Members
Just a boy, who likes to pretend to know a few things... Hey guys, I'm not sure how active I'm going to be, or the ...
Poems
Adasyev
Aug 2018
Z iniciativy české státní správy byly na stránky hellopoetry uměle přidány reklamy. Ty se nejprve začaly zobrazovat na stránkách mých textů s cílem je zakrýt a odradit moje čtenáře. Návštěvnost textů byla také bloknuta. Poté, co jsem do profilu přidal info o tom, že se zobrazují jen před mými texty, se začaly zobrazovat už všude. Státní správa se rozhodla kvůli mně ničit i texty druhých. Pro srovnání se můžete na hellopoetry připojit ze zahraničí, zda se zobrazí nějaké reklamy. Cílem je mě donutit k tomu, abych smazal tento účet a svou tvorbu, jako pomsta za mou (možná přehnaně) satirickou tvorbu proti pražské státní správě nebo poslancům. Pokud jsem někoho urazil, tak se mu omlouvám, ale útočné texty pokládám za užitečné a dobré, jak uvádím dál. Nikdo si na ně přímo nestěžoval a pokud ano, tak by bylo nejlepší, kdyby to řekl přímo autorovi, tedy mně. Moje adresa: Mezi Domky 255, 251 68 Kamenice. Cenzuru pomocí reklamy bez dalšího vysvětlení považuju za zbabělou.
V reakci na cenzuru a reklamy jsem smazal několik textů, které zasahovaly do osobnostních práv lidí, kteří se jich žádným způsobem po mně nedomáhali anebo neměli odvahu to udělat. Likvidaci nebo poškození zla považuju za dobrou věc. Agresi proti úřední nebo institucionální (firemní) nadřazenosti, která někoho druhého považuje za nekompetentního a ne sobě rovného považuju za dobro, které přináší změnu v myšlení. Rozhodne lepší a lepší ovlivní víc lidí. Můj text v angličtině ("A message from me") platí dál, po smazaní špiclovského účtu (můžou si založit nový) smažu i ten.
Zpráva zaslaná uživateli hellopoetry.com/retardnnn:
Predchozi upravou jsem tady skoncil. Navzdy. Muzete pracovat az do dalsiho ministra vnitra nebo reditele BIS nebo deseti dalsich, az do konce veku.
Ještě chci dodat, že "likvidací" myslím hlavně literární zesměšnění, které mělo v této zemi vždycky tradici. Původní inspirací napsat krátkou prózu "Bezdomovci z kolonie Bubenské nábřeží založili kurýrní společnost" bylo dokázat si, že dokážu napsat něco satirického, tak jak to udělal třeba Jaroslav Hašek. Moje texty vadí právě proto, že jsou dobře napsané a jsou úspěšné. Kdyby dobré nebyly, nikdo by se jimi nezabýval a nemusel je cenzurovat. Pokud mě chcete posuzovat, věřte při čtení hlavně sami sobě, ne informacím někoho druhého, a už vůbec ne státem placeným trollům na sociálních sítích. Žijeme v době druhé normalizace. Pokud nemáte odvahu a vlastní názor, tak v ní žijte dál. Uznávám, že v textu "Orangutani z pavilonu Indonéská džungle založili Poslaneckou sněmovnu ČR" jsem to přehnal a bezdůvodně pourážel hodně lidí. I těch slabších a citlivějších, kteří se nemůžou bránit. Hlavním podnětem k jeho napsání byly ale agresivní reklamy (bannery) ODS, které se mi neustále zobrazovaly na mých vlastních stránkách adasyev.deviantart.com a ve kterých se autoři snažili rýmovat, stejně jako já.
Zkusím vysvětlit některé rýmy:
"Vlez na úřad a všechno sněz, Praha volí ODS".
Narážka na člena ODS JUDr. Luboše Záveského, vedoucího inspektora OIP Praha. Jeho činnost spočívá v tom, že u práce, kde nedostanete ani minimální hodinovou mzdu, dal takovým podnikatelům ještě lepší smlouvy než před kontrolou. Z pokuty, kterou inspektoři vyinkasují od podnikatele za nelegální práci, si sami sjednali odměny (vedle státního platu). Touto námezdnickou prací jsem si prošel.
"Kdo nedává na žrádlo, sponzoruje divadlo."
Narážka na pražskou podnikatelku Ing. Hanu Černochovou, majitelku superúspěšného švarcsystémového podvodu s názvem eKuryr, s.r.o. Paní majitelka se svým manželem byla nebo je mecenáškou Národního divadla v Praze. Na to, že podnikání této firmy je v podstatě sofistikovaný podvod, jsem přišel já, ne státní úředníci, a to ve stížnosti dostupné na tinyurl.com/svarcsystem. Po odečtení nákladů na provoz si kurýr s osobním autem v podstatě nic nevydělá a díky tomuto podvodu firma docilovala nejnižších cen na trhu.
Rovněž třeba parodie "Prague Connection" byla inspirována jiným autorem, který zase parodoval některé verše z mojí tvorby. Nic není bez příčiny... Ani já.
A tak dál
a tak dál
nic jsem tady nenapsal
jen tak
pro nic za nic.
Svoje básně přesunu na nové místo, protože je o ně zájem. Nemůžu už tady zveřejňovat žádné další nové příspěvky. Když to udělám, jsou na veřejném profilu smazány (pro ČR). Takže tento text je jediným způsobem komunikace se čtenáři. Upozorňujte na cenzuru a sdílejte moji tvorbu. Díky, L.
POZNÁMKA: Počet zhlédnutí tohoto textu, tak jak je dole, je ZFALŠOVÁN, s cílem vytvořit dojem, že ** už vlastně nikdo nečte. Aktuální zamrzlá hodnota je 34 (5. 8. 2018). Vyzkoušejte sdílení tohoto textu a uvidíte, zda číslo stoupá nebo ne. Číslům u ostatních básní se teď už také nedá věřit.
AKTUALIZACE: Hodnota zfalšována (snížena) na 45, opět bloknuta. Jako nové číslo se může objevit cokoliv a bude opět bloknuté.
AKTUALIZACE: Místo reklam se může zobrazit rádobyvěrohodný inzerát na sponzorování tohoto serveru. Server Hellopoetry je ale dobrovolně financován členy komunity bez zobrazování jakýchkoliv poutačů nebo reklam. Díky tomu je zachována grafická čistota textů básní. Srovnejte při připojení ze zahraničí.
AKTUALIZACE 22. 4. 2021: Co se tady na Hello Poetry vlastně stalo, doteď nevím. Moje nové příspěvky se nezobrazí na mojí profilové stránce. Při aktualizaci anglického textu A Message From Me byl po přihlášení k mému účtu na zadávací stránce vložen škodlivý HTML kód, který periodicky útočil na operační paměť a shazoval prohlížeč. Došlo k prohození napsaných odstavců v mém textu A Message From Me, kdy verze, která se zobrazovala veřejnosti po odhlášení z účtu, se lišila od originální uložené verze se správným pořadím odstavců. Tento samotný český text byl zpočátku (srpen 2018) zcela překryt nesmyslným obřím černobílým bannerem s nápisem Sudoku, který se prodlužoval na výšku této stránky jak rostla návštěvnost mojí výzvy. Samotné počty zhlédnutí/přečtení tohoto a jiných mých textů jsou skutečně zamrzlé, tj. nerostou pro různé unikátní IP adresy i identity (testoval jsem s prohlížečem Tor). Soudě podle publikovaných textů ostatních uživatelů z Hello Poetry, jejich zkušenosti s tímto webem jsou rovněž podivné, např. někdo uvedl, že nemůže psát vůbec komentáře (to by vysvětlovalo, proč můj text A Message From Me se současnou návštěvností téměř 22 tisíc přečtení nemá ani jeden komentář; to je to, co vidím po přihlášení ke svému účtu). Při mé snaze logicky vytěsnit překrývající reklamy, kdy jsem se domníval, že jsou dílem inteligentního útočníka, jsem paralelně napsal anglický text A Message From Me a toto české Sdělení. K odkazům pro veřejnost jsem použil krátké odkazy služby tinyurl.com. Při jejím opětovném využívání během zdejšího zápasu s reklamou se mně najednou reklamním bannerem zcela překrylo i zadávací políčko pro adresu na stránce tinyurl.com, tak, že služba bez blokovače reklam nešla vůbec použít. Celá věc na mě působila tak, že si ze mě dělá nebo dělají srandu nějací počítačoví šachisté s plošným přístupem k serverům a alespoň částečnou možností modifikace přenášených dat. K účtu hellopoetry.com/retardnnn se pojí rovněž fiktivní jméno "Sarai Hladká" a další podivný účet instagram.com/adamlanza92 (podle jména a roku narození amerického masového vraha). Tento instagramový účet měl před pár lety v popisku text právě jen "Sarai Hladká", tedy stejná "sara" aneb retardnnn, který mě měl mezi sledovanými zde na Hello Poetry v červenci 2018 (a který nebo která má účet taky na deviantart.com/retardnnn). Pokud náhodou víte nebo tušíte, čí je to účet, anebo máte nějaké nápady a připomínky k výše uvedenému, uvítám vaše e-maily na adrese lukas.vejsada@tiscali.cz. Kontaktujte mě také prosím, i pokud narazíte na nějaký "můj" profil na Facebooku. Děkuju, L.
