you know the story, it's either machine-gun,
piano of a troll strolling along to the song
of a girl wishing to be anything but the female version
of oedipus, attracting attention, ******* a lot
(as you do), then clinging to the stable one
for perfection of the lie... i can claim such resources
in femininity as fluent and true, but what i claim is about:
care for the man engraved in history for a while, while man
encouraged man to not limit a life of 30 years the span of 30....
post-humous we'll have it.. there's too much CUT! and
pitchfork perfect in fame of the modern sense...
i could have settled for a court hearing,
a malignant care to concern myself...
but then i'd be a *****... i'd be reaping unrelated rewards
to only attempt prohibition if penitent alcoholics...
and i don't want that... i want what the japanese proclaimed,
i want honour... and you know...
eye for an eye is hardly money for a haemorrhaged
brain... the thing honour exposes...
i can see ridicule a mile away...
it's wit alright... but it's wit where you're centre stage
being laughed at...
honour does away with ridicule as the miscarriage
of wit...
it's humour alright... but it's not really pardonable...
honour can see ridicule a mile away...
plus i might have been smothered by a pillow...
i stood up, like the noumenon rhasputin and thought:
better me than ugly...
i enter the realm of the cat's onomatopoeia
that's meow... cling to the rule of writing the tetragrammaton
losing the vowels and get m & w...
then i apply this to understand something...
vowels are breaths... consonants are things breathed into / at,
i rearrange my insurgence...
the cat understands everything with the onomatopoeic
barrier of meow... it's the coptic version
of the science behind the eye...
i see upright with the aid of chinese writing
from top to bottom...
in get the crooked with the aid of militant japan
(the only military nation of asia),
sideways is when two monotheisms speak -
not even islam allowed it being written from
right to left...
it's hardly the jurisprudent hebrew:
i'm right... you're wrong.
no wonder the verb herbivore asking
the noun carnivore to eat up definite terms
of hydrochloric and carboxylic and ester to
speak in public about chemistry...
many a tree will blossom and then wilt...
many a sun will combust and shoot out
2d black holes that are explained with the symbol ∞,
many a badger will transverse the whole
of alaska in search of a frozen atlantis -
keen eye of man dare not look to devalue humanity
in what is called the fingerprint of dinosaurs
among insects...
who will carry our fingerprints?
only words can remain, a levelling above the insects
that might be deciphered by a universe in glee
of the ordained awes in number akin to sins & cardinal virtues.
we will not roar to the morn's reminder,
into the atomisation of answers the biologists provide
with d.n.a., we will not atomise truths and untruths,
biological atomisation is not the answer,
we have the chemical alphabet after all:
H, He, Li, Be, B, C, N, O, F, Ne, Na, Mg, Al, Si, P, S, Cl, Ar, K, Ca, Sc...
we need more than mosquitos and welsh / chinese dragons
to prove we existed for the next to come on this droplet of
splendour... the welsh and the chinese knew of
giant-lizard ribcage tabernacles before the excavations?
how strange... all of psychiatric theory concerning
the unconscious is just standing upside down...
we knew prior to what he senses sensed... weird...
as weird as what's termed the devil's dozen...
jesus: peter, andrew, james, john, philip, bartholomew,
matthew, thomas, james, simon, thaddeus, judas;
by my count that's past high noon, as one in the afternoon;
but in terms of spacial coordination... two thousand
and fifteen years out of date... given the present
islamic reformation.

