well here it is:

as a good-hearted crazy boy as I am
I can be fixed only by a woman
on the last gear of speed
like a herd of mustangs in gallop
to the abyss or to eternity

a woman who dedicates me poems of hate
in which I'm the last provincial old man
the princess can fall in love with
but actually the joy is shaking whitin
any time she feels me arround

a woman dressed only in swords of Toledo
who can sing on a sword like Mariza
making me climb on the walls
like on the Chinese Wall on the moon

a woman that resists any melalcoholical drubbing
on rithmes of sirtaki with Zorba the Greek
with her heart blowned out of her mind
carelessly throwned like underwear through  the room

a long-time woman to lead my way
and night in sleep and life in death
and my god in all its demons of beauty
with the most innocent baby smile

a woman that on the last outpost of her ******
like a wild goddess will laugh and explode the night
as if as if ordering
the happiest end of the world

I figgured there is nothing
more uggly
then loosing you but
I'm talking nonsense

there is realy there is

there is that sort of madness
that you did'nt lift a finger
to keep me in your heart

really there is always
somethin' more uggly
we just have to feel
we are **** beautyfull

well everybody's world is another one so what to change?
you can not see things as they are just see them how you are
in fact you can not even see how they are
if any definition is just an approximation
or an alternation of the same thing

everything is a more or less a faithful translation
and the only performance in the field is love
yes love sees and feels "the same thing"
but it does not give you any explanation

it's a sublime free fall feels all like it's all
and not how it is

if you're realistic a moment you feel the way you are
without the impossible ambition to see the same thing
see love as a feast of unreality
which makes playing in another's skin a child's play
and a genius experience
to make it like the movies to be another being yourself

but to be realistic to the end is to give life the opportunity to be herself
to see for hereself to feel it all as it is
without interference in her internal affairs

the vanity of love is that it is a giveaway to likelyness
even beyond life but can not save the world
it can only make it better

let everybody's world be different
and that's the freedom
and that's all you can love

In Other Words we do not see things as they are
Because simple as that we only see things as we are
We see as they are the sick ambitions
To idolize and define about everything
With The Same **** Words

But only in Other Words we see as we really are
In Other Words everything is in the hands minds and our hearts
Everything is Here and Now
And There or Then Is really Nothing
There and Then everything Was or Will Be
There and Then Is Nowhere and Never

My heart is shamelessly steering at the world in Other Words
My heart is a ***** unveiling you’re intimal beautiful parts
And if she does not see them she fantasizes shameless in Other Words
But with The Same intimal beautiful Words
Is really nothing There and Then

Go figure that all that shameless beauty is only in my eyes
Go figure that all that shameless beauty is Here and Now

Yesterday is dead and tomorrow could be
In the labour of giving birth

Well me from Now on I will stay to suicide with a lively joy
Because as simply as that I Am Here and Now in Other Words
Because everything Is and goes to hell

With a wonder of sickening of shameless of beauty

“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.” - Einstein

Everybody is born a genius and dies like a idiot
Some of them have nothing to do
And make exactly the opposite
Nothing like kamikaze fish climbing the trees

Because the crowd is to loud to hear his own stupidity
Even though history remembers his achievements
Jumping in the trees of power and greed

It is really all from a monkey swimming
In a ocean of rules of war in heaven
And leaving it with a big smile on his face

It's raining heavily in my laboreour's Germany
it is Sunday and foreigners are quietly resting
with some beer held in their large & full of scars hands

there in our improbable wonders
I come to talk to them
when a bumblebee lost and drenched
also comes on dry ground
marching through our feet

when one of us turns him on his back
he is buzzing he is drying his wings
and I say
"let him go man"

and afterall
"es ist nur ein Waser Probleme"

It’s all right your man comes tonight from the bar
Your woman from the hairdresser
But the best thing would be to move the hairdresser
In the bar
So you know something for certain

Rolled in a pile of desire and ambition
We jumped to scatter through the world
To buzz insanely all his wonders

We reported heaven as missing
So we flew through the ins and outs of the earth
We swam through the sand floating through the fog

Yes Sir
We walked on the water fainted like crazy
Until everything was made a road at our feet

