu...?
Andai aku bisa putar ulang waktu itu...

Aku dimakamkan hari ini,
Dan ketika semua menjadi tak termaafkan,
Dan ketika semua menjadi terlambat,
Dan ketika aku harus sendiri...
Untuk waktu yang tak terbayangkan sampai yaumul hisab & dikumpulkan di Padang Mashar...

Puisi Almarhum "Bang Remy Soetansyah,"
"ANDAI HARI INI AKU DIMAKAMKAN"

DariNya kita datang, kepadaNya kita kembali…

Assalamu’laikum sahabat..

Innalillahi wa innaa ilaihi raaji'uun telah kembali ke rahmatullah Olga Syahputra kemarin jum'at sore di Rumah sakit Singapura, Oki turut berduka sedalam2nya, dan do’akan bersama semoga Olga Syahputra di terima iman islamnya dilapangkan kuburnya, di tempatkan di tempat terindah di syurga, keluarga yg di tinggalkan di beri kesabaran..aamiin..al-fatihah..

Bagi kita yg di tinggalnya tentunya bisa jadi pelajaran bahwa maut datang kapan saja tidak bisa kita prediksi , bisa satu tahun lagi, sebulan lagi, satu hari lagi atau sedetik lagi..hidup di dunia ini hanyalah sementara..

Aku dan dunia ibarat orang dalam perjalanan menunggang kendaraan, lalu berteduh di bawah pohon untuk beristirahat dan setelah itu meninggalkannya. (HR. Ibnu Majah)

Rasulullah menyadarkan kepada kita selaku umatnya akan pendeknya waktu hidup di dunia itu, namun waktu yang sangat pendek itu sangat-sangat bermanfaat, sehingga harus diisi dengan hal-hal yang sangat bermanfaat…

Sahabat pesan Olga kepada adiknya, untuk selalu melaksakan ibadah sholat 5 waktu jangan pernah di tinggalkan...selalu berbuat baik....

Olga the ostrich and
Cedric the lamb
Naive innocence and
Head in the sand

Evil
Never seen, never heard and never spoken
Interests unquestioned
Illusions unbroken

Tolerate
Dont discriminate "beware theorising"
The warnings were heeded
Resisted surmising

Cedric herded to slaughter
Olga safe in her cage
Medicine in the water
That will mute the outrage

Cedric sees what's ahead now
Olga's cage welded closed
Slave incumbant got here how?
That's just life, I suppose.

How odd you look, Madame Olga
with that ridiculous turban
wrapped around your graying head
and that careless slash of red lipstick
that does nothing for you
(unless you're channeling Lucille Ball)

The truth is you're stuck here,
    Madame Olga,
in your tiny, seedy parlor
with its stained floral wallpaper and
dim lighting from a feeble lamp

Do you find your "client" vulnerable        
    today, Madame Olga,
a lonely widow waiting nervously
    for you to speak,
waiting for you to tell her about a
tall, dark, handsome stranger
coming into her life,
a man residing in an unnamed
wonderland, a savior eager to
share his vast fortune with her?

You ask her to come back tomorrow
after she cleans out her savings account
and pawns her QVC jewelry collection

It will be then when you plan to take
her money and regale her with
prayers, chants, incantations,
when you attempt to dazzle and
divert her and make her money
vanish like the proverbial rabbit
in an old-time magic show

But I have to question your fading
    psychic power, Madame Olga

You seem NOT to know intuitively
that your creation of her mythical lover
and his nonexistent wonderland is
headed for extinction once the hidden
wire she's wearing performs
its own
inimitable
trick

Abracadabra indeed!

to A.

Mythical creature
Feather on fire
Half-bird, half-women
Born is desire

Fireworks of feelings
Awe and thrill
Heartbeat stopping wonder
Love and fear

Watching from distance
you can admire
How it flies closer
And then again higher

Don't try to catch it
Lock it in a cage
It will break free
Or else it will rage
After the storm pass
She will just smolder
Suffer in silence
Tired and older

If her fire is what you want to keep
Show her your love
True and deep
Tell her she can always fly
Just on her own
In the sky
That you will wait for her
Guarding her nest
Being the earth for her
When she needs rest

7.7.2019 Prague

Palembang, 19 Juni 2012

Oh Tuhan, siapakah dia?
Laki-laki yang rendah hati
Garis senyumnya selalu terlukis di bibir
Amat mulia hatinya membantu orang lain

Sentuhan hatinya terjatuh di pipi
Yang berbentuk air mata suci
Amal ibadahnya pastilah tinggi
Putra Adam yang sangat rendah hati
Utamakan orang lain daripada diri sendiri
Tak kenal siapa yang ia kasihi
Rasa sayang dicurahkannya setiap hari
Allah menciptakannya sebagai penolong di Bumi

the rain is coming as a torture that aqueda has plans for cronus




you see last night, cronus and athena, put the terrorists in the sun

and in the course of the day, osama brought on heavy rain to canberra at

2.45 pm and this is sort of a way, of keeping cronus in for a while

so, he can’t be a young dude, of cool kid to the young

at present the wind and rain is coming, it sounds nice

a pretty look, but just after cronus put the terrorists in the sun

well, the rain is the answer, to hide the goings on, of what

is really hanging, ya see each terrorist, is being set free by osama

but dad, wanted me, to enjoy life, so under crocus’s spirit, he

hid the sun, from canberra, as it was a chance, to fight to keep

the terrorists strapped down in the sun, ya see the reason why

i say this, the terrorists are trying to get me to tie myself up

and keep cronus from telling the world, and force cronus

to be a little woosey to a tease, while dad fights off these

terrorists, just to make sure, they stay, dad used all of

his science stuff he knew, to force his son cronus to be

safe, as his spirit, can be unleashed to help barry allan

become the new helper of athena and cronus, to help

buddha mend every blade of grass, ya see, the rain

was also caused, by a big tidal wave, in jupiter, where

sam kinison and paul berenyi are taking surfing lessons, and at

present if you open up your third eye, your imagination

you can see this big surfing tournament on jupiter

ya see at present the leader is olga chick, and leo

had as just said he was special agent as his previous life

was known as jupiter’s special agent surfer, while they were

on earth talking about the baby twins

and olga chick has just been announced the winner

but athena and dad under crocus’s power, are battling a hard

thunder, which the terrorists are causing  thunder over canberra at 3 pm

this is going to be a tough journey, but we need to calm these

terrorists, ya see, paul berenyi flied off saying, we need to show olga how to have a good time

leo is a little cool kid, and sam kinison fled off to help

my dad battle the terrorists, trying to escape the sun

but athena, crocus’s power through dad and sam kinison and buddha

are keeping these terrorists down, you see one terrorist is the

witch doctor who kidnapped and killed 8 year old patrick dunbar

my life before greame thorne, and i am suffering, trying to rid this evil ghost

now paul is trying to use the cosmic energy that athena showed him

to keep these dead terrorists, starpped down, burning there hooligan in the sun

the rain has stopped, but the terrorists are still trying to cause more thundery rain

for cronus in CANBERRA, make the canberra people suffer the terrorists say

yeah they are off the earth, but they can cause petty little stupid bogus crimes

which could stop people thinking that the terrorists are really bad

don’t get ****** in, HELP ME keep these terrorists strapped to the sun

make the thunder not ruin

start to recycle, start to look after the earth, enjoy life

but be aware, this isn’t the end, i was kidnapped by ted bundy after ted bundy died

and so was brendan from next door, yeah

the terrorists are worst now, keep them strapped down

bring my tying myself up up to jupiter, so i can be free

La frente apoyo en la vidriera...
el cielo azul se engalana
y en la fúlgida primavera
canta su canción la mañana.