AKTUALIZACE 25. 5. 2021: Profil instagram.com/adamlanza92 byl zrušen.
AKTUALIZACE 14. 6. 2021: Dostal jsem e-mailem reakci k původu účtu hellopoetry.com/retardnnn a dalších. Má jít o účet pubertálního dítěte, pisatel mě ujistil, že rozhodně nejde o účet založený MV ČR nebo BIS.
AKTUALIZACE 6. 10. 2023: Moje zkušenosti (nejenom) s tímto webem jsou nově shrnuty na adrese adasyev.tiiny.site
Krátký odkaz na tuto stránku: https://tinyurl.com/nechcemecenzuru
V reakci na cenzuru a reklamy jsem smazal několik textů, které zasahovaly do osobnostních práv lidí, kteří se jich žádným způsobem po mně nedomáhali anebo neměli odvahu to udělat. Likvidaci nebo poškození zla považuju za dobrou věc. Agresi proti úřední nebo institucionální (firemní) nadřazenosti, která někoho druhého považuje za nekompetentního a ne sobě rovného považuju za dobro, které přináší změnu v myšlení. Rozhodne lepší a lepší ovlivní víc lidí. Můj text v angličtině ("A message from me") platí dál, po smazaní špiclovského účtu (můžou si založit nový) smažu i ten.
Zpráva zaslaná uživateli hellopoetry.com/retardnnn:
Predchozi upravou jsem tady skoncil. Navzdy. Muzete pracovat az do dalsiho ministra vnitra nebo reditele BIS nebo deseti dalsich, az do konce veku.
Ještě chci dodat, že "likvidací" myslím hlavně literární zesměšnění, které mělo v této zemi vždycky tradici. Původní inspirací napsat krátkou prózu "Bezdomovci z kolonie Bubenské nábřeží založili kurýrní společnost" bylo dokázat si, že dokážu napsat něco satirického, tak jak to udělal třeba Jaroslav Hašek. Moje texty vadí právě proto, že jsou dobře napsané a jsou úspěšné. Kdyby dobré nebyly, nikdo by se jimi nezabýval a nemusel je cenzurovat. Pokud mě chcete posuzovat, věřte při čtení hlavně sami sobě, ne informacím někoho druhého, a už vůbec ne státem placeným trollům na sociálních sítích. Žijeme v době druhé normalizace. Pokud nemáte odvahu a vlastní názor, tak v ní žijte dál. Uznávám, že v textu "Orangutani z pavilonu Indonéská džungle založili Poslaneckou sněmovnu ČR" jsem to přehnal a bezdůvodně pourážel hodně lidí. I těch slabších a citlivějších, kteří se nemůžou bránit. Hlavním podnětem k jeho napsání byly ale agresivní reklamy (bannery) ODS, které se mi neustále zobrazovaly na mých vlastních stránkách adasyev.deviantart.com a ve kterých se autoři snažili rýmovat, stejně jako já.
Zkusím vysvětlit některé rýmy:
"Vlez na úřad a všechno sněz, Praha volí ODS".
Narážka na člena ODS JUDr. Luboše Záveského, vedoucího inspektora OIP Praha. Jeho činnost spočívá v tom, že u práce, kde nedostanete ani minimální hodinovou mzdu, dal takovým podnikatelům ještě lepší smlouvy než před kontrolou. Z pokuty, kterou inspektoři vyinkasují od podnikatele za nelegální práci, si sami sjednali odměny (vedle státního platu). Touto námezdnickou prací jsem si prošel.
"Kdo nedává na žrádlo, sponzoruje divadlo."
Narážka na pražskou podnikatelku Ing. Hanu Černochovou, majitelku superúspěšného švarcsystémového podvodu s názvem eKuryr, s.r.o. Paní majitelka se svým manželem byla nebo je mecenáškou Národního divadla v Praze. Na to, že podnikání této firmy je v podstatě sofistikovaný podvod, jsem přišel já, ne státní úředníci, a to ve stížnosti dostupné na tinyurl.com/svarcsystem. Po odečtení nákladů na provoz si kurýr s osobním autem v podstatě nic nevydělá a díky tomuto podvodu firma docilovala nejnižších cen na trhu.
Rovněž třeba parodie "Prague Connection" byla inspirována jiným autorem, který zase parodoval některé verše z mojí tvorby. Nic není bez příčiny... Ani já.
A tak dál
a tak dál
nic jsem tady nenapsal
jen tak
pro nic za nic.
Svoje básně přesunu na nové místo, protože je o ně zájem. Nemůžu už tady zveřejňovat žádné další nové příspěvky. Když to udělám, jsou na veřejném profilu smazány (pro ČR). Takže tento text je jediným způsobem komunikace se čtenáři. Upozorňujte na cenzuru a sdílejte moji tvorbu. Díky, L.
POZNÁMKA: Počet zhlédnutí tohoto textu, tak jak je dole, je ZFALŠOVÁN, s cílem vytvořit dojem, že ** už vlastně nikdo nečte. Aktuální zamrzlá hodnota je 34 (5. 8. 2018). Vyzkoušejte sdílení tohoto textu a uvidíte, zda číslo stoupá nebo ne. Číslům u ostatních básní se teď už také nedá věřit.
AKTUALIZACE: Hodnota zfalšována (snížena) na 45, opět bloknuta. Jako nové číslo se může objevit cokoliv a bude opět bloknuté.
AKTUALIZACE: Místo reklam se může zobrazit rádobyvěrohodný inzerát na sponzorování tohoto serveru. Server Hellopoetry je ale dobrovolně financován členy komunity bez zobrazování jakýchkoliv poutačů nebo reklam. Díky tomu je zachována grafická čistota textů básní. Srovnejte při připojení ze zahraničí.
AKTUALIZACE 22. 4. 2021: Co se tady na Hello Poetry vlastně stalo, doteď nevím. Moje nové příspěvky se nezobrazí na mojí profilové stránce. Při aktualizaci anglického textu A Message From Me byl po přihlášení k mému účtu na zadávací stránce vložen škodlivý HTML kód, který periodicky útočil na operační paměť a shazoval prohlížeč. Došlo k prohození napsaných odstavců v mém textu A Message From Me, kdy verze, která se zobrazovala veřejnosti po odhlášení z účtu, se lišila od originální uložené verze se správným pořadím odstavců. Tento samotný český text byl zpočátku (srpen 2018) zcela překryt nesmyslným obřím černobílým bannerem s nápisem Sudoku, který se prodlužoval na výšku této stránky jak rostla návštěvnost mojí výzvy. Samotné počty zhlédnutí/přečtení tohoto a jiných mých textů jsou skutečně zamrzlé, tj. nerostou pro různé unikátní IP adresy i identity (testoval jsem s prohlížečem Tor). Soudě podle publikovaných textů ostatních uživatelů z Hello Poetry, jejich zkušenosti s tímto webem jsou rovněž podivné, např. někdo uvedl, že nemůže psát vůbec komentáře (to by vysvětlovalo, proč můj text A Message From Me se současnou návštěvností téměř 22 tisíc přečtení nemá ani jeden komentář; to je to, co vidím po přihlášení ke svému účtu). Při mé snaze logicky vytěsnit překrývající reklamy, kdy jsem se domníval, že jsou dílem inteligentního útočníka, jsem paralelně napsal anglický text A Message From Me a toto české Sdělení. K odkazům pro veřejnost jsem použil krátké odkazy služby tinyurl.com. Při jejím opětovném využívání během zdejšího zápasu s reklamou se mně najednou reklamním bannerem zcela překrylo i zadávací políčko pro adresu na stránce tinyurl.com, tak, že služba bez blokovače reklam nešla vůbec použít. Celá věc na mě působila tak, že si ze mě dělá nebo dělají srandu nějací počítačoví šachisté s plošným přístupem k serverům a alespoň částečnou možností modifikace přenášených dat. K účtu hellopoetry.com/retardnnn se pojí rovněž fiktivní jméno "Sarai Hladká" a další podivný účet instagram.com/adamlanza92 (podle jména a roku narození amerického masového vraha). Tento instagramový účet měl před pár lety v popisku text právě jen "Sarai Hladká", tedy stejná "sara" aneb retardnnn, který mě měl mezi sledovanými zde na Hello Poetry v červenci 2018 (a který nebo která má účet taky na deviantart.com/retardnnn). Pokud náhodou víte nebo tušíte, čí je to účet, anebo máte nějaké nápady a připomínky k výše uvedenému, uvítám vaše e-maily na adrese lukas.vejsada@tiscali.cz. Kontaktujte mě také prosím, i pokud narazíte na nějaký "můj" profil na Facebooku. Děkuju, L.
AKTUALIZACE 25. 5. 2021: Profil instagram.com/adamlanza92 byl zrušen.
AKTUALIZACE 14. 6. 2021: Dostal jsem e-mailem reakci k původu účtu hellopoetry.com/retardnnn a dalších. Má jít o účet pubertálního dítěte, pisatel mě ujistil, že rozhodně nejde o účet založený MV ČR nebo BIS.