Arriving close to World's End
Where is no trace of regret or sigh
Where we see only the Water and the Great Wall
We will find out of the blue
The Peace and Friendship of a madhouse

There thirst elevates us to catch our breath
With the blood stained by the sword in our hand

Lord great is Thy mercy:

The Reality is you wake up smiling
And you look like hell

It’s not enough to make believe
And after all is really frustrating
Not feeling the way I do
But here we go:
I never felt no trace of pity when she died
No hate no nothing for this sad news from a stranger

All I remember is that I was unemployed
Not able to find a **** job for a long time
So she offered me a place to sleep
And the daily bred as a reward for my hand labor
Carried out all day long near his house

It was the kind of slavery of which
The most stupid animals can be horrified

But I did it
Yes sir
I did it out of pity for her solitude sickness and despair
After a while I even hated her hobby to collect nothing but things
This car this house this garden of paranoid miracles

All sold in loss after her burial to some gipsy lover
Who was actually greedier than she ever dreamed

I also remember she cursed me when I left her place
”You *******” she said
”You will never be able to find a home of your own”
”You may rot in hell working for strangers!”

”It’s ok” I said
”You never felt anything more delusional of me”
”But if strangers would feel that way” I said
”At least they will pay me big time for my trouble”

So I was far away in the land of Nowhere when she died
And I knew that for me she was gone long time before
When I didn’t felt no pity no hate no trace of any sadness

When I decided to leave the house of my sister
Which was not my home anymore
When I felt my real sister was gone far away
And anywhere else in the world

to live in big houses is to have
armored windows
which look toward a small world
but stay calm
my small house is totally quiet
and everything it's a large window
It is a whole world

nobody knows how to appreciate
my anonymous fulfillments
and you do not know my name
but you managed to smile with me

this is such an appreciation
and such a fulfillment
as the glory of a entire world
full of kings

no bells or drums resound when I leave
to my daily conflagration
I'm not acclaimed by the crowd
when I get back from her toil
but I know
to suffer to the whole every victory
and rejoice forever the latter defeat

I had to get
till the doom of the gloom
to realize at last
that nothing remains of us

just
a invincible
smile

It was in the communist winter in a village of Transylvania
Besides the demented cold also rabies walked the streets
The news were like some dogs broke into pieces a raging fox
And to prevent a mass epidemic
Authorities chose the Convenient Solution:
Let's **** all the dogs of the village
Until the last one
Injecting them with Caustic Acid

I was only a poor kid I did not know what was happening
I took my puppy Bamby and lead him up the hill
For the so called vaccination

We arrived in lots of wailing cries and barks
Something was burning with much smoke in a large pit
People standing in a endless line
Dogs were terribly frightened
It was a horror landscape at the end of the world

One of the older boys claimed that no
They do not vaccinate but rather
They **** all the dogs
I thought he was messing with me
And we almost get into a fight

When I got close in front
Where dogs were injected the veterinary doctor
Was suddenly bitted by the hand
The snow was red like on The Pig Slaughters
And obviously terrified the assistant was bandaging the doctor

I understood that all the dogs were exterminated
Then throne and burned in that pit

With Bamby all went quickly he was a good dog
Barely barking he cried a bit and that’s all
Much later I found out that the odious regime
Had came to power with the same terrorist practices
Applied on people

Otherwise all went well and cool
Thanks to God we escaped from The Mean
Because me and my Bamby
We gave our childhood for a proper vaccine

we are cute till we are stupidly good
after that we switch on bad stuff and pretend
to do the wise guys

the world is full of beloved things
and used people
sometimes the roles are changing
to beloved people and used things

actually we are here to do and undo mistakes
not to specialize in fakes of perfection

there is no problem we are predestined to carry
after all everyone will carry his death away

you must just expect the days to see you
with their own eyes
with their suns and plants and all relatives

let them gather more and more to see you
days and nights with their wondering stars
at least a moment to see your face
just how
it is

and let them say:
woo-ow!

