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Poems
johnny georgy brown
Jun 2015
the fun times as a kid for brian allan from canberra
you see it was fun it was great, every single day
i went to the mall to muck around, and i heard
men calling me a great big ugly snout, oh yeah yeah, yeah mate yeah
and then i wore my screaming jets t shirt and i played my air guitar so much
and then i went home and did my washing, and i stunk of laundry powder oh yeah
and i came down to the mall and the young dudes said
welcome brian to the mall, welcome welcome welcome
and then i spoke to the music shop owner about all the latest music that he played
ya see young ronnie was asked by me to tie me up on my bed
i wanted that because of my previous life, yeah mate yeah it was soooo cool
and then i played with my mates, and chased brendan up the tree
and he said, brian, be a kid, don’t be an adult, oh no way
i said, fine as my brother was looking at me showing me what a starer looked like
i wanted to party, so i went into the pub and watched some kids playing pool
and they all sang the U2 song, mysterious ways, while i was watching
i didn’t really wanna stare so i went to the dance floor and put my body up to the gorgeous chicks
and we danced to songs like what’s love got to do gotta do with it
you see i went to this pub after spending some time playing computer games at the bowling alley
and then headed off saying men don’t do that, that’s what kids do, i might head to the pub
and i met some really cool kids, but i was a tad troubled because as soon as people
said go home, i said neh, i am still not ******* off mate
they used the words, ******* turk, so we can get on with our lives
and i said, i am still not ******* off mate, dad said, ******* coward
which forced me to tease my father heavily, but i didn’t wanna do that, it was the chemical in my f..n brain
like the chemical in my brain which forced me to listen to the kids say, what’s that, your like us
well, i might heard one kid say this, but, really i shouldn’t expect this
i like when people sing in groups, but dads not around anymore, the old hags dead, but i remember dad
said what’s that brian what’s that brian what’s that brian, i liked that, why did dad change
i liked the voices from mum, your like our fucken kids, but that was a voice from my brain chemical
i was having visions of my brother saying, you are like us, when i was on rampage on grabbing kids
but i didn’t want to do that, it was my crazy chemical in my brain
i want to find a cure for death, so i used my cronus belief to give brian allan the power to know dads next life
dad is betty campbell, i remember stealing some rope and tying myself up in a toilet and pretending to be kidnapped
i remember patrick, was my best mate, and as i entered the mall he clapped his hands saying
welcome brian welcome to the mall, i was the one that stopped kids tying themselves up on youtube, it was just me
i didn’t wanna be encouraged to tie the kids up, so i told websites to untie our youth, because it attracts phedaphiles, don’t ya think
you see in the wrong hands youtube is dangerous, and kids are only little, mind you, some kids can look after themselves
but i had to do that because kids were playing tie up games, which i used to play, but i don’t want kids copying me, but
it forces kids to get themselves into traps, and I SAVED THEM, WITH MY BARE HANDS
youtube is way cooler and i think FOXTEL really doesn’t have anything like youtube, and i remember in 2004 i said i go on the computer
and google a fertiliser press on it a number of times and instant cash from the internet money tree and i started hearing voices taking my helper away
ya see i had this poem i wrote, saying …. teena totter teena totter 33 and there was this man from toastmasters trying to take my man as i was
sitting at the mall drinking a coca cola, i was being a reformed man, instead of beer, i drank coke, because when i was drinking i was a real terror
but it wasn’t all my fucken fault, ya see in the town centre tavern, a man bought me and him a jug of beer but he fucken tore strips off me forcing me
to look up in the sky saying god or buddha please save me now, and he fucken yelled at me, saying your not like the kids, and i saw peter sargent, an old
neighbourhood friend, but he died and one man was teasing me at the bar because the barman only let me do a tab just for a cricket match, i liked that
cricket match so much, but clubs don’t do that much anymore, i was having fun, actually i was having voices in my head about the canberra people
making me be an adult to a ****, sit there brian and drink your beer watch the families mucking around and then die, it might be because i stole people’s money
and ran off leaving him lying in the ditch, i feel bad about that now, steve told me, i shouldn’t have done that, and in 2004, pats voice said teena totter teena totter
35, i was kidnapped by a demon, and i made it through alive and i was crazy back in the 90s, the chemical in my brain was forcing patrick’s voice in my head
and i cheered on some dude’s kid and he said, ya leave my kid alone ya little mongrel and i started teasing him calling him a worry wought, and as he left, he said
next time i see ya, i will punch you, your not a shy person, buddy, but he never did, but still i have to watch my f..n back, but as long as i don’t **** him off again
it should be alright and one time at the charnwood inn, i was watching the choirboys, i lost my wallet and smokes and some **** grabbed me outside and i thought he was abducting me,
so i tried to push my legs up, and he said, ok we’ll leave ya alone buddy and i got a free taxi ride home, and i was at the ANU bar watching a band and this man started tapping his foot