AKTUALIZACE 6. 10. 2023: Moje zkušenosti (nejenom) s tímto webem jsou nově shrnuty na adrese adasyev.tiiny.site
Krátký odkaz na tuto stránku: https://tinyurl.com/nechcemecenzuru
Mateuš Conrad
Dec 2015
poet, or philosopher, it doesn't really matter which is which, or whether the two are indistinguishable, notable in the former scenario, when someone has an eclectic bounty of interest is simply not love-scorned or love-nostalgic, love-idealistic, does it really matter? i was once called a philosopher: a teenage girl said in third person (as if she was a puppet and some-thing was moving her tongue): 'talk to this philosopher'... not in that sarcastic way that philosopher is an misnomer or an abused term of: self-gratifying grandeour, it was quiet genuine, but: imagine my shock... i had an ambition in life, it was to perform a service to thinking: without doing as much as hammering a nail into a plank of wood, that's the ambition of any thinking man: to borderline on telekinesis or telepathy... that was Hegel's modus operandi, his categorical imperative... after all: ego is a metaphysical tool, while thought is its metaphysical canvas... the mere suggestion that a copernican inversion can happen in physics "contra" metaphysics... it's already apparent, any word can behave like a hand touching the sacred object / subject of transfiguration and become something else, even a misnomer can find itself given solace to the user... for now i've forged a belief in the ultimate: away from the absolute in relation to omni in unum - one first has to learn to think, before having to learn to feel... mind you, i don't like the current nietzschean inversion of the cartesian equation: (ego) sum ergo (ego) cogito... esp. among the youtube political commentators, too many examples to give: i'm a classical liberal, i'm a progressive, i'm a liberterian... i don't really like seeing: i am, precede i think... i don't even like the origin-argument of this inversion: i exist for the sole purpose of thinking... after all: i think prior to being, since i can also daydream and not be what my thinking suspects as a possible truth-outcome... that's the nature of the freedom of thought: i don't have to be what i think, i can find thinking to be a pleasure, when the senses do not offer me any pleasure derivative, e.g. eating can sometimes be boring, chewing, chewing, *******... i eat because i need to live: i don't live to eat... i really have under-appreciated Hegel, i should really visit my grandparents for two months and read the phenomenology of the spirit: i'm trying to replicate the saying attributed to him (verbatim), but i doubt that i will, i don't have the patience to sift through all the quotes, but it goes along the lines of: beware oh wordly man, to not be a pawn in a thinking man's game... hence my suggestion of philosophy entering into the realms of telekinesis and telepathy: you get to see things play out and people express the origin story, of your own memetic generation of the original idea... how are poets finally alligned to philosophers? good thing that i studied chemistry at edinburgh university: we return to atoms, words are no longer enough, sure, they are, contrary to the statement... (why did i under-appreciate Hegel? ah... had my head stuck up heidegger's and kant's *****...
integration? great!
but i'll meet you halfway...
i'll eat your fish & chips,
your englush breakfast,
i won't sing your anthem: god save the queen,
****** anthem, too short,
but i will whistle through:
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
like i might through la marseillaise...
i'll meet you halfway...
i'm not a former colony member,
commonwealth,
i'm not some ****- paying bribes
to the british powers
to join in on a world cup of cricket...
this is what happens when immigration
turns sour...
they either lesrn the host tongue,
or they don't learn it...
or they can't distinguish the two:
speak polonaise at home,
speak the hosts' sprechen outside of it...
if the ******* aren't suspect:
by not being bilingual...
the arab beatles... jihadi john...
ringo star h'ahmed...
george ali...
paul mecca rashid...
oh i'll settle for integration...
but don't you ******* think i'll give
up my mother tongue
for "c.c.t.v." close-ups back home,
home being my private lodge...
like ******* will...
i'll speak your tongue in public...
but i'm not ******* former commonwealth
****- riddled with a need to play
cricket, "forget" my tongue in order
to compensate for olives
and sun-burnt bananas!
a former colony ****-**** is about
to dictate the rules for fellow
europeans, on the tram-ride from
Birmingham to Nottingham?
seriously?
but of course the englishman
will favor the former colony pet bush-monkey
from sri lanka...
since the brit can't really dictate
to a fellow european his superiority
complex... which he can...
with a petted copper skinned
toy-ting...
who brought 'im a korma curry!
nice one, ol' laddy...
right on the plonker...
i'm not finished!
i'm just getting started!
gehirnablassen:
perfectly respected immigration,
given that so many english girls just love
the attention their **** minders,
sexually abused,
not really making it as nurses
or... ahem... karaoke superstars
worth the while of britain's got talent
or voice of britain,
or...whatever the ****** show was
that gave birth to one direction...
so a.... brain-drain? good immigration?
the best!
i can sit awhile by myself and count...
1. the sparrows,
2. the swallow,
3. the starlings,
4. the crows,
5. the magpies,
6. the pigeons,
7. the woodland pigeons
(fatter, with dog collars),
8. kestrels
(one is enough to begin
the count)...
9. the blackbirds....
10. seagulls... seagulls?! 25 miles from
romford to southend! seagulls?!
this far in-land?! fair enough...
11. a robin...
12. goldfinch...
i just sit and watch these birds
in my garden, i sometimes spot
a darting frog in the garden,
i'm more english than the english...
i actually enjoy owning a garden...
the "english" surrounding me
exemplify a bbq. as a luxury parade...
what's so luxury about marinating
some meat, and then grilling it?!
please! enlightend me!
gehirnablassen...
brain-drain immigration,
the type asiatic tiger-mums brag about
at child olympics...
for the required rubric stature...
******* mothers, basically...
1. χaron χaos - cha-cha-cha khaos
2. theaetetus - so / ma letters / syllables:
graphemes: sz phi theta
compound syllables (caron s) - Na (sodium)
3. music choice...
brain damage perturbator ft. noir deco
virga iesse floruit, gradual of eleanor of
britanny...
4. pride / stubborness (not equal to) honour,
tolerating islam is not the same
as respceting islam...
german 19th century fascination
with islam...
θought and φilosophy...
greek in warsaw, giving him directions,
talks: sounds so much like spanish...
5. england a nation of singletons,
idiosyncracy... social pressures in poland
and even in h'america missing in england
to marry...
1.
chamaleon tongue, shape shifter,
bez akcentu w piśmie - więciej akcentu poza pismem
(trainspotting scottish), welsh, cockney,
east london altogether, pakistani english, etc.
e.g. rather, or raver, i.e. not rayver
(someone who parties at night on ecstasy pill)
but ra'ver, like verging on a new discovery,
it's not even the = ~v but is actually v...
english is a chamaleon tongue, you say 'nostic
when you write gnostic, i say diagnostic,
therefore say gnostic, you say 'nome, i say gnome,
as cf. with diagnostic;
then there's the case of the per se:
you say chamaleon - no kappa there apperent, eh?
but there's chappie, chap, chuckles,
no kappa in a millionth chance
to also say nough'ledge for knowledge,
a bit like that gnome of yours...
as i said before: a language without
a written insertion of stressors / distinctions
will produce a massive array of diacritical
stressors / distinctions outside the written format,
but it will also become as complex as to
allow adults with learning difficulties e.g. dyslexia,
and that horrid internet slang of shortcuts:
i ate my 8 when i was late for my disco date
with the cha cha cha melon.
p.s. if there's a hay patch at the beginning, the nasal flute
will ask larry 'the lynx' saxophone to hark it out with rasp
gritting of phlegm... but if it's somewhere else down
the piccadilly line... it will act like a nudist spy and resonate
less than expected; probably mingling with f, i think.
integration? great!
but i'll meet you halfway...
i'll eat your fish & chips,
your englush breakfast,
i won't sing your anthem: god save the queen,
****** anthem, too short,
but i will whistle through:
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
like i might through la marseillaise...
i'll meet you halfway...
i'm not a former colony member,
commonwealth,
i'm not some ****- paying bribes
to the british powers
to join in on a world cup of cricket...
this is what happens when immigration
turns sour...
they either lesrn the host tongue,
or they don't learn it...
or they can't distinguish the two:
speak polonaise at home,
speak the hosts' sprechen outside of it...
if the ******* aren't suspect:
by not being bilingual...
the arab beatles... jihadi john...
ringo star h'ahmed...
george ali...
paul mecca rashid...
oh i'll settle for integration...
but don't you ******* think i'll give
up my mother tongue
for "c.c.t.v." close-ups back home,
home being my private lodge...
like ******* will...
i'll speak your tongue in public...
but i'm not ******* former commonwealth
****- riddled with a need to play
cricket, "forget" my tongue in order
to compensate for olives
and sun-burnt bananas!
a former colony ****-**** is about
to dictate the rules for fellow
europeans, on the tram-ride from
Birmingham to Nottingham?
seriously?
but of course the englishman
will favor the former colony pet bush-monkey
from sri lanka...
since the brit can't really dictate
to a fellow european his superiority
complex... which he can...
with a petted copper skinned
toy-ting...
who brought 'im a korma curry!
nice one, ol' laddy...
right on the plonker...
i'm not finished!
i'm just getting started!
gehirnablassen:
perfectly respected immigration,
given that so many english girls just love
the attention their **** minders,
sexually abused,
not really making it as nurses
or... ahem... karaoke superstars
worth the while of britain's got talent
or voice of britain,
or...whatever the ****** show was
that gave birth to one direction...
so a.... brain-drain? good immigration?
the best!
i can sit awhile by myself and count...
1. the sparrows,
2. the swallow,
3. the starlings,
4. the crows,
5. the magpies,
6. the pigeons,
7. the woodland pigeons
(fatter, with dog collars),
8. kestrels
(one is enough to begin
the count)...