Mottor:”If you wanna tell a crazy joke to God, tell him about your plans”

joy to the world at 4 a.m. my cell is ringing
like a sad sheep its my granny saying hey I leave you
I am going to the Veterans New Year Party I have a randez-vous

I am grabbing my head: Jeesus...world
I am drinking since yesterday non-stop
plain water with lemon I am sick
from his cookies and seriously thinking
to get to The Suicider's New Year Party

well not just thinking but really going
I have my ticket since last year
when even Picky my loving pit-bull left me

actually why should I make crazy plans
when my personal angelic unconsciousness guards me
I am checking in on the plane maybe it brakes in the air
and I will have my party with the fellows of Bin Laden
I will sing cazzaciock while shooting with the katiusha
on empty ***** bottles

joy to the world and dance your brains out
you suicidal lonely kid
aha that is the new hit of a virtual band
called The Kings of Desperados
while slaves are jubilant in their free time
working to stay put in front of a idiot
also called TV to have a wonder

I have my ticket what can I do
I am so childish sometimes I have a miffed balloon
a fire-extinguisher with champagne
some poem-fireworks wrapped around me

joy to the world I will ignite them all
here in the public market
I will blow them all like a charm!

because of the lack of employees
in the health system
the sanity of my country goes insane

imagine that we made a  revolution and survived
to watch this hospital in which
more than a dozen children where burned alive

”what I saw was apocalyptic”
said the fireman
”all those children crying out loud in the flames
and nothing in that room to prevent such a horror”

”we made anything is possible”
stated the doctors
half of the kids are now dead
and the rest burned like hell

Ceausescu also made everything is possible
but he did not burn the children alive

there is no other country in the world
where babies where burned in the hospital
this us the ugliest crime ever shocked humanity
this is the mud we are drowning in

Romania just burn your children
and lift your shoulders like you got no idea
what the *******  is going on

eat your hands dear God
there is nothing else left to be done

I have nothing with or against you
and this really means nothing
but the fact that I am free

the world is full of  love-slaves
illusionists and pretenders
politicals or apoliticals
atheists or christians
each one is only saving his appearance

tell these thieves to *******
and let us be kidnapped by The Circus
let us be made Princes and Frogs

in this ******* happy end
of the world

two warm grains in the eyes of the titmouse
we stretch our hands and flap-flap: is gone
the branch shivers
in its place

that is for shure why
I’m building my afterlife before
my branch shivers too
but I am home I am always here
dressed just in myself like the sword of Toledo

although it’s almost september with fruits gone to warmer countries

I think I’ll take autumn and throw it to the ground
and then I’ll pretend to vegetate

of course

I’ll be watching

I had a budgie called The Pope who was swearing at me
he was a walking madhouse
he was saying shut the hell up
you crazy son of a poet
he was jumping about the walls saying you’re driving me nuts
and I’ll fly your ****** feathers off

he was killing my sanity striking a pose
and doing  the one
with Mircea Dinescu:

“ lady I am youngh I’m your clown
I have the **** of a serious man
I like perpetuity from navel down
so **** me and love me again and again”

we were dying on ourselves out of insane laughter
The Pope was laughing too **-**-he-he-ha-ha
we were self exterminating oh yeah
and at the end gone back in his cage like a well-trained dog
wagging his tail and barking
he was making us laugh for his two crumbs of bread

maybe to soon
ugliness was knocking us off out perches
and ugly indeed it was
the day I found him
with his claw in his neck

oy sucker I said
listen now
hell will come again
to take ya and
hell will weep for ya

in-sane

mottor: „fountains are drying by habitude” – Sixtus Aquarius

in the common acception
in the heart of small capacity of aunt Haby
there are still surviving reserves

and I quote:  
“what poetry mister Gee?
dreams and illusions which go off on one
to humbug us for good”  

aunt Haby sticks her hand
illustratively in the ground and says man
I know for a fact:
what’s in my hand
is no ‘green planes on the wall’!  