and i thought he was cool, but the chemical in my brain made a little tease, coming out of him, but i really thought that band was cool, despite me looking like i was jittering
and also when i was bowling as we had a club meal, i was dancing on the floor with kathryn and the patrons thought i was the coolest dude around, and i partied all the way through
bowling, especially when i won trophies, yeah this was rad, and i remember i was bowling back in 1990 and i grabbed two boys of bill, who was our player and i wanted to ****** them
as well as i went to the basketball and grabbed a boy near the dunny, and grabbed frank’s friend robert, it lead to tie up games, but i don’t want anyone like me, ya see
but i remember singing, hey hows it going, sorry i can’t get through, just leave ya name and ya number and i’ll get back to you, and i sang the whole song at the mall as well
as teasing the men, saying i am a kid and your a man, i am a kid and your a man, you see i remember having visions of being treated like a hooligan ya know playing cool for yeah mate
yeah kids, as i sat there, the forces of the paranormal world will take away my family person, saying, your not a family person anymore, you are now a hooligan, and i hear pat’s voice
saying, come on brainy party, and i said, hi pat over the phone and he always told me to look after myself as he hi-5ed me, but there was this girl named louise, well i got memories
of life with pat at the poetry slam through louise, but she got ******* when people yelled at her, my motto is, i have the right to go out and have fun, like a real cool kid, that i was
but there is a worry that i will lose what i have at the poetry slam as far as losing people cheering me on, but i have to stick at my guns at the poetry slam and read with pride
for the poems i wrote myself, and i like dad, but i hate the voice saying, dads not around anymore brian, i know that, i say to the voice, but i don’t think he understands me
and mcdonalds was my favourite food, until it made me *****
you see it was fun it was great, every single day
i went to the mall to muck around, and i heard
men calling me a great big ugly snout, oh yeah yeah, yeah mate yeah
and then i wore my screaming jets t shirt and i played my air guitar so much
and then i went home and did my washing, and i stunk of laundry powder oh yeah
and i came down to the mall and the young dudes said
welcome brian to the mall, welcome welcome welcome
and then i spoke to the music shop owner about all the latest music that he played
ya see young ronnie was asked by me to tie me up on my bed
i wanted that because of my previous life, yeah mate yeah it was soooo cool
and then i played with my mates, and chased brendan up the tree
and he said, brian, be a kid, don’t be an adult, oh no way
i said, fine as my brother was looking at me showing me what a starer looked like
i wanted to party, so i went into the pub and watched some kids playing pool
and they all sang the U2 song, mysterious ways, while i was watching
i didn’t really wanna stare so i went to the dance floor and put my body up to the gorgeous chicks
and we danced to songs like what’s love got to do gotta do with it
you see i went to this pub after spending some time playing computer games at the bowling alley
and then headed off saying men don’t do that, that’s what kids do, i might head to the pub
and i met some really cool kids, but i was a tad troubled because as soon as people
said go home, i said neh, i am still not ******* off mate
they used the words, ******* turk, so we can get on with our lives
and i said, i am still not ******* off mate, dad said, ******* coward
which forced me to tease my father heavily, but i didn’t wanna do that, it was the chemical in my f..n brain
like the chemical in my brain which forced me to listen to the kids say, what’s that, your like us
well, i might heard one kid say this, but, really i shouldn’t expect this
i like when people sing in groups, but dads not around anymore, the old hags dead, but i remember dad
said what’s that brian what’s that brian what’s that brian, i liked that, why did dad change
i liked the voices from mum, your like our fucken kids, but that was a voice from my brain chemical
i was having visions of my brother saying, you are like us, when i was on rampage on grabbing kids
but i didn’t want to do that, it was my crazy chemical in my brain
i want to find a cure for death, so i used my cronus belief to give brian allan the power to know dads next life
dad is betty campbell, i remember stealing some rope and tying myself up in a toilet and pretending to be kidnapped
i remember patrick, was my best mate, and as i entered the mall he clapped his hands saying
welcome brian welcome to the mall, i was the one that stopped kids tying themselves up on youtube, it was just me
i didn’t wanna be encouraged to tie the kids up, so i told websites to untie our youth, because it attracts phedaphiles, don’t ya think
you see in the wrong hands youtube is dangerous, and kids are only little, mind you, some kids can look after themselves
but i had to do that because kids were playing tie up games, which i used to play, but i don’t want kids copying me, but
it forces kids to get themselves into traps, and I SAVED THEM, WITH MY BARE HANDS
youtube is way cooler and i think FOXTEL really doesn’t have anything like youtube, and i remember in 2004 i said i go on the computer
and google a fertiliser press on it a number of times and instant cash from the internet money tree and i started hearing voices taking my helper away
