you wanna know how
you steal from thieves?
you kiss
prostitutes...
what?
you have something
against kissing
prozzies?
**** in ****
but not recounted
in your mouth
second time / nth
time a problem?
i like you already!
just give hgim the bag,
let's see what
sort of butcher we
make this reliquary
we make out of him...
   tough boy,
or a butchers' snippet
i feed off / on pain...
i, need, pain...
like k require...
don't **** with me
over  decent ingredient list...
******, don't...
i want to cook my mother
something special...
savvy?!
you only need one woman in your life...
just your mother...
and i will leave thst **** untouched...
no...
the mther is sacred..
sacred idle Cain benefactors...
but mother, is... motjer...
mother! is mother!
mother, mother!
              you take that ****,
an d teach it to the gang...
you... *******...
****-brains!
                 you fuking Hewie ******...
no! you ******* ******!
   you pass me by....
you **** me...
you get me?
          no?
then you better reiterate
being wonton of a desire to...
****... savvy?!
like i once reiterated
of a youngster
and a ***** bottle...
well...
if your uncle is so interested,
you better caalll him,
i have a death wish...
gues what...
                 ******!  come at me!
i want death!
i am gagging for it!
     black panther *****...
spawn.. probably the only
black man alive...

you know what a capitalistic
take on poetry implies?
don't succumb
to plagiarism...
                        oh..
when i recognize you already
have...
oh have...
oh well...
well sure.. capitalism works...
just like communism
doesn't...
           you prize two?
and i'm prize one?
death the pardon of us all...
i am my own undertaker,
and my fiat quest for the first saint...
you really want to know
why i blocked the said reader....
he sounded too much akin
to my schoolfriend...
i, didn't like that...
that much...
            he beget blaming me
for why his father
divorced his mother...
*******!
   this is why friendships end...
you can blame on me,
whatever the hell you want...
but the fact that yur parents
failed in their courtship,
on me?
       really?
        you deserve whatever
comes out of the follow-up thus.

Dennis Willis
Dude I love your **** but I can only read the shorter stuff because of the drugs

Mateuš Conrad  57m
i have no problem with that, i'm not going to be your pusher, don't worry, i know that i write long pieces and that they're not for everyone, to be honest, i sometimes find myself exhausted writing the longer ones... talking about drugs... i write drunk, most of the time... so what are you into on this topic? evidently you don't have to reply, but, if i drink, and find the energy to concentrate and write... what the hell are you taking that's so... well... as you put it... again: it's just a curiosity question... then again: i hope you're not taking that drug SPICE that has gripped England like an epidemic... if you haven't heard of it... look up SPICE: a drug epidemic in England... they call it the 'zombie' drug... if someone offers it to you: STAY AWAY... England already experienced a laughing gas epidemic in the past 5 years... but yeah... SPICE... the photographs are sad as a three-legged puppy... look into it, but please, wherever you are, avoid this drug.

Mateuš Conrad  40m
p.s. you have to give yourself some credit, for admitting: 'because of the drugs', mind you... you did take enough time for honesty, and the fact that something, beside the drugs made you focused, or rather, something made you focused enough to acknowledge yourself, being strapped to an honest observation. i sometimes can't write short pieces, i have "too many" (there are never too many) notches on my reading list belt... how else can i compensate having invested a month's worth in a book, if i don't write something outside the haiku? i hope we can keep this skirmish up... i just like honesty, and... you're a rare experience of honesty in a long time, behind this masquerade of faking things... so... i guess... a thank you is in order.

Dennis Willis  25m
Mateus are you high? If not, get there dude. ;-).
Be real squared. Mostly I'm just very fast paced. Keep writing! Throw a bone to the ADD crowd periodically. LOL. Wine and maybe a **** eh!