Yet
the thing is
that there is no way of knowing
how much poetry is there in the ground
at World's End  

so the Poeth-dog is coming it sniffs
her demonstrative hand
and then the beast raises its foot
  
some ms Habies are even stroking him
on this matter
arguing that it’s ordinary but they know better

for most often is driven away
from heaven
and everything is reduced to a few solemn
and sexymenthal cry-barkings
  
this is where I come in
friendly like a racing horse
a flyer swimmin’ on the ground
and aunt Haby jumps on me
she just found out I’m transporting poems
internally and internationally
and reality is that o-kaaay
what can I say?
  
aunt Haby is sad
her hand hurts like hell
I walk airborne underground like the gadfly
I save her urgently to the worlds end
right there where the land is resurrecting us
after the glaciations
  
where the entire world is wrenching in tears
of laughter

I believe that the empty plastic pet is livelier
than the dead man sickened by loneliness
so mark my words sad and lonely kids
in fact there isn’t but death out of boredom
respectively a demented live solitude

when you’re no-good for nothing
there’s nothing else but cross your hands on your chest
and wait for the church executioner

look I had a bored giraffe
every time
I was slashing its neck
not only that it wasn’t bleeding
but its neck was getting longer

ohooo
it was elongatiiiiiing
it was becoming a cloud falling to earth
like a blind eye of water

and the earthworms were coming her way

squashed by happiness

Motto: „ they are all elsewhere/ examining things/ in new bedrooms/” – Charles Bukowski – Praying for rainy days

**** Bukowski
thinks that’s a supraestimated fake
for townsends of years
„ harder than The Riots of Watts”
and it’s not about *****

it’s too precoius and delicate
and it’s not about women
'couse the women *** with roses
or with the spine-birds
and still gets payed on the job

it’s all about poetry
it’s about that funny slaughterhouse
in wich we kick eachothers stupide ***
like some real lovers
and then we rearange our underwear
or what’s left of it

it’s all about  a load of **** good to be throwned at the garbage
'couse – don't mention it – there is nothing heroical
and every ****** thing is a makeup
there is just a mouse shiverring in a corner
two ugly frogs are hugging all what is left of the sun
and above all
the monkey is trying hard to improvise a tired smile

**** Bukowski
I don't know a living soul with such a perseveration
to ****-up his poems
like his money on horse-races
like his fat’n’ugly mexican ******
and still somehow to become his own hero
insane like this
born into this
and becouse he had lived to much like a dog

alone with the whole world
with it’s ******* **** beauty
in wich actualy nobudy finds his mate

in wich everything it’s just a canibalistic clown
and a childish cry
almoust painfully dead
from his own laughter

where I come from my dear traveler

it’s the stage

of a vineyard form of amphitheater

dug by my father among the others when

he was still

in his vital states of mind

when he was drunkenly adorable



beyond mountains and forests

beyond those noctambulist draculities

and argues on the nationality

of dear mother of God


where I come from there are people not landscapes

of plastic with mannequins

nor freaky castles with touristic news

it’s me and you and all who still believe

in that dubious rest of humanity



where I come from the single life insurance

that makes us true is the bread

and the salt of the land

it’s everything that keeps us free

and madly together



from there I mounted on my eyes

a kind of wasting

and alcohol of vanity

because the vineyard is gone for good

and above all even above my dad

the forest is growing high

thus my joy is a kind of dream on the edge

kind of resentment

and tears swallowed again and again

by the rage

You never came to my house

Maybe

You went to the neighbours

I was here

Please come in and sit down

Wish I could give you something sweet

But I such finished it all

That my teeth hurts



I ask you red like this

Although

I'm painfully blue

Can you give me a pain-killer?



Can you?

(poem for 69 March...:)

she was a shy one whenever I saw her
something grabed me so that suddenly
I was putting my finger in her eye
pour a glass of water behind her neck
or hell knows what fierce animal
in her backpack

"life is pain baby!" - I cried out
showing her
my last scratches still bleeding

and she loved me
with all its little-girl fury
unfairly fought

twenty years after I wake up with a lady
suddenly on the street
puts her finger in my eye
while pours water behind my neck

"life is funny old man" -she whispered

then she invited me to her place
and from one word to another
we got fierce little animals
wich couldn't take anymore
of that shy reality

tough retrieval what can I say
with all my calmness of praised man
maybe rightly
I never saw her again

and I hate her guts