La mente inclino a lo más hondo
del alma en campos del Ayer;
y marchito miro en el fondo
todo lo que vi florecer.

Soplan auras primaverales
dando más vigor a los músculos.
¡Aquí las brumas otoñales
y el silencio de los crepúsculos!

En el parque crece la yerba
bajo el radiante resplandor.
En el alma todo se enerva
al paso lento del dolor.

Y evoco alegres ilusiones,
campos azules, abrileños;
la juventud con sus canciones
iba entre rosas y entre ensueños.

Fulgurante el cielo reía:
¡Cuán hermoso era el porvenir!
Vino la tarde en pleno día
y todo comenzó a morir.
La frente apoyo en la vidriera...
Verdes árboles, sol radiante
¡Juventud!… ¡también primavera
Fuiste del corazón amante!

¡Días que el alma triste evoca,
alba rosada del amor!
¡Boca que buscaba otra boca,
polen que va de flor en flor!...

En jardines primaverales
las libélulas entre aromas;
rosas rojas en los rosales
y destilando miel las pomas.

Y van surgiendo en un ensueño
amores de la juventud.
Pasan con el labio risueño
en concento de arpa y laúd.

Entonces... retoño y retoño
en los rosales a la aurora...
¡Como lenta bruma de otoño
la tristeza bajando ahora!

En el alma, al ensueño abierta,
algo de antiguo trovador,
y de la vida en la áurea puerta
con sus promesas el Amor.

De la luna la luz de plata
brillaba en el barrio desierto,
y una canción de serenata
subía al balcón entreabierto.

Pendiente la escala de seda
de los barrotes del balcón...
Del pasado ya sólo queda
un rescoldo en el corazón.

Paseos bajo luz de luna
por alamedas de rosales;
dos bocas que el amor aúna
en claras noches estivales...

Entonces... cantos, alegría,
juramentos de eterna fe;
y ahora, gris melancolía
del dichoso tiempo que fue...
La frente apoyo en la vidriera:
en el parque, vestidos blancos,
y amantes en su primavera
bajo los pinos en bancos.

Primeros versos a la amada,
cantos primeros de ilusión...
Son hoy cual queja desolada
en el fondo del corazón.

Tú, flor de la tierra nativa,
de los ojos fuiste embeleso.
Sólo a tu boca, rosa viva,
le dio la muerte el primer beso.

Cuando se recuerda el pasado
hay un deseo de llorar.
¡El árido camino andado
si se pudiera desandar!...

Sombras doloridas que vagan
y esperanzas muertas deploran:
Astros que en tinieblas se apagan
y voces que en silencio lloran!...

A la claridad matutina
fragante erguíase el rosal...
¡ya sobre el agua gris se inclina
la amarilla rama otoñal!...

Una palabra... un juramento...
¿era verdad o era mentira?
Mentira o verdad es tormento
cuando sola el alma suspira.

Se abría a la luz la ventana
en un radioso amanecer,
la ilusión decía: «¡Mañana!»
y el corazón dice: «¡Ayer!».

¡Mañana! ¡Ayer! Polos remotos...
lo que es dolor y lo que salva.
Claros sueños y sueños rotos,
gris de la tarde y luz del alba.

Y el Amor, que en sombras se aleja,
el alma dice: «¿Volverás?»
Y como una lejana queja
se oye en el pasado: «¡Jamás!»

La hiedra fija sus raíces
aún bajo nieve en la piedra.
Recuerdos de días felices:
sois del corazón... ¡siempre hiedra!
Aromadas rosas de Francia
en los casinos y en el Ritz;
Rosas que dais vuestra fragancia
en Montecarlo y en Biarritz.

Reservados de restaurantes;
de vida de goce ansias locas;
El áureo champaña espumante;
temblando de ósculo las bocas.

Nerviosa espera la cita,
Penumbra de la «garconniére»,
Fausto a los pies de Margarita
En el rosado atardecer…

Otra... Extraño acento de arrullo,
honda nostalgia en su mirada,
y severo siempre su orgullo
en su dolor de desterrada.

Su imagen el pasado alegra,
y fijos en la mente están
su traje blanco y su capa negra
en las carreras de Longchamps.

Días lejanos de estudiante,
embriaguez de ideal divino,
El corazón, rosa fragante,
en noches del Barrio Latino...

Midineta bulevardina,
boca roja, frente de lis,
Incitadora, parlanchina,
jilguero alegre de Paris.

Y del «cabaret» la alegría...
¿Era del Rhin o era del Volga?
¿en su vida un misterio había...
¿era su nombre Elisa u Olga?

En otra, del vuelo al arranque,
mirar nostálgico... y ¡pasó!
Muchas veces junto a un estanque
soñando la luna nos vio.

Tú, mejicana-parisina,
de cabellos como aureola
de luz de sol, y habla divina
entre francesa y española.

En la tristeza de un suspiro,
lejos, a la orilla del mar,
una margarita aún te miro
melancólica deshojar.

Húngara triste, flor bohemia,
De ojos miosotis de Danubio:
¡cuán adorable era anemia
En marco de cabello rubio!

Tus pupilas vagas de Isis
fingía decir un adiós;
Y casi exangüe por la tisis
caíste en golpe de tos...
La frente apoyo en la vidriera...
Un claro sol el cielo dora,
riega rosas la primavera...
El otoño en el alma llora.

Se oye como una voz que ruega,
como un gemido de laúd...
¡Es en la tarde que llega
el adiós de la juventud!

Thirty six years after they last were held in  pre-war Berlin
The games of the Olympiad were all set to begin
This time though, in Munich, set to host the sports worlds greatest show
It was the night before the opening, and all were set to go

August 26th, the games did start and all was going well
But ten days in, the world was shook, and Munich was now a hell
Where terrorists changed how the world would see these famous games
From that date on, The Olympic world, would never be the same

Mark Spitz, that year, set records as he won seven swimming golds
Olga Korbut, elfin princess, stole our hearts with moves so bold
Frank Shorter won the marathon for America, and he was German born
But, Munich's games are famous for the actions, that September morn

Close your eyes, remember back, if you are of the age
Remember those victorious, who were outstanding on that stage
Steve Prefontaine, he came up short, Lasse Viren, he did what he set to do
Think back now to that late summer day in nineteen seventy two

Eyes closed, still remember....David Berger, Mark Slavin and Kehatt Shorr
Seew Friedman, Josef Gutfreund,Elieser Halfin, and you know there is five more
Josef Romano, Amizur Shapira, not tweaking any pictures in your mind,
Andre Spitzer, Jaakow Springer, Mosche Weinberger...any memories do you find?

These men all were Olympians, judges, coaches, athletes, refs
September 5th is now famous, it's remembered for their deaths
They all should be remembered, for their lives, for why they came
They all reached the highest level, they had made it to The Games

Did they ever win a medal ? Would they ever get their glory?
They're remembered as a victim, unfortunately that's their story
It's 40 years on, London hosts, The IOC does not
Take a single minute, give these Olympians a thought

Now close your eyes again and think, could that happen once again
Could terrorists take Olympic lives, could they come and **** like then
Now if I repeat all the names I mentioned, you may not see their face
But, for one short shining moment, please put them in their earned space

Eyes closed, still remember....David Berger, Mark Slavin and Kehatt Shorr
Seew Friedman, Josef Gutfreund,Elieser Halfin, and you know there is five more
Josef Romano, Amizur Shapira, not tweaking any pictures in your mind,
Andre Spitzer, Jaakow Springer, Mosche Weinberger...any memories do you find?

where are women really safe?
how is it that society-collect FAILS
as humanity stumbles yet again.. and again?
our lady-folk are not safe..