Mateuš Conrad  1m
do you want to be pandered to? if i am about to pander to someone, leave me a less obvious clue to latch onto like a leech.. i don't smoke ****... i stopped smoking **** the minute i heard that, the English G.M. **** was making ****-smokers carve off their testicles, and **** their mothers, in psychotic fits of rage... so... are YOU... high? the attention deficit disorder crowd? you one of them? let's look at it this way... i hate emoji language... guess what happens next... i like humor, rhetorical humor...something akin to: back and forth... but this? you're as much into drugs as i am into ensuring myself formulating a, **** to an expectation of being relieved... so yeah... bye... because of the drugs... ha ha! you seem pretty alert writing such coherency!

suddenly the dope heads
have a moral authority
over drunks...
                      well... you try honesty...
after your honesty is exhausted...
you just take out the whip;
there's just no point
reasoning with these people!

why am i expected to digest
said, "humor"?
what, the ****, is humorous about it?
if i'm drunk, strapped
to a polygraph machine...
what am i missing?
i'm sensing the obvious though,
ridicule...
i hate, ridicule...
  
      being paid compliments
is one thing...
genuine compliments...
but what i just received...
can anyone see what's being
nuanced?
  then again... i'm either autistic...
or completely out-"there"
*******...
    
   supposed language,
of a drug "addict"...
ha!

i abhor reading into internet culture,
yes, nuance,
but when i have a chance
to read past it,
and subsequently read into it...
well... internet "culture":
more like:
the language expressed when using
the internet...
me talking to a blank slate
of paper...
   a bit like finding
a £20 banknote on the street?
you serious?
you know how rare that is?!
but at least some sort of cordiality,
a missing nuance
parameter,
i'm tired of nuances
in conversation,
it's enough that i have
to deal with metaphor,
cipher and alternative means
of making language hyperbolic...
but in direct conversation?
i'm not hyper-inflating
my emotions...
i, just... don't feel like
making my lexicon overtly
nuanced..
with the sheep-ish take on
hieroglyphs
with emoticons...
or n. american excesses of
acronyms...
what was once known
as a "platonic love"...
should be from therein be
known as
a "socratic conversation"...
either the dire hollow
of the death of god,
or the death of dialectics...
maybe i'm just too dumb
to solidify my reception
of nuance...
but an overt expression
of emotion,
when coupled to:
but what reply can i make,
of this?
silence is just perfect...
  do you think,
any of the 20th or 19th century
novelists would
receive mail from readers
so quickly?!
or any, at all?
maybe i really can't read
nuance...
authentic ridicule i can stomach,
when i attack someone...
but indirectly?
so... i should have my
electricity supply, cut?
back to paper mail?
            i need,
something specific to be cornered on...
i can't deal with hieroglyphic
abstractions of the emoticon...
wink wink smiley face
as in, what?!
i'm in on some ******* joke?!
or should i be?
          i must be old,
it would seem...
i can't read into the language
of the younger populace...
thank god for that...
      but sometimes the obvious is
staring you in the face...

as a psychology abstract,
a conversation that begins with:

dude I love your **** but I can only
read the shorter stuff because of the drugs

and becomes, "reiterated"
with

Mateus are you high?
          if not, get there dude. ;-).
be real squared.

i gave the ****** a journalistic
opinion about a real threat!
the SPICE epidemic is real
in England... the zombie drug is...
REAL!

how the **** can i be high if
i already explained that i was...
drunk?! the ****?!

and what, the ****, is this:  ;-)?
the **** is that?!
and squared... squared...
didn't the Beat poets use
that phrase?
you know, like in the 1950s
and the 1960s for the Normans
who didn't smoke ****?

oh **** the portrait...
i'm profiling this ****...
he / she are into drugs...
non-specific drugs...
but, somehow...
unable to read the long pieces...
yet...
very... "clairvoyant"
when it comes to:
specifically reading,
some odd specifically written
piece...

drug addicts prefer the collective
mesh... they don't hone
in on specifics...

i don't like the question either...
i am, DRUNK...
see how demeaning
the iteration becomes?
how can, a drug "addict"...
find a moral superiority
over a drunk,
supposing the drunk,
to also be, "high"?

