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jdotingham Nov 2018
where is it my thoughts lay?
do they lie to me on some other wave,
surfing the oceans of misplaced emotions
or under the iceberg, it may...
                this vehicle i operate d
s round the corner, dare to me drive,
intoxicated of wine and a postmodern swine,
these so-called truths that lay above my throat and behind my hairline.
where is it my thoughts die?
held in a case by a computer inside,
some metaphysical memory for my hard-drive,
RAM IT IN! the vehicle collides!
                      what caused this mangled mess of maternal meds,
                      some fruedian slip on the road from the feds?

placed inside you, a copy of me and then placed inside two, a copy of he,
simulated by a computer as well, we have a debate with ourselves, "how swell".
so where is it my thoughts lie,
somewhere to left, somewhere to the right?
the duplication become delayed from life whilst my vehicle is left to die.
Personal idendity 13/11/18
jdotingham Nov 2018
under the stroke of twilight and micrograms,
a tribute for the tributaries next to land,
a stumbl'd walk of trees and hands,
                                                    eyes drag themselves along the sand.
be that a mammaves with floppy ears or a beak?
(either/or my knees went weak).

it speaks: "who are you going to believe, me or your lying eyes?"
i speak: "i'll realise my real lies when i understand my real eyes! ALRIGHT?"
[the nibbles don't echo as it runs from the chinease
fish-or-man wading through the water, "please!",
my god this is torture as my preconceived
ideas are questioned by queer animals and hands in trees].

i continue among the growth of the land, shrunken by water in which it clamps;
the little men in my head confide:
                                                        ­    i see more mammaves waddle and bounce by the wayside!
alas, my community crumbles around its thought and i take the road not taken before,
as light launches through the trees in front of my lead, i wonder if it's a duck or rabbit wondering next to me.
                                                             ­        shall we see?
jdotingham Oct 2018
i heard the2ndfloor was bad
it expels a somber a tone
you can still hear the howls of the old club go-ers
who all went home alone...

aye, in the corner lived my frieind
he sold blow through his notes & the tide
he couldn't afford to pay his rent
& got ratted out to his demise...

for, he owed some money to mr.happy!
who was also a business manm
he wore p i n s t r i p e s & had charm out of his i's
but behind them calculations were planned...

he told his friends to go to attik
for that is where you'll find him at it
IT'S NOT THE MONEY (it's the principle)

So, the pigs pushed through & they knocked him down
& his buddies started a fight,
scrapping and yapping and knives went stabbing
and his head crashed on the side...

emily's face... w-w-went so pale
as her boyfriend fell to the floor
everyone took no-notice of this stories tale
& the crowd got rowdy and sore...

alas, silloutes come booming as the club gets shut down
disorderly conduct it wore
& that's the best thing i can tell you,
worse has happened onfloor4.
i've just moved to hull university, the culture and stories surrounding the undergrowth of this city is wonderful. i recommend larkin if you like angry ol' librarians.
jdotingham Sep 2018
/  she looked at me from across the table;  her eyes barely still, her thoughts barely able.
i looked at her from across the table; the me she once knew, the eyes are a fable.
                   she asks questions
"how you been?"
"doin' much"
yeah. you?
           you can boil the tension and it wouldn't dissolve on a spoon.
            she asks why i chose what i did all them years ago. there's no nuance on the question. there's no 'wavering remorse that things could and should and would have been better' because we both know it probably would've been. unless i got AIDS or some **** like that. she asks the question for closure. thing is though; some doors fail at the one ******* job they are given, like the one in the caravan; sometimes, they can't help but stay open.

i don't know.
"that's not an answer"
i don't know.
"for **** sake! just tell me why you chose that path"
i don't know.
"... but you ******* picked it!"
            her voice raises. people look. she quietens down. nobody likes public displays of drama. it makes people feel uncomfortable. a bit awkward. the little ******* sin of 'i feel a bit uneasy in this social situation'.
i know i picked it. i do. i don't why. why the hell would it. it just sort of happened.
"it just sort of happened?"
"you've not changed have you"
changed a bit yeah.
"but not really"
i have a bit yeah. we all do. it's what happens when time mo-
"shut up, please. i'm asking you why you picked that over me all of them years ago and why i still can't ******* escape you. just tell me why, don't turn it into a parade of ******* again. that's your problem is *******, just comes out of your mouth in heaps and heaps and ******* heaps, you hear me?"
you want the truth?
"yes, of course i ******* do. of course... the truth and nothing but the cunting-god-****-truth. swear by god if you want. i still ******* love you, after all these years, i just want the truth; that's all i'm asking for. not the *******"
i don't know why i picked it.
stand alone (as of yet) draft excerpt from "awhiterose".
jdotingham May 2018
i dent & defy the post-pre modern walls, scrambled as they fall & are built up as they tumblr against the pull of gravity in a collection of choas.
aliquid 2 nihil.
aliquid is nihil.

i am this, i am that, i'm the ****** mary with a baseball bat, i'm a **** whose slept with everyone & no1 in the stash of the schools fish in the sea, for when legs are opened, even in first world countries, it often smells of what you see (swimming in lust & climaxy).
aliquid 2 nihil.
aliquid is nihil.

i am who, who is that, i will **** everyone with my potato gun, turn them into vegetables after they run, as they squeal & then no longer make a noise, morality is questioned no more when you can't afford your own emotional poise; what if one was to eat them after?
aliquid 2 nihil.
aliquid is nihil.

i am why, why is how, maybe i should be more subtle with my desire to get out (of life, of strife, of lesson, of mundane mondays & of what we won't with a dash of what we might), so the tempestous desire of a phone in fishnets delivering dopamine doses in invisible needles directly to into my forehead,
i'll become (de)sensitised to melodrama & melodramatic to those (de)sensitised.
create me with a big bang
     & **** me in a steady state
            i was an athiest until i saw myself
                    & then rejected my (own) self to be 9 out of 11, on a 2001 date when nothing in particular of noteworthy happened.
aliquid 2 nihil.
aliquid is nihil.

the mirror lies to me, the why generation?
our **'s is ******.
jdotingham Dec 2017
sometimes life will deliver a plate of the inevitable ******; the blow, the snort, the soliloquy of concentrated thoughts all bombarding with the force of lead snow (of sorts). surrounding your mind, holding its weapons up high and cocking the trigger. things seem overwhelming. a ****** you cannot stop, as you lay there squirming under the influence of goodwill (who tied you down, force-fed you pills and cocked your trigger as your weapon was up high). but the plate, the platter, the one you thought was silver and gold, was paper. then the sprinklers erupt like lava upon your world and the blow turns into a paste, the snort turns into a cold and the thoughts sag like they are in need of ******. life climaxes then c

r u
m b
s - like that - sometimes
jdotingham Dec 2017
.      vate me;
                     put simply, just because you look
                                                            ­                    down
                                        ­                                                 on
                                                              ­                                me
                                          doesn't mean i should look ^2u
                    put simply, just because you love me,
                                             ­                !you'renotspecificenough!
                     put simply, dis/approve of me, either/or it shall
                                                            fi­ll a me^
just a little excersise of concrete technique.
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