Amaya-bai* finds little comfort but in sibilant-twin
as no eye of sun nor ginoo laid eye on this binukot

Olga is the silent-saint; believes in charity at home
yet chaos ensues too easily - she is wronged and just gets.. lost in the system

Zandile fetches precious amanzi in her sun-soaked calabash
her vigilant-sister falls.. roving guerrilla-men from the river's edge

Michelle, la petite belle, survives the daily-grind via low-coin
tubes to Champs-Élysées as assistante-de-pharmacie

Aadita,  from the outset at 15, dons a veil hiding ****** acid-burns
she has some relative-luck to escape sati later on

Amy with downtrod-heart, grabs the tram to downtown family
wearing dark glasses and gloves on rainy-day blues

Emiko graced (yet cursed) with beauty struggles with ancient-practice
despite the ban, silent-suffering lotus-gait in the tiny village

Aisha may be alive but not well from ethnic-marking tragedy
as irugu are outcast from all-too prevalent gishiri-cruelty




might as well take a trip to Vladivostok
or be dumped in a sarcophagus
beneath the Pyramids
safer there







S T - 27 sept 2013 - *freitag

Goodbye Alfred
  I had not seen Alfred for a while, had been busy
selling off my donkey farm, with this down I drove into town
but couldn't find him and his flat had been rented out to others.
Found him in rundown old peoples home, four old men to a room.
What the hell are you doing here papa? Well, it’s about the money, he said but get me out of here. Alfred who had now accepted me as his son was wealthy his grandfather had been in oil, and he feared Olga- my mother-
Would take the money, had placed most of it in Portugal.
As he had given me the power
of attorney I got him out and into a posh private home for the aged.
Alfred look frail, his wavy hair was reduced to a few strands of
White hair and his unafraid, one could say arrogant, ways had gone
The home had phone number should he get worse.
The call came in his room sat Olga she embraced me called me my son, my son.
Sitting by Alfred’s bedside, I fell asleep only awoke
when a nurse said Alfred had slipped away, strangely Olga had disappeared also, but
in a way I was content, it had not been an imagination, they were real I had a family,
although it must be said that Olga’s vanishing puzzled me and the nurse said there
had been no visitors other than I.
Alfred's last wish was to have his ashes strewn over Portugal I hired a helicopter and had it done. It was a sorrowful time, yet I was
glad that my dreams had come true.

She wrote words that spoke to me
Of ticking clocks and bells that ring
And pretty dances and ladies that sing
All that I read of
Her scribbling pen etched life's tapestries
Showing off her mastery
Of wonders and those left wondering
Her pencil etching on
And clouds would pass and candles burn
Just to light and see and learn
The words and stories she did earn
And tell the world of as well as me
And how her words did captivate
Dewing eyes and raised heart rates
And time and pencil wrote of love and hate
And stories... oh, they were told...

Abbie hailed a yellow top cabbie

Brenda had a sister in-law named Glenda

Cate ran late on her first date

Delly ate seven bowls of lemon jelly

Edwina drove to the town of Catalina

Fran burnt her finger on the very hot frying pan

Gwen had a strong yen to go and see her aunty Jen

Hope bought her husband a towing rope

Isobel fell under the magician's spell

Joann took her mother on a holiday in a caravan

Kylie went to the dentist with her brother Wylie

Lesley liked listening to Elvis Presley

Marcia enjoyed eating a freshly baked focaccia

Nell saw a turtle coming out of his shell

Olga lived at the top end of the river Volga

Primrose had a Pinocchio nose

Queenie knitted a multicolored beanie

Ruth could never tell the whole truth

Stacey loved playing dress ups with her friend Tracey

Tilly behavior was always rather silly

Una bought a house in the suburb of Yagonna

Verity wanted to be a well known celebrity

Winifred never stopped taking about Alfred

Xena was presented with a court subpoena

Yale told her teacher a tall tale

Zealand ventured out into the bushland

I am not an angry woman
Though you try to make me so
I’m scrupulous. And sentient
And more than you’ll ever know.

I realise now, I don’t know you either
Not your song, only what you show
I don’t know your passions or your vices
Or what thoughts, through you, flow.

Thus, in that living equinox,
On that line in the sand,
Between all of me and all of you
We make our momentary stand.
You can have me as I choose
I won’t be carved by your hand.

So, look not, oh stranger, for my rage
For such a thing is but infernal
Instead, find in me an endless love
For I am Olga and I am, Eternal.