9. the blackbirds....
10. seagulls... seagulls?! 25 miles from
romford to southend! seagulls?!
this far in-land?! fair enough...
11. a robin...
12. goldfinch...
i just sit and watch these birds
in my garden, i sometimes spot
a darting frog in the garden,
i'm more english than the english...
i actually enjoy owning a garden...
the "english" surrounding me
exemplify a bbq. as a luxury parade...
what's so luxury about marinating
some meat, and then grilling it?!
please! enlightend me!
gehirnablassen...
brain-drain immigration,
the type asiatic tiger-mums brag about
at child olympics...
for the required rubric stature...
******* mothers, basically...
1. χaron χaos - cha-cha-cha khaos
2. theaetetus - so / ma letters / syllables:
graphemes: sz phi theta
compound syllables (caron s) - Na (sodium)
3. music choice...
brain damage perturbator ft. noir deco
virga iesse floruit, gradual of eleanor of
britanny...
4. pride / stubborness (not equal to) honour,
tolerating islam is not the same
as respceting islam...
german 19th century fascination
with islam...
θought and φilosophy...
greek in warsaw, giving him directions,
talks: sounds so much like spanish...
5. england a nation of singletons,
idiosyncracy... social pressures in poland
and even in h'america missing in england
to marry...
1.
chamaleon tongue, shape shifter,
bez akcentu w piśmie - więciej akcentu poza pismem
(trainspotting scottish), welsh, cockney,
east london altogether, pakistani english, etc.
e.g. rather, or raver, i.e. not rayver
(someone who parties at night on ecstasy pill)
but ra'ver, like verging on a new discovery,
it's not even the = ~v but is actually v...
english is a chamaleon tongue, you say 'nostic
when you write gnostic, i say diagnostic,
therefore say gnostic, you say 'nome, i say gnome,
as cf. with diagnostic;
then there's the case of the per se:
you say chamaleon - no kappa there apperent, eh?
but there's chappie, chap, chuckles,
no kappa in a millionth chance
to also say nough'ledge for knowledge,
a bit like that gnome of yours...
as i said before: a language without
a written insertion of stressors / distinctions
will produce a massive array of diacritical
stressors / distinctions outside the written format,
but it will also become as complex as to
allow adults with learning difficulties e.g. dyslexia,
and that horrid internet slang of shortcuts:
i ate my 8 when i was late for my disco date
with the cha cha cha melon.
p.s. if there's a hay patch at the beginning, the nasal flute
will ask larry 'the lynx' saxophone to hark it out with rasp
gritting of phlegm... but if it's somewhere else down
the piccadilly line... it will act like a nudist spy and resonate
less than expected; probably mingling with f, i think.
Mateuš Conrad
Jan 2023
qiss kiss ts'kammen
ordeal of the dyslexics.
****** innuendos aplenty:
i cycled with a rucksack full of empty cider bottles
and one tiny 35cl where whiskey would
otherwise be found... i have a fetish for recycling,
a fetish for recycling, not owning a car but rather
two bicycles, long walks in the forest alone,
scratching my head and pretending to braid parts
of my beard: rather, pinching it and twisting the pinched
part so it might appear that i have saber-teeth either side
of my chin...
little pleasures...
i would otherwise be known as a: KLOSZER...
KLOSZ... lampshade... kloszer is a derogatory term
for someone in Eastern Europe who collects empty bottles
from skips to later bring back to a shop
to get his WACŁO (VATSWO) - i guess i imagined this word:
in the olden days of the early 1990s...
us boys used to play during the summer running mayhem,
on our breaks we'd go to the shop and buy
TURBO gum, chew chew chew...
and have a little prized paper of a car,
and we used to buy lemonade, later pepsi...
if we bought a lemonade (always in a glass bottle)
and drank it on the spot, returned the bottle to the shop...
we weren't charged extra for the drink...
but if we decided to buy a glass-bottled drink and not
return the bottle on the spot? we'd get charged extra:
glass was precious under communism...
KLOSZER? the person who would scout the urban
environment and pick up leftover glass bottles
for a drink of *****... but i'm recycling and i feel mightily
proud of... "proud"... of this Achilles heel...
baron of crashing chandeliers...
but it wasn't raining when i performed this task...
when i cycled to the VAPE shop on North St.
inquiring... i was giving this ASPIRE Typhon 100 as
a present... but the more my lips and breath snuggle on
this **** no smoke comes out... and the smoke is harsh...
coils?! coils?! over-used coils?
i walked in to the shop with the sort of would-be
girlfriend with piercings and tattoos
and all that jingle at the counter... some random guy
sticking around for too long, i broke his train of thought...
i was trying to break past the smoke pretending
there was a dead carcass in the room and instead of smoke
there were flies... **** me... i'm looking for a new coil...
new coil she says... she starts rummaging...
it started raining by then...
she picked up a £15 packet of five filters... coils...
PnP-VM6... like this sort of detail actually matters...
i ask her... so how do you change them?
she replies: you just pull it out...
so i pull it out... oops...
*** scene worded...
my flask is full of blueberry oily liquid... it spills...
all while there's this: now turning into a creepy guy
in the background obviously not buying just
trying to work his game with this woman behind
the counter... the liquid spills...
playful innuendo conversation: oh... i'm not intimidated...
i have underperformed in my life...
not exactly premature *******... it's just when
she's the madam of the "parlour" and i have no energy
and i need to chop my **** off and replace it with a *****
the fluid spills my hands are greasy
she tells me that she'll get the tissue...
oops... once more... obviously it was a super-charged
***-metaphor...
i can't remember the last time i was called HONEY
and the whole affair was brushed off so easily with
***: in my mind, guiltily displaced...
i bought the filters and pushed when the sign on
the door indicated PULL...
as confused as anyone might be...
when, where? apart from a VAPE shop will you get to pull
out an intricate part of a tool...
spill juices and have a woman retort with: let me get you
some tissues... i mean... that's super-charged Freudian
forbid might have any choking-jokes aside beyond
the already made via innuendo...
i'm richer than the rich having none of their worries
or the follies,
i do own what the rich own: and for that i am
rich in not having to worry about owning
things that might cause me to worry -
if it might be only for a minute or two:
this moulded heap of cow dung
and mud - and milk and water -
leave behind all the chains of gravity and marry
air: marry air and rise higher to the highest
point - touch the membrane where air disappears
and what is left is the vacuum where stars dictate
what is and what isn't...
or to better translate...
reading one poem: Zbigniew Herbert's
Former Masters while listening to Faun's
Sonnenreigen
and as if by magic my knowledge of English
disappears in my mind to a silence...
eaten up twice, ejected thrice!
\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \
dawni mistrzowie
obywali się bez imion
(in der goldnen morgenstund
ziehen wir aus des tales grund)
ich sygnaturą były
białe palce Madonny (und wir tanzen
froh hinein
in den frühen sonnenschein)
albo różowe wieże
di città sul mare (hoch hinauf auf bergeshöhen -
a także sceny z życia
della Beata Umiltà / - um ins auge lughs zu
sehen)
roztapiali się (lasst uns feiern
w sogno ( diese zeit
miracolo ( die der sommer
crocifissione ( hält bereit...)
znajdowali schronienie
pod powieką aniołów
(du lässt deine raben ziehen
in die felder golden stehen
und das helle lichte rad
dreht sich über lughnasad)
za pagórkami obłoków
w gęstej trawie raju
(muzik gemisch nach chor)
toneli bez reszty "
w złotych nieboskłonach "
bez krzyku pzerażenia "
bez wołania o pamieć "
"
powierzchnie ich obrazów "
są gładkie jak lustro (es war nun ein
ganzes jahr)
nie są to lustra dla nas (seit ich dich beim tanze sah
są to lustra wybranych (allzu oft in langer nacht)
habe ich an dich gedacht)
....
sprawcie niech spadnie ze mnie
wężowa łuska pychy (könig sommer führt den tanz
dem ich folg im blütenkranz
und so dreht sich unser kreis
in der alltbekannten weis')
niechaj zostane głuchy
na pokuszenie sławy (du lässt deine baben ziehn
in die felder golden stehen
und das helle lichte rad
dreht sich über lughnasad)
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /
ehemalige meister
sie lebten mich selber
ohne namen
(w porannej godzinie, złotej)
pull us from the grand valleys...
oh ****... incursion of the English:
the red-coats are coming!
ciągnąć nas z wielkich dolin...
ihr unterschrift war
weiß finger Madonna (i my tańczyli
radośni zu-hausen, W
wwww to:
schdat: frühen-para-freeze: fruit:
early... sonnenschein - sun-lighting
oblivion... sun-glee: shine...)
oder rosa türme
di citta sul mare (wysokie
ÚP z
wyżyny górskie -
und auch sZenen mit leben
della Beata Umilta / - um ins auge lughs zu
sehen)
geschmolzen sich (liście nas świętować
in sogno ( ten czas
miracolo ( there the summer, to i too
that: there, the: to i too:
ta jedyna stokroć:
zerk chłodem oka: powieka...
okno na świat... rano:
i modłem: terz:
anatomia bosa noga...
dzicz: bosa noga boga...
rap rap... all that rap might bring to suffice:
the polyglot presence of an African incursion
into Europe... mumble mumbo jam: tát tát... jum-b'oh!
a thought experiment one awry: trying to exclude
English from my psyche for a little while
proved insufferable, even if listening to a song
on Deutsche and reading a Polieren script...
sneaky ******* has a way to return...
i wanted to keep a perfect translation
of: reading a script in Polieren while listening
to a song in Deutsche...
subsequently translating the read Polieren
into Deutsche and reimagining hearing Deutsche
al Polieren... not in the right interest of
the English philosophy ("esoteric aesthetic")
of queuing... ****** just butter in: elbows held high!