- and that word, dude...
am i, your ******* friend or something?!
dude the **** what?!

be real squared...
that pushed the button...
oh that **** really did...

squared as in what?
your linear?
or i am squared to your linear,
or, rather, cubic?

how else you gonna foul mouth
the real crazies?
a simple rubric... with a whip!
the logistics of the language
doesn't match up!
but then the saintly sanity sanctuary Simon
goodie-two-shoes
are pandering to
the pronoun-revisionist brigade...

but sure, sure...
pander to the crazies...
the crazies you're actually worried
about...
  ARE, NOT, TAKING, ANY,
DRUGS... OTHER, THAN, THE, DRUG...
KNOWN, AS, YOUR,
NAIVETY...
oh... sure as **** they're
on this "drug"...
  how else would they begin
to trick you into being authentic
drug addicts... like this ******
i just experienced?
there are nuances in language...
but in direct conversation?
the comment section isn't
supposed to be
a poetic canvas!
you express whatever requires
a conversation,
a freeing sensation,
from a lack of a poetic collage...
i.e. red is red...
   blue is blue...
a square is a square...
  but come the poetic canvas...
well...
        language is everything
it's not supposed to be,
i.e.: the directly expressed,
"motivational"...
     pure noun: etymological...
what is language outside
of poetry, if not the pure verb,
instruction?
like what is red, amber, green,
outside of painting?
not merely traffic signalization?

i can finally understand the concept of
hurt emotions...
well... because i can understand
the concept of emotion of people who
have never had an original thought...
the people who advocate...
not, not hurting other people's emotions,
as the people, glorifying thinking,
without having an original thought
to begin with...
  i can understand being
emotionally hurt...
it implies: being driven out of
the ontological neutrality of apathy
that allows you to think...
some or any sort of narrative...
i'm finding it hard...
        for the necessarily
agitated, "cognitively"...
                they feel nothing,
and whenever they "feel" something,
it's nothing more than a lack
of an original thinking...
feeling? that's individualistic...
i don't understand the argument
from the posit of superiority...
thinking is no lesser a feeling,
than feeling is a more than thinking...
i experience more by feeling
than i ever could wish my thinking
to be, or become...
thinking is an a posteriori subject...
yet feeling is an a priori object...
i can't glorify thinking...
   thinking and facts are two
segregated entities of modulations...
feeling...
             feeling is irrational...
so why bother giving feeling
a fact, a past, a present,
a future?!
               i can understand
hurt feelings...
as enzymes, metaphors,
motivations...
        hurt feelings cannot,
ever be, "hurt" thoughts...
the "hurt" from thinking has its
avenue of explanatory fabric...
difficult arithmetic,
notably algebraic in nature...
so... "hurt" feelings...
how about your, hurt "thoughts"?
oh come on!
even i don't remember
the details of solving quadratic equations!
fudge-packaged-brain-drain-drudge?!

.eh, the general misconception (katy b - i like you): am i "hung-up" over exes? let's just say, i could have loved the way i loved without having loved the ex... the ex isn't the problem, nor a nostalgia piece... well... it is a variant of nostalgia, but not of the opposite, the canvas of my affection... a nostalgia of the affection disused, disorientated on the wrong person... it's never about the ex, it's about you, and me, and the ex that experienced, but destroyed, and about the me i wish you could experienced without an ex... the ex is, the ugly momentum that furthers "me" to disengage with my equal, "you", and your exes... the fact that a drag effect exists in relationships, the fact that Heraclitus was right: it's a river, but hardly a sea... relationships are rivers, and the generalized social interaction as the sea... oh, i'm not keeping artifacts of my exes with me... they're the me, exhausted having had them... there is no ex... there's only me forever lodged in an inanimate past... with the animate potential future, and the animate present, which is expressed thus: i can't tell you about the person i dated, but i can & at the same time not tell you about the person i was... shrapnel psyche... the same thought then, a similar thought now... but when it comes to the complete individual? ex, what?! i hate being given over to Rubens... the ex-girlfriend is not much more than the more that is an ex-self... and, my god... isn't it such an ugly picture?!