ya see i had this poem i wrote, saying …. teena totter teena totter 33 and there was this man from toastmasters trying to take my man as i was
sitting at the mall drinking a coca cola, i was being a reformed man, instead of beer, i drank coke, because when i was drinking i was a real terror
but it wasn’t all my fucken fault, ya see in the town centre tavern, a man bought me and him a jug of beer but he fucken tore strips off me forcing me
to look up in the sky saying god or buddha please save me now, and he fucken yelled at me, saying your not like the kids, and i saw peter sargent, an old
neighbourhood friend, but he died and one man was teasing me at the bar because the barman only let me do a tab just for a cricket match, i liked that
cricket match so much, but clubs don’t do that much anymore, i was having fun, actually i was having voices in my head about the canberra people
making me be an adult to a ****, sit there brian and drink your beer watch the families mucking around and then die, it might be because i stole people’s money
and ran off leaving him lying in the ditch, i feel bad about that now, steve told me, i shouldn’t have done that, and in 2004, pats voice said teena totter teena totter
35, i was kidnapped by a demon, and i made it through alive and i was crazy back in the 90s, the chemical in my brain was forcing patrick’s voice in my head
and i cheered on some dude’s kid and he said, ya leave my kid alone ya little mongrel and i started teasing him calling him a worry wought, and as he left, he said
next time i see ya, i will punch you, your not a shy person, buddy, but he never did, but still i have to watch my f..n back, but as long as i don’t **** him off again
it should be alright and one time at the charnwood inn, i was watching the choirboys, i lost my wallet and smokes and some **** grabbed me outside and i thought he was abducting me,
so i tried to push my legs up, and he said, ok we’ll leave ya alone buddy and i got a free taxi ride home, and i was at the ANU bar watching a band and this man started tapping his foot
and i thought he was cool, but the chemical in my brain made a little tease, coming out of him, but i really thought that band was cool, despite me looking like i was jittering
and also when i was bowling as we had a club meal, i was dancing on the floor with kathryn and the patrons thought i was the coolest dude around, and i partied all the way through
bowling, especially when i won trophies, yeah this was rad, and i remember i was bowling back in 1990 and i grabbed two boys of bill, who was our player and i wanted to ****** them
as well as i went to the basketball and grabbed a boy near the dunny, and grabbed frank’s friend robert, it lead to tie up games, but i don’t want anyone like me, ya see
but i remember singing, hey hows it going, sorry i can’t get through, just leave ya name and ya number and i’ll get back to you, and i sang the whole song at the mall as well
as teasing the men, saying i am a kid and your a man, i am a kid and your a man, you see i remember having visions of being treated like a hooligan ya know playing cool for yeah mate
yeah kids, as i sat there, the forces of the paranormal world will take away my family person, saying, your not a family person anymore, you are now a hooligan, and i hear pat’s voice
saying, come on brainy party, and i said, hi pat over the phone and he always told me to look after myself as he hi-5ed me, but there was this girl named louise, well i got memories
of life with pat at the poetry slam through louise, but she got ******* when people yelled at her, my motto is, i have the right to go out and have fun, like a real cool kid, that i was
but there is a worry that i will lose what i have at the poetry slam as far as losing people cheering me on, but i have to stick at my guns at the poetry slam and read with pride
for the poems i wrote myself, and i like dad, but i hate the voice saying, dads not around anymore brian, i know that, i say to the voice, but i don’t think he understands me
and mcdonalds was my favourite food, until it made me *****
Mateuš Conrad
Mar 2020
.come to think of it... a fillet of meat never implores me to think about what's about to be eaten... nor does a whole chicken implore me to think about what's about to be eaten... but whenever i see my fellow man... esp. when my fellow man is begging to not be taken seriously... i do... tend to... in the back of my mind... attempt to bypass thinking about a butchers' cut... of what... looks pristine when walking or running... parcles of the "excess" of limbs... given a dead chicken... it's all readily available... but... working from a genesis of movement toward the study of both coffin and stone; and wind? i would most certainly understand ******... but then again... not all that ******... end up eating their intentions... which makes me make phantoms of nostalgia... ****'s sake... even the sharks these days will bite: but spit our flesh out... because... well: why **** something that you will not eat? because... there's a... Hadrian's wall counter-impetus?! but it's welcoming to think about ****** as... also a bit of a hunt... i guess that's what keeps me off a streak of tartare "justice": before i start gagging and imitation regurgitation... such a foul beast from an ownership of a tongue alone... forget that shambo of the mind... no wonder... man kills man without intentions to eat him... i'd sooner eat cat-****-and-puke... then again... unless it was the brain, the heart, the liver... those ackward limbs and muscles... i could somehow imagine eating the tender bits... never those... ostrich extensions of reimagining animate agilities of a kama sutra: study.