BRIAN, YOU ARE STILL A LITTLE SHY BOY, BUDDY




YOU SEE MY DAD CLOSED THE DOOR SAYING

DON’T WORRY ABOUT THE TEASING, BE LIKE ME AND MUMMY

AND WENT BACK IN AND I FOLLOWED DAD AND HE SAID

ARE YOU GETTING TEASED, BRIAN , AND I SAID, I AM TEASING YOU

CAUSE DAD, YOUR NOT LIKE US, YOUR NOT LIKE US, YA NOT LIKE US

I AM A YOUNG DUDE, AND YOU ARE A GRUMPY OLD ****

AND DAD SAID GO TO YOUR ROOM, AND I SAID NEH, I AM STILL COOL, BUDDY

DAD SAID, COOL, WHY DO YA WANT TO BE COOL FOR, BE LIKE ME AND MUMMY

OR A SHY YOUNG DUDE, AND I SAID, YOU ARE FUCKEN SHY, DAD

AND DAD GOT UP AND SAID, GO TO YOUR BLINKEN ROOM YA LITTLE SHY BOY

AND IF WE HAD LOCKS, I WILL LOCK YOU IN, I SAID WHEN YOU DIE

YOU ARE LEARNING ABOUT HOW KIDS OF TODAY ACT

DAD SAID SHUT UP, YOUR STILL A LITTLE SHY BOY

AND RAN TO HIS SEAT, AND I FOLLOWED HIM SAYING, I AM STILL NOT LEAVING YOU ALONE DAD

AND DAD SAID, GO TO YOUR ROOM YA FOOL, YA FOOL

I SAID, HIT ME HERE IN THE FACE DADDY, AND HE SAID OK AND HIT ME SQUARE IN THE FACE

AND TRIED TO RUN TO HIS SEAT, AND I FOLLOWED HIM TO HIS SEAT

SAYING, I WANT TO BE COOL, AND HE SAID COOL WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE COOL FOR

GO AWAY FOOL, DAD, SAID, AND I STUCK MY FINGER UP AT DAD, AND HE SAID

DON;T GIVE ME THOSE RITCHARD HAND SIGNALS YA FOOL YOU FLAMING FOOL

AND I SHOWED DAD MY FINGER 199 TIMES, MY BROTHER DEFENDED DAD LIKE A MANS KID WOULD

AND I STARTED A BG ARGUMENT WITH DAD SAYING, I WAS TOO COOL FOR THIS FAMILY

HE SAID, GO AWAY YA FOOL, GO AWAY FOOL, GO FOR A WALK, YA NEED TO LET OFF STEAM

I SAID, NEH, I  WANT TO HAVE MY SAY, DAD YOU NEED TO LIGHTEN UP

DAD SAID, GO TO YOUR ROOM, FOOL, GO TO YOUR ROOM, YA FOOL

AND I SAID, ******* AWAY FROM US YOUNG DUDES, BUDDY, YOU ARE AN OLD FUCKEN KODGER

DAD SAID, GO AWAY YA FOOL, AND WENT INTO THE KITCHEN TO WIPE UP

AND I REMEMBER FOLLOWING HIM, SAYING, LISTEN TO ME, DAD I AM NOT YOUR FAVOURITE SON AM IT

HE SAID, NO, NOT IF YOU CARRY ON LIKE THIS YOUR NOT, YOUR A LITTLE SHY BOY, BUDDY

I SAID, DAD I WANT TO STAB YOU IN THE BACK, DAD SAID WHERE’S THE KNIFE

THE BIG THING WAS, WHERE’S THE KNIFE, I DIDN’T WANT TO **** DAD, HE’S FAMILY

I WAS REALLY TEASING LIKE THE COOL YOUNG DUDES DID IN THE 1980s

WHEN DAD FINISHED THAT HE RAN STRAIGHT TO HIS CHAIR

AND I FOLLOWED HIM, SAYING, YOU ARE A STUPID FATHER

HE SAID, GO AWAY FOOL, GO AWAY FOOL, LEAVE ME ALONE BRIAN, I’M A FAMILY MAN

I SAID, I HAVE COOL MATES, I DON’T NEED YOU TO SAY, YOUR LIKE ME AND MUMMY BRIAN EVERY DAY

THEN I SAID I AM COOL, DAD, DAD SAID, COOL, WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE COOL FOR

WELL, NOW DAD IS DEAD, I GOT MY CHANCE TO TELL DAD THAT I WAS BEING A KID

AND NOW IT’S DAD’S TURN TO BE ONE OF DAVID AND LISA CAMPBELL’S TWINS

PAIRED WITH ROBIN WILLIAMS, THEY ARE JUST LIKE EACH OTHER

DAD, IS SOON TO BE JIMMY BARNES’S  GRANDCHILD WITH ROBIN WILLIAMS

TO JOIN OLGA CHICK

HAPPY NEXT LIFE, DAD

AND LET US DUDES BURN YA OLDIE OFF WITH METHANE, TO IMPROVE YOUR NEXT EARTH BODY

BOBYE BLINKEN DAD, YA FOOL, I AM ONLY JOKING, HA HA HA HA

My muse has abandoned me
****** because I called her my muse
She was a jumble of words on a canvas of light

Without her flattering words to guide
I've lost ambition, will and drive
I'm nothing left to my own devise

I didn’t toss the ball
With Pop at six
I didn’t hunt or fish
At green sixteen
I didn’t learn
To fix my car
At twenty
I didn’t grow up
Knowing how to fight
I taught my father
How to shoot a basketball
I taught him
What a balk is
From a walk
I showed him
Greenwich Village
And to fight without fighting
And the chili that makes
The loudest ****
And he taught me whiskey
And the best tobacco
How to shave
My face
And not appear so young
He showed me Spain,
Bullfighting,
And Picasso,
And the cheapest food
In Mexico
We shared our pride
Our books
And being always stubborn
About the things
We cared
The most about
We shared a car
Sometimes
And all our music
And the way we hoard things
That we buy
We fought
And fiercely
Over his prejudice;
His hurting mom;
My attitude;
The way he always worshipped
Reagan
And whether Olga
Was an ugly name.
Sometimes I’d write things
And he wouldn’t get them
Sometimes I’d write things
That he didn’t like
And then he’d tell me
They were ok, but
On his face was anguish
At what I had done
My father taught me
How to be a real man
He showed me laughter,
How to be a friend;
He made me realize
How to mold my values
From the things I learned
And not the things
He said
My father told me
When I was a baby
To call him Aita
Because he was Basque
And to this day
That’s still his name
To me
My sisters
And my dad
Now, Aita’s sick
Sometimes
Sometimes he’s wrong
Sometimes he’s flawed
A child—
One more of Mom’s
But every day
We spend
Together
I am more proud
To be
His son.

Startoucher says things like 'thanks man',
Vic says 'roller-coasters are fun',
D.E offers wisdom and hope for us all,
Destiny speaks to us in rhythm and rhyme,
Donie could win the Triple Crown,
Unknown follows me,
Even if I'm not around,
Bala is the father I wish I had,
Vircapio Gale is a love unfound,
Shaqila incites a riot in me,
Francisco DH is a poet unbound,
Destiny scares me, so touches the heart,
P.G is awesome with opinions that smart,
Olga V. Is the first one I followed,
'I cannot hurt if I don't know
tomorrow',
If anyone is missed,
It is not by intent,
For all have provided,
My soul nourishment,
So I can say,
I grieve in that sorrow,
As all of you've said,
I don't lend,
I just borrow.

For Anastasia

Give patience, Lord, to us Thy children
In these dark, stormy days to bear
The persecution of our people,
The torture falling to our share.
--
When we are plundered and insulted
In days of mutinous unrest
We turn for help to thee, Christ-Saviour,
That we may stand the bitter test.
                                -Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna Romanov

Weakened by the revolutionists,
they lived their last days out simply.
Cold borscht and cabbage rolls.
The family was herded to the slaughter house.

Precious jewels and ikons sewn into their clothing,
Give strength, Just God, to us who need it.
The baby boy was butchered like a suckling piglet.

Low ceilings and dim light made it hard
to take aim and fire. Tears and prayers collided
with bullets and blood, spattered on the walls.
A thick cloud of smoke and plaster settled
upon a dynasty dead.

She raised herself from the dead,
Clawing, moaning, screaming,
stifled by blood--
Then disappeared, falling into
the abyss of immortality.

i have three books of poetry in front of me, and i'm asking the preliminary questions that needs to be answered before i add my own little scribble - as always saturated with the cross-Atlantic soul-searching audio, this grand world and this tsunami from across the Atlantic, all ravaging my ancient soul spanning from Iceland to the wheat basin of Ukraine and the Caucus in general (kałczatka), Finnish, Estonian and Hungarian anomalies, sounds exotic i guess, what with Minnesota english, Californian english, Maine english, Texan english - it can almost feel a little sad with so much biodiversity outside the realm of spoken tongue occupying such a vastness - always mesmerising: americans in Europe - ever the few across my path - anyway... the three books, three writers, jack spicer, miroslav holub (czech for pigeon) and j. s. harry - the question? who would i like to imitate, or at least write as? answer? none of them.

like today, cool night, open skies and constellations,
a police helicopter making its ridiculous
coleslaw of sound - chit chit chat chat (my best
approximate, even if that, not really - chop variations
will be better excused for reasons why the words
were include) - change of tactic, uncoupled
the starter of beer before the main course of whiskey
with wine - god, haven't drank it in such a long time,
i forgot how well wine compliments cigarettes,
even if it's drank via the Basque desecration of
the Nazareth covenant, i.e. with coca-cola -
yep, kalimotxo - 2/3 to 1/3 coca-cola - once i gave
it to someone and they went spaghetti knees -
it's a right-odd cherry - shame i drink a bottle of
wine like i drink a bottle of beer - the whole joke
of Nick Harper (turning wine into water) -
2008's most watched sitcom - Chiswick, London -
middle-class family (for whoever is class-conscious) -
my family* - but what i really wanted to mention
was the Babylonian unravelling, it's no big deal,
i didn't exactly want to remember the encoding that much,
but i realised that even though the English do not
use diacritical marks, the French do, but they are worse
at profanities of writing letters but sort of veering off
from using them - Rimbaud in America is apparently
said: 'Rambo' - not Rim-Baud(elaire) - eclair -
dotty d d - surds or cloth softeners? i don't know anymore.
like in the already mentioned example of desecration:
kalimotxo - kali-mo-t'cho'h - a bit like mojito -
mo'he'to'h - surely with the world getting global there
should be a standard, universally speaking -
sure the borders are down, but the phonetics are still
in distinction - like in Czech-mate when asking:
š works with č - sh and ch respectively - or sz and sz
depending if you're germanic with the former and
slavic with the latter encoding - but ě and ň? the alternatives
are ę (a sound that resembles something like an e
          and swallowing your tongue)
                                                                ­and ń (a higher-pitch
of a syllable from knee, a bit like née, but more like
Anaïs Nin) - never mind, wine really compliments cigarettes,
thus the compass:
                                                å     ­         