eh... she was Russian...
   eh... she was rich...
em... this is a tricky one...
she called me kakashka
(little ****)...
and she invariably
wanted me to call her
crumpet...
   apparently i acquired
this tongue to the point
whereby
i would say the word
crumpet... and she'd giggle...
oddly enough,
for me...
i visited an Ukrainian
*******, and asked:
am i a hunchback?
to which she replied:
do you not think
women have little,
or no, confidence in
approaching you?
what?! oh right...
the Casanova bit,
has to come from me...
rather than from,
them...
well... i wasn't born
with that sort of a natural
impetus...
guess this is me not
becoming a Casanova!
but my my...
if anyone is to become
jealous...
traditional Turkish
barbers?
hair is one thing,
beard another...
and only Turks can
do a decent trim of the beard...
eyes closed...
**** me...
better than oral ***...
as i once suggested...
so... manhood is taught...
with a pair of boxing gloves...
and a punching bag?!
seriously?!
how about you begin
your lesson into the realm
of manhood,
beginning with...
a good barber?
next? if i am rich enough...
a good tailor...
but... since i have
a background in chemistry...
i'm still bewildered
by the genius of
polyester translated
into clothing...
so for the moment?
no, no...
forget boxing...
you will not lose weight
by going to the gym
expecting a non-existence
of stretch marks
as if you just gave birth
to an anorexic...
bicycle... 50+ kilometers
a day, for a month...
legs do not succumb to
stretch marks...
no major organs in the legs...
and no... forget the boxing gloves,
and the punching bag...
find yourself a traditional
Turkish barber...
you're not a real man
without a trustworthy
barber...
proof:
you walk down a darkened
street,
two girls are walking a dog...
by the body shape:
teenagers...
they turn their heads
and look at you...
what?!
           such a pithy
stance... to force men to
box... how about you teach
how to groom, prior,
or how not to groom,
extend the lack of grooming for up
to 6 months...
  and then force them to groom...

i went to martial arts classes...
the student of the teacher
who became the teacher for
the evening... kicked me in the *****...
did he apologize?
i was curled up in fetal position...
so i stopped learning martial arts...
apparently i didn't
make the HA! sound while
walking forward making chop-sticks
out of martial arts' moves...
the student of the teacher
that wasn't there who acted
as the teacher: learned jack-****!
me?
     i learned something...

she really did call me kakashka
   (little ****)...
i said the word crumpet...
but never called her that...
   turns out... she wasn't even
a muffin!

            ah... all the love's lost...
hence my favorite indie cinema...
my memory.

- ever envision yourself becoming
so bitter,
that, paradoxically,
you turn out to be, the embodiment of
being:
sickly sweet?
welcome to the club;
sinister bitter...
       like most English people...
they're sorry over the most trivial
social grievances...
but never imply the grievance
upon stressing an apology.