stupendous...
i will hold a stone in one hand
and imagine a mountain...
i will hold a glass in the other...
and imagine the sea:
not from the brain...
but from the tips of my fingers...
stupendous... quiet so...
otherwise less impressive:
most thoroughly...
then i will hold some ice in one hand...
and some black earth in the other...
i will scrunch some paper into a ball...
rather than fold it...
then i'll lick a knife...
then...
if there's any more "quo vadis"
sensibility to go through with...
i'll remember: ask the anaesthetician
that question: quo vadis...
as he distracts you with the jab
before... that sort of "sleep"...
i would like to feel the texture
of thought...
perhaps even sniff it out
into a bottle - out from my head...
this perpetual (th)ought i...
had it been only a moral quest
rather than... picking
up stray lines that otherwise made-up
a concern for narrative...
yes: "or" this insomnia
narrative... all these bothersome
daydreams and counter-measures...
it's not merely enough to play
out monkey-dough roles...
tongue of a serpent...
body still functioning at best
in imitation...
inconveniences of noble feats
acquired from watching widow swans
in that term: monogamy...
or in a circus of a harem of walruses...
this chimera this man...
the loan animal and his loan
words: schnitzel puppy flip flip...
unless it's pure history of dates...
it's... a mongrel of archeology
and etymology...
to find the oldest word...
that has been translated: diffused...
beside og, da, i, am... om, to...
w... z...
w tym: in this...
z tego: from this...
a letter that can act like a conjunction...
i: "e"... and...
or a pronoun...
wood does not have a chemical formula...
water does: inorganic matter does...
stones do...
air does...
oxygen by whatever %... nitrogen by
whatever %..
i studied chemistry...
but the question only comes now...
what is the chemical formula for... wood?
well... wood doesn't have a chemical formula...
truly... even i'm astounded...
even Alain de Lille looks stupified...
i know... they have a list of formulas
for... ****'s sake... even the ozone!
O₃... which is "impossible" since oxygen
is doubly-binding...
shortcuts to god... i can't call them anything
but just that...
why doesn't wood have a chemical
formula?!
i will hold a book in one hand...
and a feather in another...
you can have a chemical formula
for... stibnite...
orthorhombic... Sb₂S₃...
of sure... you can have that...
you can have a chemical formula for:
millerite (NiS)
zwieselite... olivenite...
adamine Zn2(AsO4)(OH) -
autunite Cu(UO2)2(PO4)2 · 12H2O...
benitoite...
all these formulas...
these aquariums of inorganic matter...
but still... no chemical formula for...
wood!
lignin is only part of the equation...
what can be accounted for photosynthesis:
C₅₅H₇₂O₅N₄Mg (chlorophyll)...
you'd think water would be more
complicated...
beryl?
hollandite?
tremolite... so that's "earth"
all covered; no?
but where's that formula for wood?
good-luck looking for that holy graille...
either the cup or the cross...
cubanite... no problem...
benitoite...
goethite...
am i drinking? oh right... that's me
waking up to a reality of not being
in a boyband...
all these chemical names coming and
going...
glass...
trinitite,
made by the trinity nuclear-weapon test...
the libyan desert glass...
volcanic obsidian glass...
otherwise glass is:
silicon dioxide +
SiO2
calcium carbonate +
CaCO3
sodium carbonate
Na2CO3
what's the chemical formula
for wood?!