SMUTNA SUKNIA: OGIER: PEJCZ!
co stonoga-noga-o-gołą: nogę...
widmo... język... mów a mowa...
bzdeta: mów!
ogier: stonoga... wilko-kroć...
step... mowa: noga... ogień: zór...
jęk: kleṅska: ogień: ozór...
język: ksieżyc...
ogień: rosputsta: i nadal mi brak słów!
crocifissione (trzyma gotowość...)
sie fanden zuflucht
unter augenlid auf engel
(wypuszczasz swoje kruki
by stanąć na złotych polach
i koło jasnego światła
zakręty samo-w-się nad
lughnasad!)
hinter hügel wolken
in der dicke gras auf paradies
(muzyka: tylko muzyka,
bez, słów)
sie ertranken ohne der rest "
im golden himmelneigung "
ohne schrei auf grusel "
ohne anruf um erinnerung "
"
oberflächen ihr gemälde "
sind glatt wie spiegel (to był jeden dobry
cały rok)
nien sind dies spiegel für uns
sind sie diesser spiegel die ausgewählt
(odkąd ja i ty na tańcu okiem wgląd
także często w dłuższej nocy)
miałem ja, myśl twoją)
....
mach es möglich lassen werde fallen
von mich
serpentin schale auf stolz
(król lato prowadzi taniec
za którym podążam w wieńcu kwiatów
i tak obraca się nasz krąg
w znany sposób)
lassen ich werde bleiben taub
an verlockung von / auf
RUHM (pozwalasz odejść swoim dzieciom
stanąć na złotych polach
i koło jasnego światła
odwraca Lughnasad -
płuco - singular... plural?
płuca... lungs....
garden of breathing!
soul always escapes the noun...
\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \
just to double check, translating from ******
to German and German to English,
that how i would have otherwise arrived
on these shores if my only mode of transport
was the tongue:
if i had no legs and perhaps no eyes...
if i were an idea of English that could express
it as I, Ja, Ich...
and, yes, theirs'...
iota > whatever might come after...
ah! this is one of those thought experiments!
it has to be! i'm excited!
i'm truly awakened!
this muddle of memory, dream, imagination,
reality a sprinkle of words and hey presto!
starved from images having moved
from the Age of the Image
to the Age of the Music...
it's so simple...
once upon a time you could only hear
music if someone played it good
or you played it badly...
yet when someone wrote a word...
or when someone painted a painting...
it could be written once
yet preserved by time
by this ingenious overcoming of God
(no, not man)
and if god "wrote" mountain man "wrote"
Pyramid,
if god "wrote" river man "wrote":
boat bridge watermill...
if god "wrote" forest man "wrote":
pluck out these trees stop looking
for berries and mushrooms...
look for grass, edible grass! find me arable
land that's not a desert!
of once mountain ranges that passed
from time into non-history
into keepers of time by the whims
of the fluted wind...
by wind my breath...
by my breath the decay of creative rust...
i can only create dead things...
with me the power of death-creativity...
i invented the stirrup with me gone
the horse might finally not graze so easily
after the work of civilization has been done...
only then might the four horsemen
come with me dead and the stirrup
i can only create dead things...
i am the death-creativity...
with me there will not need for the fork
or the knife the spear and the rope
upon waking a new world
i will only know words like mountain
apple tree i will know the word cloud
i will know to say the sea and that sea
i will call the caspian sea: sea...
and the atlantic sea: sea...
and i will call the Danube the Oder
and the Oder the Vistula
but i will not know what is Danube or Oder
i will be unable to say or dream or conjure
a fork without: the fork
i will be in Paradise...
i will not know the concept of ******
because there will be no word for ******
there will be no Madonna or pregnant woman
there will be no foetus there will be so many words
missing! so many words will be missing...
all the basic words of coordination
will be there: and the Highest Abstracts
will be there: will, hope, dream,
there will be there: be, am and i,
there will be: because, are you,
there will be giggle and there would be crying,
there would be sad and there would be happy...
there would be: because and after and by
and there would be...
there would be no knowledge nor anything
concerning grammar...
this revision of "vocabulary" would imply
there being no real vocabulary,
a dream-world vocabulary of:
if said thing goes not exist... there's no word for it...
there would be no word: hammer
because there would be no need for hammers
indeed: nails...
motion of hammering...
there might be a rock and a trick of a hardened shell...
there would be no word for distance:
mile... by looking upon the sun...
there would be the Eye of the Blue
and the Eye of the Navy-Glee... there would
be no Night no Nothing
no Night in this Hanging Pyramid of Babel...
there would be no Moon or Sun
only the Eye of the Blue
and the Eye of the Navy-Glee...
Glee? SH.... what's SH in shIMMER?
what's IMMER?
(oops... a Socratic stumbling block)
immer... ALWAYS...
what's SH+H? shh? be quiet always?!
SH... sound, vibration is sound...
shh! yes: i'm telling you: it's going to be
like that, always...
promised you 72 virgins?
wouldn't you just want your mind un-muddled?!
what's un- and muddled?
un- is not... not of when coupled to a noun
that works like a verb... doing the muddling...
medley muddling mummifications: toilet... paper...
toilet? no... no knowledge of toilet in "heaven"...
no paper too...
word... what's word?
God... what is God... no God...
word is the a priori already invested crown
of curtailing words to begin with...
not imitation sound: __S
ah... sobering up... i love this bouncing along of English
dynamic like everyone is invoked to be involved...
Z_____
that's how the West met the East in writing
Z_________S
my "god" will be the word ONOMATOPOEIA...
and his son will be MIMIC
and his wife will be NĀMÉ
alternative written by angels
as NAMEH... because by then only angels will have
knowledge of the clue, not God,
of YHWH... YHWH will become as comical
as the 21st graffiti spray-painted by some boy
in the outskirts of London...
this scribble should have been preserved by the angels,
but like Prometheus, the arch angel Samael
brought down this scribble...
they brought the mummies and their hieroglyphs
that turned out to be Emoticons...
the Egyptians had two brothers...
the brother Aztec who copied the eldest
brother, Egyptian in constructing the Pyramids
and brother of the Great O of the Orient
who squinted his eyes with avarice and lineage
and said: i'll write like you, i'll see through you...
you give me mummified bodies
i'll give you skeletons...
the Aztec was the youngest,
the Egyptian the Eldest...
the Khan was in the middle...
and Khan was right... he employed a pre-digitalisation
of scripts... imagine throwing
the letter G into Egyptian hieroglyphs...
some ****** did that to Khan's great counter
of hieroglyphs full bodied...
to hieroglyphs pure skeleton...
prior to Latin: not even Greek was a skeleton-key?
what? letters marrying numbers?!
unheard of?
1111111... one... lllllll (little l)... IIIIIIII (big iota)
imagine dropping a latin letter into Egyptian
"script"...
look what happened when someone dropped
something foreign into
Chinese hieroglyphs and so was born
Katakana... Chinese hieroglyphs came first...
then came Katakana...
then came the elevated:
if the story is true... and the Austrians
think themselves better than the Germans...
someone gave birth to the scribbles...
Korean came last...
that feeling you get when you're trying to look
for an actor's name:
he playss the role of Grand-Duke?
Emperor? of the Habsburg Dynasty...
the elder brother of Marie Antoinette...
beautiful actor...
lips like purses...
who threw that ******* bone against the Chinese
hieroglyphs that spawned Japanese minimalism
that translated: ha! translated Chinese through
Japanese to Korean... split the ******* in two...
towing two! towing two!
Zhin Chin ****... silly!
i'm not joking...
Žin vs. Żyn... Rzym! Rzym... Rome! Rome!
hmm...
Źın... Žiń...
ha ha... the Nazis smoked out the son of the devil
of the people who gave them abode for almost...
whenever Poland, converted (insert a snigger...
i have the noun-spelling for it...
but not the onomatopoeia, ha ha... laughter
and rugby)...
change of direction at work...
i'm feeling an aura of: DISTANCING...
people are feeding off the appetite of me: leaving...
and their lives being over...
of course they will not be over...
they'll be feet in not worn shoes
in shoes boxes on shelves in libraries
of fickleness of the female side of humanity...
only angels should have been given
the crack-head code of the 4 letter "signature" of
YHWH... i'll give Jesus credit...
well... Beelzebub...
HANGU:L! that ingenious king of Korea
that: seeing a stick being thrown
at a bunch of sticks assembled as a shelter
of the Chinese hieroglyphs witnessed as the Japanese
folded... worked on an argument
of introspection: kept it...
hmm... what are those weird ISLADERS
******* around it?
they have the BOLD katakana
and the ITALIC hiragana...
two ******* trenches...
just let some westerner know:
the Hiroshima (katakana)
and the Nagasaki (hiragana)...