sensible history begins with a, b, c, x y z... it doesn't begin with the lascaux cave paintings... that's hardly an attempt to make the gazelle cryptic from 3d to 2d... we're talking making human history beginning with encryption... modern day programming... and with the birth of a - z is the beginning of human history... the limb of darwinism categorising us in the simplicity of animals lost... it won't work otherwise asking for artistic comparisons... i'm talking the lost effort to show how we started to think, for we started to forget the lascaux representations as the vector of direct articulation... to the representation of the vector of indirect articulation, until hitting the brick walls... the kantian a priori e = mc squared / tetragrammaton... which no monkey could have originated with in that robinson crusoe story without the beginning of the onomatopoeia ooh ooh rub the belly tap the head eat a banana: words are the x-rays of images.... at least the chinese ones were animate... and the latin cain & abel were simple.... originating in the musicology with the sire - lessened. western europe sang; eastern europe fudged a wolf pack in the **** segmentation of the full throttle of curses via retina dilated for the full pleasure of culture. there was always the korean quirk-fest with the south, it was always a question of the north... i almost jumped  the bandwagon of chi and complex phoneticism in the complex usage of mongol-anglo correctness chi via sire... to make 仁 (ren / jen) as simple as apple to distinguish lactose from fructose; tell me latin was as simple as hebrew and mandarin as complex as xylophone notation.... where the former was atomisation and the latter compounds with one identifying 26 sounds and the latter identifying 26,000 nouns / images.*

so... so you get to repeat yourself
from tokyo to las vegas?
fascinating, the classic crowd pleaser,
and the loss of rivers constantly
winding with the coordinates (0,0)...
well here’s one from the z-axis... harps of the snooze
will govern the surveillance parameters
of attempted anonymity of that “return to” state
prior to being the same in the global framework persistence
of advertisement and charities;
after all... just a bunch of mongrel dogs ******* your leg
with unexplored narcissism due to acne.
ah yes... the fame part of translating a hiatus into
an existential haiku of creativity;
well, we can't beat the chinese or the blue indians
on this... they might only write poetry in the form
of haikus... but there's a billion of each!
the red indians are a zoological specimen / white man
erasing them due to the cuisine of scalp ******* baked goodies...
no, but seriously... there are about 4 million norwegians,
and there's a book out there that a tenth of norwegians have...
poetry in large building blocks of man
provide scarce poetry... haikus... the narrative is cherished
with taxes and caring for grandparents...
it's **** beside that... i mean, didn’t the cavity of
taking photography undermine out photographic memorisation
of things? there’s no memory to think about with a photograph.

you know how many times i watched feline ballerina nimble limbs make licking your *** an ease acceptable? the same number i wished was your **** rather than a *******'s: after all, who wants to walk down an alleyway with flat-tire bicycles calling it a village? when the furthest you can travel is a mile away from freedom provided by the solidarity movement bicycle pamphlet distributors.*

i guess a poem was here
well behaved by new england standards'
for publication
with missing perfect punctuation
but lacerated vocabulary,
or perhaps the reverse versus.

p.s. what ****** off darwinists is the crow
uniformity, the way they can't be ****
moloch steady, cruel to be kind,
kind to be cruel, the way the parasites
of visible for are excluded and atomisation
of parasites has bred
darwinism's loathing is pepper topped off with salt,
i too have no heart like that,
but the perfect crow is a cul de sac of darwinism
when man cannot perfect such natural cruelty,
he selects his cruelty: hangs the mobile man
salvages the disabled man, who needs a carer...

the former a career,
so they took a **** on the **** **** turned themselves
on what the gemini said would arrive:
a kind of selfishness that was what was to be
pacified by warring factions, and the inability to
impregnate the safety of impregnable girls
who had no need for freezing ovaries to keep both
house and career, reproduction and husband.

No community
We're all Individuals
Atomisation

i am—i fear my continued being;
solitude trapped like my reflection;
half self-made into a slave, enabling:
the other half to be coerced freely
like the pig in its dear muck wallowing,
my semblances calling themselves happy.

in person sober always concealing:
depression has been my master since
the first memory worth remembering.
and we laugh of how life is a cinch
amid vital eyes where every smile
is beautiful—unwelcome: struggle, bile.

we, in politics still non-existent
as the spectacle explodes on our backs,
our atomisation as consistent
as series, as the urgency that lacks,
as our enemy's secret attacks that
give us illusions to keep us content

and indignant and passive and apart:
before apocalypse, and our masters.
every superficial wound or scar:
a signifier of something deeper,
a structure probably still gushing blood;
a symptom of unequal heritage.

i am a slave severed from history,
from forgotten strength of my fore-mothers,
from ignored conquests of my fore-fathers,
from my foreign birth-place and mystery,
grown comfortable in my tailored chains
and ideologies without ideas.