what could possibly be a logical joke,
akin to: 1 + 1 = 2... ha ha! type?
i can't think of logical joke,
comedy is beyond being calculated,
it can be properly
  executed within the realm
of punctuation a drop-line...
  but that's about as far as logic
centers around comedy...
   only recently i revealed
that i am arachnophobic...
   (rob zombie - the girl who loved
the monsters)...
           i am... i see a spider
the size of a thumb...
     i'm like: jeez! get that thing
away from me!
you know how comedy exists
in logic?
             it exists in phobias...
given that phobias are illogical...
well... that's still the antonym of
logic...
  yes... i know the spider
is only the size of my thumb...
but phobias... ha ha!
there's something obvious about
the joke of phobias,
as there's also an ontology binding
them...
  arachnophobia? is spontaneous,
it's a reflex reaction...
  and that's the logical joke...
the illogical fear...
   funny... really funny...
this progressive term...
what is it... hmm...
oh!
    right!
     - this really comes as a reiteration...
how can i be, "islamophobic"?
where's the reflexive reaction
upon seeing a Muslim in full
religious attire?
where's the principle of phobia
being acted on?
the reflex reaction?
where is...
phobias are the jokes of logic,
and the comedy of logic is:
that they summon illogical
reactions to the altar of relativism...
ergo... if i'm scared of
a thumb sized spider in the shed,
i should be scared of my thumbs...
islamophobia is such a made-up
word...
what logic is logic to me,
behind the spider?
            em... i'm trying to tickle
& trickle god into all of this...
but i can't...
what sort of logic is behind
the spider?
   a spider, like all animate beings...
well... even trees are animate...
in slow-motion (phototropism)...
what logic is there?
there is no logic to them...
they are purely empirical reactionaries...
there's no logic,
because there's no consciousness
of thought,
the senses are too inclusive
of themselves,
to allow an exclusivity that
might make their being
impregnated with thinking,
fertile with thought...
ah... i see the joke...
my phobia is funny...
  but...
   ha ha...
    you want to experience
a fear of god?
          find your phobia...
sure, the spider has no knowledge
of logic, but whatever "created"
the spider has placed an irrational
fear of the spider, and lodged
it into my general standard
of logic...
i see the fear of god in a spider,
as i also see the comedy...
phobias are categorized by
irrational reflexes,
   they are a set of cognitive reflexes...
so... why is the term islamophobia
so bogus?
what... you think that when
i see a woman in a burqa
my "natural" reaction is:
a reflex, 'kin to the words:
  oh ****! a suicide bomber!
NO!
     this term is what the ancient
Greeks would call:
what the **** are you talking about?!
(said really quickly).
- but that's the nature
of phobias... and the nature
of the comedy of logic...
it is derived from phobias...
i can acknowledge the comedy
of being "afraid" of spiders...
not all...
   it's not exactly a fear...
it's not a disgust...
it's a reflex reaction i have
inherited...
       from god knows where...
  you can't associate Islam with
an attache of: phobia...
like i said... a phobia is the joke
of my own logical conclusion...
i'm laughing at the illogical
premise... my cognitive reflex
and subsequent ****** reaction...
since there is no logic
behind a spider,
only the illogical pure empirical
functioning of the being...
and... past the "illogical"
nature of the spider -
the logic of a "god"...
    **** contemplating god
using the spider,
and, "the architect" reflected
in the spiderweb...
i'm going after the joke...
but... Islam as a phobia?
last time i heard...
Islam wasn't illogical...
it was just a logic different
to my own...
so... where's the joke?
where's the grand phobic
reflexive stand?
   i'm like the ancient Greeks...
what the **** are you talking
about
   (said really quickly)...
it's no phobia to be apprehensive,
precautionary,
anticipatory...
        a bit like...
ha!
          heating up oil in a frying
pan... and the moment
just before you drop in the potato
chips one by one...
wondering...
   has the water been properly
drained from them?
or hasn't it...
and the oil will go crazy?
that's not a phobia...
   a phobia is the comedy of logic;
but Islam is a logic
of its own kind...
  a phobia is trans-national /
  trans-ethnic, trans-gender, trans per se,
universal...
     so why do i not retract
with a reflex upon seeing a Muslim
in his religious attire?
like i would with a spider
in a shed the size of my thumb?
so... what Islamo-phobia?

margaret

Langit ang nagbigay biyaya nang ambon ay dinilig
Ang aking hiling sa panginoon ay biglang nadinig
Pinadala ang anghel na sa mundo ko’y yayanig
Tinawag ng ng kanyang tinig, at Napatulala sa mga Titig

Maari bang malaman ang yong pakay sa akin
Kung ikaw ba ay pasakit at tuluyan na akong wawasakin?
Laging kong tanong kung ano ba ang dapat kong gawin
Kung ang kahulugan mo ay kabiguan patuloy pa ba kitang iibigin?

Nagtatanong kay Bathala, Paano ko ba mapapaliwanag ang  hiwaga
Nitong pagmamahal na kung bakit sa puso kumapit ka ng kusa
Ako’y nagtataka’t di maka paniwala Bakit ito ang yong ginawa
Sa bigay **** biyaya, Ano ba ang kasalanan ko  para isinumpa

Gaano ba kita pinapahalagahan? Alam mo ba ang dahilan?
Hiling ko lang ay sanay iyong maunawaan itong nararamdaman
Kaya ang paliwanag ko ay simple nalang
Masikip dito sa loob ko, kaya ang kasya ay ikaw lang

Alaalang bitbit pano ko makakalimutan
Kung Sa puso koy nakaukit  ang yong pangalan
Ibinalot ng tatag ng loob para ika’y ipaglalaban
Di kita hahayaang lumuha lagi kang aalagaan.

Nagaabang ng sasakyan para dalhin sa langit, iwan ang mundo
Nakikiusap Pagbigyan sana Hiling makamit, Anghel na sundo
Saan nga ba tayo patungo? Byaheng langit sa impyerno,
Sa isipan kong magulo, Kasinungalingan ka ba o Totoo?