Chernobyl and Fukushima...
the pregnant women were advised to drink iodine...
boom! boom! boom!
ergo? no real, comparatively: "boom" as boom!
or BOOM...
it's the second morning i'm woken up from briefly dreaming...
point about dreaming? the content doesn't matter...
i'm not a hyper-focused Freud...
dreams are dreams in
how fog is fog and a hurricane is hurricane...
dreaming heavily:
you feel exhausted if you slept for 10 hours
or 5... dreamless...
you slept: you didn't dream...
but dreams creep up on you:
they play fakery with your body:
you weren't sleeping: you were dreaming...
unlike getting blind drunk
and... sleeping: not dreaming...
with the lesser baggage(d) people...
snails? no... elephants! no ivory tusks...
already no fur... no drunks...
edible cartilage of the ears...
flapping... hmm... i might have to invent
a rug... a place to take off one's shoes...
shoe?
shoe prior to sock? obviously...
shoe prior to sock...
sexed up legs... procreation by the chemical
demise of acting...
if not sold to actors:
a god-send...
i could **** each any every ugly *****
but... god almighty... the impossible feats...
with Xerxes on your back?
the second battalion ambush of Greece?!
currently as is "currently": and, ahem... "history":
a history of plug-hole psychology
of inescapable Darwinism: cuckoldry...
or Plato's ***** joke about the feminism
of Hindus and their tired, wasted concern for Hygiene...
they bathed with the dead...
so the dead came and ate up the living...
for the past days... of note... two...
upon waking i hear my name being called:
Mateusz!
not twice, thrice, just... once...
i rush down and ask my mother: have i overslept?!
did you call me?
the replies: no... i haven't called you...
why am i: Matthew?
i don't think i'm: Matthew Smith
or a Matthew Czopek or a Matthew Eschlert..
or a Matthew Matthews...
why was Jesus Christ not Jesus ben Josephus
ben Matthias?
i wonder... not really: "wandering"...
it was but a little nugget of inspiration of marijuana
and i went off the tangent...
i would not replicate the original ******
poem into German
and the German song into ******...
because... springboard og ingenuity
English woke up!
as if: spontaneously...
i can't appreciate poetry written by
mono-linguists or ****-up: kissy: tut-tut..
smooch kiss-up immigrant ****-wits
of: this is only a Lingua FRANCA...
"franca"... a tourist-tongue...
it's a ***** tongue...
people speak it, leave it, abandon it...
sometimes perhaps frame it...
it's a tongue of commerce and Babel
and... at the end of all the tongues coming
together to speak it...
a rather: unsatisfying tongue...
over-salted... over-pompously-self-solidifying
complicated-soliloquy... solipsism...
something this: that: self-
+-evidently apparent that children ought to
be teaching this modus operandi... *******... ha ha!
letter will not be know since words will not be known,
we will, although know words, that will be sounds
not scribbled down, imagination will be
nullified and nothing will be born with sleep
and dreaming will be alien to us,
since we will not be myopic
*** will be friendship and: we will know not
the word for tool and the specifics of ingenuity
and genius...
there will be no word for man...
and there will be no word for woman
and there will be no diatribe of death and child...
my uncle is in hell and i can almost count
this auditory hallucination:
i will have no concept of auditory: because i heard...
within the non-existence of my bones
and body and blood and brain and heart
in the water and earth turning to air
with each breath...
i will not hear... how my uncle: calls for me...
and how did you live with your mother,
when she aged to a nearing rot...
i lived with them and not people i would exchange
for a properly working bicycle-lock...
for each ******* i would replace the glorious
half hours i had with them
the months i spent with my supposed "lovers"...
i'd take one half hour with a *****
to replace the courting with said woman: unsaid:
to procreate and teach "my" children:
children of the times... flawed lessons
of the march, ancient march of typology
and non-writing and Time as Dust...
am i to help you when i implored the non-existent
deity into my *****,
indirectly you might implore for me:
will i reply to the heaven sent:
what am i to do?!
do as i did: absolutely nothing and nothing too,
that's twice that's hardly not a scone
scuffed and chained to Baron Zung...
speak two tongues and tease a third...
come the fourth... letters have to turn into images...
in this heaven of no sheltered virgins..
in my noun-basket i will not have words
like pen, or: boiler, roof, eyeliner,
i will not have:
screen, cinema, actor,
philosopher, poet, psychologist,
soul: i'll have my self-eating cannibalism of breath...
verbs will merge with nouns
and the only nouns worth existing thereby will
be: specified and "corrupt" by a localised
specialisation:
god will be ONOMATOPOEIA...
the son will be MIMIC
and there: within the confines of said time
MIMIC will battle Chimera...
MIMIC will look alike: Chimera
but Chimera alphabetically:
CHIMERA = ACEHIMR
the dead are not so displeasing
when it comes to the living-as-if-dead...
and there are plenty of those
living such: body-and-soul-crushing...
no... i couldn't imagine myself marrying
a troll... just to somehow oddly fit it...
i'm not going to reply to a message:
me and Nicki... says Frankie... are over...
reply: to what? and did you hear
my side of the story? no? no?!
i don't have to hear your side, either!
oculus per oculus!
like for like:
dislike for dislike!
i'll wait... i'm not actually waiting
for anything other than:
can you please leave me alone?
i'll reply you whenever i feel like it...
i don't feel like
wanting human connection for at least
two days...
there's a hell and a privacy one earns to have
earned it that one rarely wants to
have it made public...
albeit in the "public anonymous"...
all the more willingly... since no immediate
consequences are to be met: face-to-no-face...
tired of replies...
walking lesbians into the night
is like pretending to not walk
cows into the slaughterhouse...
ego-***** replacing what once was?
Plato the Plumber and the blocked toilet
of reincarnation...
i'm done with pride... Herr Dapf...
for the waiting to be dead,
falte der primast schattierung:
für das Warten tot zu sein:
ich möchte auch tot sein...
a death with the hollows
of the hallowed wooded emptied bark....
suffer the sound of a thunder-stroke...
donnerschlaganfall:
all aligned with things living...
nearly: or waiting to be towed toward
A... death...
morgen?
tòmāté...
*******: SPUD!
morgen butter-kneaded? by the hollows
of said, suggested juices..
my knees are not enough:
meine knie sind nicht genug!
ordeal of the dyslexics.
****** innuendos aplenty:
i cycled with a rucksack full of empty cider bottles
and one tiny 35cl where whiskey would
otherwise be found... i have a fetish for recycling,
a fetish for recycling, not owning a car but rather
two bicycles, long walks in the forest alone,
scratching my head and pretending to braid parts
of my beard: rather, pinching it and twisting the pinched
part so it might appear that i have saber-teeth either side
of my chin...
little pleasures...
i would otherwise be known as a: KLOSZER...
KLOSZ... lampshade... kloszer is a derogatory term
for someone in Eastern Europe who collects empty bottles
from skips to later bring back to a shop
to get his WACŁO (VATSWO) - i guess i imagined this word:
in the olden days of the early 1990s...
us boys used to play during the summer running mayhem,
on our breaks we'd go to the shop and buy
TURBO gum, chew chew chew...
and have a little prized paper of a car,
and we used to buy lemonade, later pepsi...
if we bought a lemonade (always in a glass bottle)
and drank it on the spot, returned the bottle to the shop...
we weren't charged extra for the drink...
but if we decided to buy a glass-bottled drink and not
return the bottle on the spot? we'd get charged extra:
glass was precious under communism...
KLOSZER? the person who would scout the urban
environment and pick up leftover glass bottles
for a drink of *****... but i'm recycling and i feel mightily
proud of... "proud"... of this Achilles heel...
baron of crashing chandeliers...
but it wasn't raining when i performed this task...
when i cycled to the VAPE shop on North St.
inquiring... i was giving this ASPIRE Typhon 100 as
a present... but the more my lips and breath snuggle on
this **** no smoke comes out... and the smoke is harsh...
coils?! coils?! over-used coils?
i walked in to the shop with the sort of would-be
girlfriend with piercings and tattoos
and all that jingle at the counter... some random guy
sticking around for too long, i broke his train of thought...
i was trying to break past the smoke pretending
there was a dead carcass in the room and instead of smoke
there were flies... **** me... i'm looking for a new coil...
new coil she says... she starts rummaging...
it started raining by then...
she picked up a £15 packet of five filters... coils...
PnP-VM6... like this sort of detail actually matters...
i ask her... so how do you change them?
she replies: you just pull it out...
so i pull it out... oops...
*** scene worded...
my flask is full of blueberry oily liquid... it spills...
all while there's this: now turning into a creepy guy
in the background obviously not buying just
trying to work his game with this woman behind
the counter... the liquid spills...
playful innuendo conversation: oh... i'm not intimidated...
i have underperformed in my life...
not exactly premature *******... it's just when
she's the madam of the "parlour" and i have no energy
and i need to chop my **** off and replace it with a *****
the fluid spills my hands are greasy
she tells me that she'll get the tissue...
oops... once more... obviously it was a super-charged
***-metaphor...
i can't remember the last time i was called HONEY
and the whole affair was brushed off so easily with
***: in my mind, guiltily displaced...
i bought the filters and pushed when the sign on
the door indicated PULL...
as confused as anyone might be...
when, where? apart from a VAPE shop will you get to pull
out an intricate part of a tool...
spill juices and have a woman retort with: let me get you
some tissues... i mean... that's super-charged Freudian
forbid might have any choking-jokes aside beyond
the already made via innuendo...
i'm richer than the rich having none of their worries
or the follies,
i do own what the rich own: and for that i am
rich in not having to worry about owning
things that might cause me to worry -
if it might be only for a minute or two:
this moulded heap of cow dung
and mud - and milk and water -
leave behind all the chains of gravity and marry
air: marry air and rise higher to the highest
point - touch the membrane where air disappears
and what is left is the vacuum where stars dictate
what is and what isn't...
or to better translate...
reading one poem: Zbigniew Herbert's
Former Masters while listening to Faun's
Sonnenreigen
and as if by magic my knowledge of English
disappears in my mind to a silence...
eaten up twice, ejected thrice!
