christianity ends when it's lessons begin, and its dostoyevsky (i.e. the critique of christ as depicted in the idiot, basically a dim-wit who cannot recognise an insult, because he just loves everyone) begins with insults.

it's horrid that women were prescribed
the emotional outlet of crying without taboo...
and men were prescribed the outlet of laughter
to a limit of laughing within politics...
women are easily discarded during war times...
but men are as easily discarded during times
of peace - i cry at beauty, do i hate to cry,
or be apathetic about it being expressed...
no woman's onomatopoeia of ****** will ever
resound as a bounty, even the body speaks for
itself in the form of some piece of music:
and if you can't extract a tear when listening
to *ola gjeilo's northern lights or o magnum mysterium,
or vaughan williams' fantasia on a theme by
thomas tallis... or any other name by thomas newman,
then you had your ***** cut off, your heart
ripped out... and the only thing that makes
you human is only a brain in a pickle jar;
no, i'm sure you're also spineless;
brain in a pickle jar - which doesn't make me
wonder as to why more men are affected
by mental health issues in england: that
rotten taboo sing-along to the cure's boys don't cry,
or if they cry, they shed a boxer's tear
when getting punched in the face - and even then
they just shrug it of as: oh that? only sweat.

my a.i. experiment begins with bonsai tigers,
cats, petted animals,
it begins here, when the animal is removed
from its natural surroundings like its lucky;
it's not lucky, it's ****** into
our diretribe of superiority hiding from winter.

well **** me so much ***, and so little marriage,
it's almost like looking at henry viii.

i'll write a japanese infusion, mind you i went further
tha ezra with japan, northern new zealand,
eastern england; remember geo-posits;
i took it to heart: your father was on a peddle-stool
along with you... oh blush...
roses are queens
spring blossoms are dog sushi...
i'll make my bet on: globalisation doesn't work
with capitalism... culture from america,
products from china... hippy trips grow-a-beard
from india... you're all liars you're not included
in the cluedo board of humanism, one
motto humanism ought to have to shake off satainsm:
shave off the lies... look pretty.
but you won't.
i'm about to move to japan via a t.v.,
excuse me please,
i'm about to expand my vocabulary and wants;
it almost feels like i dated you via
an ideal father not so ideal to imitate,
and some circus act where i attired myself
as a clown and was told by the management
that i had to take it off to ride an elephant
for the crescendo balancing act on a tight-rope.

p.s. please misdirect the pronoun vectors,
the personal pronouns are speaking from one
void to another void of collective impersonal
pronouns - in order that you might not feel
any personal attachment to the content in
between the unavoidable use of them.