Linalaro sa panaginip ang dakilang pagsuyo
Tuluyang Hinamon Ang matapang na puso
Sayo napalapit at ayaw nang lumayo
Ang silakbo ay di na kaya, kayang isuko

kahit ano dito sa lupain ay handa kong ialay
Pagkat ang langit sa akin ay una mo nang binigay
Ang halaga mo sa akin ay Walang katumbas na materyal
Dahil Di kayang sukatin kung gano kita kamahal

Sa loob ng jeepney, akoy may kursunada
Ang babaeng gustong makilala, medyo suplada
Biglang tinanong nya ako, “bakit may itatanong ka ba?”
Kaya sagot ko, “wala akong itatanong, pero may kaba”

Kaba sa dibdib, dahil sa binigyan ako ng pansin
Mula sa binibining suplada at di ko yun akalain
Na magpapasaya at bububuo sa mahabang araw
Nang minsang napatingala sa kagandahang natanaw

Dagdag ko, “Magbayad na tayo”
Sabi nya, “bayad lang walang pang tayo”
Sinabi ko ulit “Miss, pwede namang pambayad ang ngiti,
(bakit?) kasi yung 500 mo wala silang panukli”

Sa loob ng isipan koy tumutula,
Sa labas ang mga mata koy natutulala
Nabighani ng ganda at napahanga
Di ko napapansin tulo laway labas dila

Ngunit sa mukhang tila nakasimangot
Napansin ko sa mga mata’y may lungkot
Kaya Ang magpasaya, kahit papano ay aking ginawa
Nang Minsan sana’y dumampi ang ngiti, at magbigay ng tuwa

Ginawa ko na ang simpleng galawan
Inaabot ang bayad, upang kamay nya ay mahawakan
Gusto ko din sanang malaman ang kanyang pangalan
Baka may pagasa kung sya ay liligawan

Wala man akong pera, mahalaga masaya
Wala man akong pera, basta katabi ko maganda
Wala man akong pera, basta wala akong sakit
Wala man akong pera, basta kami ay nagkalapit

Aking naalala, aking naalala.....
Wala pala talaga akong pera
Ni piso isa, wala sa bulsa
Pano na? Pano na?

Kaya ang ending ng love story,
Mamang tsuper I’m sorry
Pagtumigil na tong byahe,
Takbo sibat, handa na akong mag 123....

Mahal kong Margaret,

Patawad

(Higit pa sa Sampong beses ko na tong nagawa
Hanggang ngayon di pa maunawa
Ang tulad mo sa akin na nag mahal ng kusa
Nasaktan ko ng di sinasadya)

Alam kong sawa ka na sa paulit ulit na nang yayari,
Away bati sa  mga bagay na kahit na simple.
Walang ibang Iniisip kundi ang puro pansarili,
Nagseselos ako bawat sinong makatabi.

Marahil pagod ka na, at gusto mo nang umayaw.
Ngunit sana ikaw ay magbalik tanaw
Humihingi ng tawad, hiling na magbalik ang dating ako at ikaw
Maging ako man ang inakalang papawi ng luha sya pa ang unang bumitaw

Tanggapin ang alay kong tsokolate at rosas na pula
Tikman ang tamis nito, tulad ng pagsisikap kong laging pasobra
May taglay na bango ang bulaklak, binabalik ang alaala
Ng lumipas, Kalakip ang tula galing sa puso, inukit sa pluma, indinaan  ko sa letra.

Pakinggan mo sana ang mga daing kong nawalan nang tinig
Masdan ng mga mata **** nakapinid,ayaw nang tumititig
Muli nating painitin ang samahang unti unti nang lumalamig
Bigyang pagkakataong buhayin ang pusong di na pumipintig

Alam mo namang lahat ay aking gagawin,
Ano mang kaparusahan ay handa ko nang akoin,
Sa panong paraan ba ako patatawarin?
para lang ANG PANGALAWANG PAGKAKATAON SA AKIN AY IYONG MARAPATIN.

＊ｐｓ．　ｈｉｎｔａｙｉｎ　ｋｉｔａ　ｄｕｕｎ ｌａｇｉ　。
１－４ｐｍ　ｋａｄａ　ｍｅｉｒｋｕｌｅｓ


Makatang humihingi ng tawad,
August E. Estrellado