                   àá                         æ                        ä, ą

                                               ã, â

all roads lead to Rome, you'd never imagine the unravelling
of this ancient γραφεμη would yield so many additions
to the respective letters contained within it,
just look at Adam and the baggage that came with it,
Eve isn't exactly free from the excess baggage either,
if you don't believe me, see the diacritical additions she's
carrying - but who the hell is Oswald? oh right, it's
the 21st century, it might be Ophelia or Olga;
and yes, i'm bypassing the linguistic alphabet - shoving
it into the dark, working from scratch.

poetic description of England in the 1960s will never
be a solitary figurine prancing dance,
only in the 21st century will it become clear -
as i read the fragments of the Cantos
in the early years of the 21st century i know the few
years numbering it for a populist
personality - the fragments after a
pause are crucial - but for me there's not azure-eyed
Olga - we never dare to forgive
Dante in Paradiso, let alone Inferno...
but we do dare forgive  Ezra in St. Elizabeth's -
a bit like me in England,
ungoverned by Orwell's prophesy
a lunatic asylum for Albanians -
the scientists are doing a runner for the mainland,
the opera is about to begin -
if i were i Cracow circa 1942 i'm be herded
into Auschwitz, unless i played Schubert on
piano, of course, some **** officer might
spot my talent by then... before they test it on the public
they test it on the Fußsoldaten -
they want to know how the sane man will crack
when given rigid army attention's worth of
order in a return to society -
poetry in the 1960s? you really want to believe
populist democracy - fun and games -
democracy has two enemies -
one inside, one without -
democracy is about the people, you can
try to individuate yourself in democracy
but you'll just end up being a despot to the people,
democracy is like Hollywood, it wants actors -
trying to be an individual in democracy
is like calling yourself Adolf ****** -
currently the people are trying to erase
their colonial past with a poly-ethnic society experiment
(it won't work, the vermin have spoken),
democracy loves to depose despots in ruling government
while at the same time creating terrorists -
it does both at the same time -
it's perfected its imperfections to do so.
by the way the poets describe it,
the 1960s weren't all that worth celebration,
the everyday kicked in... the 1960s seem
like rather glum times - nothing to celebrate -
should i be surprised? still, democracy is the
failure we all like to keep failing,
so we can convene on the appropriate bureaucratic
expansion - despotism doesn't favour the latter,
hence its failings concerning professions
with pencil sharpeners.
Adolf asked: marriage works (heirat arbeit)?
the people replied: ja!
Adolf reiterated: das Autobahn.
the people reinvented: die autokäfer!
and then there was tarmac with skid marks from
the revenants / alter curator traffic-jam pensioners
at 5p.m. hungry for their nips & tatties
alongside buff beef syringed with steroids
tested at the 1988 Olympics; fancy the Soviet
women growing beards on the sprint track
before tabloids undermined the democratic argument
for free-press - tabloids are just as bad as
despots mediating press-freedom;
tabloids are collective despotism, or to put it mildly,
throwing cabbage rather rather than using the guillotine...
i'd prefer the guillotine.... meaning i wouldn't
have to watch your ****-like ****** expressions
beyond the cabbage thrown.

hi dudes


welcome to saturn club rings, and today, i am dropping in to tell you that

athena is operating on my prostate, and as long as i take this medication, and

watch what i eat, and last night,, also i was forced to marry this ugly woman

named redmond forrester, when i wanted to marry a beautiful young 17 year old girl

named caitlin jones, who really liked me, but, unfortunately so did redmond

and when it came to the wedding day, caitlin jones was dropping hints, that i speak up

about not wanting to marry redmond, and eventually i did, but caitlin wanted me to speak up earlier

so she can avoid looking like a fluesy who is after any future money payments, because

she really wanted my money and power, that i showed, and i told caitlin about all the stuff the

cosmos has to offer, like athena working on your prostate and don’t forget athena works on your teeth

to save you the disastrous medical bills on earth, and it is working, you see i am pooling more freely

and i am also losing the pain in my mouth from tooth aches, and caitlin jones loves the idea of

me seeing athena for medical problems and tried to ruin my arranged marriage with redmond forrester

so i can marry caitlin jones, i remember i was telling jokes to neil power and he liked the jokes i told so much,

he said, brian, i really enjoy your company, cause i don’t know what your going to say next, and i enjoyed

mucking around with him and murray flynn who died of cancer, he was another man that was cool, you see

we mucked around together, you know joking around, ya know so to speak, and he told me, he admired my

ability to work in a place that isn’t really a job for me, and make it look like a job for me, but he died of cancer

and i miss him, and then their was alan who lived near my parents, i used to talk about the swans to him, actually he

made me feel great about how i used to be, ya know, trying to get on canberra TV, at the cannons matches, you see alan

told me that he used to line outside the news stand for the latest news on swans matches and other things like that

and alan also told me, he used to love me and my brother chris play sport in the front yard, and our conversations

were great every time we crossed paths, and as athena was working on my prostate, pulling out my hooligan, i once told pat

i wanted to be, you see athena told me that my problems are the hooligan i was once, coming back to me, i am a family person,

and then i started to think, the good die young, what with olga chick, and murray flynn and mark jones and the pains in the ***

continue to live on past their prime, well athena said, you need to take better care of yourself, instead of a 2 litre bottle of coke

have a can of coke and tonight at the poetry slam, look after your body right and you will not collapse on stage, and this afternoon

don’t over talk at the acting course, especially if you want something good from this, and i can guarantee that your problems with your

body can go away and then dad sent a big thunderstorm toward canberra to wake me up, saying brian’s not like me

and the thunderstorm was, dad was working his new earth body, elizabeth ann campbell, to get her parents to keep the mood positive

