Apr 24
and if i wasn't sleeping and about to wake up
from a night shift
what would my day look like
does it really matter what i do and don't do
during a single day
or does it matter that i laughed
and i toyed with thinking-toys
of my thinking-self and i mastered the afternoon
before the night
and it was so mild so touch-worthy that
it wouldn't or couldn't be questioned
it was ethereal and mistaken
each time i guessed at the jest...
because music broke
the mind and
then the mind broke music
and still the birds with their calls were
the other programming sound
the orientation: so spatious...
so vividly ancient in "rhyme"...
but so much of this latent sanity
and christianity is focusing upon the last resort
of the ego before the collectivism
of thinking comes and takes me away
in a history with the nail in the coffin
and the coffin being the church
and the nail and lightning bolt
i forgot that: almost: i almost forgot that...
snooze cyrcadian snooze perhaps
a cold lamb sandwitch instead
of a lamb curry
i think the cold lamb is a sign
of the apostate and the cross...
APOPHASIS
i feel less inclined to create turmoil
but i suppose everyone
is going to be proper driver
once all the primary questions
have been answered
and about 3 specific / technical ones
are answered incorrectly...
oh but the terrible has already
happened and 4 oceans apart
and sailing on my own
i try to consecrate the day with
a little of me it owns
and i have to give it up
however up to no good i find myself
to be:
this snorkel with a broken nose
and all that drowning
in dreams and without dreams...
but by now i'm way to engrossed
in my own superstitions about
witnessing Geordie Fans for Nouncattle
on the sweats of Noy 'Ork
and i cannie feel it smooth
as solid
just smoo' like liquid
not a smothie or very frapoccino
ssssand sss'sss'andy...
i can remember the glutton
who said that eating in public alone
was a tier above *******
in private...
but eating alone when alone
confined is probably not as rewarding
but as if god eating you
and in public it's not an offence
but if i were to translate *******
i'd tell you i feel dizzy and disorientated
about shooting my shot of ego into id
and thinking about the microcosm of
***** migration to the next
populated cubic metre...
of another person...
by now the only medicine is giving this
day a blessing for arriving at
the choice of words
otherwise forever outside of any
conversation: except with oneself
and sometimes these conversations must
be with a terminology of vagabonds
and selfishsly and so much so that
there is no commonality or level grounding
to experience an expressed-exchange
this self-impressions to distance one's
identity from others in this spiral
of the man without pride
and therefore forever climbing in the freefall
and what weaving of the story
in how many times
was repeated: that same story
and if only this could make sense to me
in the practical dictation
and i might see predictors of the drowning man
when the terrible has already happened
and the laughter was me behaving irresponsibly and
before me the wide awoken brute
of shove me shove gloat and goot...
this self alone preserved lobotomy of the loving ones
inquiring
and then being left to one's own devices
and struggling under the compedium of
the self preserving agent of the will:
a will and freedom counter to the god encouraging:
the-3-eseseses tongue weaving glutton
and how i forsake myself
for the transgression
and who is so solemnly disgusted
by things moving slowly
but there is also doubled scurtiny that somehow
there's the paranoid eye
and everyone's looking at the potentially: failed biopic
and all the rest of the world
is a funfair of cope...
no one ever said that anything
remotely related to art
would be a miserable affair of the mind
whatever the weather
unlike driving a car wrestling with
summer and sunset
and all that feeling of being in communion
with everything alive
like wife and daughter
and harmoniously with the world
taking a summer holiday
a road-trip from London
to Rome to see
the Pope being re-awakened...
because there are only so many intellectual
curiosities available for the intellect
to become lazy and retract from all
that childish inquisitiveness
but only confined to a sophistry or who
could talk most persuasively
not even the Queen of England
was paraded as a Corpse in Public
not even the Queen of England
was paraded as a Corpse in Public:
hey, presto!
say hello! papa corpsus...
the corpse of the pope will guide us
and i know she is part polynesians
and it's not like the queen of england died
or a former president of the united states
prior to the russian bokh be assassinated
and no return to yesterday...
the curse of sleeping alone
thinking i'm still with you
and no tender allowance
when i also have the world caging and caving me
in and i have unreal high church problems
and sometimes i go among personalities
without in-charcter understudies
about who is acting who out...
about who is acting who out...
and if half wit and DR
uncle Tim and Ukulele...
i pass the theory
then i have eyes ******* into my mind
that's no in the body of an evolved ape
but instead in the body of a squid...