\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \
dawni mistrzowie
obywali się bez imion
(in der goldnen morgenstund
ziehen wir aus des tales grund)
ich sygnaturą były
białe palce Madonny (und wir tanzen
froh hinein
in den frühen sonnenschein)
albo różowe wieże
di città sul mare (hoch hinauf auf bergeshöhen -
a także sceny z życia
della Beata Umiltà / - um ins auge lughs zu
sehen)
roztapiali się (lasst uns feiern
w sogno ( diese zeit
miracolo ( die der sommer
crocifissione ( hält bereit...)
znajdowali schronienie
pod powieką aniołów
(du lässt deine raben ziehen
in die felder golden stehen
und das helle lichte rad
dreht sich über lughnasad)
za pagórkami obłoków
w gęstej trawie raju
(muzik gemisch nach chor)
toneli bez reszty "
w złotych nieboskłonach "
bez krzyku pzerażenia "
bez wołania o pamieć "
"
powierzchnie ich obrazów "
są gładkie jak lustro (es war nun ein
ganzes jahr)
nie są to lustra dla nas (seit ich dich beim tanze sah
są to lustra wybranych (allzu oft in langer nacht)
habe ich an dich gedacht)
....
sprawcie niech spadnie ze mnie
wężowa łuska pychy (könig sommer führt den tanz
dem ich folg im blütenkranz
und so dreht sich unser kreis
in der alltbekannten weis')
niechaj zostane głuchy
na pokuszenie sławy (du lässt deine baben ziehn
in die felder golden stehen
und das helle lichte rad
dreht sich über lughnasad)
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /
ehemalige meister
sie lebten mich selber
ohne namen
(w porannej godzinie, złotej)
pull us from the grand valleys...
oh ****... incursion of the English:
the red-coats are coming!
ciągnąć nas z wielkich dolin...
ihr unterschrift war
weiß finger Madonna (i my tańczyli
radośni zu-hausen, W
wwww to:
schdat: frühen-para-freeze: fruit:
early... sonnenschein - sun-lighting
oblivion... sun-glee: shine...)
oder rosa türme
di citta sul mare (wysokie
ÚP z
wyżyny górskie -
und auch sZenen mit leben
della Beata Umilta / - um ins auge lughs zu
sehen)
geschmolzen sich (liście nas świętować
in sogno ( ten czas
miracolo ( there the summer, to i too
that: there, the: to i too:
ta jedyna stokroć:
zerk chłodem oka: powieka...
okno na świat... rano:
i modłem: terz:
anatomia bosa noga...
dzicz: bosa noga boga...
rap rap... all that rap might bring to suffice:
the polyglot presence of an African incursion
into Europe... mumble mumbo jam: tát tát... jum-b'oh!
a thought experiment one awry: trying to exclude
English from my psyche for a little while
proved insufferable, even if listening to a song
on Deutsche and reading a Polieren script...
sneaky ******* has a way to return...
i wanted to keep a perfect translation
of: reading a script in Polieren while listening
to a song in Deutsche...
subsequently translating the read Polieren
into Deutsche and reimagining hearing Deutsche
al Polieren... not in the right interest of
the English philosophy ("esoteric aesthetic")
of queuing... ****** just butter in: elbows held high!
SMUTNA SUKNIA: OGIER: PEJCZ!
co stonoga-noga-o-gołą: nogę...
widmo... język... mów a mowa...
bzdeta: mów!
ogier: stonoga... wilko-kroć...
step... mowa: noga... ogień: zór...
jęk: kleṅska: ogień: ozór...
język: ksieżyc...
ogień: rosputsta: i nadal mi brak słów!
crocifissione (trzyma gotowość...)
sie fanden zuflucht
unter augenlid auf engel
(wypuszczasz swoje kruki
by stanąć na złotych polach
i koło jasnego światła
zakręty samo-w-się nad
lughnasad!)
hinter hügel wolken
in der dicke gras auf paradies
(muzyka: tylko muzyka,
bez, słów)
sie ertranken ohne der rest "
im golden himmelneigung "
ohne schrei auf grusel "
ohne anruf um erinnerung "
"
oberflächen ihr gemälde "
sind glatt wie spiegel (to był jeden dobry
cały rok)
nien sind dies spiegel für uns
sind sie diesser spiegel die ausgewählt
(odkąd ja i ty na tańcu okiem wgląd
także często w dłuższej nocy)
miałem ja, myśl twoją)
....
mach es möglich lassen werde fallen
von mich
serpentin schale auf stolz
(król lato prowadzi taniec
za którym podążam w wieńcu kwiatów
i tak obraca się nasz krąg
w znany sposób)
lassen ich werde bleiben taub
an verlockung von / auf
RUHM (pozwalasz odejść swoim dzieciom
stanąć na złotych polach
i koło jasnego światła
odwraca Lughnasad -
płuco - singular... plural?
płuca... lungs....
garden of breathing!
soul always escapes the noun...
\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \
just to double check, translating from ******
to German and German to English,
that how i would have otherwise arrived
on these shores if my only mode of transport
was the tongue:
if i had no legs and perhaps no eyes...
if i were an idea of English that could express
it as I, Ja, Ich...
and, yes, theirs'...
iota > whatever might come after...
ah! this is one of those thought experiments!
it has to be! i'm excited!
i'm truly awakened!
this muddle of memory, dream, imagination,
reality a sprinkle of words and hey presto!
starved from images having moved
from the Age of the Image
to the Age of the Music...
it's so simple...
once upon a time you could only hear
music if someone played it good
or you played it badly...
yet when someone wrote a word...
or when someone painted a painting...
it could be written once
yet preserved by time
by this ingenious overcoming of God
(no, not man)
and if god "wrote" mountain man "wrote"
Pyramid,
if god "wrote" river man "wrote":
boat bridge watermill...
if god "wrote" forest man "wrote":
pluck out these trees stop looking
for berries and mushrooms...
look for grass, edible grass! find me arable
land that's not a desert!
of once mountain ranges that passed
from time into non-history
into keepers of time by the whims
of the fluted wind...
by wind my breath...
by my breath the decay of creative rust...
i can only create dead things...
with me the power of death-creativity...
i invented the stirrup with me gone
the horse might finally not graze so easily
after the work of civilization has been done...
only then might the four horsemen
come with me dead and the stirrup
i can only create dead things...
i am the death-creativity...
with me there will not need for the fork
or the knife the spear and the rope
upon waking a new world
i will only know words like mountain
apple tree i will know the word cloud
i will know to say the sea and that sea
i will call the caspian sea: sea...
and the atlantic sea: sea...
and i will call the Danube the Oder
and the Oder the Vistula
but i will not know what is Danube or Oder
i will be unable to say or dream or conjure
a fork without: the fork
i will be in Paradise...
i will not know the concept of ******
because there will be no word for ******
there will be no Madonna or pregnant woman
there will be no foetus there will be so many words
missing! so many words will be missing...
all the basic words of coordination
will be there: and the Highest Abstracts
will be there: will, hope, dream,
there will be there: be, am and i,
there will be: because, are you,
there will be giggle and there would be crying,
there would be sad and there would be happy...
there would be: because and after and by
and there would be...
there would be no knowledge nor anything
concerning grammar...
this revision of "vocabulary" would imply
there being no real vocabulary,
a dream-world vocabulary of:
if said thing goes not exist... there's no word for it...
there would be no word: hammer
because there would be no need for hammers
indeed: nails...
motion of hammering...
there might be a rock and a trick of a hardened shell...
there would be no word for distance:
mile... by looking upon the sun...
there would be the Eye of the Blue
and the Eye of the Navy-Glee... there would
be no Night no Nothing
no Night in this Hanging Pyramid of Babel...
there would be no Moon or Sun
only the Eye of the Blue
and the Eye of the Navy-Glee...
Glee? SH.... what's SH in shIMMER?
what's IMMER?
(oops... a Socratic stumbling block)
immer... ALWAYS...
what's SH+H? shh? be quiet always?!
SH... sound, vibration is sound...
shh! yes: i'm telling you: it's going to be
like that, always...
promised you 72 virgins?
wouldn't you just want your mind un-muddled?!
what's un- and muddled?
un- is not... not of when coupled to a noun
that works like a verb... doing the muddling...
medley muddling mummifications: toilet... paper...
toilet? no... no knowledge of toilet in "heaven"...
no paper too...
word... what's word?
God... what is God... no God...
word is the a priori already invested crown
of curtailing words to begin with...
not imitation sound: __S
ah... sobering up... i love this bouncing along of English
dynamic like everyone is invoked to be involved...