anyway,

MY DAD WHISKED ROBIN WILLIAMS OVER THE CLOUD 9, TO BE HIS TWIN BROTHER

OR WITH THE HELP OF CRONUS AND BUDDHA, YOU SEE AS SOON AS ROBIN WILLIAMS DIED

CRONUS, AND BUDDHA, PUT DAD ON CLOUD 9, TO CALM THE SOULD OF DEAD ROBIN WILLIAMS

YOU SEE, BUDDHA AND CRONUS, HAVE BEEN WORKING HARD TOGETHER TO GET ROBIN WILLIAMS

INTO LISA CAMPBELL’S ******, I KNOW THEY WERE EXPECTING TWINS ANYWAY, AND BUDDHA

MADE ROBIN WILLIAMS DIE IN AUGUST TO GROW THE FETUS INSIDE, DAD, IS THE MIGHTIER TWIN

CAUSE, HIS SOULD WAS ALREADY THERE, BUT IN AUGUST, AS I TOLD YOU, ROBIN WILLIAMS DIED

TO GROW HIS SOUL INTO LISA CAMPBELL’S OTHER TWIN, I AM NOT TRYING TO MAKE LISA CAMPBELL

FEEL BAD, ACTUALLY I PREFER HER AND DAVID NOT TO BE FACEBOOK FRIENDS WITH ME,

I PREFER THIS TO BE KEPT OUT OF THEIR FAMILY, BECAUSE, I AM JUST EXPLAINING ROBIN WILLIAMS’S

ROLE IN THE ******, DAD IS ONLY MIGHTIER, BECAUSE HE WAS THE FIRST ONE DIED, AND

I DON’T BELIEVE, THAT BOTH SOULS HAVE TO BE THERE AT BIRTH, BUT BUDDHA IS LIKE THE CHRISTIAN GOD

HE CAN’T PRE EXPLAIN ANYTHING, AND ME, WELL I MADE SURE THAT DAD HAD ROBIN WILLIAMS SOUL

FOR BEING NICE TO ME, BY BEING A FATHER AND GOING TO MY CHRISTMAS PARTIES WITH MY MUM AND DAD

AND ANOTHER THING, DAD IS GIVEN THIS CREDIT, FOR NOT KICKING ME OUT, WHEN I WAS A DRUNKEN LOUT

YOU SEE THIS IS THE BEST PLACE FOR DAD, DAVID CAMPBELL MORNINGS, JIMMY BARNES GRANDDADDY

AND MY OLD FRIEND OLGA CHICK, FROM VINNIES IN SOUL LEO AND OTHER TWIN AFTER DEATH ROBIN WILLIAMS

SOULD GRADUALLY ENTERED OTHER TWIN AFTER BUDDHA KILLED HIM

BUDDHA WORKS IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS, BUT IT’S BEEN DONE NOW, ONLY COMPLICATIONS CAN STOP IT

Alfred out fishing

Alfred the pianist, who insists he is not my father,
And I went out fishing, we caught a few and when I gutted one of them
We discovered a ring which Alfred said he had given to my mother Olga in Ankara
before the war. It was an expensive ring –
Gold was cheap back then- and it fitted his *******.
We didn't feel like eating fish after that, and I gave them to an elderly seal
resting on a sandbank, it lived on what other seals gave it.
When my father Alfred was very old he gave me a ring I to give Olga
my mother who refused to believe I was her son, she had never
seen the ring before and refused to take it, so I gave it back to the sea
and the forgotten tragedy of someone drowning alone; mind it is
rare that someone holds the hand of the ones who drowns.

THE STORY OF MY ALCOLIC GRANDFATHER FATHERING MY DAD



YOU SEE, WHEN ALEXANDER GIMBERT DIED, HE TRIED TO BRING THE FAMILY

TOGETHER, AND FIRST, HE WENT UP TO JUPITER, TO SQUIRT METHANE ALL

OVER BRIAN ALLAN, AND FORCE, MY BROTHER, INTO THINKING THAT DRINKING IS

COOL, AND THEN MADE MY BROTHER ONLY BE HIS OWN PERSON, BECAUSE

I WAS BEING MUCKED WITH BY BIG MENS KIDS WHO WANTED TO DRINK

BEER, AND ALSO, MY DAD, WAS WORRIED, WHY I WAS FIGHTING HIM, BUT

ALEXANDER AND CLARRY JUST WANTED DAD TO GO TO BED, TREATING

BRIAN LIKE A LITTLE SHY BOY, NOT CARING HOW I ACTED AT SCHOOL

BECAUSE BRIAN USED A LOT OF ***** MOUTH, ON DAD, AND CLARRY’S

REINCARNATION, WHICH IS RYAN CLARK, THE ACTOR WHO PLAYED SAM MARSHALL

ON HOME AND AWAY, TRYING TO EXPLAIN MY FATHERS MANS KID, BUT

BECAUSE IT WAS IN THE 1990s, THEY HAD TO GET WITH THE MODERN TIMES,

ALEXANDER GIMBERT, IS NOW DAVID CAMPBELL, WHO IS FATHER OF MY DADS

NEW REINCARNATION, ELIZABETH CAMPBELL, YOU SEE, DAVID’S BACKGROUND

MATCHES WHAT ALEXANDER WANTED FOR US, AND THE FACT THAT PATRICK WAS

INTO JIMMY BARNES WHO IS DAVID’S FATHER, YOU SEE, I GO AROUND TELLING

EVERYONE THAT MACAULEY CULKIN WAS CLARRY, BUT WHEN I COME TO THINK OF IT

RYAN CLARK MAKES MORE SENSE, AND, HE IS A PROFFESIONAL LIFEGUARD, WHICH

HE STUCK AT HIS GUNS, TO MAKE A VERY GOOD LIFEGUARD, JUST LIKE EVERYONE IN MY

FAMILY, YOU SEE I AIN’T LIKE THE OTHERS IN MY FAMILY, ONE REASON BECAUSE, I WANT

TO BE A FAMOUS ARTIST AND WRITER, AND I ENTERTAINER ON YOUTUBE, AND ALEXANDER

GETS INTO MY HEAD, TO MAKE ME KEEP SAYING, I LIKE ART AND WRITING, YOU SEE

CLARRY WANTED FOR ALL THAT HAPPENED BEFORE DAD DIED, AS THE DEMONS, USED

ALEXANDER GIMBERTS SOULD TO FORCE ME TO THROW ALL MY BELONGINGS OVER THE BALCONY

AND THEN MAKE ME GO TO HOSPITAL, TO EXPLAIN MY BELIEFS WITH A LOT OF WEIRD CHATTER

AND MADE IT CLEAR TO THEM, THAT I LIKE TELEVISION, ACTUALLY THERE IS A VERY STRANGE

SITUATION HERE, YOU SEE OLGA CHICK, AN OLD LADY BRIAN ALLAN LOVED TO TALK TO AT VINNIES

SUDDENLY DIED AND WAS REINCARNATED AS THE OLDER BOY LEO CAMPBELL, AND LEO IS PROUD

TO BE A BIG BROTHER TO ELIZABETH CAMPBELL (DAD) AND WILLIAM CAMPBELL (ROBIN WILLIAMS)