any luck with paper?
a mixture... primer: cellulose (C6H10O5)n...
approx. 50% carbon, 42% oxygen,
6% hydrogen, 1% nitrogen, and 1%
other elements
(calcium, potassium, sodium,
magnesium, iron, and manganese)
i guess it's one of those social media
relationship statuses: "it's... complicated"...
my bad...
cellulose... polyose... and lignin...
something spectacular was supposed to
happen: there was an avenue of pristine
love waiting: i never managed
to wait for it... in the end...
run-of-the-mill stuff...
there was this "this"...
and there was this "that"...
pointers in braille...
limintless echoes of uncaressed
agonies... splendours upon the attire
table of dead-meat: quasi...
when inspected by the more eloquent
butchers of surgery...
but the whiskey or the *****...
flowed like... it possessed the knowledge
of... gomme syrup...
of all the detailed memories
of: these people have lived...
the alchemists:
- zosimos of panopolis
- ge hong
- jean baptista van helmont...
why is leonardo da vinci's mona lisa
so... forced upon us?
ever look at... Perronneau's
madame de sorquainville?
i always "mistake"... albrecht Düre
with gustave Doré...
i implore you...
don't make me buy chocolates
or flowers... it's not one of thoese
dementia riddled "misnomer" takes
on Monet and Édouard Manet
here's my quadratic:
albrecht Düre Claude Monet
Édouard Manet gustave Doré
very much a rhombus...
besides the fact that when i do pop the cork
"pop"... and "cork"...
the libido does rampage...
and i'm imagining myself in a brothel...
and i am the brothel...
and all that's love is about the basic
need for what's easil given
to a petter dog...
down my view no alley with
a grandma and a leash to look / feel
suspect... repetition of the times...
or some sort of allure for repenting
the deeds of youth...
****: to hell with stochholm cyborgs
and all that anemic clues...
those autistic plots and "twists"...
am i to suddenly come out begging
for my democratic right?
writing as an extension of thinking...
i hardly think it's an invitation
to speak...
less... "inclined" to counter this freedom?
esp. now?
esp. now?
now of all times... come... let's dictate
the future together...
let's start sharpening the meat-grinder!
let's keep up with the chisel for a tooth
of the grand earthworm:
wursecker... for the bone to become marror
to become: all but the plaster-work
of pâté!
smear that **** all over...
oh right... what's being "debated"?
the self-employed being given
slave status or otherwise...
those given employee stature...
to be somehow above?
in england there are 5.5 MILLION self-employed
sub-contractors...
the bus driver gets a day off...
unions and what not...
******* kind and fellow examples of
non-replica me...
unions, what unions?
here's to... what?
fizzying out the expandables?
good lock and chain and "luck"...
no one came when i was i need...
no one came but they still had to ridicule me...
i am enjoying this... whatever "this" is...
i like to think of it...
what the darwinism ideologues
have been spewing
all along...
recycling primer...
getting rid of a tootache...
just enough to be... the sensible
english gentleman...
but not... a weimar **** in waiting ******...
sieve it...
we'd be lost in hope...
when all hope is but a blistering
bargain...
when most of us don't have
landlord credentials...
pokey porky pie-yo!
i like this currency of a carboot sale...
happening...
i quiet like the clearance...
the easily available sale of death...
the darwinism that darwinism
doesn't exactly "like"...
hell... shove the weakest under the bus...
under the hittite slash and draw...
i'm trying to remain bothered...
so says the drunk...
or at least... when the government says:
curfew... no more than 2
in a public space congregation...
i start thinking about how pork torsos
are hanged in a slaughterhause...
then i start to imagine...
that meat-hook... plucked in under
the chin... that excess of a bonus tooth
for where the uvula and the tonsil
should be...
oh look... it glides! it hangs!
to be crucified is such an obscure...
such an out-of-date symbolism...
how about hanging from a meat-hook?
for piercing those n.h.s. ambulances tires?!
or coughing in the faces of old people?
how about... being impregnated
by a pike inserted in a quasi-sodomite
pristine ****... reaching the ****** of
both pelvis and coccyx...
how's that?
n'ah... i rather like re-imagining
the curcifixion dangling on your neck...
with a meat-hook and subsequent dangling
on the treadmill of minced...
right under the chin... where the tongue
begins... and ends... to lick
and slobber that last and lost retention
of vowels in oyster juices...
from the concrete constructs
of consonants...
a hot-dog hard-on on for...
for the benefits of
sigma humanity;
i'll try to retain remaining obscure...