i groan through narcotic smoke for vistas
clear as the love i know is in your heart,
for shared stories of logical revolts,
for redemption of past revolutions,
for real collapse of tyrannical abstractions,
for my masters to fear my continued being—

for passionate thought, to be subject with you,
our loyalty fused, our direction true.

out of balance? out of balance? my fist in your face is out of balance, but it isn't there, and it should be there, and the "out of balance" part - if your maxim is in my head, that equates itself to the out of balance of a missing fist in your face of a crafting of a jackson ******* squish, or a plum tomato, well then... maybe i was right to avoid punching you and making modern art, as i was: completely discrediting your words, esp. as an old man as: complete *******. it would seem, better write in youth, than to write in old age; or write at all.

it would seem, that we need to see much more
mathematical terms - the new form of replacing
1 = a, and 2 = b....
    i "think" we need to introduce the square-off...
that the √ be the nuo ego... letters falling fast,
new units, end even newer nuance -
    like autumnal flakes of oak -
the last revealing promise:
lost, to the things salvaged
                                    as, "old".

atomisation correlates directly
with a big "bang" theory -
a "bang" in a vacuous space?
you ******* kidding me?
bangs happen in a vacuum?
what i am, a ******* deaf numb mole
who has a hard picture of
comparing a mozart to a tchaikovsky?!
what's that, rattled siberia,
while finally residing of the riviera?
***** twice doubled -
     and i thought i had readied all
the ******* fur milkin'...
seems poetry was always a *******
guise for all artists...
i don't mind,
  writing a ******* is as amusing
as looking at seals in a zoo...
you just end up clapping
alongside them! ha! it's infectious!
miraculous in the onomatopoeia sense of
ough, ough, seals & seagulls
combined: + an oink,
and micagrammatons...
     moink, moink...
  how does a man write
    a proper woof / meow,
and not make it sound as mundane
   as a knocking on a door?
- but you should seen me when they
handcuffed my father,
who? the home-office... they said:
what a nice computer...
and they took him away...
i remember the day they spat onto
my father's head in chessington's world
of adventures... i remembered that...
but you know what i best
remember... the evil sly look i gave,
akin to ex machina soundtrack -
    hacking_cutting - by that moment,
the ball, just, sank...
                you like being called
"illegal"? you try explaining your
"legal" sudanese immigrant brats,
hoarded by political correctness?!
    
you want to talk to a kid,
punching a wall, imagining it was a face
till the plums came home?
****, the kid could,
he'd make a ******* apple pie
from that face, and leave you some
apple pulp's worth of a face for a jam...
you really, really don't know how
this will brew?

i god forbid anyone in defence of these
germanic tribes-people...
  they deserve their turn on ****,
i never had a thing for a gloria steinem,
or a claudia schiffer...
but i do remember punching a wall,
imagining it to be a bulldog's worth
of an english man's face,
licking his tongue into a somali ****
pretending it was a lamb sandwich...

and then i cried wolf:
                           and a wolf - i became:

ah-woooooooooooooo!!!

best exacted - the dirtiest look imaginable,
what the arabs call the *evil eye,
i? i call it the death stare -
            the song already mentioned -

the english are the least apparent into
their moral monopoly -
        they're either the retards,
or the rejects... i can't and never will decide
which...
        but from what i have read,
they really do deserve an a.i. paranoia -
to have created something that
overshadows them, bewilders them,
they really do need a guardian and protector,
that is half-based human: origins of,
but is also half-based artificiality:
   the frozen congo - remnant of
the baked alaska -
              that monkey in an igloo,
             playing with a pair of chopsticks!

i can't even believe how people can become
so naive, as to be naive enough:
to spread naiveness beyond themselves,
and craft the architecture of
  jung's collective unconscious reverse -
people always speak of en masse hysterias -
en masse psychologies -
  group think,
                   naive-ness is what what constructs
the antithesis of jung's collective
unconsciousness...  it's always the certain
sleepy tomorrow...
   being naive is the conscious agglomerate,
there was always a conclusive collectivism -
it sprouted in the failings of
             capitalism: being defended.