AT PRESENT ALEXANDER AND CLARRY HAVE BEEN WORKING WITH DAD, TO TRY AND BRING FUN

INTO DADS NEXT LIFE, YOU SEE, I GOT A PHOTO FRAME OF PUTTING DADS OLD MAN, THROUGH

THE POWERS OF BUDDHA, REINCANTATE TO ELIZABETH CAMPBELL, AND MY NANNA IS WATCHING OVER

US, AND HER CURRENT EARTH LIFE JOHN ROBERT REMIEL, IS CURRENTLY MUCKING WITH MY BROTHER

WITH MUSIC AND MUCKING WITH ME ON YOUTUBE, AND DAVID CAMPBELL WAS BORN WHEN HIS FATHER

WAS IN COLD CHISEL, MIND YOU DUDES, YOU SEE JIMMY WAS A BUDDHIST, AND ME AS CRONUS

UNDERSTOOD THAT MY ALCOHOLIC GRANDFATHER DIED, BECAME SON OF JIMMY BARNES

AND NOW, FATHER OF MY FATHER, HOPEFULLY WE CAN MAKE THE FIGHTING ALEXANDER USED TO

DO TO MY MUMS MUM, AN OLD FOGIE THING, SO NOW POP IS NOW DADS FATHER, THROUGH THE EYES

OF BUDDHA EVERYONE IS RELATED

HI DUDES


I HAVE JUST HEARD THAT MY DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS HAVE ENTERED THEIR

NEW LIVES, YOU SEE DAD WHO IS ELIZABETH CAMPBELL AND WIILIAM CAMPBELL

IS ROBIN WILLIAMS, YOU SEE LAST NIGHT, WAS A GREAT DAY FOR DAD, BECAUSE

I GOT A KEG OF METHANE, AND THREW ALL THE OLD FOGIE OUT OF DAD

BUT I THINK MY BROTHER AND AUNTY DAPHNE, CAME UP, TO TAKE THE GUY

OUT OF DAD, AS WELL, YA SEE, ROBIN WILLIAMS, WAS THE COOL ONE

AND DAD DID SAY, THAT MEN AND WOMEN ARE EQUAL, ANYWAY, I THINK MEN

AND WOMEN ARE EQUAL TOO, AND I WANTED DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS TO LEAVE

LISA’S ******, AND START A NEW LIFE, ON EARTH, IN THE CAMPBELL’S HOUSEHOLD

AND FOR A WHILE I HAVE TO PUT UP WITH DADS, WORRYING, BUT THERE IS NOTHING

WRONG WITH LOSING YOUR MAN, DAD, YOU WERE A BUSHWALKER, YOU CAN STILL DO THAT

YOU CAN PLAY TENNIS, OR TOUCH FOOTY, NO GIRLS DO MORE IN THIS DAY AND AGE

THAN THEY DID IN MY DAY, OR YOUR DAY, SHOULD I SAY

NOW, I WANT OLGA,. TO MAKE YOU FEEL COOL, YOU ARE THE ONLY GIRL WITH TWO BROTHERS

IT’LL BE A BUMPY ROAD FOR YOU DAD, BUT DON’T FORGET, WE HAVE THE COSMOS DAD

SO I CAN PERFORM AND TIP METHANE, IF YOU TEASE LIKE THE KIDS, REMEMBER

YOUR LAST LIFE, HATED KIDS SPEECH, REMEMBER YOUR OLD STYLE, YOU NEED TO

BE CREATIVE DAD, I LOVE YOU, BUT I THINK, YOU ARE BACK IN THE WORLD AGAIN

AND DAD, YOUR STILL AUSTRALIAN, EVEN YOUR STILL A NSW KID

LIVING IN SYDNEY, COOL WHEN YOU COME TO THINK OF IT, HEY

I WILL MEET YOU WHEN I AM FAMOUS

IT’S MY CRONUS POWERS, MAKING ME KEEP TRACK, OK

KEEP ME POSTED, YOUR COSMIC SON JG BROWN

I came to your hometown team
inserted in hallucinatory dreams  
inspired sweaty with fused realms
Is it real that you stole Mona Lisa?
At the heart of Louvre in 1911
Is it true that you sneaked her?
was it for a muse or a lover to use?

She would have viewed you sideways
then make love to you at the coffee table
Her beauty enthralled yours in entirely
blending on easel with pencil onto a canvas
Her palate would have swooned your palette  
Her very kiss would have paralyzed in ecstasy
abducting your perpendicular in angular zones

Then you framed it on Guillaume Appollinaire
The poet play wright whom face you just forgot
under the oath, in the sweet name of freeing art
from the prisons of extortionate museums fixtures  
the same exhibitions holding your name and fame
charging fees for a walk around the rhythm of art
a melody not each an every artist will be granted

You made the goddesses and then reduced them to dust
Fernanda soothed the childhood nightmares to lust
Olga the ballerina whom you couldn't share the assets
Marie-Therese the 17year old who hang herself to death
Dora Maar who fought so hard to get your affection
Francoise who left law school for your immortalisation
Jacqueline your passion who you wooed with a dove

You are most definitely
no muse to
one of Picasso's
paintings.  

You are most definitely not:
Fernande
Eva
Olga
Marie
Dora
Francoise
Genevieve
or
Jacqueline!

I am most definitely
not a painter
but a
poet 'El Poeta'

re.: a mini-psychotic detour -
it's off the stream! it's off the stream!
it's been catalogued in: latest!
it's off the stream! i'm aiming to reach
1million words and...
it's off the stream... so the word
count will not be incorporated...

oddly enough i still know how
to use a toaster - and a kettle -
i am also fabled with having to perform
week long chemistry experiments...
why i didn't look into the basics
of

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funny that... how ever many of years
in school, then at university...
i was teased with this language...
for half a semester at university...
the rest of the time school was...
a bit like being in prison...
making sure the prison guards had
a job, were paid...
same with school...
the teachers were paid...

did they teach us basic computer language?
no... i'm pretty sure they didn't...
were we all expected to go to the coalmine
first... before being told to...

which isn't so much lazy as...
i can still remember chalk and chalkboard
at school...
and the holy trinity of (
                                    {      [
how many crescent moons - and altering
a piece of: would be paper?

oh my god... e. e. cummings wasn't even
born...
can you imagine if e. e. cummings
was born 20 years ago...
and started smashing out his:

stand-
;still)

i was honestly being technologicaly
paranoid...
about to cite archive numbers
of "missing" / "shadow-banned"
poo'ems...

e.g. 3479319, 3482972, 3485309,
3484258, 3483083, 3480751,
3480555, 3478158 etc.

but how is that even an over-hyped
reaction - when you're only scratching
the bare minimum -
of what's nonetheless, to me:
a 2 dimensional canvas...

and the point of school was to ensure
that we could fathom our naiveness even more so...
nothing of importance...
just passing the time...
it's not like they could have taught
us to code -
school is not some preface for:
all the subsequent self-taught mechanisms
you will ever encounter:
further on life...

why did i go to school?
why is the cult of school and the nostalgia
culture associated with: popular kids,
nerdy kids, bowling for columbine...
the everyday leftover kids -
i don't even remember being
taught grammar: proper...
we were told... as long as you sound
coherent...
nature came - nurture ****** off somewhere...
but nature didn't come
with <basic> or not so </end of>
with this sort of <bracket>
and this sort of (bracket)
and this sort of {bracket}
and this sort of [bracket] -

"back in the day" you'd read some heidegger
and not "bother" to code -
" " implies /misnomer
/metaphor - solo....

as: burgundy < red
     red being the base marker...
     given that rose < red (is also)...
     since burgundy > red
     since: burgundy ≈ purple...

<approx>
     cardinal < crimson
                                           </approx>

a "debate", and another debate -
in a thesaurus entry...
red - cardinal, crimson, burgundy appear
<sim>
           cardinal < burgundy
                                             </sim>

that is... cardinal ~ burgundy
   ergo cardinal > crimson...
or do we call these the prefixes: quasi~
and pseudo≈?

cerise and all that's suddenly expected to turn
into fluorescence of some underwater Florence...
from carmine and maroon -
brown starts to creep in...

     bobby vinton - blue on blue and...
spaghetti westerns -
somehow i wish to be held in the hands
of a coroner -
i should really think about
donating my body to a medical school -
and bobby has another great track:
velvet blue...
sure... he's no sam cook...
all the way riddled with h'american
suburbia psychopathy:
a smile can hide a thousand
little lies...
a smile is something anti-stoic...
because... the shine of the ivory sheen...

and all i can think of...
not even beginning sentences -
esp. not ending them -
the narrative went with the baby
and the bathwater -
the canary had a coalmine -
the budgerigar had a cage...
the sparrow were tattooed
along with swallows onto convicts
bodies in some jean-genet
minor *****-porky-teen-flick...

tender-bits from some Olaf or Oleg...
or better still an Olga...
recitations would also require:
bumblebees and petula clark!

and that one song that surfed right
above my head and started towing
a hoarding of kippahs
and a... my my... all those
abrahamic beards turned into sabbath
bound brooms for the fwench
brides of boredom...

some might say it's:
strawberry alarm clock -
incense and peppermints...

      as Herman's Hermits aged much worse
than a Donovan...
no milk today and the three kingfishers...

welcome citations...
what's more apparent? someone is clogging
up the arteries of time...
the veins are... the veins that stretch as far
back as jazz from the 1920s...
through to the wock and woll of the 50s...
don't get me started on what's the leftover
of the 90s of the 20th century...

new beginnings they will cite...
here's one... if e. e. cummings was to be born...

swing low
sweet ca

rr
y on

(pass the freedoms pappy
or uncle shylock not interested

- notes on finland the elsewhere estonia,
latvia and li... i will not give lithuania up
that easily... the once grand duchy...
married to the crown -
and all my hitorical adventures -
the sensible today...
the modern sensibility the current man!
me and my historical... what did i call them?

no... they're not idiosyncracies...
they're... detours in infantalism...
but if e. e. cummings was born circa...
and he - he would mosty certainly
succumb to code logic poetics...

bracket (a) "bracket" <b> bracket {c} bracket [d]...
!red is blue -
outright negation...
!red isn't red - the "is" is therefore questionable...
for some reason: no, it doesn't have to be:
but it's blue... blue is !red

should a mr. buckling bucktooth still
be introduced?
well: we do need to indroduce a next to nothing
worth nothing new: cipher unit...

a faux pas needs to have an addressee -
namely me - and i need to wallow in infuriated
agony of a petty detail that no life will
require to cherish!

