I want to write about you
I want to let you know
I’ll send my love to you from afar
I want to write about you

I want to write about you
Describe you as a perfect disaster
Make you feel the same way I feel
I want to write about you

I want to write about you
Make you a king among all the people
I’ll give you the crown you deserve
I want to write about you

I want to write about you
Your hair always up in a quiff
Eyes shining like a dime
I want to write about you

I want to write about you
Tell you how it feels
To not be loved back
I want to write about you

I want to write about you
Tell them how it feels
When you looked at my way
I want to write about you

I want to write about you
Tell them how it feels
When you looked at her with affection
I want to write about you

I want to write about you
Tell them how much I want your eyes to look at me
Tell them how much I want you to smile at me
I want to write about you

I want to write about you
Months had passed
And now I can’t remember your face
I want to write about you

I want to remind you
Notice me as soon as you see me
‘Cause I might not remember your face
I want to remind you

I want to remind you
Talk to me please
Your voice is only what I can recognize
I want to remind you

/ because such examples have to, have to(!) be perpetuated, reiterated, perpetuated, reiterated... these... "things"... these minor quests of establishing being - against, the authoritarian rule of the democracy of beings.

you don't shout,
you don't disturb the "social", "peace",
of proverbial english society...
nope...
   shouting does not good,
akin to:
   silent water eats
         away at the shorelines...
what you do...
is akin to what birds do...
you don't gnash your teeth:
i.e. clench them molars...
gnashing means clenching
your molars -
a gnashing a gnarling,
a pestle & mortar scenario...
no...
    no shouting...
silent movie era of hollywood
translated...
   you... simply... chatter...
you strike incissor teeth against
each other... crafting a lightling storm
like crackling sound,
  like corn flakes...
    in a bowl of milk...
   you... chatter...
                 inspiration? birds...
bird calls...
    you... chatter...
    mind you, unlike the english,
looking into my mouth...
    the jaw should fit within the confines
of the skull...
    the upper set of teeth
should accommodate the jaw's
line of teeth...
   but you simply... chatter...
which is embodied by attempting
to take a phantom bite at "something"...
you...
          echo:
   central incisors against
              the lateral incisors...
you subsequently: chatter (χατερ)...
   i missed the eta (η): given that i also
missed the excess of tau - in what isn't,
a translation - other than a phonetic
equivalent of putting on sunglasses...

because, when your neighbour,
tells you... that you can't smoke...
in your own home, perched on a windowsill,
out of the window,
implying that the smoke is
vacuumed into his bedroom?
   and somehow, the law,
and the air, we share, is somehow his,
and his alone?
    and i can't do, what he can,
within the confines of his property?

NOW WE HAVE A PROPER SHITSHOW!

some english are ******* backward
hardly insulting the ****** community,
with some succumbing to prosopagnosia,
while some (notably down syndrome)
actually having a memory capacity...
that curious look and a familiar expression
waiting for a smile...

i basically live next to a mental illness
example, par uno...
          and englishman who "thinks"
he's king, rather than a convenient
citizen...
                       ****** won't budge...
guess all i'm equipped with is
                          my chatter remedy;
and english society still "thinks"
that i'm the "mad" one.
    
    - because it's like...
  how can you dictate, what someone can,
or cannot do, on their property?!
like smoking a cigarette,
     perched on a windowsill, outside a window,
with the accusation:
   the smoke is coming into my bedroom...
oh right...
   so...
          erm...
                you own the dynamic of air
to suggest such a bias?

I saw them, I sw**r
Sometimes they were in line,
Sometimes scattered everywhere

I saw them around me
They were on the ground
Leave them alone and
They'll never make a sound

Touch them the wrong way
And if they’re close, they’ll crumble
In their downfall
In the end, they'll always lose their humble

I can’t see the difference
Is it just me or they are all the same
They’re just clones of each other
I can feel their pain

I couldn’t tell them apart
Without my fingertips
They’re all duplicates
A species of a looped never-ending clips

What if
I am just as bare,
Another domino
I can’t recognise my own reflection
So I guess I’ll never know.

bodies starting
            to lose shape
                      blurry smiles
                              without a name
                                      the person in mirror,
                                                they are looking strange
                                                        i'm sorry that i don’t remember

                                                            identities just
                                            seem to fade

Like a time-lapse view of a melting ice cube,
or the erasure of a blackboard equation, he
disappeared from his face. All the features
remained: a head, a nose, eyes, mouth.

What melted away right at that moment
was who he was. Once a familiar relative—
now a total stranger. A being without
a story, zero associations, nameless.

She marveled at the fluidity of her
perception. The building blocks and
scaffolding of the mind just tenuous
threads, gossamer filaments.

The brain as cotton candy.  
Where others may have panicked,
raced to gather all the vanished
referents of this person, she floated

calmly in the buoyant waters of
the impersonal. She only resisted
when the reel began to play in reverse
and—feature-by-feature—this

family member re-inhabited the
body sitting across the room
from her and she could only try
in vain to forget again.

that's the ******* and a tip with the English tongue, missing the diacrtical marks, the punctuation marks are a rave! a rampage! italicise all you want for want of emphasis.... a single exclamation mark will undo you... princely honesty... non-engagement in diacritics leaves you stark naked in the biblical genesis lodged almost innocently thinking up a centimetre for a comma, a kilometre for a full-stop, a nanometre for a hyphen... a metre for a semi-colon... you know the brothers Grimm... here's the colouring-in book.

well, somebody has to
be the villain
and not the *fury tank operator,
a brad 'prosopagnosia' pitt;
thank **** it wasn't an easy
-philia or -phobia
to compound woo woo wee hurrah!
i know,
all the rich cartoons would
become bonkers and sarcastically lazy -
like in real life!