Z_____
that's how the West met the East in writing
Z_________S
my "god" will be the word ONOMATOPOEIA...
and his son will be MIMIC
and his wife will be NĀMÉ
alternative written by angels
as NAMEH... because by then only angels will have
knowledge of the clue, not God,
of YHWH... YHWH will become as comical
as the 21st graffiti spray-painted by some boy
in the outskirts of London...
this scribble should have been preserved by the angels,
but like Prometheus, the arch angel Samael
brought down this scribble...
they brought the mummies and their hieroglyphs
that turned out to be Emoticons...
the Egyptians had two brothers...
the brother Aztec who copied the eldest
brother, Egyptian in constructing the Pyramids
and brother of the Great O of the Orient
who squinted his eyes with avarice and lineage
and said: i'll write like you, i'll see through you...
you give me mummified bodies
i'll give you skeletons...
the Aztec was the youngest,
the Egyptian the Eldest...
the Khan was in the middle...
and Khan was right... he employed a pre-digitalisation
of scripts... imagine throwing
the letter G into Egyptian hieroglyphs...
some ****** did that to Khan's great counter
of hieroglyphs full bodied...
to hieroglyphs pure skeleton...
prior to Latin: not even Greek was a skeleton-key?
what? letters marrying numbers?!
unheard of?
1111111... one... lllllll (little l)... IIIIIIII (big iota)
imagine dropping a latin letter into Egyptian
"script"...
look what happened when someone dropped
something foreign into
Chinese hieroglyphs and so was born
Katakana... Chinese hieroglyphs came first...
then came Katakana...
then came the elevated:
if the story is true... and the Austrians
think themselves better than the Germans...
someone gave birth to the scribbles...
Korean came last...
that feeling you get when you're trying to look
for an actor's name:
he playss the role of Grand-Duke?
Emperor? of the Habsburg Dynasty...
the elder brother of Marie Antoinette...
beautiful actor...
lips like purses...
who threw that ******* bone against the Chinese
hieroglyphs that spawned Japanese minimalism
that translated: ha! translated Chinese through
Japanese to Korean... split the ******* in two...
towing two! towing two!
Zhin Chin ****... silly!
i'm not joking...
Žin vs. Żyn... Rzym! Rzym... Rome! Rome!
hmm...
Źın... Žiń...
ha ha... the Nazis smoked out the son of the devil
of the people who gave them abode for almost...
whenever Poland, converted (insert a snigger...
i have the noun-spelling for it...
but not the onomatopoeia, ha ha... laughter
and rugby)...
change of direction at work...
i'm feeling an aura of: DISTANCING...
people are feeding off the appetite of me: leaving...
and their lives being over...
of course they will not be over...
they'll be feet in not worn shoes
in shoes boxes on shelves in libraries
of fickleness of the female side of humanity...
only angels should have been given
the crack-head code of the 4 letter "signature" of
YHWH... i'll give Jesus credit...
well... Beelzebub...
HANGU:L! that ingenious king of Korea
that: seeing a stick being thrown
at a bunch of sticks assembled as a shelter
of the Chinese hieroglyphs witnessed as the Japanese
folded... worked on an argument
of introspection: kept it...
hmm... what are those weird ISLADERS
******* around it?
they have the BOLD katakana
and the ITALIC hiragana...
two ******* trenches...
just let some westerner know:
the Hiroshima (katakana)
and the Nagasaki (hiragana)...
Chernobyl and Fukushima...
the pregnant women were advised to drink iodine...
boom! boom! boom!
ergo? no real, comparatively: "boom" as boom!
or BOOM...
it's the second morning i'm woken up from briefly dreaming...
point about dreaming? the content doesn't matter...
i'm not a hyper-focused Freud...
dreams are dreams in
how fog is fog and a hurricane is hurricane...
dreaming heavily:
you feel exhausted if you slept for 10 hours
or 5... dreamless...
you slept: you didn't dream...
but dreams creep up on you:
they play fakery with your body:
you weren't sleeping: you were dreaming...
unlike getting blind drunk
and... sleeping: not dreaming...
with the lesser baggage(d) people...
snails? no... elephants! no ivory tusks...
already no fur... no drunks...
edible cartilage of the ears...
flapping... hmm... i might have to invent
a rug... a place to take off one's shoes...
shoe?
shoe prior to sock? obviously...
shoe prior to sock...
sexed up legs... procreation by the chemical
demise of acting...
if not sold to actors:
a god-send...
i could **** each any every ugly *****
but... god almighty... the impossible feats...
with Xerxes on your back?
the second battalion ambush of Greece?!
currently as is "currently": and, ahem... "history":
a history of plug-hole psychology
of inescapable Darwinism: cuckoldry...
or Plato's ***** joke about the feminism
of Hindus and their tired, wasted concern for Hygiene...
they bathed with the dead...
so the dead came and ate up the living...
for the past days... of note... two...
upon waking i hear my name being called:
Mateusz!
not twice, thrice, just... once...
i rush down and ask my mother: have i overslept?!
did you call me?
the replies: no... i haven't called you...
why am i: Matthew?
i don't think i'm: Matthew Smith
or a Matthew Czopek or a Matthew Eschlert..
or a Matthew Matthews...
why was Jesus Christ not Jesus ben Josephus
ben Matthias?
i wonder... not really: "wandering"...
it was but a little nugget of inspiration of marijuana
and i went off the tangent...
i would not replicate the original ******
poem into German
and the German song into ******...
because... springboard og ingenuity
English woke up!
as if: spontaneously...
i can't appreciate poetry written by
mono-linguists or ****-up: kissy: tut-tut..
smooch kiss-up immigrant ****-wits
of: this is only a Lingua FRANCA...
"franca"... a tourist-tongue...
it's a ***** tongue...
people speak it, leave it, abandon it...
sometimes perhaps frame it...
it's a tongue of commerce and Babel
and... at the end of all the tongues coming
together to speak it...
a rather: unsatisfying tongue...
over-salted... over-pompously-self-solidifying
complicated-soliloquy... solipsism...
something this: that: self-
+-evidently apparent that children ought to
be teaching this modus operandi... *******... ha ha!
letter will not be know since words will not be known,
we will, although know words, that will be sounds
not scribbled down, imagination will be
nullified and nothing will be born with sleep
and dreaming will be alien to us,
since we will not be myopic
*** will be friendship and: we will know not
the word for tool and the specifics of ingenuity
and genius...
there will be no word for man...
and there will be no word for woman
and there will be no diatribe of death and child...
my uncle is in hell and i can almost count
this auditory hallucination:
i will have no concept of auditory: because i heard...
within the non-existence of my bones
and body and blood and brain and heart
in the water and earth turning to air
with each breath...
i will not hear... how my uncle: calls for me...
and how did you live with your mother,
when she aged to a nearing rot...
i lived with them and not people i would exchange
for a properly working bicycle-lock...
for each ******* i would replace the glorious
half hours i had with them
the months i spent with my supposed "lovers"...
i'd take one half hour with a *****
to replace the courting with said woman: unsaid:
to procreate and teach "my" children:
children of the times... flawed lessons
of the march, ancient march of typology
and non-writing and Time as Dust...
am i to help you when i implored the non-existent
deity into my *****,
indirectly you might implore for me:
will i reply to the heaven sent:
what am i to do?!
do as i did: absolutely nothing and nothing too,
that's twice that's hardly not a scone
scuffed and chained to Baron Zung...
speak two tongues and tease a third...
come the fourth... letters have to turn into images...
in this heaven of no sheltered virgins..
in my noun-basket i will not have words
like pen, or: boiler, roof, eyeliner,
i will not have:
screen, cinema, actor,
philosopher, poet, psychologist,
soul: i'll have my self-eating cannibalism of breath...
verbs will merge with nouns
and the only nouns worth existing thereby will
be: specified and "corrupt" by a localised
specialisation:
god will be ONOMATOPOEIA...
the son will be MIMIC
and there: within the confines of said time
MIMIC will battle Chimera...
MIMIC will look alike: Chimera
but Chimera alphabetically:
CHIMERA = ACEHIMR
the dead are not so displeasing
when it comes to the living-as-if-dead...
and there are plenty of those
living such: body-and-soul-crushing...
no... i couldn't imagine myself marrying
a troll... just to somehow oddly fit it...
i'm not going to reply to a message:
me and Nicki... says Frankie... are over...
reply: to what? and did you hear
my side of the story? no? no?!
i don't have to hear your side, either!
oculus per oculus!
like for like:
dislike for dislike!
i'll wait... i'm not actually waiting
for anything other than:
can you please leave me alone?
i'll reply you whenever i feel like it...
i don't feel like
wanting human connection for at least
two days...
there's a hell and a privacy one earns to have
earned it that one rarely wants to
have it made public...
albeit in the "public anonymous"...
all the more willingly... since no immediate
consequences are to be met: face-to-no-face...
tired of replies...
walking lesbians into the night
is like pretending to not walk
cows into the slaughterhouse...
ego-***** replacing what once was?
Plato the Plumber and the blocked toilet
of reincarnation...
i'm done with pride... Herr Dapf...
for the waiting to be dead,
falte der primast schattierung:
für das Warten tot zu sein:
ich möchte auch tot sein...
a death with the hollows
of the hallowed wooded emptied bark....
suffer the sound of a thunder-stroke...
donnerschlaganfall:
all aligned with things living...
nearly: or waiting to be towed toward
A... death...
morgen?
tòmāté...
*******: SPUD!
morgen butter-kneaded? by the hollows
of said, suggested juices..
my knees are not enough:
meine knie sind nicht genug!