- and that i am to be fond of tomorrow in that
the only promise that awaits me there is:
me baking a four tier cake - literally...

how terrible a faux pas becomes -
a bull so enraged by red that he becomes blinded
and no longer is able to hone onto
the originating crux -

even somehow "somewhere" with a dasein in
tow... intermitten years...
no... not without a T attached...
and even by now as by then:
that's a misnomer...

- apparently tautology is not a logical
fallacy... but something worth
a thesaurus rex and peacock's: "age of discovery"...
how we can all speak a language
of aphorisms and verb conjectures -
as ever: nouns retain their form as being
the most complete category of everyday
toils - a hammer will never become
an iron shrapnel hanging by a hook chin
off the clide edge of a nail's head...

set with time in mind - temporal thinking...
otherwise set with space in mind -
spatial thinking -
otherwise: when thinking was simply
thinking - exploring the moral architecture...
with that moral-theta of 'ought... and i:
probably not...

save me from linguo-savvy h'american
media pundits and their acronyms!
the boss, the bot the bot, the boss...
the bottom liner - the beatnik and the bolshevik
and... some other b- prefixed outlier...

- otherwise: it's pretty **** evil...
for movies to showcase the hygienic act of
washing ones teeth...
washing the teeth...
spitting out the remaining toothpaste
(oh jeez louis! why don't they simply,
swallow it?)...
and then... not rinsing their mouths?
at this point... rinsing the mouth...
after having just washed the teeth using
toothpaste... is probably as much good
as using mouthwash to begin with...
no one; no one rinses their mouths
after brushing their teeth on film?!

i've too many dreams about teeth
to know - i am actually the sole proprietor of
a memory of my great-grandfather...
and how... he would eat 20 sugar cubes
a day... smoke 40...
and have his first tooth pulled out...
aged 62...
myth, history... journalism?
i dream about teeth...
i would have clearly asked for:
and he dreamed about moths...
but then... oh Eden is still in my grasp...
i can see the next forbidden fruit
hanging...
her name is Layla... and she's...
borderline 16 years old...
i see my Eden already...
i see the forbidden fruit...
apparently i never left...
as i was never apparently Adam...

problem is: you already know what
the forbidden fruit is...
and it's bothering you that i know
what the forbidden fruit is, for me...
now comes the juggling act
of me entertaining not making my will
into a resolve... which is to not:
act upon it...
maybe the apple was too complicated...
maybe a Layla circa 16 is...
a more obvious deterrent...

i think it's also called:
the prosecutor's *****...
but... enough gob and enougn dosh...
you can be the new st. andrew of windsor...
even in the taxi driver the ****
is 0... negated...

my my... what sort of language could
even become so casual...
the burning bridges of informality...
strapped to the formal tool of
orientating one's spatial creed of:
for the exchange of goods and services...
long gone the per se
of a school and a playground...

or some do... want to find and rekindle
the brotherhood of childhood...
they'll join the army...
they'll commit themselves to crime...
some men... it's hardly the adventure riddle
first lady's history society of
rhode island's desperate housewife club...
but...
it's hardly a deviation from imagining
how fudge is packed,
or for that matter: sausages...

a major faux pas...
some e. e. cummings... and what would never
become a code(d) poo'em...
but... for what today had to offer:
and what i had to offer today;
it's enough... it's peaches and cream...
a well balanced butterfly of reciprocation...
it's a death... but a death with a promise
of returning: in situ...
although in situ is always a flexible
requirement when reincarnation is fiddled
with.

I could have picked you...
Even in uncountable small stones in the streets,
I'd look for your color,
your purity,
your dust...
In every little flaw that schemes your figure,
I'd find a reason to love it wholly,
In the core of that iris,
I'd stare in close,
closer and closer,
till I lose myself deep,
deeper and deeper...

~Olga Divine

Whilst patrolling my fortified, Nazified, sub-tropical Florida region
I see that **** George Zimmerman's whiter than a blond Norwegian
in his self-appointed role as a *****-shooting Europoidal European
who pimps ***** to roll dipsomaniacs at Sanford's American Legion "Only **** babies in self-defense" is the unaborted rule that I live by
& "don't never impregnate no black gal who was born a black guy"
It's a-o.k. to give Sanford pigs some name that's but a phony handle
ike Kent C. Well, **** Too Tight, Robin Banks &/or Tony Candle,
Gaye Barr, Anita Bath, Harry Azcrac, Dixie Normus, Stony Mantle,
Nida ***, Lou Stools, Buster Cherry, Dixon Butts or Bony Randall,
plus Argentina's well-rotted, crapped-out actress hag Olga Zubarry,
who lived to bury ****-*****: Pork Chop Annie & Polka Jew Perry Mongols grow Occidentalized by Walmart's imported Chinese trick
& even ******-rich richer than a Bakersfield-deported Chicano hick Litters of swimmin' kittens are escaping Oscar like did Felix Unger
from the Apocalypse of Fukushima's China syndromic helix hunger Polite folk accommodate futt-bucking ******* by calling them gays
just as Wendy's accommodates idiotic patrons by giving them trays
For U.S. marines *** rights are earned during their boot-camp days
like when David Hasselhoff spent his T.V. time bay-watching bays,
in the era Reagan occupied his senile mind hoarding guns with rays while selling Latin American Marxists missiles to prove crime pays during our presidential-election cycle in its suspended-reality phase when Hawaiian babes charge nothing for their flowery, virginal leis
to celebrate the Hawaiian Babes' Free Flowery, Virginal Leis craze featuring tropical ******* & purpley nips guaranteed to amaze
in the orchid-rained-in-depths of our historically blue-blooded haze upon the moon's far side where-from souls are dispatched by Grays
there are no Jimmy Swaggart-$10-Johns anointing ***** with praise
while damning hell-fire Christians to the horror of a martyred blaze

Poet after poet
written July 10th, 2021

Day by day, and poem by poem
my home and my life
fill with friends and lovers
who took the time to write to me
through the years and distances.

Jane Kenyon sits
on the corner of
my dining room table
a pool of calm
for me to dip into
anytime I need.

113 poets (I counted)
from Copper Canyon Press
are in residence between the covers
of The Gift of Tongues.
They enliven the desk where I write
always falling into respectable order
when I peak in before writing.

Mary Oliver, Pablo Neruda
Olga Broumas, W S Merwin
and other dear friends
sit on my shelves
sometimes amiably discussing
other times heatedly debating
each other's sock choices.

George Bilgere, Ellen Bass
and Gregory Orr
have seduced me
filling me with awe
as they stimulate my mind
my lovers far away
who talk to me in chapbooks.

Poet after poet
I wonder how many
I have not met
because I have not found them yet
or they were not preserved or published.

I bow my head
in a moment of grateful silence
to those known and unknown
who make my world
a more lively place.