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Mateuš Conrad Mar 2017
a    a    a    b    1    b    c    c    c
d    d    d    e    7    8    2    f    4
2    g    1    h    h    h    7    i    5
j     j      j    6     k    3    8   4    l
4   6     m   n    n    n    o   o   o
p   p     p    9    q    7    1    2   r
5   s      8    t      t    t     6    u  9
v   v     v    w    9    4    3    x   2
y   y    y     z     6   z   ω   ω   ω

and the end result

7   5   4   2   1   6   9   3   8
6   9   3   5   7   8   2   1   4
2   8   1   4   3   9   7   6   5
9   1   2   6   2   3   8   4   7
4   6   7   1   8   2   5   9   3
8   3   5   9   4   7   1   2   6
5   4   8   3   2   1   6   7   9
1   7   6   8   9   4   3   5   2
†   2   x   7   6   5   4   8   1

but the original
cispher was

a   a   a   b   1   b   c   c   c             (x9)
and then filling out the cipher,
x is the point where a mistake was made,
but it actually 9,
    while † denotes the signature of leaving
a blank space...
as in: any idiot can complete this puzzle...

i thought i could fit the puzzle with
the entire latin alphabet, evidently that wasn't
the case, since i borrowed omega (ω)...

each square x   x   x
                     x   x   x
                     x   x   x              (oh, this isn't
smart, i'm just dumb enough to do these
puzzles drunk)...
             so three lines, and each row has
to be documented by a letter, hence a  a  a  
  and then onto the next square and it's b  b  b
and then the third square c  c  c
         and then onto the next row and so on...
so i ran out of letters,

by god, i didn't expect the latin alphabet to
encompass the japanese puzzle...
          but i was close... just 1 letter short...
so i borrowed some greek... or pinched some
cinnamon and added to it that "exotic" flavour...

you know that in england the english teachers
tell the black kids that poland is exotic?
          i heard my mother recount this when
she was at the swimming pool...
a kid asked her where she was from,
     and then this exotica debate began...
how ******* palm trees grow on the beaches
of the Baltic sea...

           you start believing in america after a while,
and thinking of slapping someone silly
for they behave like a jelly: if you can visualise
slapping someone, or gently probing a jelly...

the art of sudoku? it's in the eye,
   you have to begin by complicating it first
unable to see the blank spaces that the newspaper
editions have... once you're at the stage of
only using numbers it can become a bit of a whirlwind,
like hyper-spelling very complicated words...

maybe i can't do crosswords because i write so much?
perhaps i don't do crosswords because i abhor
the dictionary? have enough vocab,
if i want to study some obscure topic i'll look into
it.

i have met people that can't do these puzzles,
but i can't do crosswords,
   i see to much infinite potential in language,
as it is, per se, to have to deal with it as
counter-dementia entertainment -
            plus it's funny when doing one of these drunk...
less embarrassing moments sort of speak...
      
  or to simply prove a point that it can be done,
it took me about 10 minutes with darting eyes
    inserting the first digit into the super fiendish
level of the puzzle, and yes, it was a 3

i.e.

0   8   0   0   0   0   0   0   0
7   0   5   5   0   0   0   0   0
0   5   0   3   0   0   0   1   0
0   3   9   0   0   0   1   0   7
0   0   0   0   1   0   0   6   0
0   0   0   0   3   0   9   0   8
0   0   0   2   0   6   0   0   1
0   0   8   0   7   0   0   4   9
0   0   0   4   0   3   2   7   0

                    and all that can be, about simply
easing the human mind away from darwinistic
propaganda... at least in poland we had the atheism
that invoked this collective: no god or other species
is getting in our way...
                these soloists spewing atheism are
******* unnerving...
                                 this whole:
we as 1 but not as 1 as sigma but not as sigma
so ergo 1... taking a polaroid about a baboons ***?
   talking so much darwinism that women started
looking at mantis behaviour?
     how about you don't chop my head off...
just chop my ***** off! then i'll at least have a chance
to enter the Vatican's castrato choir!
                  
        life under the iron curtain wasn't so bad,
life under martial law was, people were gearing up
for war, what could anyone expect if not long queues
for provisions?
                         the russians played a **** good bluff
as it turns out, no war occurred and the soviet
union collapsed like an avalanche
              and everyone went back to their happy
oligarchal sentiments, esp. in Kazakhstan...
             so like: win win?
         but now i'm sitting in england and trying to figure
out home-grown terrorism, among other things:
the stigma of the housing shortage, a family of 7
living in one room...
                      why is it that ever new century
breeds this need for inherent hardship /
                                  frivolous complication,
until it escalates into something much more serious?
like sitting in belgian mud for 4 years and *******
into a helmet?
                         that said, there's a joy to be had,
finding the re-
                 (again) rather than the i -
                       at the moment i'm looking at a decade
or two of squandering the freedoms we envision,
  a bit like writing the great gastby moment...
after that... a message will be sent to only 1 wasp...
and then the hive will start to panic and grow
agitated and begin a blitzkrieg...
       but at least you can imgine that i'm writing
this from the setlist of phobias...
                   so... would i care for this to not be
a truth? yes, i would... i'd love to think writing
this had me with my head up a baboon's ****
or lips-motorboat and my index finger
                              up-and-down-up-and-down
to imitate a mongolian harmonica...
as much as any man, desiring a peace
that might be justified to walking down a street
in the night with a bottle of beer and not giving a ****.
Kendra  Nov 2020
Gastby
Kendra Nov 2020
Your mother wants to be your light, protect you from the shapes outside.
But she casts tall shadows on the walls, and turns a blind eye as her kingdom falls.
If I don't see that bright green dot, I wonder if you're alive or not.
The circles have become your name, cycling daily, always the same.
The shape of my tears don't match yours, they're not as tired, bruised, or sore.
But I do everything I can for you, and just hope that those circles come through.

— The End —