****... if i don't i'll probably have to beg
for the image replication of trimmed eyebrows!
stupendous...
i will hold a stone in one hand
and imagine a mountain...
i will hold a glass in the other...
and imagine the sea:
not from the brain...
but from the tips of my fingers...
stupendous... quiet so...
otherwise less impressive:
most thoroughly...
then i will hold some ice in one hand...
and some black earth in the other...
i will scrunch some paper into a ball...
rather than fold it...
then i'll lick a knife...
then...
if there's any more "quo vadis"
sensibility to go through with...
i'll remember: ask the anaesthetician
that question: quo vadis...
as he distracts you with the jab
before... that sort of "sleep"...
i would like to feel the texture
of thought...
perhaps even sniff it out
into a bottle - out from my head...
this perpetual (th)ought i...
had it been only a moral quest
rather than... picking
up stray lines that otherwise made-up
a concern for narrative...
yes: "or" this insomnia
narrative... all these bothersome
daydreams and counter-measures...
it's not merely enough to play
out monkey-dough roles...
tongue of a serpent...
body still functioning at best
in imitation...
inconveniences of noble feats
acquired from watching widow swans
in that term: monogamy...
or in a circus of a harem of walruses...
this chimera this man...
the loan animal and his loan
words: schnitzel puppy flip flip...
unless it's pure history of dates...
it's... a mongrel of archeology
and etymology...
to find the oldest word...
that has been translated: diffused...
beside og, da, i, am... om, to...
w... z...
w tym: in this...
z tego: from this...
a letter that can act like a conjunction...
i: "e"... and...
or a pronoun...
wood does not have a chemical formula...
water does: inorganic matter does...
stones do...
air does...
oxygen by whatever %... nitrogen by
whatever %..
i studied chemistry...
but the question only comes now...
what is the chemical formula for... wood?
well... wood doesn't have a chemical formula...
truly... even i'm astounded...
even Alain de Lille looks stupified...
i know... they have a list of formulas
for... ****'s sake... even the ozone!
O₃... which is "impossible" since oxygen
is doubly-binding...
shortcuts to god... i can't call them anything
but just that...
why doesn't wood have a chemical
formula?!
i will hold a book in one hand...
and a feather in another...
you can have a chemical formula
for... stibnite...
orthorhombic... Sb₂S₃...
of sure... you can have that...
you can have a chemical formula for:
millerite (NiS)
zwieselite... olivenite...
adamine Zn2(AsO4)(OH) -
autunite Cu(UO2)2(PO4)2 · 12H2O...
benitoite...
all these formulas...
these aquariums of inorganic matter...
but still... no chemical formula for...
wood!
lignin is only part of the equation...
what can be accounted for photosynthesis:
C₅₅H₇₂O₅N₄Mg (chlorophyll)...
you'd think water would be more
complicated...
beryl?
hollandite?
tremolite... so that's "earth"
all covered; no?
but where's that formula for wood?
good-luck looking for that holy graille...
either the cup or the cross...
cubanite... no problem...
benitoite...
goethite...
am i drinking? oh right... that's me
waking up to a reality of not being
in a boyband...
all these chemical names coming and
going...
glass...
trinitite,
made by the trinity nuclear-weapon test...
the libyan desert glass...
volcanic obsidian glass...
otherwise glass is:
silicon dioxide +
SiO2
calcium carbonate +
CaCO3
sodium carbonate
Na2CO3
what's the chemical formula
for wood?!
any luck with paper?
a mixture... primer: cellulose (C6H10O5)n...
approx. 50% carbon, 42% oxygen,
6% hydrogen, 1% nitrogen, and 1%
other elements
(calcium, potassium, sodium,
magnesium, iron, and manganese)
i guess it's one of those social media
relationship statuses: "it's... complicated"...
my bad...
cellulose... polyose... and lignin...
something spectacular was supposed to
happen: there was an avenue of pristine
love waiting: i never managed
to wait for it... in the end...
run-of-the-mill stuff...
there was this "this"...
and there was this "that"...
pointers in braille...
limintless echoes of uncaressed
agonies... splendours upon the attire
table of dead-meat: quasi...
when inspected by the more eloquent
butchers of surgery...
but the whiskey or the *****...
flowed like... it possessed the knowledge
of... gomme syrup...