from a night shift
what would my day look like
does it really matter what i do and don't do
during a single day
or does it matter that i laughed
and i toyed with thinking-toys
of my thinking-self and i mastered the afternoon
before the night
and it was so mild so touch-worthy that
it wouldn't or couldn't be questioned
it was ethereal and mistaken
each time i guessed at the jest...
because music broke
the mind and
then the mind broke music
and still the birds with their calls were
the other programming sound
the orientation: so spatious...
so vividly ancient in "rhyme"...
but so much of this latent sanity
and christianity is focusing upon the last resort
of the ego before the collectivism
of thinking comes and takes me away
in a history with the nail in the coffin
and the coffin being the church
and the nail and lightning bolt
i forgot that: almost: i almost forgot that...
snooze cyrcadian snooze perhaps
a cold lamb sandwitch instead
of a lamb curry
i think the cold lamb is a sign
of the apostate and the cross...
APOPHASIS
i feel less inclined to create turmoil
but i suppose everyone
is going to be proper driver
once all the primary questions
have been answered
and about 3 specific / technical ones
are answered incorrectly...
oh but the terrible has already
happened and 4 oceans apart
and sailing on my own
i try to consecrate the day with
a little of me it owns
and i have to give it up
however up to no good i find myself
to be:
this snorkel with a broken nose
and all that drowning
in dreams and without dreams...
but by now i'm way to engrossed
in my own superstitions about
witnessing Geordie Fans for Nouncattle
on the sweats of Noy 'Ork
and i cannie feel it smooth
as solid
just smoo' like liquid
not a smothie or very frapoccino
ssssand sss'sss'andy...
i can remember the glutton
who said that eating in public alone
was a tier above *******
in private...
but eating alone when alone
confined is probably not as rewarding
but as if god eating you
and in public it's not an offence
but if i were to translate *******
i'd tell you i feel dizzy and disorientated
about shooting my shot of ego into id
and thinking about the microcosm of
***** migration to the next
populated cubic metre...
of another person...
by now the only medicine is giving this
day a blessing for arriving at
the choice of words
otherwise forever outside of any
conversation: except with oneself
and sometimes these conversations must
be with a terminology of vagabonds
and selfishsly and so much so that
there is no commonality or level grounding
to experience an expressed-exchange
this self-impressions to distance one's
identity from others in this spiral
of the man without pride
and therefore forever climbing in the freefall
and what weaving of the story
in how many times
was repeated: that same story
and if only this could make sense to me
in the practical dictation
and i might see predictors of the drowning man
when the terrible has already happened
and the laughter was me behaving irresponsibly and
before me the wide awoken brute
of shove me shove gloat and goot...
this self alone preserved lobotomy of the loving ones
inquiring
and then being left to one's own devices
and struggling under the compedium of
the self preserving agent of the will:
a will and freedom counter to the god encouraging:
the-3-eseseses tongue weaving glutton
and how i forsake myself
for the transgression
and who is so solemnly disgusted
by things moving slowly
but there is also doubled scurtiny that somehow
there's the paranoid eye
and everyone's looking at the potentially: failed biopic
and all the rest of the world
is a funfair of cope...
no one ever said that anything
remotely related to art
would be a miserable affair of the mind
whatever the weather
unlike driving a car wrestling with
summer and sunset
and all that feeling of being in communion
with everything alive
like wife and daughter
and harmoniously with the world
taking a summer holiday
a road-trip from London
to Rome to see
the Pope being re-awakened...
because there are only so many intellectual
curiosities available for the intellect
to become lazy and retract from all
that childish inquisitiveness
but only confined to a sophistry or who
could talk most persuasively
not even the Queen of England
was paraded as a Corpse in Public
not even the Queen of England
was paraded as a Corpse in Public:
hey, presto!
say hello! papa corpsus...
the corpse of the pope will guide us
and i know she is part polynesians
and it's not like the queen of england died
or a former president of the united states
prior to the russian bokh be assassinated
and no return to yesterday...
the curse of sleeping alone
thinking i'm still with you
and no tender allowance
when i also have the world caging and caving me
in and i have unreal high church problems
and sometimes i go among personalities
without in-charcter understudies
about who is acting who out...
about who is acting who out...
and if half wit and DR
uncle Tim and Ukulele...
i pass the theory
then i have eyes ******* into my mind
that's no in the body of an evolved ape
but instead in the body of a squid...