of all the detailed memories
of: these people have lived...
the alchemists:
- zosimos of panopolis
- ge hong
- jean baptista van helmont...
why is leonardo da vinci's mona lisa
so... forced upon us?
ever look at... Perronneau's
madame de sorquainville?
i always "mistake"... albrecht Düre
with gustave Doré...
i implore you...
don't make me buy chocolates
or flowers... it's not one of thoese
dementia riddled "misnomer" takes
on Monet and Édouard Manet
here's my quadratic:
albrecht Düre Claude Monet
Édouard Manet gustave Doré
very much a rhombus...
besides the fact that when i do pop the cork
"pop"... and "cork"...
the libido does rampage...
and i'm imagining myself in a brothel...
and i am the brothel...
and all that's love is about the basic
need for what's easil given
to a petter dog...
down my view no alley with
a grandma and a leash to look / feel
suspect... repetition of the times...
or some sort of allure for repenting
the deeds of youth...
****: to hell with stochholm cyborgs
and all that anemic clues...
those autistic plots and "twists"...
am i to suddenly come out begging
for my democratic right?
writing as an extension of thinking...
i hardly think it's an invitation
to speak...
less... "inclined" to counter this freedom?
esp. now?
esp. now?
now of all times... come... let's dictate
the future together...
let's start sharpening the meat-grinder!
let's keep up with the chisel for a tooth
of the grand earthworm:
wursecker... for the bone to become marror
to become: all but the plaster-work
of pâté!
smear that **** all over...
oh right... what's being "debated"?
the self-employed being given
slave status or otherwise...
those given employee stature...
to be somehow above?
in england there are 5.5 MILLION self-employed
sub-contractors...
the bus driver gets a day off...
unions and what not...
******* kind and fellow examples of
non-replica me...
unions, what unions?
here's to... what?
fizzying out the expandables?
good lock and chain and "luck"...
no one came when i was i need...
no one came but they still had to ridicule me...
i am enjoying this... whatever "this" is...
i like to think of it...
what the darwinism ideologues
have been spewing
all along...
recycling primer...
getting rid of a tootache...
just enough to be... the sensible
english gentleman...
but not... a weimar **** in waiting ******...
sieve it...
we'd be lost in hope...
when all hope is but a blistering
bargain...
when most of us don't have
landlord credentials...
pokey porky pie-yo!
i like this currency of a carboot sale...
happening...
i quiet like the clearance...
the easily available sale of death...
the darwinism that darwinism
doesn't exactly "like"...
hell... shove the weakest under the bus...
under the hittite slash and draw...
i'm trying to remain bothered...
so says the drunk...
or at least... when the government says:
curfew... no more than 2
in a public space congregation...
i start thinking about how pork torsos
are hanged in a slaughterhause...
then i start to imagine...
that meat-hook... plucked in under
the chin... that excess of a bonus tooth
for where the uvula and the tonsil
should be...
oh look... it glides! it hangs!
to be crucified is such an obscure...
such an out-of-date symbolism...
how about hanging from a meat-hook?
for piercing those n.h.s. ambulances tires?!
or coughing in the faces of old people?
how about... being impregnated
by a pike inserted in a quasi-sodomite
pristine ****... reaching the ****** of
both pelvis and coccyx...
how's that?
n'ah... i rather like re-imagining
the curcifixion dangling on your neck...
with a meat-hook and subsequent dangling
on the treadmill of minced...
right under the chin... where the tongue
begins... and ends... to lick
and slobber that last and lost retention
of vowels in oyster juices...
from the concrete constructs
of consonants...
a hot-dog hard-on on for...
for the benefits of
sigma humanity;
i'll try to retain remaining obscure...
****... if i don't i'll probably have to beg
for the image replication of trimmed eyebrows!
Johnnie Woods Aug 2018
Thoughts#22 ; Senses
Johnnie Woods
Aug 2018
There are five widely known senses.
Sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste.
We've got some minor ones as well, such as balance, temperature and many more.
However, people fail to realise that there's also the sixth major sense. Thoughts themselves.
If we look closely, all these five senses have the same base. Specified cells in eye react to energy of light, cells of ear recieve energy in form of air's vibrations, skin cells pick up energy of mechanical changes, and so tasting and hearing depend on translation of certain substances' chemical energy.
These cells in different organs differ in their structure and the way they appear, however, if we stop looking at them in such small scale, we can see that ALL of the cells or organs responsible for any sense translate the energy.
So, a light enters the eye, certain wavelenght of certain energy stimulates the eye's rod or cone cells with a certain intensity. Then the energy of light is translated to energy of electrical impulse, which goes straight to the brain, creating the sensation of sight.
If it comes to smell, a certain particle enters the nose, binds to a smell receptor cell, and the chemical energy of this particle is, again, translated to energy of electrical impulse, which goes straight to the brain, creating the sensation of smell.
Now, let's move to the crucial part. The sense of thoughts.
During the creation of thought, pathways in our brain that collect memories(and many more known or unknown pathways) connect. First, there's this spark of electricity, that moves all along the neuron and releases a dose of neurotransmitters(amount of different NTs is equiavlent to strength of this spark, basically resulting in "creating" various thoughts).
Then, chemical energy of NEUROTRANSMITTER is translated to energy of electrical impulse, which happens in the brain, creating the sensation of thought.
Therefore the 'sense of thoughts' reacts to and is stimulated by neurotransmitters themselves, with receptors on neurons' membrane being receptors of the stimulus. So, kind of like smell, the stimulus is chemical, compared to sight, where it's electromagnetic wave; anyways the result in all of these is electric impulse in neurons (hence the idea of "thoughts" as a sense, due to the same basic layout; transfer of energy).
The 'smell particle' connects to receptor and is translated to a certain amount of neurotransmitters/certain strenght of neuronal impulse. SO, again, we can see that when the first outer layer of this communication is cut off, we're left only with the neurotransmitters and impulses themselves. Anyway, the transduction of energy remains.
If it comes to "sense of thoughts" the receptor lies within us, whereas in sight or smell or touch it's external. However, does it matter if it's on the surface of skin or under it if it all comes down to neurons of our brain?
When you lie in a dark, silent room, without any external stimuli, you still retain your thoughts, colorful, vivid or complex. All the magic of the brain - still happens. So, how isn't it a separate, full-fledged sense?
Sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste.
We've got some minor ones as well, such as balance, temperature and many more.
However, people fail to realise that there's also the sixth major sense. Thoughts themselves.
If we look closely, all these five senses have the same base. Specified cells in eye react to energy of light, cells of ear recieve energy in form of air's vibrations, skin cells pick up energy of mechanical changes, and so tasting and hearing depend on translation of certain substances' chemical energy.
These cells in different organs differ in their structure and the way they appear, however, if we stop looking at them in such small scale, we can see that ALL of the cells or organs responsible for any sense translate the energy.
So, a light enters the eye, certain wavelenght of certain energy stimulates the eye's rod or cone cells with a certain intensity. Then the energy of light is translated to energy of electrical impulse, which goes straight to the brain, creating the sensation of sight.
If it comes to smell, a certain particle enters the nose, binds to a smell receptor cell, and the chemical energy of this particle is, again, translated to energy of electrical impulse, which goes straight to the brain, creating the sensation of smell.
Now, let's move to the crucial part. The sense of thoughts.
During the creation of thought, pathways in our brain that collect memories(and many more known or unknown pathways) connect. First, there's this spark of electricity, that moves all along the neuron and releases a dose of neurotransmitters(amount of different NTs is equiavlent to strength of this spark, basically resulting in "creating" various thoughts).
Then, chemical energy of NEUROTRANSMITTER is translated to energy of electrical impulse, which happens in the brain, creating the sensation of thought.
Therefore the 'sense of thoughts' reacts to and is stimulated by neurotransmitters themselves, with receptors on neurons' membrane being receptors of the stimulus. So, kind of like smell, the stimulus is chemical, compared to sight, where it's electromagnetic wave; anyways the result in all of these is electric impulse in neurons (hence the idea of "thoughts" as a sense, due to the same basic layout; transfer of energy).
The 'smell particle' connects to receptor and is translated to a certain amount of neurotransmitters/certain strenght of neuronal impulse. SO, again, we can see that when the first outer layer of this communication is cut off, we're left only with the neurotransmitters and impulses themselves. Anyway, the transduction of energy remains.
If it comes to "sense of thoughts" the receptor lies within us, whereas in sight or smell or touch it's external. However, does it matter if it's on the surface of skin or under it if it all comes down to neurons of our brain?
When you lie in a dark, silent room, without any external stimuli, you still retain your thoughts, colorful, vivid or complex. All the magic of the brain - still happens. So, how isn't it a separate, full-fledged sense?